Warnings: public nudity, sex between adults, judicial punishment, erotic punishment, drug use, medical fetish, language, adult themes, involuntary servitude
Chapter 01 - Santa Eduviges Island
Trish Bousquet quietly stared through the airplane window of her first-class seat at the calm Caribbean waters below. The colors she saw were truly special, unique to that part of the world... the brilliant turquoise water punctuated with ragged reefs and dotted with dark green islands. She reflected that she had been in so many places, but there was nothing like the Caribbean, with its beach resorts, diving, party scene and raves…which combined heat and luscious beauty with a hint of ever-present risk and danger. To the woman’s restless soul, the Caribbean offered so much more than the comparatively dull social scene in Europe. She always thought about going back to the tropics… always in search of new adventure.
Trish smiled as she thought about all the things in her life that she had gotten away with. She was not grateful for her narrow escapes, but instead bored thinking about the past and looking forward to new adrenaline rushes. 24 years on the planet had not taught her much common sense. She was a trust-fund heiress who had never had to deal with any responsibilities. In her private school she was considered one of the worst students, but a couple of generous donations from her trust fund manager to the institution ensured she stayed enrolled no matter what. Same thing in college...funny how a girl who doesn't go to class can still get through...with the right kind of persuasion to the right people. Then there were the DUI's. Yep...Trish had plenty of those under her belt as well...but you know...campaign contributions smooth over plenty of those problems on top of everything else. Up to that point money had made Trish Bousquet untouchable.
At that very moment Trish was having a new adventure. She may have done plenty of bizarre things in the past, but most of it paled compared to what she was doing on the plane. If she were caught, she’d face serious legal problems, and very likely a jail sentence. Inside her body she was carrying cocaine, a full kilo divided into pellets that she had swallowed before going to the airport and boarding her flight. She was doing it not because she needed to, but simply because she never said “no” to doing something crazy: never said “no” to doing something that would leave her friends gasping with amazement. As for what she was doing at that moment; two weeks earlier she made a bet with her friends in Baton Rouge that she could smuggle a kilo of cocaine into the US from a foreign location. The agreement was that she had to fly, alone, to the country of her choice, figure out the best way to smuggle the cocaine, return to the US, and then, in front of her friends, present the evidence.
So...why the cocaine? Hell...Trish could buy a kilo of cocaine, no problem. Ten kilos...maybe even 20. She was doing this dare because her spoiled life had addicted her to being outrageous. She loved putting herself into dangerous situations...the more bizarre the better. She loved it when people looked at her and said "Oh my God! Do you see what's she's doing?" So...for nothing more than bragging rights over doing something that her party friends would never dare do themselves...and for having the satisfaction of watching a room full of people get high on cocaine that she herself had delivered, Trish had decided to make the trip.
Her boyfriend's drug source was the one who set Trish up with a contact in Panama. At first she thought that she was going to carry the cocaine in a concealed suitcase, but the Panamanian told her that she'd be better off swallowing the cocaine in pellets...much less likely to get caught. When the rich girl showed a hint of reluctance the dealer noted:
"I thought you wanted to have the real drug smuggling experience. This is it muchacha: it's the way we move drugs in our organization."
So...Trish spent a couple of days in Panama City getting ready for her adventure. She practiced swallowing whole grapes and hotdog pieces until she could overcome her gagging reflex. Finally she was ready...she swallowed 90 grape-sized pellets of cocaine, all of them wrapped in bluish plastic and tightly sealed on the ends. She headed to the airport and boarded her flight, thinking how great it would be to see everyone's faces when they realized how she had brought them their coke.
Nope...24 years on the planet had not taught Trish Bousquet any common sense whatsoever.
* * *
Trish’ pleasant thoughts were interrupted when suddenly the plane jerked. Then there was a strange series of clicks. The warning lights came on. Then came a loud whooshing sound. The aircraft began rocking from side to side as the cabin filled with the frightened murmurings of the passengers.
The pilots managed to get the rocking under control after a few minutes, but everyone could see that the aircraft was losing altitude. The plane approached the ocean, then leveled off only a few hundred feet above the water. The pilot finally announced the obvious: the aircraft was having mechanical difficulties and would have to make an emergency landing.
"Folks...looks like we're cleared for an emergency landing in Santa Eduviges. We'll be touching down in about five minutes."
The sudden drop in altitude made Trish sick. A spasm of pain worked through her intestines. Unlike her fellow passengers, she was not frightened by the whooshing and strange noises coming from the plane...because she had a much more immediate problem; trying not to throw up. This was not good. Trish had been confident of making to Miami, but she knew that she could not keep the pellets down if her plane had to make an extra stop. The aching and nausea sweeping through her body made her wonder if what she was doing was really such a great idea, if taking such a risk really was worth the bragging rights she could enjoy if she made it home.
The plane hit the runway with a jolt. The pilots immediately hit the reverse thrusters. The aircraft tilted to the right and some of the passengers started screaming. Barely, but just barely, the pilots managed to correct the direction and avoid touching the wing on the ground. There was another scary jolt as the left wheels hit the pavement. There was a bounce, a distinct pop, and then, finally, all the plane’s wheels were safely on the pavement and the aircraft slowed. The screaming changed over to nervous cheering and clapping.
The pilots pulled up to a set of small buildings and a newly-built control tower. With a sigh of relief the cockpit crew announced:
"Well, folks...welcome to Santa Eduviges International Airport...and after our little adventure in the sky, quite a site she is..."
Several workers rolled staircases to the front and back doors of the plane. The pilots emerged from the cabin; trembling, pale, and drenched in sweat. That detail alone told everyone how close the plane had come to crashing. The crew nervously shook passengers' hands as they got off.
Trish fought off nausea as she descended the staircase into the intense heat of the tropical afternoon. She got a quick look at the locals, who were the mixed-Creole descendants of a succession of Spanish, French, and British settlers and their African slaves. They were dressed practically for their environment, all of the airport workers and officers, both men and women, wore light-colored uniforms with short-sleeved shirts and cargo shorts.
Among the officials there was a police woman who caught Trish's attention. She might have been a couple of years older than Trish. The police officer was darker-skinned than most of her co-workers, reflecting her mostly African ancestry. The woman was attractive, but had a no-nonsense look on her face. At first glance she seemed to have an ordinary figure, but Trish then noticed that her arms were muscular. The officer was tough-looking, definitely not one a normal person would want to get into a fight with. When the traveler noticed the officer's badge, there was a strange coincidence; the woman's nameplate read "Bousquet". Odd...it turned out that Trish and the island woman shared the same last name.
Several island cops and custom officials surrounded the passengers and guided them towards a double trailer that seemed in somewhat better shape than most of the other buildings. The officials pointed at a row of metal detectors through which everyone would have to pass before being allowed into the main part of the airport.
Trish was nervous, not because of the metal detector, but because the heat was making her sicker than ever. If she could just get through those detectors, she'd find a bathroom. The nausea had convinced her that what she was doing wasn't worth it. She'd get rid of her cocaine, go home, buy some the normal way, and make up a cover story. To hell with completing this dare...it was just stupid.
Life is extremely ironic, however. Just as Trish was starting to develop a hint of common sense and beginning to understand that not everything in this world is worth trying, her life was about to take a turn she never expected.
Chapter 02 – The holding cell
The metal detector went off when she tried to go through screening. The airport employee called over the tough-looking female officer, the one who shared Trish' last name. The island cop’s eyes scanned Trish with a strange expression; curiosity mixed with impatience and a hint of contempt.
The cop grabbed Trish by the shoulders and forced her to walk through the machine. When it beeped, Officer Bousquet ordered Trish to take off her belt and shoes. Trish went through the metal detector only to have the machine beep again. There were several attempts to pass her through the machine, each of which resulted in a beep and an order to remove an item from her body. First her jewelry, then the stud in her eyebrow. The officer patted Trish on the hips and thighs, found nothing, and sent her through again. No good, the machine still beeped.
"Unbutton your blouse."
"You will unbutton your blouse and open it."
"In the airport? No! Fuck no!"
"You will unbutton your blouse and open it. I order you."
"Fuck you! I'm not unbuttoning my fucking blouse for you!"
Before Trish realized what was happening, the cop grabbed her right arm, twisted it behind her back, cuffed her hand, then cuffed her other hand. With no further words, Officer Bousquet immobilized Trish with a painful grip on her neck and forced her to walk out a side door and into cinderblock building.
Two female cops and a woman in a medical smock were waiting inside the second building. The moment Officer Bousquet and her captive entered the room, the other three snapped to attention. With a quick nod, the officer ordered her two subordinates to grab Trish' arms. Now that the captive was immobilized, it was time to teach the arrogant tourist a little about island respect.
The officer fiercely slapped Trish across the face. She hit her so hard that the prisoner was stunned for a few seconds. Blood dripped out of her nose.
Officer Bousquet pinched the prisoner’s chin with a powerful grip of her thumb and forefinger and forced her to look her in the eye.
"That was for 'fuck you’. On this island you will not address a police officer in such a manner.”
Trish was so stunned and terrified that she could not speak. No one had ever hit her before. The officer ordered one of the assistants to unlock the cuffs restraining the prisoner’s hands. Trish immediately held her throbbing cheek, but Officer Bousquet tapped her chest.
“Now, will you unbutton your blouse, or do you wish to be struck again?"
Her hands trembled as she opened her blouse. The officer flicked a piece of jewelry that she was wearing on her belly button. She directed her next order to the woman in the medical smock
"Take that off."
With a quick snip from a pair of sturdy medical scissors the assistant cut the ring in Trish' stomach. She carefully worked it out of the captive's skin and handed it to the cop, who tossed it to the side of the room.
One of the assistants brought a metal detector wand and handed it to Officer Bousquet. When the rod passed over Trish' chest, it beeped again. The officer ordered Trish to take off both her blouse and her bra. The burning ache in the American's cheek ensured that she would obey.
Once Trish was naked from the waist up, the officers saw why the metal detector had alerted. Trish was wearing nipple rings. The three cops and their assistant, who had never seen anything like that before, flinched in disgust.
"You will remove those sick things from yourself. And if you enjoy hurting...we are experts, you know...experts. We can make you suffer..."
"I...officer...I can't...they're kinda...permanent."
"No...not permanent at all."
The medical assistant stepped forward and cut the two nipple rings and removed them. Trish cringed...because her nipples were not the only part of her body where she still had jewelry. Officer Bousquet waved her metal wand yet again, and as soon as the device moved over the captive’s crotch, it went off.
The two subordinates continued to tightly hold the prisoner while Officer Bousquet jerked her skirt and panties to the floor. Trish shook with terror as the cop studied her pussy, which was completely hairless from depilation treatments. Fascinated...the island woman ran her hand over the smooth skin.
Then she noticed that Trish's stomach was bloated. Hmm...interesting. She ran her hand over the captive's abdomen and pressed down. Trish grunted from pain. The young woman's stomach was hard. The whole thing now looked very suspicious. The officer suspected she knew what it was.
However, she wanted to know why that metal detector kept going off before pursuing anything else. She pinched Trish' inner thigh and ordered her to spread her feet. Her heart pounding from terror and her face flushed with shame, Trish complied, clumsily moving her feet apart. The cop crouched and spread the captive's pussy lips. OK...so there was the answer...the crazy girl had a ring on her clit!
Officer Bousquet ordered her subordinates to force the prisoner to bend backwards over a table, while the woman in the medical smock cut off the last of the offending jewelry.
The cop waved the wand yet again to assure herself that there was no other metal in weird places. Then she ordered the assistants to flip Trish over on her stomach. The women clamped down hard on her arms while the medical assistant changed surgical gloves. Trish saw the policewoman grab something off the wall.
It was a whip. It was about two feet long with a six-inch handle and three 18-inch leather tails. It was a frightening-looking object, especially for a prisoner who was helplessly bent over a table in an interrogation room full of cruel cops. Officer Bousquet cracked the whip on the table and showed it to her captive to let her know there would be no resistance...or else.
As she lay bent over the table and the medical assistant lubricated her bottom-hole, Trish understood that she already was in serious trouble, and it was about to get much worse. The moment that woman's finger went up into her bottom, Trish would have a lot more to worry about besides simply disrespecting a Caribbean Island police officer in a sub-standard airport.
With her whip ready to strike at the smallest hint of resistance, the officer watched with fascination as her assistant pushed apart the prisoner's bottom-cheeks.
Officer Bousquet struggled to maintain a cold professional demeanor. Against her wishes, she began to find the young prisoner extremely attractive. There was something intensely erotic about Trish' white skin and hairless body, especially given that she was being held down and was totally helpless. The police woman resisted the urge to run her fingertips over the American's bald vulva and smooth bottom. She pushed aside her budding sexual interest in the captive and limited herself to warning her to not dare move during the examination...or else...
Unfortunately, Trish couldn't help herself. She knew that there was no way the cops would not discover what she had in her stomach, but she struggled anyway, moving from side to side to keep the medical assistant from getting her finger into her bottom. Officer Bousquet nodded at her subordinate to get out of the way.
Trish screamed as the pain from the two whip strokes seared into her backside. She couldn't believe how much it hurt. The scream faded into terrified sobs.
The officer and medical assistant watched as six reddish welts rose up on the prisoner's tender skin. Both women noted that yes indeed...white skin really marks nicely. The contrast between the reddening welts and the pale unmarked flesh that surrounded them highlighted the girl’s total helplessness and vulnerability.
Watching the prisoner’s pale skin and reddening welts proved too much for Officer Bousquet. The cop no longer could resist her desire to run her hand over her prisoner’s bottom, touching the soft skin and raised whip marks. She was totally fascinated with her captive, to the point of ignoring the curious looks she was getting from her three subordinates. She felt the urge to gently kiss the welts, then put her face between…
The cop snapped out of her fantasy, embarrassed at having such thoughts towards a foreign prisoner. She resumed her cold, authoritative voice:
"Now you have felt the whip, Trish Bousquet. You will feel it again and again until you cooperate. You belong to the National Police of Santa Eduviges now. Whatever is your stomach also belongs to us. So you will submit and you will share. You will submit and share, either before I whip you, or after I whip you. That choice is yours. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?"
Still crying, Trish forced herself to nod. The officer tightened her lips and laid another vicious blow into the foreigner's helpless bottom. As soon as the captive's scream died down the officer continued:
"You will show me proper respect, Trish Bousquet. You will not nod when I ask you a question. You will address me as Officer Bousquet. That should be easy for you, because you will notice that we have the same last name. Interesting, is that not?"
After a moment of silence, during which the only sound in the room was the quiet sobbing of the prisoner, the officer twisted backwards and there was another vicious CRACK!!!
"I asked you a question, Trish Bousquet, and you will answer. Don't you find it interesting that we have the same last name?"
"I...I...ohhhhhhh...I...yes, Officer Bousquet...that’s interesting."
“Good girl. Now maybe we have an understanding. I will ask the questions. You will answer the questions. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?”
“Now, another simple tasking. You have something hidden inside of you. I want to extract it and find out what it is. You will cooperate. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?”
“Aieeeeeee! OW! Please…I can’t…”
“Then you will cooperate.”
Trish cried, but she quit moving. She was defeated. There was no point in trying to put off the inevitable: they were going to find the cocaine and that was the end of it. She hated to think of the hassle this would cause her trust fund manager. She knew that eventually she’d get out of it… but it might be several days… or even a couple of weeks… and who knew what would happen in the meantime?
The prisoner winced as a rough finger worked its way up her bottom. A couple of seconds later the medical assistant triumphantly extracted a bluish grape-sized oval and showed it to Officer Bousquet. She heard the cop’s voice:
“Very good, Intern Bruneau. See how many more she’s got.”
For the next several minutes Trish winced as the medical assistant dug around her intestines, in search of bluish ovals. After extracting 12 more she commented:
“Officer, I believe she should have an enema, and also she should have her stomach emptied.”
“Very well. Let’s do her stomach first.”
With a snap of her fingers, the officer ordered her assistants to pull Trish off the table and force her onto her hands and knees on the floor. The medical assistant placed a large metal bowl under the prisoner’s face. Then she put a cloth mask over Trish’ mouth. The prisoner was terrified and struggled. The officer struck her hard across her welt-covered bottom. Trish screamed as the assistant held the mask firmly over her nose. There was a whiff of a foul-smelling chemical that instantly made her gag. She threw up… several times …emptying her stomach into the bowl. She momentarily passed out, but the medical assistant grabbed her hair and the officer struck her yet again with the whip.
Trish cried, retched, and expelled a couple more of the pellets. The bowl now contained more than half of the cocaine she had been carrying.
Officer Bousquet coldly pondered the sick, broken, humiliated woman kneeling on the floor. She was a good judge of character and saw Trish for what she was…a spoiled rich girl who had gotten away with a lot of crap in her life. Well rich girl, it’s time to pay up. You won’t be getting away with this one. She had in mind a cruel idea that would take away whatever dignity Trish still thought she might have.
“Give her some water. Then I want you to take her out to the carwash area. Bring the enema bottle and call everyone who’s not busy.”
* * *
A half an hour later the naked prisoner was led out of the interrogation room past a couple of trailers and a barracks. She was too scared and miserable to take much note of her surroundings. She had not heard the officer’s last orders to her subordinates, so the only thing she knew was that she had been forced to drink some water and sit on the floor facing the wall. Now she was being dragged outside, naked, to a cement slab. A terrifying thought crossed her mind: was it possible they were going to shoot her?
No, nothing like that, although what Officer Bousquet had in mind was not much better. A group of cops and airport security agents, mostly men but some women as well, were standing around the slab. Several had cameras and there were a couple of video recorders.
Trish’ captor kicked her shin and ordered her to get on her elbows and knees on the cement in the tropical sunlight. The hot surface burned her skin when she complied, but with her bottom already covered with searing welts, she dared not disobey. She looked up with horror when she saw the medical assistant approaching her with the enema bottle. The cop flexed the whip to remind her prisoner not to get any ideas about resisting.
Trish cried as she felt the nozzle enter her exposed anus and push its way in. Her audience laughed and made lewd jokes and comments as they watched and took pictures of the hapless American. Trish closed her eyes as the assistant unclipped the hose and the warm water flowed into her intestines. She winced at the increasing pressure as the bag emptied. After several minutes, the medical assistant pulled out the nozzle.
Trish overheard the men placing bets over how many pellets would come out of her once she expelled the water. The prisoner remained on her elbows and knees, thinking to herself: this can’t be happening… this really can’t be happening…
Officer Bousquet ordered her two subordinates to pull Trish into a squatting position.
“Release your water.”
Crying from total humiliation, Trish obeyed. Noxious brown water splashed onto the cement as she felt pellet after pellet exiting her bottom. When she was finished, one of the assistant officers forced her to stand upright and cuffed her hands behind her back. Trish heard one of the men announce:
“Who guessed seventeen? That’s what we’ve got, seventeen.”
Yes, indeed, there were seventeen pellets lying on the cement. Trish watched through teary eyes as the men handed over their cash to the one who had the right number. And the men were not done with her. Several wanted to pose with her, to get pictures of themselves with a naked American white girl.
The medical assistant picked up the pellets. One of the lot attendants brought a hose and washed off the slab. Officer Bousquet ordered Trish to return to the slab, so she could be washed off as well. The grinning old man with the hose was very thorough with his task, washing her down several times and concentrating on squirting her sore bottom and the area between her legs.
* * *
A few minutes later Trish was sitting on the floor in the back of a police van with her hands still cuffed behind her back. The vehicle was sweltering and had no windows, so she could not see where she was being taken. She tried to maintain her balance as the vehicle made several unexpected stops and turns. The most awful detail about the trip, however, was that she was still totally naked.
When the van finally pulled to a stop, Officer Bousquet opened the back door and ordered her prisoner to get out. Trish emerged into the courtyard of a whitewashed colonial-era police station. The courtyard was hot from being blasted by the tropical sun all day, but after being in the oven-like van the air felt refreshing by comparison. The cop firmly gripped her prisoner’s arm and led her inside.
Just a couple of doors past the entrance, the two women entered a judicial hearing room. There was not much in the room except for some benches, a video recorder, the judge’s desk, a flag, and the portrait of a man in a military uniform that Trish guessed must be the country’s leader.
Trish realized that her treatment as a prisoner was not anything out of the ordinary. She saw two naked young men, both of them Islanders, already kneeling near the judge’s desk. Like Trish, their hands were cuffed behind their backs, and like Trish, they had been whipped. One of the men had been beaten about the same as Trish and just had whip marks on his bottom. The other, however, had been flogged much more severely and had dark welts covering his bottom, thighs, and shoulders.
Officer Bousquet tapped Trish with her whip and ordered her to kneel next to the two men. Without her hands free to help her keep her balance, Trish struggled to get on her knees. She watched as her captor presented some papers to the judge. The medical assistant entered the room and handed over an evidence bag full of cocaine pellets. The two women talked to the judge for a few minutes. Officer Bousquet then pulled Trish’ body jewelry from a pocket and showed it to the judge, who gave the prisoner a disgusted look.
“Bring her before the desk.”
“Yes, your honor.”
Officer Bousquet grabbed Trish’ arm, kicked her leg, and pulled her to her feet. She positioned the captive in front of the judge, who spent several minutes looking over her attractive figure. Finally he ordered the prisoner to kneel.
The judge held up the pellets and addressed Trish:
“Did you have this cocaine inside your body when you got off the plane?”
Tears flowed down Trish’ cheeks as she mumbled: “yes, your honor. I had it inside me.”
“Then, given your confession and the evidence Officer Bousquet and the other members of her unit have presented, this court finds you guilty of cocaine smuggling. Because of your reprehensible behavior and the threat you present to our society, you are sentenced to a life of servitude.”
The judge directed his next comment to Officer Bousquet:
"You may remove your prisoner, Officer. Holding cell # 6 is available, so you can lock her up right away."
Trish gasped. That was it? That was her trial? What the Hell? She gave the judge an exasperated look. Irritated at her show of arrogance, he queried:
“Trish Bousquet, do you have anything to say to this court before you leave this room?”
“I…I mean…like…I…don’t I…like…get a defense attorney or something… or a call to the US Embassy? I mean… like in most places…?”
“You are clearly guilty of drug smuggling, so what do you need a defense attorney for? And as for a call to the US Embassy, we cannot accommodate you. Santa Eduviges does not have diplomatic relations with the United States. Your State Department does not recognize the government of Generalissimo Renaud, so there is no US Embassy here. If we ever do get recognition, I’ll grant you permission to contact your government.”
The judge turned to Officer Bousquet:
“That is all. You may take her out.”
"Thank you, your honor."
* * *
Officer Bousquet and the medical assistant escorted Trish through several hallways full of police officers and staff members that were getting off work and heading home for the day. A lot of the men and a few women looked at her attractive body. She could do nothing to cover herself because her hands were still cuffed behind her back.
Finally the three women went downstairs and entered a short hallway with eight sturdy metal doors. Trish realized that each door entered into a prisoner cell. The two officials pushed her inside one of the cells and took off her handcuffs. The cell was very small and had no lighting. It was totally empty except for a bottle of water and a strange-looking pot that had a lid on it. Seeing that the room had no toilet, Trish realized she was looking at a chamber-pot. Gross... There was nothing else, not even a mattress. Was this going to be her prison cell?
The two officials left the room and locked the door with a loud metallic clank. The prisoner gasped in the darkness. No...this couldn't be happening...to be in this horrible room...for...a lifetime...the judge said she was sentenced to a "lifetime of servitude". Was this where she was going to pass the rest of her life?
* * *
Officer Bousquet dismissed the medical assistant and returned to the judge's office. She presented the remaining paperwork to the secretary for placement in Trish Bousquet's police record, then thanked him for seeing her prisoner ahead of the two young men. The judge responded that it was nothing, only logical given that Trish' case was very simple and there was no doubt about her guilt. The other two cases were more complicated, so there was no point in making the American wait.
"So, Officer, you've secured her in a holding cell?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Then I suppose we have everything arranged. I'll make sure she's included on the bidding list for the Wednesday auction. Has she been measured for a servant's collar?"
"No, your honor, not yet."
"No problem. Just have your medical assistant come over tomorrow and measure her, and give us the neck size. Have her do it early so we can include it in the auction statement."
"Yes, your honor."
Chapter 03 – Eve Bousquet’s Hope
The rest of the afternoon was anti-climactic for the airport police. The other passengers made it through the facility’s security with no problems. The airline already had a replacement aircraft on the way, so there was nothing for anyone to do apart from waiting until the island’s unexpected guests could be flown out.
Officer Eve Bousquet looked over the arrest photos of her American namesake. Even though she was just looking at photos and not the detainee in person, the police woman’s feelings of sexual desire returned full-force. She felt a pleasant burning between her legs as she replayed the images of Trish bent over the table. She longed to caress Trish’ frightened face, and run her fingers over the prisoner’s bald pussy.
It had been a long time since Eve Bousquet had felt such attraction for anyone. The last time had been four years ago, when she was married. Yes, she was married to a man that almost any woman on the island would desire, but she had married mainly to please her parents, not because she had any love for him whatsoever. No…the person she so badly wanted was her husband’s younger sister. She spent three years of marriage wracked with guilt…pretending to love her partner in marriage but in reality fantasizing over her sister-in-law. Every day she saw the young woman, and every day she could only think about how much she wanted her. However, Eve never dared say anything, because the people of Santa Eduviges still had very strong opinions against same-sex relationships.
Eve Bousquet finally couldn’t live with her lies any longer. She couldn’t tell the truth, but she couldn’t keep making love to her husband while seeing the face of his sister in her fantasies. She had to get away from both of them to keep her sanity. Fortunately, Eve’s husband, who was getting tired of his wife’s lackluster behavior in bed, did not object when she moved out.
Officer Bousquet had given up on the hope that she could ever be sexually fulfilled. She knew what her problem was, but there was not a soul with whom she could share her heavy psychological burden. She already was estranged from her parents over the divorce, so she dared not tell them the real reason she could not stay married. If she dared tell any co-workers, she knew she’d be fired and possibly expelled from the island. Then, with no work, no home, and no family, what would she do?
* * *
Eve Bousquet’s thoughts returned to her American namesake. In spite of the rough treatment she had inflicted on the tourist earlier in the afternoon, the officer started to feel sorry for her. Undoubtedly at that moment the offender was sitting in that dark holding cell, terrified by what had been done to her.
Eve knew that Trish Bousquet would have even more reason to be afraid the following Wednesday. Along with all other prisoners that had been arrested and convicted over the previous week, she would be collared and put up for auction as a servant. Servant auctions were a weekly event on the island. There were no jails, but every convicted criminal was put up for sale to whoever wanted to buy a “servant”, which in reality was a simple slave.
The slave-sale program had been instituted under the government that preceded Generalissimo Renaud. It was popular among the public because it was an excellent source of revenue for the National Police and a great way to dispose of prisoners without having to execute them. Of course, the majority of the persons offered for sale were men, who usually were purchased to perform manual labor. However, about a fourth of the convicts auctioned were women and girls. On the average, female servants fetched higher prices than the men, depending on their age, appearance, and the length of their sentences.
At first it would seem that Trish, a 24-year-old white American, would fetch a premium price, but Eve Bousquet knew that might not be the case, depending on who wanted to bid that week. A woman that was 24 years old already was considered past her prime by Island standards. It was clear she was not a virgin, another factor that would lower her price. The holes in her skin from the piercings and her past history of drug use would further lower her value in the eyes of most prospective bidders.
Finally, there was the life sentence for cocaine trafficking. Most men who wanted a female for sex preferred purchasing a girl with a 10 or 15-year sentence. Once the sentenced ended, she’d be set free and there was no further financial obligation on the part of her master. Many men would be glad to have Trish now, when she was 24, but at age 54 she would still be collared and would still have to be properly cared for by her owner. Purchasing Trish involved a lifetime of commitment, not just 10 or 15 years of fun.
* * *
That night, Eve lay awake in her bedroom. As always, in the darkness she was naked. She had slept that way since her childhood, as had nearly every other resident of Santa Eduviges Island. The heat and humidity made wearing any clothing to bed impractical, so it was the custom of the Islanders, regardless of whether they were rich or poor, to completely undress if they were in their houses after sunset.
The police officer spent a long time masturbating as she thought about the American. The spoiled young foreigner, with her pale skin and hairless pussy, continued to fascinate her. As the long lonely hours of the night went by, she wanted Trish more and more. She realized that she did not want to give up control of her. She wanted to have the American to herself…to…own her…and…
Suddenly Eve sat up. Own Trish Bousquet. Yes…it was possible…a long shot…but maybe she could indeed buy Trish. A tantalizing thought, really. Why not? The American was going to be put up for sale next Wednesday…and maybe…just maybe…the officer could somehow gather enough money to place the winning bid.
* * *
Eve was exhausted the next morning, following a restless night with absolutely no sleep. She went to the airport and spent an uneventful morning on the job. During her lunch break she and her medical assistant got on two police motor scooters and drove past several palm plantations and banana farms to the island’s capitol. On the city streets the women dodged buses and bicyclists as they made their way to the court house.
The cop first wanted to check the holding cells to make sure Trish was still in custody. She’d have her assistant measure her neck and then take the measurement to the sentencing office so the American could be fitted with a collar. She peeked into holding cell # 6 and observed the prisoner lying in a fetal position with her back to the door. The whip-marks from the previous day’s interrogation still were clearly visible on the young woman’s bottom. They had swollen and Trish did not want to put any weight on the welts, which was shy she was lying on her side instead of sitting. Every so often her body shook slightly, as though she were crying.
The two officials entered the cell. Trish immediately cowered in the corner. She was dizzy from not having eaten and terrified that she was going to be flogged. Officer Bousquet yelled at the prisoner to get into a kneeling position. The prisoner complied, but began to cry. The medical assistant ignored the detainee’s distress and casually wrapped a tape measure around her neck. She took the measurement again to be sure before writing the figure on a notepad. She expected to take the paper to the sentencing office, but her boss told her to hand over the notepad and return to the airport.
“I have some other matters to take care of, so I’ll take her collar size in for you.”
“Yes, Officer Bousquet.”
After her subordinate left, Eve left the holding cell area and reported to the chamber of the trial judge. After having seen the frightened captive for a second time she was more determined than ever to buy her. Eve was on good terms with the judge, so she wanted to see what support she could get from him in her effort to purchase a servant. At the very least she hoped to get his official approval.
The judge’s legal assistant accompanied the cop into the sentencing chamber. She stood at attention until he ordered her to relax and explain the purpose of her visit. After exchanging a few comments about the airport and the damaged plane that was still stuck next to the terminal, Officer Bousquet nervously got to the point:
"Your honor, will the American cocaine courier still be put up for sale this week?"
"I've been thinking. With your permission, I'd like to place a bid on her."
"You want to buy that prisoner?"
"I believe so, Your honor. I’ve wanted a collared criminal for a while, and I think she’d do better under me than under anyone else. I’m confident I can work with her and make her into a good servant. Anyhow, I'm sure it would be an interesting challenge."
The judge smiled slightly, wondering what the policewoman’s real motive was for wanting to buy the American. However, he liked her. She was a good cop, never drank or got rowdy, was never excessively rough on prisoners, was honest, and didn’t do anything to upset civilians. The National Police needed more officers like the one standing in front of him, so the judge was determined to help her as much as he could. Besides, it was very likely she was right about the American; that she’d be much better off being owned by her than being owned by anyone else. Yes, he would do what he could to assist the officer’s plan to purchase the prisoner.
"Very well, Officer. You have my approval. I'll put you on the list of bidders. If you want the girl badly enough, I'll give you a double discount: the police officer's discount and the public official's discount. How much have you saved up?"
"I think I can pay 1,500 Florins."
The judge reached into his desk, pulled out a stack of currency, and handed it to the officer.
"Here. Let's make it 2,500 Florins. Remember, I'll need the money back if you change your mind or don't place the winning bid."
"Thank you, Your honor. Thank you so much."
After pocketing the money, the officer saluted the judge and left the chamber.
Well, that had turned out a lot better than she expected. Now she had almost twice as much cash for the auction. The two discounts were equally important: each discount would add 500 Florins to her bid. The judge’s generosity meant that instead of only 1,500 Florins, she’d be able to offer up to 3,500.
Now that the policewoman was much closer to actually owning her detainee, she felt that she needed to start taking some responsibility for her. Knowing that Trish had not been given anything to eat except a single bowl of leftover rice, Eve exited the courthouse and bought several pieces of fruit and a loaf of bread. She returned to the cell and asked the jail-keeper to open the door.
Trish immediately cowered in the corner. The officer yelled at her to stand straight and show proper respect. With tears flowing down her cheeks, Trish complied, struggling keep her hands at her sides and to avoid covering herself. She glanced longingly at the food.
“How would you like to eat, Trish Bousquet?”
“I… yes, uh… Officer… I’d like… please… so hungry…”
“Yes…you would indeed like to eat. To eat, you must display proper respect. Are you ready to do that, show respect so you can eat?”
Trish sobbed, but managed to say: “Yes, Officer.”
“Then I am instructing you to kneel. You will stick out your hands, palms up, and you will thank me after I hand you each item.”
Trish complied and got on her knees. There was no hint of reluctance or resistance. Amazing what hunger can do to resolve “attitude”.
Just three days before, Trish never would have imagined that she’d be willing to kneel and humiliate herself just for a few pieces of fruit. However, over the past 24 hours she had been confined in that empty room, with nothing but a bottle of water and a foul-smelling chamber pot. There was not even so much as a bed or a chair, nor a blanket, to protect her exposed body from the dirty concrete. She was exhausted from not being able to sleep and nearly out of her mind from boredom, apprehension, and fear. Psychologically she was starting to break down and her “pride” was one of the first things to go. So, she knelt and followed the Islander’s order to put her hands out, palms up.
The cop placed an orange in the trembling hands of the kneeling woman. Trish sobbed and managed to get out:
“Thank you, Officer Bousquet… for the orange.”
“Good girl.” With that, the cop placed a banana in the captive’s hands.
“Thank you, Officer Bousquet… for the banana.”
The prisoner repeated her thanks for a mango and a small loaf of French bread. Noting the prisoner’s filthy hands, the cop also handed over a packet of sanitary wipes.
“Consider yourself fortunate, Trish Bousquet. No one has brought anything for the other cells. You would be wise to remember that.”
With that the cop left the cell and returned to the airport.
* * *
Trish wiped off her hands as best she could and tore into the orange and banana. She slowed down as she ate the bread. Finally she tackled the mango. It was hard to eat a mango without a knife, but within a few minutes it was stripped to the seed.
A few minutes after eating, Trish had to use the chamber pot. It already smelled horribly from stale piss, but Trish tried to ignore the stench and relieved herself. When she finished, she noticed a bluish-gray oval, a small portion of the cocaine that the police had missed when they emptied her out the day before. She closed the lid of the pot and sat against the wall.
I am fucked… I am so fucked…
Trish briefly wondered why her namesake had brought her the fruit…probably because she expected something in return. She certainly had money to pay whatever these people wanted, but her instincts told her that bribing officials on Santa Eduviges might not be as easy as bribing officials on other islands. She’d have to be careful on that… but… to sit in this cell… forever… there was no way she could do that either.
The prisoner still did not understand what was going to happen to her in a couple of days. No one had told her that she was going to be auctioned as a slave, because the judge and the police took it for granted that she already knew that detail of the Santa Eduviges judicial system. No, she did not know that detail. After having spent 24 hours in the holding cell she assumed that a “lifetime of servitude” meant spending her life confined in that horrible cement cubicle.
I am fucked… I am so fucked…
She wondered what her trust fund manager would say or do once he found out where she was and what had happened to her. Actually, that might take a while, because she had not told anyone about her trip. She had wanted to surprise her friends, so the only thing they would know was that she was missing, but there would be no clues indicating her actual whereabouts. She wondered how seriously anyone would really pursue her disappearance. The crowd she ran with were not noted for their responsibility.
Another thought crossed Trish’s mind. As for her inheritance… there were relatives… her aunt Beatrice and some cousins, who’d be more than happy to get their hands on her money. Already Beatrice and her little shit-brood had accused her of squandering the family’s inheritance and tried to get a judge to force her to rein in her spending. She was on horrible terms with them. So… how motivated would they really be to find her and extract her from her prison cell? Maybe they’d be motivated to do the exact opposite… do what they could to keep her locked up?
I am fucked… I am so fucked…
* * *
Officer Bousquet spent another restless night. Seeing that arrogant American stripped, kneeling, and crying had been a huge turn-on. As Eve replayed those moments in the cell over and over in her imagination, she spent hours masturbating. Finally, worn out from self-pleasuring herself but still not able to sleep, the woman decided to log onto the Internet and find out what she could about Trish Bousquet.
She first found out some details about Trish’s party scene by digging through social networking sites. So…Trish was indeed a spoiled rich girl who, up to that point, had led a shallow and meaningless existence. Well young lady, that is about to come to an end. I’ll be giving you plenty of purpose in life.
Officer Bousquet then became curious about the girl’s family and inheritance. It turned out that Trish and her relatives were the descendants of Louisiana cotton barons, an old family with roots in the Deep South that predated the Civil War. In other words, the American Bousquets had started out as slaveholders.
The Islander had a good reason to be curious about the history of the American Bousquet family. Her own ancestors had immigrated to Santa Eduviges Island from Louisiana in 1866, the year after the Civil War ended. As was common for that time, they kept the last name of their former owners. Officer Bousquet’s heart raced upon finding out that her suspicions about the matching last names were correct.
Officer Bousquet shut off her computer, convinced life had come full circle and that fate had delivered Trish into her hands. Just as her own ancestors had to serve the Bousquet family in Louisiana, Trish would be called upon to serve Eve Bousquet in Santa Eduviges.
Although Eve was convinced that the American was destined to serve her, neither revenge nor “payback” entered her thoughts. She was not planning to enslave Trish to avenge her ancestors, nor did she have any desire to harm the legacy of the Bousquet family. The truth was, if she really wanted to see the Bousquet family come to grief, the best way to do it would be to figure out a way to free Trish and allow her to return to Baton Rouge; then encourage her to continue squandering the family fortune.
Greed was not a motivating factor for Eve. She had no desire to access any of Trish’s money. So there were cousins who wanted to control the family fortune? Good. Let them have it. If they proved themselves better managers of the Bousquet estate than Trish, more power to them. Eve wanted Trish and had no intention of letting her go, but that was all she wanted. Nothing else related to the Baton Rouge Bousquets was any of her business.
* * *
Trish spent the four longest days of her life in the holding cell. During that time, no one spoke to her. Her initial terror faded into indescribable boredom. She never could sleep for more than a few minutes at a time on the dirty floor. Her bones ached from the cement and her muscles were twitchy from inactivity. She could sit, or lie on her back, or curl up and cry. She tried pacing, but the cell was so small that she could not move more than four steps in any direction. She did not have the opportunity to bathe or comb her hair. She became a truly pitiable sight: smelly, her body covered with grime, her hair disheveled, and dark circles under her eyes from fatigue.
The only event each day to break up the monotony was the visit from Officer Bousquet and the delivery of three pieces of fruit and a loaf of bread. By Tuesday Trish desperately looked forward to the visit. She was eager to please the cop, because she knew that the food deliveries could stop at any time. She did exactly as instructed; kneeling and expressing gratitude for each item placed into her hands. By the fourth day of confinement that gratitude was genuine.
Chapter 04 – Slave auction
The horrid routine ended on Wednesday at 10:00 am. A couple of guards entered the cell, ordered Trish to face the wall, and cuffed her hands behind her back. Saying nothing, one of them gave her a rough shove to force her out the door. She was led up the stairs and into a moldy shower room. The guards removed her cuffs, handed her a bar of soap, and ordered her to get cleaned up. In spite of her terror, she was more than happy to comply. The water was cold, the soap was little better than laundry detergent, and the floor was slimy, but it was the best shower she ever had experienced.
After her shower, the guards cuffed Trish and led her to the courtyard. There were several police officers and six other prisoners. The prisoners were kneeling in a row. They were naked and had their hands cuffed behind their backs. All appeared to be Islanders. There were five men and a girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Trish was ordered to kneel next to the others. As the group knelt and waited, the sentencing judge stood with two other officials discussing paperwork. A burly male cop brandished a whip to remind the prisoners that they were to remain absolutely silent.
Five minutes passed before the two guards returned with another naked Islander, an unattractive woman who appeared to be in her late 30’s. Trish overheard the sentencing judge’s voice:
“Is that it? All the prisoners are here?”
“Yes, Your honor.”
“Very well. Stand them up.”
The cop with the whip cracked it and ordered the prisoners to get on their feet. They struggled to keep their balance, given that they did not have the use of their hands. They stood quietly while the judge wrote something on a clipboard. He handed a black magic marker to one of the cops and showed him the clipboard.
“Here’s the order of this week’s sale. Those two…” (the judge pointed at two middle-aged men) “… go first. Then we’ll do the women. That one…” (he pointed at the woman in her 30’s) “then the American, and then the girl. I’ll put the three boys at the end.”
“Yes, Your honor.”
The cop with the magic marker wrote a number on the chest of each prisoner. Trish would be the fourth prisoner to be auctioned; therefore she was marked with a large black “4” above her right breast.
As the prisoners were being numbered, Trish finally realized what was about to happen. “…the order of this week’s sale.” Oh shit! So that was why they had her get cleaned up! She, along with the seven Islanders, was going to be put up for sale! Trish looked around in horror at her fellow prisoners. All of them had miserable, but resigned expressions on their faces. The girl and one of the young men were crying.
The cop with the whip jumped in front of her. He cracked it and shouted: “What are you looking at, you fucking delinquent?!”
“I… nothing Officer… please… I…”
“Then shut your criminal mouth! We’ll tell you what to look at!”
The cop then turned towards one of the young men and viciously struck him across the upper thighs. The prisoner screamed from pain and fell backwards. The cop struck him twice more before pulling him upright. Trish never found out what he did to so upset the official.
Another cop ordered the prisoners to re-order themselves according to their numbers, which left Trish standing between the other two women. A second officer with a camera took several pictures of the row of prisoners.
Trish’s knees shook badly. She struggled not to throw up and not to faint. Oh shit…I am so fucked…oh my God…oh fuck… Yes indeed, she fully understood that the chances she’d ever resume her normal life were becoming more and more remote.
* * *
Four of the police officers took out their revolvers and ordered the prisoners to walk single file through the courtyard entrance of the courthouse. The group emerged onto a side street and walked, in full view of bicyclists and pedestrians, three blocks to a city park. The park had a raised bandstand in its center. There were several rows of folding chairs placed in a half circle near the platform. Some of the chairs already were occupied by well-dressed Islanders, while others were milling about or talking in small groups.
The audience fell silent when the prisoners approached. The escort ordered the eight captives to line up in front of the bandstand and face forward. A cop stepped up to the bandstand and addressed the bidders.
“Good afternoon, everyone! Today we’ve got eight prisoners! Bidding will start in 15 minutes! In the meantime, feel free to get a better look at them, and don’t forget to take a sentencing sheet! If you read it, a lot of the questions you might have about what you’re buying will be answered!”
The cop clapped his hands.
“Fifteen minutes! And I want to see some courtesy around here! Don’t block other people from viewing! Take a look and move on!”
Trish stood in numb horror as Islanders, mostly middle-aged men, filed past her. Many of them looked carefully at her face and her belly-button, where the holes from her recently removed piercings were still evident. She heard one comment to a companion:
“I can’t for the life of me understand why Americans do that to themselves. I’d buy her, but not with those holes.”
“I don’t know. They’re not too bad. I’ll buy her, if I can get her cheap.”
A few minutes later she overheard another Islander comment:
“Life sentence. 24. No…I guess not.”
Nevertheless, there was some interest in Trish and it was obvious that there were Islanders who planned to bid on her. However, the prisoner receiving the most attention was the girl, prisoner #5. It was clear that, among the servants, she’d receive the highest bid. The men clustered around her and ordered her to turn around several times and bend over. There were rules against touching a servant that had not yet been sold, which was fortunate for both the girl and Trish. The rule spared them from being fondled.
* * *
When the bell of a nearby church rang to announce noon, the cop ordered the bidders to take their seats. The prisoners were ordered to kneel. A man in a suit showed up, took his position at a table that had been set up on the bandstand, and cheerfully shouted:
“Good afternoon everyone!”
After the audience responded, the auctioneer ordered the first prisoner, one of the middle-aged men, to join him on the platform and kneel facing the audience.
“First servant. 36-year-old male. 15-year sentence. He has some manual-labor experience in construction and agriculture. Health is fair. Looks like he has a past history of drinking, but no drugs. How about a bid of 500 Florins?”
After a few seconds, a banana farmer raised his hand.
“500… thank you, sir. We’ve got 500. How about 600? Do we have 600? 600 Florins for a laborer?”
A second farmer raised his hand, eliciting a nasty look from the first bidder.
“600… thank you sir.”
The auctioneer turned to the first farmer.
“Would you like to raise your bid, sir?”
“I’ll pay 650.”
The auctioneer turned to the second bidder, who shook his head.
“Looks like it’s 650 Florins. 650… going once. 650… going twice…”
There was a crack of a gavel on the table:
“Sold for 650 Florins!”
A cop ascended the platform and pulled the prisoner to his feet. He scrawled the new owner’s last name and the amount of the winning bid on the man’s chest and ordered him to rejoin the other prisoners. The second prisoner sold for 700 florins, but the third prisoner, the woman in her 30’s, only fetched 400. The auctioneer had to reduce the initial bidding price of 500 Florins, which was a major humiliation for both him and the woman.
Then it was Trish Bousquet’s turn. Reluctantly she ascended the stairs and knelt next to the auctioneer. Her brain refused to believe this was actually happening. This had to be a bad dream. It had to be. A nightmare, from which she’d be waking up at any moment. It was the 21st Century. No…there was no way that…
“Prisoner #4 is an interesting one. A female from the United States, 24 years old. Not much work experience… mostly college, it would appear. Life sentence for cocaine trafficking. Past history of drug use and drinking, but her health is still good. Do I hear 500 Florins?”
Several hands went up.
Several hands went up again. The price for Trish quickly rose to 1,100 Florins before bidders started dropping out. When her price went up to 1,800 Florins, only three hands still went up. Her heart stopped when she noticed that one of the remaining bidders was Officer Eve Bousquet. She had not recognized her namesake because the officer was wearing a white dress instead of her normal uniform. However, uniformed or not, there she was, raising her hand in competition with two lecherous-looking men in their 50’s. Trish still did not want to accept what was happening to her.
When the price for Trish reached 2,300 Florins, Officer Bousquet stood up and announced:
“Sir, I’d like to invoke my right to the standard police discount of 500 Florins.”
“Thank you, Officer. That raises the price for prisoner #4 to 2,800 Florins. Would anyone like to top the bid for 2,800 Florins?”
“I’ll top that. 2,900 Florins. Cash.”
“Thank you, Sir. 2,900 Florins. Would you care to raise your bid, Officer?”
“Yes, Sir. I’d like to invoke my right to the standard government official’s discount of 500 Florins.”
“And you cleared that with the sentencing court?”
“Thank you, Officer. 3,400 Florins. The going price for the American is 3,400 Florins. Would you like to place another bid, Sir?
The man gave the cop a vicious look, totally disgusted at the unfair advantage those government discounts gave her.
“Thank you, Sir. 3,450 Florins! Care to bid, Officer?”
“2,500 Florins, plus the two discounts.”
“Thank you, Officer. 3,500 Florins. Do you wish to place another bid, Sir?”
The man thought over his situation. Did he really want Trish that badly? Did he really want to spend that much money on her? Maybe it would be better to try for the girl? Besides, that cop seemed to have money to spare, with those damn discounts. How much higher could she go? He really did not want to pay so much for a servant that was 24-years old. The American wasn’t worth it.
“No. I’m not going any higher.”
“Very well. Officer, do you stay with your bid of 3,500 Florins?”
“Excellent. 3,500 Florins… going once. 3,500 Florins… going twice…”
The gavel cracked on the table. Trish flinched at the bang, which seemed to her as loud as a shot. That gavel announced a turning point in the life of prisoner #4. She had just become the property of another person.
“Sold… for 3,500 Florins! Thank you, Officer!”
Officer Eve Bousquet smiled slightly and nodded. She managed to conceal her joy and relief of having so narrowly won custody of Trish. She had bluffed perfectly. She would not have been able to bid any higher than 3,500 Florins, but fortunately her rival had not realized that.
Meanwhile, the uniformed cop assisting the auction pulled Trish to her feet. On her chest he wrote the sale price and her new owner’s last name: “Bousquet”. Trish returned to where the other prisoners were kneeling and stared at the grass in front of her… trying to figure out why she wasn’t waking up from this horrible dream…
* * *
The battle over Trish and the fact that she had been bought by a female police officer added some interest to the auction, but the real bidding action came when prisoner #5, the younger girl, was put up for sale. She was the reason many of the men were attending, and those submitting serious bids knew that the competition for her would be fierce. The judge helping Officer Bousquet knew that as well, which was why he put Trish ahead of the girl. He knew that most of the serious bidders would hold off on offering too much for the American if the girl had not yet been sold. Had the girl been auctioned first, many of the bidders would have settled for Trish, who was the second most desirable prisoner being offered that week.
The girl and her boyfriend were being offered for sale after being convicted of sneaking onto tourist beaches and stealing from hotel guests. That was considered a serious offense in a country dependent on tourism. Stealing from tourists was not quite as serious as drug trafficking, but the teenagers were sentenced to 20 years. For a buyer that arrangement was perfect, because the teenagers would be released at age 36, just as they were about to turn middle-aged. As for the boyfriend, he too had received plenty of attention and also would fetch a high price. He was trembling because he knew what his fate was going to be. Same-sex relationships were taboo on the island, but that prohibition did not apply to servants. Servants were obliged to please their owners, no matter what.
The auctioneer decided to skip the formality of starting with the usual price of 500 Florins. The girl was worth a lot more than that, so he started the bidding at 2,000 just to save some time. Within minutes her price had shot up above 7,000 Florins. Buyers, even ones that would have a very hard time scraping together that much money, continued to raise their hands in a desperate attempt to own the young criminal.
It wasn’t until the girl’s price had gone above 8,500 Florins that prospective buyers began giving up and dropping out. One of the remaining bidders was the mayor of the second largest town on Santa Eduviges. As soon as he faced off with a single rival, the owner of a palm-oil factory, the politician invoked his public official’s discount privilege and pushed the price above 9,000 Florins. The factory owner knew that the mayor had at least one more government discount in reserve, so at that point he gave up.
“9,200 Florins… going once. 9,200 Florins… going twice…”
The gavel smacked the tabletop…
“Sold for 9,200 Florins! Thank you, Mayor!”
Thank you indeed… 9,200 Florins was a lot of money, something the police department could always use.
Prisoners #6 and #7 sold for 1,800 Florins and 2,100 Florins. Then there was more excitement when the final prisoner, the girl’s boyfriend, ascended the bandstand. He was young and very good-looking, and also the last slave for the week. He sold for 3,200 Florins, which was considered a lot for a male prisoner.
A cop carrying a cash box collected the money from the eight winning bidders and passed out certificates of ownership. Trish later would find out that a Florin was worth about 20 US dollars, which meant that on the island her life was worth $ 70,000.
There was a final detail to resolve before the new servants could be turned over to their owners: they had to be collared. The collaring was done by a European armed with a scary-looking device that looked like a huge pair of salad tongs. The servants were forced to kneel in a row and were collared in the order in which they were sold. When it was Trish Bousquet’s turn to be collared, the European slipped the tong-device over her neck and clamped it shut. There was a hiss and a dull click. When the technician removed the device, Trish had a sturdy metal collar around her neck.
The feeling of the uncompromising metal was what made Trish Bousquet realize that no… this was no dream. She never was going to wake up, because she had never gone to sleep. Trish had become a slave. The collar marked her as a slave. Because of the collar, the world around her would always see her as a slave. The collar would become her identity. Nothing else would matter.
* * *
As the collar technician packed up his supplies, the auctioneer made a final announcement:
“I want to thank everyone for coming out today, whether or not you purchased. It helps the National Police to have good participation in these auctions. I also want congratulate those of you who placed successful bids, and wish you the very best with your new servants. I have just one reminder: these people are now under your control and you are obligated to take proper care of them. A statement of those obligations was provided with your servant’s ownership certificate, and make sure you read it.”
That was the end of the auction. The police escort ordered the servants to stand up so their handcuffs could be removed. Unlike the collars, which were considered part of the sale price, the handcuffs belonged to the police.
In the order they were sold, the servants were directed towards their new owners. Each criminal approached his or her master and knelt. The owner told the servant how he was to be addressed and asked if the servant understood. After the servant responded, the owner told his charge to stand up.
It was customary that servants were prohibited from wearing any clothing, but that detail was up to the owner. The owner of prisoner #2, one of the middle-aged men, broke with tradition by handing his new charge a pair of sandals, a jean shirt, and some shorts. He had bought the man to work on his farm and had no desire to see him undressed. There was no hint that any of the other seven servants, Trish included, would ever be allowed to put on clothing again.
Trish watched the three servants that preceded her to understand what she needed to do when presented to Eve Bousquet. For the moment, at least, she wanted to do what she could to avoid getting into any further trouble. Things were bad enough for her as it was, so she did not want another beating or to be returned to that horrid cell.
When the police escort directed her to her new Mistress, Trish was ready. Trembling, she approached the woman in the white dress, and when she was about a meter away she fell to her knees.
“Servant Trish. I am Officer Eve Bousquet. I am your owner. You will address me as Mistress Bousquet. When I tell you something, you will respond with ‘yes, Mistress Bousquet’ or ‘no, Mistress Bousquet’ to let me know that you heard what I said. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“Good girl. Another thing you need to know is that servants never talk unless their owner asks them a question or requests an explanation. If you need something, you will ask for permission to speak. You belong to me, so you are prohibited from talking to anyone else unless I have told you to do so. That includes other servants. Do you understand, Servant Trish?
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“So what will happen if someone tries to talk to you, Servant Trish?”
“I…I won’t say anything… Mistress Bousquet?”
“Close. You will tell that person to speak with me, your Mistress. You won’t say anything else.”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“Alright. Before anything else, I want to get you a pair of sandals. I’m not required to provide you with shoes, but I’ll do it anyway. Now stand up.”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
The comment about the sandals reminded Trish that she was kneeling in a crowded public park, totally naked. She had been naked in public for several hours, but she had been with the other prisoners and too terrified to worry about modesty. Anyhow, her hands had been cuffed behind her back so she had been unable to cover herself.
Now she was away from the others, had the use of her hands, and had time to think about other things apart from being totally scared. She envied that one lucky slave who would be allowed by his master to wear work clothing.
Trish stood up. Unfortunately, without thinking about what she was doing, she tried to cover herself. Eve was not surprised, because it was common for recently collared servants to have one last display of modesty. She was ready for that, and ready to teach her ward the first hard lesson about what it meant to be collared.
Trish complied. Eve had brought with her a pair of handcuffs that she quietly slipped out of her purse.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Reluctantly Trish did as she was told. Eve grabbed the servant’s hands and quickly cuffed them.
“Now turn around and get on your knees. I need to explain something to you.”
Trish started to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. She obeyed, struggling to get back on her knees.
“You need to understand what has just happened to you. You’ve been auctioned. Your body no longer belongs to you. People are going to want to look at you and, because you're collared, you are going to let them look at you. You have no choice in the matter. You are a servant and you will act like a servant. Do you understand me?”
Trish’s voice cracked as she responded:
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“Very well. It’s unfortunate we have to start out like this, but it looks like you’ll have to wear cuffs for the time being. Now get up and follow me. You need to stay a meter behind me while we’re walking. Whenever I stop to talk to someone or to do anything, you will go to your knees and wait until I’m finished. I will tell you when to get up. I know that’ll be a bit hard while you’re wearing cuffs, but that’s too bad. You did it to yourself.”
Trish struggled to get up. As soon as she was on her feet, Eve snapped:
“Get back on your knees!”
With tears flowing down her cheeks, Trish got back on her knees.
“What did you forget? Let’s hear it! What did you forget?”
Trish sobbed. She managed to get out:
“Please… Mistress Bousquet… I… I don’t know… I…”
“You’ll remember that I told you, when I’m finished talking to you, you’ll acknowledge that you understand what I’ve just said by saying ‘yes, Mistress Bousquet’ or ‘no Mistress Bousquet’. Remember that?”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“Now, let’s try this again. You are a servant. You have no right to any modesty. You will keep your hands at your sides and if you don’t, you can expect to spend the rest of the day with your hands cuffed behind your back. Get it?”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
“Good. Now get up and let’s go so we can get you some sandals. Remember to stay a meter behind me when we’re walking and to get on your knees when I stop. You’d better learn some obedience, or else I’ll deal with you when we get home, and I can tell you, ‘being dealt with’ is not something you want.”
“Yes, Mistress Bousquet.”
Trish was mortified as she followed her Mistress onto the street. Eve warned her to watch where she was walking to make sure she didn’t step on any sharp objects. They walked several blocks as they headed away from the government buildings towards the commercial district. The walk was one of the hardest things Trish ever did, given that a naked woman walking on a public sidewalk with her hands cuffed behind her back was sure to draw a lot of attention. It was the end of the lunch hour and the sidewalk and the streets were crowded with pedestrians, buses, motor scooters, and bicyclists. There were not only Islanders, but also dozens of European tourists. Everyone was staring at her.
The two women made their way into a large warehouse-style building that contained dozens of small shops selling just about everything imaginable: clothing, shoes, leather goods, kitchen supplies, umbrellas, toys... Eve led her servant to a shop that sold shoes and stopped to look inside. Eve introduced herself to the clerk, a leering teenager who couldn’t keep his eyes off Trish. The servant got on her knees.
The clerk told Eve that he’d have to clean off the naked girl’s feet before she could try on any shoes. Eve did not want him touching her servant, so she responded by taking off the cuffs and having Trish wipe off her own feet. Trish did as she was told, cleaning her feet as best she could. Eve ended up buying a pair of beach sandals and a pair of cheap athletic shoes. That would be Trish Bousquet’s wardrobe for the rest of her life. Eve ordered Trish to put on the shoes and carry the sandals. Suddenly she decided to give the girl a break and not keep her cuffed for the rest of the day.
The servant was hugely relieved when she saw her Mistress putting the handcuffs back in her purse. The two women made their way out of the crowded market and back onto the street. Trish was still embarrassed at having to be naked in a crowded town, but she was just starting to get used to it. She still drew a lot of attention and looks, but without her hands cuffed she felt less freakish. She was grateful for the shoes and happy to have her hands free once again.
Without realizing it, Trish Bousquet was beginning to accept her new life. She understood that her Mistress had the power to make her existence miserable, or to make it better by granting her small breaks. She had expected to wear handcuffs for the rest of the day, but without saying anything, her owner had relented. That small favor made Trish realize that Eve could change her mind about things. Trish had seen just enough at the auction to know that some of the other servants would not be so lucky with their new owners.
End of part 1
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