As Dakota stood in front of the thick, heavy door, her mouth was dry and her palms
grew sweaty and cold. She stared at it, as if she could somehow see through, get a sense
of what was going to happen on the other side, but it rejected her stare coldly.
Finally, the door opened a bit, and the stern-looking female guard looked out the
door.
“Next! C’mon, we don’t have all day.”
Dakota took a deep breath, and walked in, trying to summon all of her confidence.
Somehow she expected to face someone older, more authoritative. Instead, behind a classic
wooden desk in the oak-lined office sat a young man, perhaps two or three years younger
than Dakota. Behind him stood a teenage boy, an intern holding a few files. In addition to
the female guard who let her in, there was another guard, a plump Latino man.
There was another door in the back of the room, behind the man in the desk. There
also was a rolling laundry hamper, with cloth sides. It was full of clothes, and for a
moment, Dakota didn’t understand what it was doing there. Then she noticed that at the top
of the pile of laundry was the flowered dress that the college girl in front of her had
been wearing. On top of the dress lay her shoes, and a pair of underwear and a bra, which
she must have had on. Her heart began racing faster as she thought she saw the clothes
belonging to several other women in the basket.
The man at the desk was not looking at her. He was filling out papers on his desk,
bringing down a heavy stamp on them every now and then.
Dakota cleared her throat.
“Um, my name is Dakota England and I was told to...”
The female guard interrupted her.
“Did he ask you a question?” she yelled.
“N-no...”
“Well, this is how it works from now on. Someone asks you a question, you answer it,
fast. If no one asks you a question, you shut up and wait until someone does. Got it?”
Dakota nodded, terrified. She didn’t know what else to do, so she just stood there.
She crossed one arm across her body and held the other arm, her purse resting from her
dangling hand. She felt as if a spotlight was on her, because everyone in the room except
the man at the desk was looking at her. She tried to look at the ground, as if nothing was
happening.
Finally, he looked up, but he did not look at Dakota. He handed the intern some
paperwork.
“Here’s the papers for 03B5568,” he said. “Make sure they mark her properly. And
check her with her number again; the stupid twats always forget a few times. Make sure she
gets five if she doesn’t know it.”
The intern nodded, and ran out the back door. From the briefly open door, Dakota
heard disturbing noises: metal clanking together, a frightening buzz, and possibly the
sound of a woman crying in pain.
“Now,” said the man at the desk, pulling out a new file, “what do we have here?
Dakota England, 26, works as an ad salesperson, grew up in – ooh, East Hampton, a rich
bitch. But not anymore, looks like the family business went under. Went to Barnard,
English major...what do you think, Candace?”
He looked over his shoulder to the female guard, and she spoke.
“Well, face is okay, Ricky. Little pale round girl-next-door face. I bet she turns
into a lobster if she’s out in the sun more than five minutes. Nice curvy little ass, from
what I can tell of it so far. Tits aren’t huge, but you could do something with it.”
Ricky laughed.
“I swear to God, I have never met a dyke so into watermelons as you are. I think they
have promise, if they keep their shape with the bra off. Nice little white peaches, a
perfect handful.”
Dakota blushed from head to foot. How dare they talk about her like that? But
Candace’s warning intimidated her, and she kept her mouth shut.
“Okay, Dakota,” said Ricky. “I’m going to ask you some routine questions, then we’re
going to get on with business. Of course we both know the answers to these questions, but
we have to be precise. Now, first of all, I show that you owe...eighty grand in student
loans, and fifteen thousand more on credit cards?”
At least now Dakota knew what she was here about.
“Yes, I ran into some trouble after I got out of school. It took me awhile to get a
decent job, but now...”
“Did that sound like an essay question?” yelled Candace? “Answer yes or no. It’s not
rocket science.”
“I...I...yes.”
“And I show, let’s see, eight or nine missed payments in the last year or so, and
more late payments than I can count on here. So I assume you can’t pay off $95,000 in the
next few days or so?”
“Please, Mr., um, Ricky, if you just give me a few weeks I can start making
regular...”
“YES...OR...NO!” yelled Candace. “Are you deaf? Can you pay the money or not?”
“I...well...I...no, not right now.”
“What a surprise,” murmured Ricky, as he wrote something on the paper.
Everyone in the room chuckled except for Dakota. How could they find this funny? she
wondered.
“Alright then,” said Ricky, speaking in the bored tone of a person reading a script
he’d read a thousand times. “Dakota England, according to the Creditors’ Protection Act of
last year, you have proved yourself incapable of managing your personal responsibility.
Under that law, I am revoking your freedom and identity permanently, and remanding all
responsibility for you to the Creditor’s Protection Bureau...”
“No!” cried Dakota. “Please, don’t do this. I swear with a little time I can pay
off...:”
With that, Candace came marching around the desk, pulling out a long braided leather
crop, about two inches wide with a small leather strap hanging off the end. She held it in
front of Dakota’s face as she screamed at her.
“One...more...fucking...word out of you and I will whip you until your top layer of
skin comes off. If you think I am fucking around, just open your mouth and try it. Now,
are you going to shut the fuck up and listen to your statement of repossession, or are you
going to have to do it hanging upside down as black and blue as a licorice blueberry
sundae?”
Dakota closed her mouth, as tears began pouring down her face. They couldn’t do that,
could they? They couldn’t whip her, beat her. But she dare not find out.
“Ahem,” continued Ricky, as if nothing had happened, “as I was saying, remanding all
responsibility to the Creditor’s Protection Bureau, which will train you to serve and
auction you and your possessions to pay for whatever part of the debt you owe.”
Dakota began shaking her head, too frightened to speak. This could not be happening,
she thought, trembling all over. This must be a mistake. What did they mean, revoke her
freedom and identity?
In the next sentence, Ricky made clear exactly what that meant.
“According to the law, the woman named Dakota England is now legally deceased,” he
said, and with the statement he brought down a heavy stamp on her file, which made a sound
that struck Dakota to her soul. “A death certificate will be filed with the coroner’s
office, and family and friends can schedule a service. Consequently, you will no longer be
referred to by the name Dakota England. During your training, you will be referred to by
your file number, TA1983. Do not make the mistake of considering that your name. As a
slave in training, you technically have none. The person who purchases you may give you a
name, or they may not, depending on what makes them happy. It’s important that you
remember your file number. Can you please repeat it back for me?”
At being asked a question, the girl who was once known as Dakota was jolted out of
the daze she had entered.
“My, um, the number? It was, um, T...A... um, I don’t know. I forgot.”
“Right. Candace, it’s a first-time, so put her down for three strokes with the crop
later when we have time for forgetting.”
“Wait!” cried Dakota. “Don’t hurt me please. I didn’t know I had to...”
“Make it two more for talking out of turn, for five total, Candace. Now, girl, are
you going to shut up and learn your file number or do we have to make Candace’s arm more
tired than it already is?”
The new-born slave trembled all over. She had never in her life been hit, barring a
light slap from a girl she was arguing with in high school. The thought of being struck
with the crop was the most degrading thing she could think of. But, she realized, if she
argued any more, it would just get worse.
“I...I’m sorry. Please, I won’t cause any more trouble.”
“The better way to put that is, ‘Yes, sir, I will obey.’ Every free person you speak
to from now on will be called ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am,’ is that clear?”
“Y-yes, yes sir. I will obey.”
“That’s a step in the right direction,” said Ricky. “Now, repeat after me.
T...A...1...9...8...3.”
Dakota repeated each number after him, and he had her state it again several times
after that.
“Better,” he said. “Now, if you want some advice, the best thing you could do right
now is forget everything else you ever learned in your life and remember that number.
Because that’s the only thing that matters to you next time. The next time you don’t know
it it’s going to be ten strokes, and then it just gets worse. Clear?”
“Yes sir. Yes, I swear I will remember it from now on, sir.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to need that purse you’re carrying, cunt.”
Hearing the word, Dakota’s gut clenched like it had taken a body blow. What was worse
was the realization that he was not using it as an insult, but simply a description.
That’s what I am now, she thought. A cunt, someone else’s cunt. Her hands trembled as she
put the purse on her desk.
Ricky casually dumped the purse out on his desk, all her change and detritus of
Dakota’s life spilling all over the glass. He and Candace began sorting through her
belongings casually.
“Hmm, Mentos,” he said. “I would’ve guessed you were a Wrigley’s Spearmint girl.
Let’s see, what’s in the wallet...17 dollars, plus about 387 cents in here, by my
reckoning. I guess we can give this to the creditors, huh?”
A chuckle ran through the room.
“Ah, birth control pills. That’s convenient. Don’t worry, we’ll give you a shot for
that. Unless your master wants you to have a kid, of course. Address book, uncapped thumb
drive, pens, cell phone...no tampon. When’s your period usually come?”
Dakota’s cheeks reddened.
“In about two weeks,” she said, then remembered what she was supposed to say after a
few seconds. “Two weeks, sir.”
Ricky held up her keys.
“Which one opens the house you live in?”
“The- the round silver one. The square gold one is the downstairs. Sir.”
“Any roommates?”
“I’m, um...”
“Oh, God, these ones are the worst,” said Ricky with a roll of his eyes after she was
unable to finish the sentence. “Come on, spit it out.”
“I live with my...my fiancé. I’m engaged to, um, to be married in three weeks.”
Ricky sighed and leaned back with his eyes closed.
“These cunts are the dumbest...” he began, then opened his eyes and looked at her.
“You’re not engaged. Dakota England was engaged, and she’s dead, remember? Her fiancé will
be informed of what happened to her. Don’t worry about him. I’m sure he’ll find someone
else.”
She felt herself spinning in place, as her life as she knew it was ripped away.
Surely Daniel would not let this happen to her. But she had brought great embarrassment on
him, having his fiancée repossessed like that. Even if he could afford to save her, she
doubted he would.
Ricky sighed.
“Now for the part they always hate,” he said. “As I told you before, you must forfeit
all possessions that belonged to Dakota England.”
The slavegirl looked at him blankly. What more could he take from her?
“But sir, I gave you my...”
“Your clothes, cunt. In the hamper there. Put the earrings and the watch on top,
Candace will collect those.”
The girl who still thought of herself as Dakota looked around desperately for a door
to a changing room.
“You want me to...here? Now?”
Ricky threw both hands up.
“You still don’t understand your situation, do you? You think a fuck slave gets a
changing room? That little slit you’re hiding from us is as much our property as the
panties over it. Now hurry up and get naked, because I’ve got seven more cunts to
repossess and we all want to be out of here by five.”
The chattel’s knees shook, and it was all she could do to stay standing. As he spoke,
new rivers of tears had begun down her cheeks, and as she nodded understanding they
dripped on the shirt she would not long be wearing.
She started with her shoes because she could handle that. As she scooted her shoes
off, she tried to forget she’d be taking everything else off afterward. She remembered
buying the calf-high boots four months ago when she got a raise at work for her ad sales.
The pride she had had then burned like a hole in her now, as she dropped the shoes in the
hamper. As she began taking off her other clothes, the memory of how she’d acquired each
flashed painfully through her mind, torturing her with the free life she’d once had.
Determined to take as long as possible before revealing anything, she scooted her
skirt up and began rolling down her thigh-high stockings. Her long white thigh was
revealed to the room, as she remembered she’d bought these last summer when the pantyhose
she’d been wearing had become too hot.
She took a deep breath, and unzipped the side of her black skirt, scooting it down
her legs to puddle on the floor. She had gotten that one as a birthday present from
Daniel, and thinking of him sent a new spear of agony through her. He would know, she
thought. She wished he wouldn’t know what was happening to her, that he’d think she died
or disappeared or something. What would he think?
She began unbuttoning the top – a thrift-store special that had somehow fit her as if
it was made for her. She remembered gigglingly purchasing it with her friend Carol. But
the image of that young woman in the thrift-store mirror by the dressing rooms seemed so
far away now.
For some reason, she was wearing a bra and panties set she had bought three years
ago, and rarely wore. She had bought that for Tommy, for one of their special nights
together. He hadn’t shown up that night, having gone home with some other girl after a
gig. But she’d worn it the next time. For a moment, the remembrance of how she had
seductively shed the underwear willingly for him took her far away.
“Let’s go!” shouted Candace, reminding the slave that she’d now have to shed them
under different circumstances, revealing herself as property, not a lover.
In her rush to obey, the slave fumbled with the bra clasp for a few seconds, finally
lowering the bra from her shoulders and exposing her round white breasts to the cool air,
which brought her pert little pink nipples to attention. She reached over and dropped the
bra in the hamper.
She looked down her nearly-naked figure to the lace-filigreed purple panties, the
last remnants of the free woman she had been less than half an hour ago. She lowered them
slowly, though not so slowly as to bring down the wrath of Candace. As she stepped out,
brought them to the hamper and dropped them in, she said goodbye in her mind to Dakota
England, the woman she had been.
TA1983 is what I am now, she thought, spinning the number around in her mind, trying
to become what it made her.
“Christ,” said Ricky, “could that have taken any longer? Okay, Candace, she’s down
for five, so let’s get those out of the way right now.”
TA1983 was slammed back into the moment, as she realized she was going to be beaten
here and now. Her body went into fight-or-flight mode seeing Candace coming around the
desk with the crop ready. There was nowhere she could go, and she could not resist the
much larger woman who tapped the crop against her hand.
“The standard position for receiving a cropping,” said Ricky, “is with your eyes
closed, and your hands pushed tight over your ears. This way you will not hear or see the
crop coming down and not be able to resist it.”
Terror filled TA1983. How could they ask her to stand like that, helpless, waiting to
be struck? But what other choice did she have? As Candace stood before her, she put her
hands over her ears then closed her eyes. Only five strokes, she thought. Just be strong
and get through them.
Suddenly, a snake of fire came alive across her ribcage, right under her breasts. She
had not expected to be struck there, and as she screamed, her body instinctively fell to
the ground in a protective, fetal posture, while she tried to shield herself from further
blows.
“Please,” she cried, “please no more. I can’t take another one.”
“Stupid slut,” snarled Candace. “Let’s string her up.”
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