Government slaves

Katie returns about half an hour later. Three men in security guard uniforms follow her. I watch with trepidation as they take position behind Tracey and me.

"We have a great experience lined up for you," says Katie, "perfectly tailored to your assessment. However, it's a bit unusual. With most of our fantasies, the participants can choose to opt out at any time, via safe word or simply by asking. However, that will not be possible in this case. So...if you don't wish to progress further, you are free to leave at this time. But I warn you--you won't get another chance until everything has run its course."

"Er, what's the experience?" I ask.

Katie shakes her head. "You won't know until you agree to proceed. Those are the conditions."

"I'm game," says Tracey immediately. "What about you, babe?"

I think about it. Everything about this situation is ominous--Katie's dire warning, the guards standing behind me. On the other hand, what's the worst that could happen? A few hours of unpleasantness, then I get to rub it in Tracey's face for the rest of the week. And I really don't want to run out of here twice in the same day. "Alright, I'm in," I say.

"Very well." Katie's voice turns sharp, cold. "Then take all your clothes off."

"Come again?" asks Tracey. One of the guards slaps her across the face, hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to leave a mark.

"Don't question me, slave," says Katie. "Strip. Or have your clothes torn off. I don't really care."

Tracey and I scramble to obey. All the while, I'm aware of how public the lobby is, how many potential eyes are observing my humiliation as I unhook and drop my bra, letting my puppies slip free, or slide my thong down to my ankles. One of the guards comes up behind me once I'm fully nude, presses against my backside, lets me feel the erection barely contained beneath his pants. He pulls up my hair and slips a collar around my neck, D-ring poking out the front. Tracey is similarly attired by a second guard.

The third guard threads a metal chain through both of our D-rings, coffling us together. The end of the chain he wraps around his hand. He starts walking away, muttering, "Come along, bitches." Tracey and I have no choice but to stumble after him, the other two guards following close behind. Every normal person we pass in the lobby who stops to stare only adds to my embarrassment. I'm pretty sure they're mostly looking at me. Tracey's an attractive girl, sure, but she isn't quite as...stacked as I am. And now my substantial assets are flopping back and forth, out in the open for anyone to appreciate.

Our unusual party enters an empty stairwell, giving us a little blessed privacy. The lead guard guides us downward--one flight, two, three--until we reach the very lowest level of the building. The corridors down here are truly bleak--dimly lit, cinderblock walls covered in ancient water stains, a concrete floor that feels rough against my bare feet--like something out of a horror film. As we move along, the temperature rises. By the time we reach the door leading to our destination, the air is sweltering--low forties, I would guess--and very humid. I wonder what hell awaits us beyond the door.