Indentured: Part I
Posted: Sun May 10, 2009 5:09 pm
This is the first part of a very long story I began writing a year or two ago, and have been editing (procrastinating over) ever since. Feedback/comments are greatly appreciated.
----
I never had much success with women. I was just too shy and retiring, and girls were just so intimidating. So I never really gave it a shot. And I grew more and more depressed. Finally, I told myself that things needed to change, and I began to listen to self-help tapes.
Self help tapes, psychology books, pick-up advice – I was an omnivorous reader, and what I learned I slowly put into practice. My initial forays were too embarrassing to recount here, but eventually, through extensive, rigorous experiments picking up women, I began to achieve some degree of success. It was a tremendous high - a psychological affirmation - and it only encouraged me to redouble my efforts.
Eventually, I found that I could effortlessly pick up any woman I wanted. No, I didn't sleep with them, but I certainly could have. There were two reasons for this decision. First, I guess I still felt a little intimidated – sexually. Smooching was one thing, but actual sex had an air of mystery to me. And call me a sucker, but I wanted my first time with a real woman to be with someone special. After that first time... well, let's just say I was less sentimental.
There were a lot of near misses, and as I grew more and more disenchanted with spending some time with my hand each night, I guess that maybe I let my standards slip. But I always returned to my senses before making what I regarded as a huge mistake.
I usually knew at the time, that I was spending time with forgettable women, too. So when I finally saw the cute, charming girl I knew was the one for me, it was as if she had an aura around her. She was a gorgeous brunette, playful, exuberant. I noticed her immediately after I entered the bar that night. She was sharing a joke with the bartender (by now an old friend of mine), and I was captivated by her glowing, happy-go-lucky smile. I had to have her, so I immediately walked across the room and sat next to her, saying hello to Sam, the bartender. The trick to picking up women is confidence, rehearsal, and being different from every other guy.
There was some brief small talk, but we soon discovered commonalities and were deep in conversation. It was much less effort than I’d experienced trying to pick up women in the past, and I really felt as though I had a deep connection with her.
We spent nearly two hours talking as the other patrons slowly filtered out of the bar, and I grew more and more entranced with her – and I had the sense that she felt the same way about me. More than a few times, I got lost in her twinkling eyes, or nearly hypnotized by her smile, and conversation would lapse. Then she’d grin and tilt her head, looking away in the most captivating way possible. She really was adorable. During such times, I’ll admit that I checked out her body, usually staring at her perfectly proportioned boobs. Hey, I was a guy in my early twenties, what do you expect?
By the end of the evening, we were old friends, and we ended up at her place. It felt completely natural as we began to make out, and things quickly got hotter and hotter. I of course really wanted to – let’s put this as bluntly as possible – fuck her, but she demurred. I begged a bit, but I was so entranced that eventually I agreed that maybe we should wait. So we just fell asleep cuddling in the bed.
----
As you might know, the laws on rape have recently become much more strict; even worse, there are enough technicalities it would probably take full law firm to understand them. They also place a great burden on men. Even if both parties are totally drunk, and the sex is consensual, women can usually get away with pressing charges, and the punishments are quite harsh. These situations had appeared in the news a few times, and individual cases were overturned, but evidently no one considered it important enough to take legal action over. This is supposed to compensate for the "natural physical weakness" of women. The feminists pressed for this, but frankly it seemed like a step back from feminist ideals to me. I think they just wanted a way to have a simple legal advantage over men.
The penalties have grown more and more strict, this vague sort of rape was now grouped in with murder and manslaughter as some of the most serious charges, so you can understand their severity. Basically, criminals are sold off as slaves to serve their sentences. There was a lot of commotion in the late 2070s about this, but for the most part, people were apathetic. The most vehement objects were actually from free-market libertarians, who considered the practices to be anticapitalist. Most people had the attitude that the innocent had nothing to fear. After all, if they didn't commit crimes, what did they care?
Of course, as any good historian would recognize, this was driven by an economic imperative. Namely, that the great nation of China has a criminal workforce that provides cheap labor, America had to catch up, and her cheap labor did little more than manufacture license plates. So those convicted and deemed "impossible to reform" were sent to prison labor. It was a great victory for nationalism and corporatism over freedom and capitalism. Their services were sold to the highest bidder, and the state got a great new source of revenue. Even better, the government didn’t have to spend money on prisons.
By now you can guess what happened to me. I woke to find a cop standing over me; I was abruptly hauled into prison to face charges of rape. My court-appointed lawyer showed up in court so drunk he could barely stand. He only embarrassed himself; he ruined my life. He didn’t even bring up the question of why a rapist would spend the night in the same house the crime occurred in, or why there was no DNA evidence.
As soon as the jury voted to convict, I was shuttled over to the auction house, a hasty expansion of the courthouse, where I was to be sold off for my period of servitude. The events happened with incomprehensible rapidity. One minute, I thought I had found someone to lose my virginity with. The next, I'm being sold off, betrayed.
At these auctions, there are always bidders hanging around to make purchases for big corporations. Usually some wealthy private individuals will show up, looking to hire help around the house, or in a small business.
What happens is you’re rushed onto a platform in front of everyone. Usually males are stripped down to an uncomfortable pair of black boxers, so that everyone can get a sense of your build. I think women were afforded a little more privacy, but I don’t really know. The point of this is to show whether you’re suited for manual labor. No one wants “deficient” workers. Then you’re given a brief “mental aptitude” test, to demonstrate whether you may be better suited for white-collar slavery. The government really tried to keep things formal, but the crowd at these things usually knows each other, and there’s a certain air of cordiality.
The problem with the system is that the big corporations have a certain limit, above which it doesn't make sense to buy their slaves. This is because they could hire minimum-wage workers, who would effectively be cheaper, because they didn’t have to be housed or fed – and the company could present a better public face. For me, that limit appeared to be $5,000. After that bidding slowed almost immediately. At 5,100 I appeared to be sold, but at the last minute, there was a bid from some woman in the corner who I hadn't paid much attention to. I was sold for $5150. Christ, I thought, the next ten years of my life had a dollar sign attached to them, and I wasn't flattered by it. I cost as much as a teenager's first car.
As I was handcuffed, hobbled and shuffled over to my owner by a sullen, burly policeman. My heart was pounding in my throat as I met my new owner. To my surprise, the young woman who appeared was the exact same girl I had "raped" the previous night. The whole thing was a sham to force me into private slavery! What a crock the justice system had become! I was absolutely enraged, but I had to keep pent-up inside me. No misbehavior by the “indentured” was permitted in the courthouse, or their sentence could be extended.
Without comment, the girl fastened a tight leather collar to my neck with a padlock, and then we walked over to where a chip was implanted in my thigh, which would track me in event of escape. The technician advised me that it was programmed to "Terminate with extreme prejudice," by sending a fatal electrical jolt straight to the brain. It was enough to scare me into obedience.
As we left the courthouse, a limousine pulled up, and a different girl opened the door. We all got in, the girl signaling that I was to sit on the floor of the limousine.
How could you do this to me? I asked her.
She shrugged and looked at the other girl. “That was so much easier than I thought.”
“You did a great job last night, Miranda, you had me convinced you cared,” the other girl replied. “Even I would have wanted to fuck you.”
They giggled, and I really began to worry. I couldn’t figure it out, but there was an undercurrent to this conversation that I couldn’t quite understand. I resolved to wait before I reacted to anything, and be as accepting as possible. I wanted to figure out the dynamic here. Besides, I figured, spending time with these goddesses would be much better than mindlessly stamping out cheap plastic toys on an assembly line. I smiled to myself. Maybe I would even get laid. At least, that’s what I could hope.
I sat on the floor of the car, lost in my thoughts, while the girls continued to talk. After about half an hour, we pulled up to a really large house – maybe even a mansion. The place seemed incongruously empty as I was led up to the bedroom, where we fell asleep cuddling, the same as the night before. I wasn’t even bothered by the heavy leather collar I wore, as Miranda pressed her lithe body against mine. Wow, I thought, maybe this is really my lucky break.
----
I never had much success with women. I was just too shy and retiring, and girls were just so intimidating. So I never really gave it a shot. And I grew more and more depressed. Finally, I told myself that things needed to change, and I began to listen to self-help tapes.
Self help tapes, psychology books, pick-up advice – I was an omnivorous reader, and what I learned I slowly put into practice. My initial forays were too embarrassing to recount here, but eventually, through extensive, rigorous experiments picking up women, I began to achieve some degree of success. It was a tremendous high - a psychological affirmation - and it only encouraged me to redouble my efforts.
Eventually, I found that I could effortlessly pick up any woman I wanted. No, I didn't sleep with them, but I certainly could have. There were two reasons for this decision. First, I guess I still felt a little intimidated – sexually. Smooching was one thing, but actual sex had an air of mystery to me. And call me a sucker, but I wanted my first time with a real woman to be with someone special. After that first time... well, let's just say I was less sentimental.
There were a lot of near misses, and as I grew more and more disenchanted with spending some time with my hand each night, I guess that maybe I let my standards slip. But I always returned to my senses before making what I regarded as a huge mistake.
I usually knew at the time, that I was spending time with forgettable women, too. So when I finally saw the cute, charming girl I knew was the one for me, it was as if she had an aura around her. She was a gorgeous brunette, playful, exuberant. I noticed her immediately after I entered the bar that night. She was sharing a joke with the bartender (by now an old friend of mine), and I was captivated by her glowing, happy-go-lucky smile. I had to have her, so I immediately walked across the room and sat next to her, saying hello to Sam, the bartender. The trick to picking up women is confidence, rehearsal, and being different from every other guy.
There was some brief small talk, but we soon discovered commonalities and were deep in conversation. It was much less effort than I’d experienced trying to pick up women in the past, and I really felt as though I had a deep connection with her.
We spent nearly two hours talking as the other patrons slowly filtered out of the bar, and I grew more and more entranced with her – and I had the sense that she felt the same way about me. More than a few times, I got lost in her twinkling eyes, or nearly hypnotized by her smile, and conversation would lapse. Then she’d grin and tilt her head, looking away in the most captivating way possible. She really was adorable. During such times, I’ll admit that I checked out her body, usually staring at her perfectly proportioned boobs. Hey, I was a guy in my early twenties, what do you expect?
By the end of the evening, we were old friends, and we ended up at her place. It felt completely natural as we began to make out, and things quickly got hotter and hotter. I of course really wanted to – let’s put this as bluntly as possible – fuck her, but she demurred. I begged a bit, but I was so entranced that eventually I agreed that maybe we should wait. So we just fell asleep cuddling in the bed.
----
As you might know, the laws on rape have recently become much more strict; even worse, there are enough technicalities it would probably take full law firm to understand them. They also place a great burden on men. Even if both parties are totally drunk, and the sex is consensual, women can usually get away with pressing charges, and the punishments are quite harsh. These situations had appeared in the news a few times, and individual cases were overturned, but evidently no one considered it important enough to take legal action over. This is supposed to compensate for the "natural physical weakness" of women. The feminists pressed for this, but frankly it seemed like a step back from feminist ideals to me. I think they just wanted a way to have a simple legal advantage over men.
The penalties have grown more and more strict, this vague sort of rape was now grouped in with murder and manslaughter as some of the most serious charges, so you can understand their severity. Basically, criminals are sold off as slaves to serve their sentences. There was a lot of commotion in the late 2070s about this, but for the most part, people were apathetic. The most vehement objects were actually from free-market libertarians, who considered the practices to be anticapitalist. Most people had the attitude that the innocent had nothing to fear. After all, if they didn't commit crimes, what did they care?
Of course, as any good historian would recognize, this was driven by an economic imperative. Namely, that the great nation of China has a criminal workforce that provides cheap labor, America had to catch up, and her cheap labor did little more than manufacture license plates. So those convicted and deemed "impossible to reform" were sent to prison labor. It was a great victory for nationalism and corporatism over freedom and capitalism. Their services were sold to the highest bidder, and the state got a great new source of revenue. Even better, the government didn’t have to spend money on prisons.
By now you can guess what happened to me. I woke to find a cop standing over me; I was abruptly hauled into prison to face charges of rape. My court-appointed lawyer showed up in court so drunk he could barely stand. He only embarrassed himself; he ruined my life. He didn’t even bring up the question of why a rapist would spend the night in the same house the crime occurred in, or why there was no DNA evidence.
As soon as the jury voted to convict, I was shuttled over to the auction house, a hasty expansion of the courthouse, where I was to be sold off for my period of servitude. The events happened with incomprehensible rapidity. One minute, I thought I had found someone to lose my virginity with. The next, I'm being sold off, betrayed.
At these auctions, there are always bidders hanging around to make purchases for big corporations. Usually some wealthy private individuals will show up, looking to hire help around the house, or in a small business.
What happens is you’re rushed onto a platform in front of everyone. Usually males are stripped down to an uncomfortable pair of black boxers, so that everyone can get a sense of your build. I think women were afforded a little more privacy, but I don’t really know. The point of this is to show whether you’re suited for manual labor. No one wants “deficient” workers. Then you’re given a brief “mental aptitude” test, to demonstrate whether you may be better suited for white-collar slavery. The government really tried to keep things formal, but the crowd at these things usually knows each other, and there’s a certain air of cordiality.
The problem with the system is that the big corporations have a certain limit, above which it doesn't make sense to buy their slaves. This is because they could hire minimum-wage workers, who would effectively be cheaper, because they didn’t have to be housed or fed – and the company could present a better public face. For me, that limit appeared to be $5,000. After that bidding slowed almost immediately. At 5,100 I appeared to be sold, but at the last minute, there was a bid from some woman in the corner who I hadn't paid much attention to. I was sold for $5150. Christ, I thought, the next ten years of my life had a dollar sign attached to them, and I wasn't flattered by it. I cost as much as a teenager's first car.
As I was handcuffed, hobbled and shuffled over to my owner by a sullen, burly policeman. My heart was pounding in my throat as I met my new owner. To my surprise, the young woman who appeared was the exact same girl I had "raped" the previous night. The whole thing was a sham to force me into private slavery! What a crock the justice system had become! I was absolutely enraged, but I had to keep pent-up inside me. No misbehavior by the “indentured” was permitted in the courthouse, or their sentence could be extended.
Without comment, the girl fastened a tight leather collar to my neck with a padlock, and then we walked over to where a chip was implanted in my thigh, which would track me in event of escape. The technician advised me that it was programmed to "Terminate with extreme prejudice," by sending a fatal electrical jolt straight to the brain. It was enough to scare me into obedience.
As we left the courthouse, a limousine pulled up, and a different girl opened the door. We all got in, the girl signaling that I was to sit on the floor of the limousine.
How could you do this to me? I asked her.
She shrugged and looked at the other girl. “That was so much easier than I thought.”
“You did a great job last night, Miranda, you had me convinced you cared,” the other girl replied. “Even I would have wanted to fuck you.”
They giggled, and I really began to worry. I couldn’t figure it out, but there was an undercurrent to this conversation that I couldn’t quite understand. I resolved to wait before I reacted to anything, and be as accepting as possible. I wanted to figure out the dynamic here. Besides, I figured, spending time with these goddesses would be much better than mindlessly stamping out cheap plastic toys on an assembly line. I smiled to myself. Maybe I would even get laid. At least, that’s what I could hope.
I sat on the floor of the car, lost in my thoughts, while the girls continued to talk. After about half an hour, we pulled up to a really large house – maybe even a mansion. The place seemed incongruously empty as I was led up to the bedroom, where we fell asleep cuddling, the same as the night before. I wasn’t even bothered by the heavy leather collar I wore, as Miranda pressed her lithe body against mine. Wow, I thought, maybe this is really my lucky break.