Traceys Slave Shop Pt 06

It did not take long before my efforts to install Winifred Rogers as the Director of Eastfield Girls' Academy started paying dividends. After the two girls who had written on Diana's body with permanent marker failed to scrub their artwork off of her (which was an impossible task), Winifred agreed with me that the only solution to the problem would be for the two girls to be processed as slaves. A short time later, three of their friends arrived at the shop to try and find out what had happened to their classmates. At first, they tried to be discrete, quietly looking from cage to cage on the sales floor to see if they could find their friends. Of course, they did not find them, because they were still in the back being processed.

Eventually, they approached the slave I had working at the counter to ask her what had become of their friends. The slave buzzed me, and I went out to talk to the girls.

"Your friends," I told them, "broke Academy rules, as well as those of this shop, and are being processed as slaves. If you ever see them again -- and you probably won't -- they will be nude, and they will have barcodes on their bums."

"That is so unfair!" exclaimed one of the girls. Her mates muttered agreement.

"Perhaps, but that is where matters stand," I replied.

"By the way," I said, sounding as if this was an afterthought, "aren't you missing your lessons?"

One of the girls said, "yeah, what of it? Finding our friends is more important." The other girls expressed their approval of this.

"We shall have to see what your Director says about this. While we wait," I activated the intercom on the counter, "Betty and Maxine, to the front counter."

Betty and Maxine arrived quickly, and stood behind the girls.

"Take these girls' clothes, and put them in Observation Cell #5."

It was amazing to watch them work. Betty performed a flawless leg sweep and tripped and knocked down two of the girls suddenly and without warning, while Maxine made easy work of the third. All three girls had their wrists and ankles secured using zip ties, and Betty and Maxine went to work with disrobing knives, tearing their clothes at the seams. Only after the girls were safely in the observation cell were the restraints removed.

After school, Winifred stopped by the shop in person to sign the enslavement papers for the girls. She didn't need to do that in person, but I think she enjoyed the thrill of personally sentencing her girls to a lifetime of servitude.

"Congratulations on winning Diana in the auction," I said, making small talk after she signed.

"It was nothing," said Winifred, "the Governors were happy to allocate the funds after I explained what a boost it would be for the students. Now, the girls get to see their former Director every day, naked, and cleaning gum from underneath desks or scrubbing toilets."

"Has Tiffany given you any trouble?" I asked. Tiffany had been the Deputy Direcor, and after Diana became a slave Tiffany had been the leading candidate to replace her. The job was ultimately given to Winifred.

"She is giving me no trouble at all," said Winifred. "I thought she might be a problem, as she has tenure, which entitles her to a lifetime employment contract, but I examined the terms of her contract and found it does not specify what her position will be. So I removed her from her teaching position and made her my personal assistant. Now she brings me coffee, runs errands, paints my toe-nails -- whatever I require."

"Most important,"she continued, "her contract has a standard enslavement clause, so if she does not fulfill her duties to my expectations, I will simply send her to you. I do not think that will be necessary though, as she is not keen to end up in one of your cages."

"It sounds like you have things well in hand," I said, standing up to shake her hand. "Next week?"

"We have an assembly this Thursday afternoon, and there are always a few girls who use those occasions as a way to cut school, so I will most likely see you before then," replied Winifred.

"As you know," I said, "you are welcome any time. I will walk you out."

As Winifred and I were walking through the sales floor toward the front door of the shop, one of my slaves came running up to us.

"Mistress, mistress...." she repeated frantically.

"Slow down," I said. "What is it?"

She took a moment to catch her breath, and then remembered to curtsey.

"Mistress," she said again, "you have a phone call. It's John Chambers."

"I will take it in my office," I said, whereupon I made my way to my desk.

Legally, women were not allowed to own their own businesses, which made John Chambers an essential part of the continued existence of my shop. He was a "straw man" -- a silent partner who, on paper, was the managing partner, but who in reality had no interest whatsoever in participating in the business. He did this for me, and probably dozens of other women who ran their own businesses, in exchange for 15% of my profits.

John Chambers lived in a manor house in the Scottish highlands with an army of slave girls who catered to his every need and desire, while he sat back and collected the fruits of my labor, and that of other female business owners. He did not bother actually involving himself in any of them, which made him the perfect straw partner for my purposes. It also made it surprising that he should call.

"Tracey Smith speaking," I said formally on the phone.

"Hey Tracey, John Chambers here. Listen, we have a problem."

"I am sorry to hear that sir," I said. "How can I be of service to you?"

"I got a call from Ben Howlett today, and he was right shirty at me about some runaway slavegirl of his he says I have stashed away at your shop. Now, he's the kind of trouble I don't need, and it's you who's supposed to take care of business. You aren't trading in stolen slavegirls are you?"

Ben Howlett was the Minister for Female Affairs, and the last thing I wanted was any attention from him.

"Yes sir," I replied, "I will take care of it. Did Mr. Howlett give you this slave's name?"

"Something like Jenny or Genna, something like that. I don't remember. Just get him off my back before I have to find some other bitch to run the place."

"Yes sir, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you." I terminated the call.

As useful as Mr. Chambers was, he was boorish and insufferably arrogant. I had to be obsequious with him because that is how men like that expected to be treated by women. His threat to replace me as the proprietor of the shop was one that he had the authority to carry out, even if it was unlikely he would do so. But being treated that way by a man like him, coupled with having to be humble, turned me on a bit. I do not like to admit this, but I have something of a submissive streak.

I pulled my vibrator out of my drawer, and for the next several minutes I stimulated myself while I imagined being punished by John Chambers, and begging for more. Once I had released enough sexual tension to satisfy myself, I could get back to the business at hand. I summoned Maxine.

"Genna, that girl you stripped and gagged earlier in Solitary Confinement Cell #3, do you remember if she had a slave mark on her bum?"

"Of course she did," replied Maxine.

THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME, I thought, coming close to screaming at her. But there was no point, as I had never told Maxine that I was hiding Genna for Roxane. In fact, the only other person who knew about my secret dealings with Roxane was Belinda. As far as Maxine knew, Genna was just another slave.

"Good," I said, in a carefully measured voice. "We must ensure these things are done thoroughly. Go scan her barcode, and feed the data into my terminal in the office."

"Yes Mistress," said Maxine, who then curtseyed and left.

Once the data appeared on my monitor, I gasped. Genna was a slave registered to Ben Howlett, Minister for Female Affairs. Worse, Mr. Howlett had had one of those new subcutaneous tracking devices implanted into Genna, so that the GPS coordinates of Genna's current position was available from the Ministry's tracking system. What did Roxanne think she was doing!? It was one thing to shelter a woman who was running away from her husband for a few days, but harboring a runaway slave was something that could land me in serious trouble. I needed to act fast.

I summoned Beatrice to my office. Beatrice was the daughter of Diana, the former Headmistress of Eastfield Girls' Academy. After her mother was enslaved by Emily, Beatrice had challenged Emily to a Slavery Wrestling match, only to be defeated by Emily and enslaved herself. Now, although Emily could have collected a healthy commission by having Beatrice sold, she preferred to keep her around the shop so she could abuse her. I expected that what I had in store for Beatrice would suit Emily just fine.

Beatrice entered my office and curtseyed.

"Beatrice," I said sharply, "we have a slave in the shop named Genna. She is the property of the Right Honourable Ben Howlett, and she is a runaway. You brought her into the shop, and failed to inform me that she was already a slave belonging to someone else."

"Er, I am sorry Mistress, but that was not me. I have never heard of Genna," said Beatrice.

I stood up, grabbed my paddle, and walked over to Beatrice. I smacked her bum with a single, swift stroke.

"YOU brought her into the shop, and failed to inform me that she was already a slave belonging to someone else," I repeated.

"I don't remember," she began, whereupon I smacked her bum again.

"What did I say?" I asked.

"You said I brought her into the shop and failed to inform you she was a slave," replied Beatrice. "But honestly, I didn't. It just didn't happen mistress."

I smacked her again, three times.

"LIAR!" I exclaimed. "Why are you lying to me?"

Beatrice started crying, "honest Mistress, I don't want to lie to you, but I really don't remember bringing Genna into the shop."

"So you FORGOT," I exclaimed, smacking her again. "You addle-brained little cunt, brought a STOLEN slave into the shop, and you FORGOT to tell me?"

She cried harder, "I am so sorry Mistress." She fell down on her knees, "Please forgive me."

"You will call Mr. Howlett, and you will inform him that due to your incompetence, you accepted this stolen slave into this shop, and she is here waiting for him. You will apologize for your absent mindedness and your stupidity, and you will beg him to forgive you. If he wished to punish you, you will accept any punishment he chooses to inflict, and you will thank him for correcting you. Is that understood?"

"Yes Mistress," replied Beatrice, still sobbing. I sat her in front of my desk, picked up my phone, and dialed the front office of the Ministry of Female Affairs. Once they realized that the call was regarding the Minister's prized runaway slave, we were put through to the Minister himself. At that point, I listened carefully as Beatrice made her confession.

"Well, you have a lot to answer for, slut," said the Minister. "I suppose your superiors at the shop have punished you for this?"

"Yes sir," replied Beatrice, "I have been yelled at, and spanked with a paddle."

"That is nowhere near as harsh as what will happen to you when I see you," said the Minister. He paused for a bit.

"Tell your Master I am coming over, and my slave, and YOU, had better be there when I get there." The Minister terminated the call.

Every day, fully clothed free women came into my shop and, one way or another, they ended up stripped nude, processed, barcoded, and registered as slaves. From then on, they spent their entire lives as someone's property. A plaything to be used as her owner pleased. It was an irreversible transition that forever deprived a girl of any power to make any further decisions about the future course of her life. Her mind, her body, her very soul now belonged to whoever bought her. She had no say.

If I wanted to avoid suffering that fate myself, it was of vital importance that the government never officially find out that I was running my own business, as the penalty for that would be for me to suffer the same fate I had inflicted on so many others. Up to now, that had not been a problem because on paper the shop's managing partner was John Chambers -- a recluse who had no interest in actually involving himself in the running of the shop. The only way the government was going to find out that my "managing partner" was really a strawman was if they conducted an inspection. Fortunately, the local inspector had a personal assistant, Rhonda Patil, who kept his schedule, and who insured that the inspector would never get around to my shop, in exchange for the occasional favor. Unfortunately, one of the favors Rhonda had required of me was to shelter Genna.

I did not know this at the time she arrived, but Genna was a runaway slave who belonged to the Right Honourable Ben Howlett, Minister for Female Affairs. I had no choice but to return her. It would upset Rhonda, but that was not my immediate concern. If the Minister for Female Affairs was not completely satisfied, and if he decided to take a personal interest in the shop, then I would face difficulties far greater than any Rhonda could impose upon me.

I forced Beatrice -- a recently acquired slave -- to confess to sheltering Genna without my knowledge. Beatrice, in fact, had nothing to do with Genna, but since she was a slave girl, and since her mind was heavily altered by Titalin, she had no choice but to do whatever was commanded of her. So, Mr. Howlett will most likely want to both collect Genna, and personally punish Beatrice. In preparation for his arrival, I considered putting Beatrice and Genna in one of the observation cells, but I thought better of it. I wanted them to see who was watching them, and what was coming. So, I forced then to kneel, nude, on their knees, in front of Observation Cell #1, and to remain perfectly still until Mr. Howlett arrives. I left Maxine with them to ensure my order was followed.

While we were waiting for Mr. Howlett, Emily came into the shop accompanied by a teenage girl who I had not met before. She was taller than Emily, but skinny with small but firm and perky breasts. She was tight-fitting athletic shorts, a loose fitting tanktop, and white sneakers. Whether Emily was bringing her to the shop as an acquisition, or for some other purpose, I could not tell.

Walking in behind the girl was a woman who appeared to be in her middle twenties, who could easily have been either a lingerie model, or the er of an international beauty pageant. She wore a fashionable red dress, designer shoes, and had the kind of make up, manicured nails, and hairstyle that made it clear to everyone that she lived a life of privilege.

"Hello Emily," I greeted her. "Who are your friends?"

"This," she indicated the girl, "is my friend Summer, and this," she indicated the fashionably dressed woman, "Is Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson. Summer is Mrs. Thompson's childminder."

Elizabeth Thompson was the wife of Edward Thompson, the Vice President of Accounting at ABC Insurance. That explained the fashionable clothing. I had arranged for Emily to select a girl to serve as Elizabeth's childminder. This must be the girl she selected.

"Nice to meet you Mrs. Thompson," I shook her hand. "How do you do Summer?"

"All right," replied Summer. "So I brought her in, now what?"

I turned to Elizabeth, "did Summer explain why she was bringing you here?" I asked. I needed to know how to play this.

Elizabeth thought for a moment, hesitated, and then smiled to herself. "You know," she said, "I don't believe she did. You see, we have been playing this game. She tells me to do things, and I do them. It's silly, I know, but she is so talented at it, and it just feels right."

I smiled to myself. "So, you just feel like doing as she tells you?"

"Yes, it is the strangest thing, but following her just seems natural. I suppose that is how I know she is a natural childminder," replied Elizabeth.

"What sorts of things has she been telling you to do?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing horrible I assure you. 'I would like a glass of milk,' 'hold my backpack for me,' 'give me a ride to the slave shop,' things like that."

So it seemed she was under the influence of Titalin, albeit a small dose, but it had not completely taken hold because nobody had given her any particularly humiliating commands. It was time to remedy that.

"Tell me EXACTLY how it makes you feel when Summer gives you an order," I said, with just enough of an edge to my voice to make it clear that it was an order rather than a request.

"It makes me feel..." she hesitated, "it makes me feel good."

"Does it make you randy?" I asked.

She looked shocked, "What kind of question is that!?" Apparently it was a lower dose than I thought. This would require a harder approach.

"TELL ME," I ordered, "DOES it make you randy?"

It was as if a bolt of lightening went through her. She bent her head down and mumbled "yes."

I approached her, and lifted her chin up with my hand. I then looked at her, up and down, as if she were a piece of meat.

"You are wearing a very beautiful dress," I said.

"Thank you," she smiled, likely glad to have moved on from the embarrassing subject of her own arousal.

"I want it," I said, harshly. "Take it off and give it to me."

Emily and Summer giggled, and Summer looked shocked. But at the same time, her hands moved, seemingly involuntarily, to the zipper at the side of her dress. She unzipped and stepped out of her dress, and folded it neatly before handing it to me. Then, although she still had her undergarments, she instinctively used her hands and arms to cover her breasts and pussy as well as she could.

I turned to Emily, "take Elizabeth to the back and start processing her. You can bring Summer too, if you'd like. You should probably give her a bit more Titalin first though."

Emily nodded, and turned to Summer, "Come with me, this part is fun" she said, whereupon the two girls ordered Elizabeth to follow them.

About half an hour after Emily took Summer and Emily to the back, the government car pulled up in front of the shop, and Mr. Howlett walked into the shop and made his way straight to the counter. He said to me, "Tell Mr. Chambers that Ben Howlett is here to see him."

I turned my head down, and said in the most obsequious tone I could manage, "I am sorry, sir, but Mr. Chambers is out on urgent business today, and is unable to see you. However, sir, he has told me you are coming, and has instructed me to serve you in any way you might require."

That softened his mood slightly, but nevertheless he did say to me, sharply, "Where is my girl?"

"If you will follow me, sir, I will bring you to her."

Mr. Howlett accompanied me to Observation Cell #1, where Beatrice and Gena were still kneeling, guarded closely by Maxine.

He began by straight at Genna, and commanding, to nobody in particular, "hogtie her and gag her." Then he addressed Genna, "When we get home, we will correct your attitude and teach you some manners, particularly about running off, but I shan't give you the chance to run off in the meantime."

I nodded at Maxine, who then scurried off go fetch a length of rope and a gag. Mr. Howlett then turned to Beatrice, "Who is this?" he asked, addressing no one in particular.

Beatrice answered, "I am the addle-brained little cunt who brought a stolen slave into the shop, and forgot to tell the owner," said Beatrice.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Howlett. "I remember you from the phone. What did your master have to say about that?"

Beatrice replied, "I was told to apologize for my absent mindedness and stupidity, and beg you to forgive me."

Mr. Howlett continued staring at Beatrice.

"Well..." he said, impatiently.