Repo'd Ch. 01-06

At that moment the elevator door opened and a young woman mopping the floor came into view. Barefoot and naked, save for a heavy-duty stainless steel slave collar and chains manacling both her hands and feet, the woman's hair was unkempt, as if she didn't have access to a comb, and she wore neither makeup nor jewelry. Her bare feet were dirty from the dust and grime on the floor and there were a few grubby smudges on her body as if she hadn't bathed in a few days, maybe weeks. Neither her legs, her hooch, nor her armpits were shaven, and her eyebrows were bushy. In short, it didn't appear as if the poor woman had access to any type of hygiene or toiletries whatsoever.

"Let me introduce you to Lynnette Rosenberger," Mr. Brooks said as he gestured to the slave. "Ms. Rosenberger didn't realize that Ultra put a hold on her passport so she got picked up at the airport trying to catch a flight to Paris after she defaulted on her car loan. Now she's spending thirteen hours a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year, washing floors, scrubbing restrooms on her hands and knees, and gathering trash. She won't lose the chains or get dressed again for almost another two years."

Stunned, I looked upon the wretched young woman in dismay.

"How do you like working as a category II slave Lynnette?" Mr. Brooks asked.

"Fuck you," Lynette said.

Although the manacled slave looked up from her mopping only long enough to glare angrily at Mr. Brooks, as did so, Lynnette made eye contact with both me and Nicky to the astonishment of all three of us.

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed as I recognized the hapless woman.

In shock, I covered my mouth with my hand. Lynn was a client of ours. She'd been in our office more times than I could count. We were on a first name basis. I'd even taken her to lunch a couple of times to show her our new collections, and regarded her as a friend. She seemed like such a nice person and had such an excellent taste in fashions.

"Oh my God, Lynn, are you alright?" Nicky asked.

Despite the sincerity and concern in Nicky's voice, Lynn became emotional and turned away in shame.

"She's not allowed to talk to anyone but Ultra personnel. It could cost her strokes."

"We know her," I protested. "She's a customer of ours."

"Not anymore," Mr. Brooks laughed. "She won't be wearing your clothes or any clothes at all any time soon. Before the default, she was quite the stylish dresser; a real trend setter. Her wardrobe was the envy of every woman in the building. But now, all she gets to wear is chains and the other women just snicker at her when they walk by or look away."

"What happened to her clothes?" I asked. Lynn had an amazing collection of fashions, even greater than my own.

"Ultra gave all her clothes to charity when she got enslaved."

"Why?" I gasped. "Those suits and dresses were all tailored."

I was horrified. The idea of simply discarding such an exquisite wardrobe struck me as sacrilegious, like using the Shroud of Turin to wash your car.

"To make a point. Lynnette worked for Ultra and she even got the employee discount on her loan. When she ran, it angered the management that an employee would do such a thing so Ultra decided to make an example of her. She's a criminal; she tried to steal our collateral and she deserves to be punished. We want her to suffer. Now we use her for every shit job in the building, keep her naked, shackled, and filthy, feed her dog food, deny her any privacy or comfort, and show her off as a poster child as to why you shouldn't run."

As Lynnette continued her mopping and turned away from the group, I noticed bruising on Lynnette's derriere, "What the hell?"

Although everyone knew that category II and III slaves could be lashed and subject to other physical correction, it was still shocking to see it. An unwritten, but universally followed, rule of the slave industry was to keep severe or brutal punishment well-hidden least public opinion turn against slavery. Lashings or severe deprivations were almost never revealed to the public and, for the most ruthless of punishments, the slaves were sent to camps in foreign countries, well out of the public view. Although many helpless slaves had writhed in pain under the lash, they mostly did so in secret, where the public couldn't see their agony and humiliation.

"Before she ran, Lynnette's incentive plan was bonuses and stock options; now it's a leather strap," Mr. Brooks explained. "We only use it occasionally when Lynnette gets lazy and fails to make her task quota for the day. Unfortunately, she began missing her quota more often than not and last week management felt a correction was necessary. Lynnette hasn't missed quota since."

I stared at Mr. Brooks in revulsion but he only shrugged.

"Ultra has the right to physically correct Lynn. It's the law. Besides, it serves her right for what she did."

Mr. Brooks opened what looked like a janitor's closet but inside was a small room with an even smaller iron bar cell, barely big enough for a woman to lay down. More of a cage than a cell, the whole enclosure wasn't even quite the size of a twin bed. On the floor of the cell was a thin, plastic covered, foam mat. Besides the mat, a tiny prison style toilet, a roll of toilet paper, and a small sink; there was nothing else, no furniture, no mirror, no toiletries, no curtains, no comb, no pillow, no sheets, no clothes, or any other comforts. Nicky looked concerned while I was appalled. Although I'd heard stories of the extremely meager housing provided category II slaves, I'd never dreamt it was so bad.

"This is her cell. There's a shower in the basement and we let her use once every couple of weeks or so whenever she starts to really smell. They feed her dry dog food for breakfast lunch and dinner right out of a dog bowl. And they make sure that every employee in the building gets to see her. The other employees see her when she works and they see her eat her lunch out of her dog bowl in the cafeteria; she doesn't get to use her fingers, she's got to eat on her all fours out of the bowl. And she gets her physical correction in the cafeteria at lunchtime so the employees get to watch when she's punished."

"That's horrible," Nicky said.

"It's quite practical really and very efficient. We have security wake her at 5:50 every morning, give her a bowl of food, and fill her water bowl, she gets ten minutes to eat the food, drink the water, take a piss, and we've got her on the floor working by six. Since she doesn't shower, shave, dress, or fix her hair, she doesn't need any more than ten minutes before she's mopping the floor or cleaning the toilets."

"Monstrous," I exclaimed.

"It may sound cruel but it works."

Far from sympathetic, Mr. Brooks seemed pleased, even amused, by Lynn's plight as if the wretchedness of her enslavement served to vindicate some great evil that Lynn had attempted against Ultra.

"Since Lynnette was enslaved, we haven't had another employee default on a loan," Mr. Brooks said. "We've barely had anyone even be late on a payment."

"That's so wrong; how could you?" I asked.

Mr. Brooks scoffed, "It wasn't my decision. Just like what happens to you if you default won't be my decision. I'm sorry to show this to you but you needed to see it. Something like this is what'll happen to you if you run. I think I can get you the extension but, if I can't, don't be a fool. Turn yourself in before noon tomorrow and don't be late. If you're not in the doors before noon, you'll be considered to be absconding with our collateral. Even a few minutes late could cost you six months of your life and this."

As Mr. Brooks pointed to Lynnette, she grimaced, turned flush with embarrassment, and looked away again. Suddenly, Mr. Brooks turned to us and looked serious.

"Look, you girls seem like some nice young women but you're in a lot of trouble here. In truth, I don't know if I can get you girls an extension or not; that decision is made at a higher paygrade than mine and, to be honest, it'll be pretty dicey. But I can at least help you out with your placement."

"What do you mean?" Nicky asked.

"Ultra's looking to replace most of its special couriers with mailgirls and looking at you," Mr. Brooks paused to give us a good looking over, "you're perfect for the job."

"You mean you'd have us running all over the office building delivering messages in the nude?" I asked.

"Not exactly," Mr. Brooks explained. "Our special carriers only deliver outside the office. If you took the job, you'd be working as a mailgirl roughly in a mile and a half radius of the building."

"That's the entire downtown," I said. "It's packed with people. Hundreds of people would see me naked every day."

"More like thousands," Mr. Brooks corrected. "Our estimates are that you'd be observed by at least two or three thousand people a day."

A wave of embarrassment came over me as I realized that I might be less than twenty minutes away from running completely naked through the busiest part of the city. It'd be humiliating but, at the same time I felt an electric tingling of erotic exhilaration come over me as I imagined what it would be like spending my day running down crowded sidewalks and delivering messages to busy office buildings without a stitch of clothing on.

"It's not bad work – a lot better than almost any assignment you'll draw if you get sold," Mr. Brooks said. "Both of the mailgirls we've got right now, sold themselves into slavery to get the job and they enjoy it.

"Marti volunteered for the job?" I was stunned.

"That's right. Ms. Combs was our second mailgirl. She was employed in our data entry pool, a low paid entry level job, when she found out that our first mailgirl had signed a two year slavery commitment and would be paid $150,000.00 at the conclusion of her servitude. Ms. Combs asked if we would extend her the same deal and she started work as our second mailgirl about fifteen minutes later. She loves it and, in about 18 months, she'll be free again."

"What are you offering?" Nicky asked.

"Come upstairs with me right now, sign yourselves over, and I'll have you working as mailgirls almost immediately. We have comfortable quarters set up for you in the basement, it's like a college dorm room. You'll have an exciting job with decent work hours; you'll eat whatever you want out of the cafeteria; you'll have your own bathroom with a shower that you can use whenever you like, and we never use any type of corporal punishment on our mailgirls; I'll even put that in the contract."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, if you strip down right now, and come upstairs with me, I can assure you that we'll inventory you and you'll spend the entire 66 months as a mailgirl. It's easy time. But, if we repo you, you'll probably be merchandised, sold at auction, and you'll spend the next five and a half years doing God know what God knows where."

"Can we have some time to think about this?" I asked.

"Probably not. Management's planning to buy a couple more slaves today to fill the position but if you surrender yourselves right now, I guarantee they'll take you instead. You'll wear the ultra-light slave collar, it's really comfortable, almost like wearing nothing at all, and you'll never spend a minute in chains. The mailgirl position is one of the top choices among young good looking category I female slaves such as yourselves. And all you have to do to claim that job is take off your clothes, follow me upstairs, sign a voluntary surrender, and put on a your slave collar. I'll have you making you first delivery in about fifteen minutes, maybe less. You're not going to get a better deal."

"You want us to get naked right here in the hall?"

"Sure, it'll be quicker that way. Lynnette will take care of discarding your clothes."

"Everyone will see us," I protested.

"Don't worry about the nudity, it's part of the job; you'll get accustomed to it. So what if people are going to see you. You're both gorgeous, you've got nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone's going to get to see you naked every day anyway and you're probably going to be mostly naked for the next five and a half years no matter what happens."

"I don't know," Nicky said, sounding unconvinced. "We'll need some time to think about it."

"I know you're thinking that you'd like to see if you get the extension first, but it'll probably be too late by then. Anyway, your business isn't going to make it; something is wrong with it; this is your second default. The borrowers are always optimistic but, I've been in this business a long time and businesses that default twice in three months never make it. Trust me, you're going to fail. All an extension will buy you is six more months of slavery."

For the first time, Nicky looked concerned. It was as if something Mr. Brooks said got to her.

"Look at it this way," Mr. Brooks continued, "I know you girls are friends, maybe more. It's obvious that you really like each other. Five and a half years is a long period of time and slavery can get really lonely. You'll need a friend. If you take this deal right now, I'll let you room together and I'll put it in your contract that you can't be separated."

That comment hit home with me. I loved Nicky. She'd always been there for me; she was everything to me. We'd lived together in college and as adults. We ate together, partied together, cried together, and worked together. I'd never thought about the fact that if we were repo'd that I'd lose her and the revelation frightened me to my core.

"Let me speak with my partner a moment," Nicky said as she pulled me aside. To give us privacy, Mr. Brooks walked down the hall.

"What do you think?" Nicky asked.

"At least we'd have each other."

Although I was nervous before the meeting with Mr. Brooks, I really thought that we'd get the extension and the chances of actually becoming a slave weren't likely. I certainly didn't think there was any chance at all that I'd be enslaved today. But the appointment with Mr. Brooks had gone poorly and, with our with plan B failing, now I felt the chance that I'd be naked, enslaved, and working as a mailgirl for Ultra within the hour seemed likely, even prudent. If Nicky but said the word, I'd start stripping off my clothes.

"We'd lose everything, our business, our condo, our freedom, everything," Nicky said. "If we give up now, we'll never get the business back."

Opening our own tailoring and fashion design business had been a dream of ours for a decade and, except for the slow invoice payments, the business seemed like it was about to be quite successful.

"I don't want to lose you," I said, fighting back emotion. "At least we wouldn't lose each other." Nicky gave me a hug.

"If you want to do it, if you want to take the mailgirl position, I'll go with you. You're that important to me. But, if you ask me if I want to do it, the answer is no. I don't want to just give up. I at least want to get back to the office and see where we stand with Attila."

Worried about a possible default, Nicky had insisted on making a refinance application with the Attila Financial Group, another bondage banker who accepted human collateral. Although our secretary Lori had been assured that we'd get the loan a week ago, Attila had yet to finalize the terms and send us the loan package for signature. Needless to say, Attila's lack of urgency on the matter had become a major concern.

"I don't know," I said as I fumbled with the button to my skirt and contemplated taking it off. Despite my desire to cut our losses and take the deal, I didn't want to be the one to make the decision and enslave Nicky. They'd be too great of chance she'd later regret it and resent me for it. I couldn't risk that. Nicky would have to make the decision become a mailgirl slave by herself.

"Tell me the truth," Nicky said, "do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"I swear to you, I think I can fix this."

"Kristen," a soft voice whispered, "take the deal."

"Lynn?" I whispered back. Although she didn't look up at me, Lynn nodded her head ever so slightly.

"I was offered the same deal," Lynn whispered, "I was a fool and I ran. Now look what's happened to me. I'd give anything to have a decent meal, a comfortable bed, a better job, and, most importantly a friend. I'm miserable and all alone. Don't be stupid like I was - take the deal."

Chapter 3- Collared

Nicky seemed moody and lost in thought on the cab ride back to the office.

"Are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking, that we should've taken the mailgirl deal?" I asked. Still shaken from our disastrous appointment with Ultra, Lynn's whispers haunted me a ghost in a Dickens novel.

"Mr. Brooks was right," Nicky said. "There's something wrong with our business. With the type of sales we've been having, we should be buying a car right now not pleading for our freedom. I'm going down to the bank and have them check and see if there's some type of screw up and they've deposited our funds into the wrong account or something. I've got to get to the bottom of this."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Start calling all of our friends."

"You want me to ask our friends for money?" I'd be humiliating."

"Which would you rather, call our friends today or be repo'd tomorrow."

"Anything but that."

"We should have been calling everyone weeks ago. If we had, we'd already have the money by now. We've let our pride get in the way of our sanity."

"What do you want me to tell them?"

"The truth and ask for anything they can spare. Take twenty dollars if that's all they've got but they've got to wire it too us before noon or we're screwed."

"We're behind over $30,000.00. There's no way that we can raise that."

We had great friends but they weren't rich. Being in our late 20's, most of our friends were in their 20's or early 30's and didn't have much cash to spare. Further, now that you can get yourself repo'd if you fall behind on your credit card, your car payments, or your student loan, people are thriftier with their savings. You never wanted to be stuck without at least a couple paychecks worth of cash or, if you lost your job, you could lose your freedom.

"We don't need to get caught up, we just can't fall three payments behind. The law doesn't allow repossession until after the third month. If we could just get ahold of $11,000.00, it would buy us a month and that's all we need."

The cab stopped and let me out in front of our offices. Nicky continued on to the bank and I went inside and started calling. Begging for money was so embarrassing that I cowered with each phone call. Thankfully, our friends were very understanding and passionate about our situation. They wished we'd come to them earlier and gave what they could. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Most of our friends were starving artists, struggling models, or unemployed actors, as well as a host of other people just getting started in life with low paying jobs and lots of bills. They tended to spend their entire paycheck on rent and food. None had substantial savings and few had any real money to offer. On such short notice and with such poverty stricken friends, as the clock neared noon, I was still short in the count.

I didn't try calling family, because there was none. Neither of us had parents. Nicky's were lost in a car crash, while I lost my mother to cancer. My father had never been a part of my life and neither of us had siblings. Part of the bond between Nicky and I was that we the closest thing each other had to a family.

The deadline was noon. If we didn't get another extension, Ultra would declare the loan in default and we'd be down to 24 hours. Unfortunately, as noon arrived, we didn't have enough money to make a payment and we still hadn't heard from Attila.