Westbound Pt. 03
This is my attempt at a Tracy-style story, but set in the HCI universe from my other stories on Literotica. Themes include bondage, slavery, bureaucracy, public humiliation, plot exposition, corporal punishment, double-crosses, lesbianism, extortion, interstate commerce, and not-completely-consensual sex. And of course, everyone is over eighteen.
This is part three of three. I'd like to thank Joe_Doe_Stories for his advice and contributions, without which this story would have been less interesting and a lot less fun!
The lights flickered back on and I shook my head to clear it. Everyone had been thrown against the sides of their cages, the sides oriented toward the front of the truck. The trailer rumbled ominously, and a few minutes later it came to a halt.
The trailer sat for a few minutes in silence, except for the moans and exclamations of the women. I reached back through the bars: my clothes were not there. I had lost my grip on them during the rapid deceleration, and I could see them in a heap against the front wall of the trailer, well out of my reach.
The rear door opened and Nicolaides entered, carrying a canvas tool bag. "Blowout, ladies! Everyone out while we wait for repair."
He spotted my pile of clothes at the end of the aisle and walked straight for them. I glanced at Linda, who looked back at me with a surprised expression, then watched helplessly as Nicolaides gathered my belongings, including the collar I used to open the cage.
"Well, well, well," he said, then turned to me with a disgusting grin on his face. "What an interesting development this is." He bundled my clothing into the wall locker, leaving only the collar in his big, hairy hands.
"I need those back," I said, in the most confident voice I could muster.
Nicolaides made a show of locking the wall cabinet, then turned and smiled at me. "For safe keeping," he said.
"What?" I said, sounding as exasperated as I felt. "I don't need them
kept safe
, I need them returned to me
now
."
"Ladies,
Back Hands
," he commanded, ignoring me completely. The women backed up to their cage doors, seated with hands clasped low behind them.
Nicolaides started at the far end with Mary, reaching through the bars and placing handcuffs on her wrists, then moved on until everyone was handcuffed but me.
He squatted down in front of my cage, looking me over; I instinctively put my hands over my breasts. "Oh, we can't have that," he said, setting down the tool bag and pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
"Turn around and place your hands by the opening at the bottom of the cage door," he said.
"Wait a minute," I said, "I removed my clothing in an effort to establishβ"
"I'm not going to tell you again," he interrupted, and drew out of his pants pocket a small metal rod that he flicked with his wrist. It telescoped open into a sort of baton, but with a pair of copper spikes at the end. Suddenly a blueish electrical arc appeared between the spikes, making a sinister crackling noise.
"You wouldn't dare," I said, my voice getting a bit squeaky with fright. "Your manager saidβ"
"I'm the supercargo on this trip, which is like being the captain of a ship," Nicolaides said, clearly enjoying this. "What I say
goes
. And right now, I'm securing you like the rest of the cargo for health and safety reasons. You are welcome to file a complaint when we reach our destination. Now,
Back Hands
."
I glanced around at the others: I caught Linda's eye across the aisle, and she mouthed the words
do it
.
I'm not going to lie, I was trembling a little bit, and finding it hard to breathe, but I did what he asked and felt the cold metal of the handcuffs tighten around my wrists, first one and then the other. Remembering the electric prod, I gritted my teeth to keep my mouth shut.
I heard the folding steps drop down from the rear exit, then Chuy climbed in to the trailer. "Where's Miss Ontkean?" he said.
I heard Nicolaides say "Lucky Seven," referring to my cage number.
"For real?" Chuy said; Nicolaides took him by the arm and the two of them stepped outside for a few minutes.
When they returned, they began taking the women out of the cages one-by-one; unlike the previous times, they were attaching the coffle chain to their collars while inside the trailer. Finally they secured the last woman (Linda) and Nicolaides squatted down in front of my cage again.
"I'm going to open your cage, and I want you to sit there like a good girl until I tell you otherwise. Understood?"
I nodded.
"I need to hear you say it," Nicolaides said, "Company policy. Also" β I could hear his smirk in his voice β "You need to call me
sir
."
I leaned forward a bit, tightening my stomach in fear: this was bad and about to get worse. But I said what he wanted.
"Yes, sir, I understand."
"Good girl," he condescended, then took my collar (why am I calling it "my" collar? It's the one I took out of the cabinet to open the cage door, but it wasn't assigned to me... at least not yet) out of the tool bag and opened the door. Predictably I felt the smooth metal slide around my neck and close with a soft
click
that right now sounded to me like a cannon shot.
"Found it," Chuy said, and handed something to Nicolaides. I heard the wall locker close as Nicolaides attached something to my collar. It had to be the plastic tag I got from Grace early this morning, Chuy must have dug it out of my coat pocket.
"Now turn around and come out of the cage on your knees, nice and slow," Nicolaides said.
When I turned around and looked up, I saw Chuy waiting behind Nicolaides, holding a length of chain.
For me.
So when I stood they locked the chain to my collar, and led me to the back of the coffle. I was locked in place behind Linda, and we all stood quietly in the aisle facing the back door.
Nicolaides stood behind me (I could feel his hot breath on my neck), and I felt his rough hands caressing my butt cheeks; I decided not to say anything, but I couldn't help trembling slightly.
"That's a good girl," he murmured. "Just couldn't help yourself, could you?
Miss Ontkean
had
to find out what it's like to be a slave. All you educated professional bitches are the same: spend some time around slaves, and in no time you're hot for the collar. Is this what you wanted? Being touched by a man old enough to be your father? Getting wet because you can't stop me?"
He reached around to the front of my pelvis and ran his hands through my thick pubic curls, then started tracing his fingers along my vaginal lips. I shuddered and goosebumps broke out on my skin, but he was right about one thing: I couldn't stop him.
Nicolaides took his hands and grasped my breasts, fondling them; his fingers were wet, and smelled like my arousal scent. I stared at them, unsure what to think β I must be experiencing some kind of stress reaction. There is no way I am getting turned on by this. "Please..." I said.
"Please
what