Cassia Pays her Debts

The cold stone floor bit into Cassia’s bare knees through the thin linen of her sleeping shift. She had been dragged from her dormitory bed only an hour ago, rough hands hauling her from tangled sheets, the sleepy confusion of dawn still clinging to her mind, and now she knelt before the raised dais of a Maidenhead magistrate, her wrists bound with iron shackles that chafed against her olive skin.

The courtroom was moderately sized, its tall windows casting long shadows across walls lined with legal scrolls. It smelled of old parchment and despair. A single bronze brazier in the corner did little to dispel the morning chill that crept through Cassia’s thin shift, raising goosebumps along her arms.

She was terrified.

Her eyes darted from the impassive guards flanking the door to the severe-faced futa on the bench above her. The judge was an alpha, Cassia could feel it in the weight of her gaze, in the way her presence pressed down like a physical thing. Her robes were trimmed with purple, marking her as a magistrate of considerable rank.

“Cassia Longwood,” the magistrate intoned, her voice carrying the flat authority of someone who had read a thousand such verdicts. “You have been brought before this court to answer for debts incurred in your name. The sum totaling over one-hundred Denarii.”

Cassia’s stomach dropped. “That’s- that’s-,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I was planning on paying it all back, I swear! This is all just a big mistake.”

“The mistake,” the judge replied coolly, unrolling a parchment with a sharp crack, “was signing your name to a series of credit loan slips at various establishments. The terms were standard, your body and will as collateral against the line of credit extended. Did you think that you could get away with not paying it back?”

“I didn’t read them before signing,” Cassia paled.

The judge continued on. “The debtors have invoked their right to seize collateral. As you are only an Unus, possessing no beta's of your own, you will be evaluated and sold via **** contract in order to satisfy the outstanding balance.”

Cassia started hyperventilating.

“No.” Cassia shook her head, her blonde hair falling across her face. “No, you can’t-”

“The length of your contract will be dependent on your evaluation, with a minimum term set at one month,” the judge said, speaking over her. “During which time you will be the property of whomever purchases your indenture at auction. All proceeds earned from your contract will go toward your debtors. Any excess will be donated to the city of Maidenhead.”

“My mothers,” Cassia said desperately, the words tumbling out in a rush. “My sire mother is Senator Demetria Longwood. She’s a Quintis. She can pay. Just let me send word to her, let me-”

“If your parents wish to pay for you,” the judge interrupted, her voice hardening, “they may do so at the **** market like any other bidder. Debtor’s right's are absolute under Republic law. You are no longer a citizen, Cassia Longwood. You are chattel.”

The word hit Cassia like a physical blow. Chattel. She had heard it used in her mother’s reform speeches, had seen it written in legal briefs about the plight of indebted citizens. She had never imagined it would be applied to her.

“Please,” she whispered, and she hated how small her voice sounded, how her lower lip trembled. “Please, there has to be another way.”

The judge looked down at her for a long moment. Then she sighed, reached for a leather collar that lay on the bench beside her, and held it up for the room to see.

It was a simple thing, black leather, two inches wide, with a small bronze plate riveted to the front. The plate bore a **** registration number, 'DXVII'.

“By the authority vested in this court,” the judge declared, “I hereby order **** 517, formerly known as Cassia Longwood, to be stripped and collared in preparation for transport to the **** market.”

Cassia’s heart pounded. “No- no, please, I'm begging you. Please-”

Two guards moved forward. One was a thick-shouldered alpha with a scar running down her cheek, the other was younger, her expression indifferent. They flanked Cassia, and the scarred one reached down and grabbed the hem of her sleeping shift.

“Please,” Cassia pleaded pathetically.

“Hold still,” the guard said, not unkindly. “Makes it worse if you fight.”

She didn’t fight. She couldn’t. Some cold, distant part of her recognized the futility. Instead she squeezed her eyes shut as the shift was lifted over her head.

The air hit her bare flesh like a slap. Her breasts, her flat stomach, her Unus cock, all of it exposed to the courtroom, to the eyes of the judge and the guards and the court scribe who had stopped writing to stare.

Cassia felt heat flood her cheeks. Her cock stirred against her thigh. She could feel her pussy responding too, the slick, humiliating wetness that came from her degradation. She prayed no one could see.

“Collar her,” the judge ordered.

The younger guard gripped Cassia’s shoulder and **** her to pivot, presenting her back to the bench. The scarred guard took the collar from the judge’s hand.

Cassia felt the leather touch her throat, the guard wrapping it around, pulling it tight, locking the buckle with a soft click.

The sound was final.

“It is done,” the judge said. “Rise, ****.”

Cassia opened her eyes. She was crying. She hadn’t noticed when that started. Tears slid down her cheeks, dripping onto her bare chest as she struggled to her feet, her shackled hands making balance difficult.

My will. My body. My choice.

The mantra rose unbidden in her mind, but it felt useless now. Her will was no longer her own. Her body was no longer her own. And the choice had been taken from her because she hadn't read the fine print.

“Take her to the **** market,” the judge said, already turning to the next parchment on her bench.