Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 02

"We need the shoes, too," said the young man and Vicki stepped out of the shoes. She was now totally naked, but somehow felt less naked barefoot than she had in the high heels.

"You'll need to stand very still while I apply these protective caps," the woman said loudly. "The seals have to be perfect or you could lose your eyelashes... or even your sight."

She then took a clear plastic dome about the size of a shot glass out of a bag that was hanging from her shoulder. After checking something on the cap, she reached back into the bag and brought out a small tube of thick gel-like material which she applied to the edges of the cap.

"Close your left eye," she instructed.

Vicki did so and the woman set the cap over Vicki's eye, pressing firmly while she counted out loud to 25.

"Now close your right eye," she commanded.

Again, Vicki did so and a few moments later she felt something being pressed tightly over that eye as the woman once again counted to 25.

"You can open your eyes now," the woman said.

Vicki did so and realized that she was now wearing what looked like tanning goggles, except they were totally clear, and there was no band holding them in place because they were glued to her face.

"Ready," the woman said in her loud and clear voice. Two men in full haz-mat protective suits, including taped gloves and fully-hooded headpieces, walked out in front of her. These must have been the muffled voices which she had heard behind her.

"Try not to move around too much," one man said. "If you rub your skin while the solvent is still working, you can cause irritation. It will take a few minutes for the chemicals to kill the roots of the hair follicles."

The other man, who had been standing behind him, stepped forward with two 3-gallon sprayers like you would use for pesticides in a garden. Handing one to the first man, he said, "Remember, top to bottom then back up until both units are empty."

That is what they did. Starting with Vicki's head, they sprayed a layer of some sort of gooey liquid on her skin. It was bluish-green and smelled like stagnant water. A few moments later, Vicki's skin began to burn.

"Don't touch yourself!" the second man commanded.

"Keep your legs well-spread and try not to clench your ass," the other added.

It took all of Vicki's willpower to keep herself from dancing in place or trying to rub the vile liquid from her skin. A short while later, she heard the hissing of the two sprayers as they emptied completely.

"Five minutes," the first man said.

"Starting now," the woman added as she once again stepped in front of Vicki. The two men were no longer visible- but then not much was. The caps protected Vicki's eyes, but they were coated with the blue-green slime and she really couldn't see anything very well.

"Two minutes to go," the woman said. Vicki felt like she were being dissolved in acid. How could she stand two more minutes of this torture?

"One minute," the woman said. Then "thirty seconds." At ten seconds the woman began counting down. Vicki felt herself pulsing with the count of each second. Finally the woman said, "Five minutes," and again stepped out of the way.

The two men were back. Now they had much smaller tanks, but much larger sprayers. A hose snaked off into the distance from each tank, so evidently the tank was just to mix something into water that would flow through the hose.

Vicki wasn't sure what was being added to the water, but she knew for certain that the water was cold- extremely cold. It was colder than any water that she had ever poured from a tap.

Again the men started at the top and worked their way downward. The one man turned his sprayer so that it was spraying directly up between Vicki's legs. She gasped as the frigid water pushed its way slightly up into her slit. At least the cold, or the chemicals added to the water, stopped the burning.

The rinsing seemed to go on forever, but it was actually only about ten or fifteen minutes. By the end, Vicki was shivering violently and her teeth were chattering.

Both men now trained their sprayers on the ground, washing away the residue of the original glop. As they worked their way back behind Vicki, the woman once again faced her. "Hold out your arms to the side and spread your feet as far out as you can." Vicki did as she was instructed, fearing what might come next.

There was suddenly a loud roar behind her that sounded like a mix of a noisy truck engine and a jet taking off. A strong, hot wind began blowing against Vicki's back.

"Turn around slowly," the woman instructed.

As she turned, Vicki could see that the hot wind was coming from a large heater like would normally be used up north to warm up stalled trucks in the wintertime. She tried to turn as slowly as she could so that she could luxuriate in the warmth, but the woman said testily, "We don't have all day. Keep it moving."

When Vicki was once more facing out toward the crowds, the woman reached up with a large, strange looking set of pliers and grabbed one of the protective cups. "This may sting a little coming off," she said as she slowly pulled the cap off Vicki's left eye. A moment later, she removed the cap on the right eye.

"Now you never have to shave anything... ever again," the woman said cheerily. Vicki stared numbly back at her as she realized "anything" included not only her pubic hair, but also her eyebrows and the hair on her head.

"Time for your walk," a man's voice said as the woman stepped aside.

Two bailiffs stepped forward and began attaching the shackles. These were slightly different than what had been used before. There was a heavy metal collar with a chain that connected to the center point of the chain for the wrist manacles. From there it also went down to the center point of the chain for the leg shackles.

After everything was in place, one of the bailiffs attached a long chain to the point where the neck chain joined the wrist manacles. As he pulled on it, her hands were forced upward and forward. The bailiffs pulled her slowly down the steps, letting her get used to walking in the chains. Once they reached the street, they attached the other end of the chain to the back of a military caisson wagon. Vicki felt like she was an ancient prisoner of war ready to be paraded naked before the people. In many ways, that was exactly what she was.

The horses began moving. Vicki had no choice but to follow the caisson through the downtown area until she came to the store where she used to work. Once there, she would read her prepared statement of repentance and acceptance.

Vicki had known this would happen. She had known that she would walk from the courthouse to the store where she worked and there read her statement of repentance. She didn't know that she would be chained to the back of a ancient military wagon for that walk. She didn't know that she would be more than naked. And she didn't know that people in the crowd would be throwing rotten vegetables and eggs at her the entire fourteen blocks to the store.

"William probably sold them the eggs," she thought to herself. "Or at least he charged extra for the privilege." For a moment she felt bitterness- almost hatred- toward William Wilson, but then she remembered that her sentence was twelve million dollars. Anything that went toward that amount lowered her final time as a slave. Without her negotiator, she would have been a slave forever. So, standing straight with her shoulders back she forced herself to complete her walk of shame.

As she walked, she looked at the people in the crowd. There were men and women, old and young. Surprisingly, there were even young children in the crowd. Even more surprisingly, many of the children were holding unclothed dolls. Some of them held up their dolls as she walked past.

It wasn't until the fifth block of her walk that Vicki suddenly realized that the dolls were her. One young man even had a full caisson set with her being pulled naked behind it. Looking through some of the shop windows, she could see displays of herself, exactly as she now was. There was even one almost life-sized doll watching over a large display of smaller dolls. The large, naked doll looked very accurate. She tried to see if it was also accurate between its legs, but was distracted by a price tag or something which was printed on the front of the doll.

It was surprising to her how many of the people were giving garbage to their children to throw. To her, that seemed somehow wrong. But her opinions no longer mattered. Besides, there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was walk behind the horse-drawn caisson which was pulling her through the streets.

When she finally reached the store, two more men in hazmat suits stood ready with hoses to wash the eggs and garbage off her body. There were no extra tanks connected to the hoses, so this was evidently just water. It was also considerably warmer than the water which was used to rinse the blue-green goo off her body.

Unfortunately, there was no powerful heater to warm her and dry her when they finished. Her nipples hardened into tight nubs in the cold as she walked up onto the platform and faced the crowd. Her prepared statement of repentance was waiting for her at the podium. It was printed out in large type. Since she had not seen it before, she tried to scan it rapidly.

A bailiff stood alongside her. "You have one minute to begin or the deal falls through," he said gruffly.

Vicki picked up the paper and began to read. "I am heartily sorry that I have violated the law, but more than that I am deeply sorry for any harm I have caused to come upon any person or business. I readily admit my guilt and accept my punishment, including my... my... my..." She couldn't form the words.

"Continue," said the bailiff sternly.

Suddenly William was standing beside her. "You can do this," he said. "This is the toughest part. You can do this."

Vicki took a deep breath and resumed reading, " I readily admit my guilt and accept my punishment, including my branding as a slave until full restitution has been paid to the courts."

She set down the paper and began sobbing. Mr. Wilson took her by the shoulders and led her to another portion of the raised platform. "It's not an old-fashioned brand," he said. "There's no branding iron. It's more like a tattoo."

Two bailiffs guided her over to a large, strangely-shaped, curved table. It looked almost like part of a large barrel. One of the men pushed her back against the curved surface while the other began strapping her arms and legs in place. Then a third bailiff, a woman, stepped forward with a large, strange-looking flashlight.

The flashlight was actually a laser branding device. The woman pressed it against Vicki's pubic mound a few inches above her slit. Suddenly an excruciating pain flashed through Vicki's body.

"That's one," said the woman as Vicki screamed.

She then moved the device so that it was pressed against Vicki's skin just above her left breast. The woman pushed a button on the side of the device and once again excruciating pain flashed through Vicki's body. It was there and then it was gone, but that quick flash of pain was enough to cause Vicki to scream and, this time, to lose control of her bladder. She sobbed in pain and shame as her piss puddled under her.

The two bailiffs released her from the restraints and helped her to her feet. They moved her back to the other section of the platform where the judge stood waiting. As she approached she could see that, for some reason, there was a large mirror next to the judge.

The purpose of the mirror became evident when the judge spoke. "Vicki LeClaire is no more," he said solemnly pointing towards the mirror.

His words were true. The figure looking back at her from the mirror was not Vicki. "From now until your sentence is complete," the judge continued, "you are slave missy, also known as prisoner PS382563."

Slave missy looked at her reflection in the mirror. Reading the mirror image, she could see that just above her cunt it said "Penal Slave 382563." Above her left breast it read, "Slave Missy."

William was standing beside her. "The worst is over for today," he said.

She looked at him with tears flowing from her eyes. She reached up with her right hand and lightly stroked the brand that proclaimed her to be slave missy.

"I used some of my commission to buy the naming rights," he said softly. "It could have been something really terrible. Or if no one met the price, your default name would have been slutslave563. I thought you deserved more than that."

Vicki... missy, gave him a crooked smile that said she understood. She then looked around trying to figure out what else was awaiting her on her day of repentance.

"Lower the cage," one of the bailiffs cried out as he and two other bailiffs began moving people away from the center of the platform.

Missy looked up. A mechanism of some sort had been attached to the roof of the store. It looked like the winches that the window washers used to raise and lower their platform, but there was only one cable. And hanging at the bottom of that cable was a cage.

"You are to hang for one half hour at each floor level," the bailiff announced. "Then you will hang just above the street until the sun has set." He then took her by the arm and moved her into the cage.

The cage itself was circular, about three feet in diameter, and a little over six feet tall. Missy could stand in the cage, but couldn't sit or kneel or otherwise rest. She grabbed hold of the bars as the cage rapidly began to rise up into the air.

She screamed all the way up as the cage swung wildly like a pendulum. When it reached the fourteenth floor, it stop rising, but still continued to swing wildly for several more minutes. When the cage finally stopped, missy could see that she was just outside the executive board room. There appeared to be a party going on. One of the men suddenly pointed out the window and everyone gathered to look at her.

One of the women raised her glass of champagne as if offering a toast. The rest of the room matched her action. Then someone taped a large piece of paper to the window. Written in large black letters were the words, "You're Fired!" The person who had taped the paper to the window raised his glass toward the cage one final time, then laughed and closed the curtains.

Missy started to cry. The closing of the curtain did something to her that nothing else had done. It made her feel insignificant. People staring at her as her clothing was cut from her body was embarrassing. Being paraded through the town totally naked was humiliating. Being branded was torture. But through all that she was still a person. People were paying attention to her. She was still a part of their world.

The people in the streets below wondered what had caused the long, anguished scream they heard from the cage. As the curtain closed, missy was forced to accept that she was now nothing. She meant nothing to anyone. She was a slave... not even a person. She was a nothing hanging outside a closed window. As she screamed, her hands gripped the bars of the cage. Her head slowly sank down to rest against her arms. She was crying heavily... uncontrollably. Her body slid down so that it was partially crumpled with her ass against one side of the cage and her knees against the opposite side.

At the end of the half hour the cage began to move downward. The movement startled slave missy, but at least it didn't start to swing.

The thirteenth floor was a mechanical floor, so the only personnel on that floor were maintenance workers and cleaning crews. Four maintenance men were watching through a window. The next window over was a break room. It looked like the entire cleaning staff was gathered watching. There was no evidence of a party in either room. And no one was laughing as they watched her. The top floor could laugh at her and close the curtains on her and forget her, but these people were the bottom rung of the employees. Not as much separated them from the naked woman who hung outside their window. They stared silently at missy for the entire thirty minutes she hung outside the thirteenth floor.

The reaction on the remaining floors was somewhere between the extremes of the upper floors. Two differences were at the ninth floor and the fifth floor. The ninth floor was the accounting floor where Vicki, now slave missy, had once worked. Everyone on the floor glanced up, but none of the men and women from accounting could bring themselves to come over to the window. They knew that Vicki wasn't really a terrorist. All of them were thinking how easily it could be them hanging in that cage if they had accidentally introduced a virus into the computer system.

The fifth floor was the designer dress floor. Samantha and her sales people were waiting at the window when missy was lowered to their floor. They also raised a toast to her, but their drinks appeared to be soft drinks in plastic cups.

Missy remembered Samantha's comment about what might have been. Pulling herself up and standing straight, she smiled at the faces in the window. Then she reached down and cupped her own sex, sliding her fingers deep within. She smiled at the shocked faces, except for Samantha who continued to smile at her. Missy lifted her glistening hand up to her mouth and blew across it, as if blowing a kiss. Samantha grabbed the blown pussy out of the air and held her hand under her own nose. She inhaled deeply and smiled back at slave missy. Neither of them was aware of what else happened for the rest of the half hour as they gazed into each other's eyes. As the cage began to descend once again, Samantha mouthed clearly, "Life is full of lost opportunities."

It was late afternoon by the time the cage finally stopped just below the first floor. Crowds gathered beneath her. Many were taking pictures with their phones. A few professionals in the crowd were using quality cameras with long lenses. Missy tried to turn herself so they couldn't zoom in on her nakedness, but turning away from one photographer merely turned her toward another. Finally she gave up and stood passively as the cage itself slowly rotated back and forth on its cable, displaying her to the entire crowd.

As the sun began to set, the two bailiffs who had been with her on the platform began moving the crowd back. The caisson wagon was brought in so that the top of the ammunition box was directly beneath her. A few moments later, the cage again descended until it came to rest on the top of the caisson box itself. The bailiffs slipped some cargo ratchet straps through the bars and under the caisson box and locked it in place. Then one of the bailiffs climbed onto the caisson and reached above the cage to release the cable.

The driver climbed into the wagon seat and gathered up the reins which controlled the four horses pulling the caisson. With a loud "Hee-a-yup" he urged the horses to their task and they clip-clopped back up the path which missy had walked that morning. Their pace was significantly faster than it had been with missy walking behind them.

When they arrived at the jail, they didn't go into the indoor prisoner transfer area. Instead the horse-drawn caisson was pulled up to the loading dock at the back of the jail. A winch arrangement on the docks was used to lift the cage and set it back down on a warehouse pallet. Then one of the bailiffs used a pallet jack to roll missy back to her cell.

When they arrived at her cell, the bailiff said, "Stick your foot through the bars."

Vicki did and the bailiff unlocked one of the shackles.

"Other foot," he said and the other shackle was removed. The procedure was repeated with each arm. Then the bailiff pulled on the neck chain as he said, "Back against the bars."