Greenwood Slave Services. A clever young woman navigates a world where "Slave" contracts are legal.

This story deals with a world with mixed/non consensual "slavery" It does not glorify this, and the specific events and characters are more on the consensual side in a system that works against that. Although the initial premise is on the more extreme side, this story takes it in a slow more realistic direction. How do these characters deal with a world that has pushed contract law to an unethical extreme.

My morning routine felt off that day. Of course it was off, I was going to a slave grading facility that day. In the last hundred years slavery had become legal, not all at once. “Imperceptibly at first”, this is the common refrain. I had heard it many times, and although overplayed it was essentially true. Only its critics had called it slavery at first. Officially it still wasn’t, it was an expansion of indentured service. Slavery was voluntary but only when people signed. Then it became quite enforced. Although I am only 22, I had watched as slave contracts had become far more common. I am not a fan of the practice, but to get the loans to pursue my masters in physics they require a “slave grading.”

That morning I had set my alarm for 5 a.m. My appointment was not until noon, but I wanted to have plenty of time. Being late was a dreadful option, but I had planned well and was not going to be. I had to drive 2 hours to the facility, Greenwood Slave Services. I had done my research and this is where I had chosen to go for grading. It is a relatively small facility in a wealthy town. They had good reviews for their slave grading. They did many local gradings. The fact that so many wealthy girls have started getting slave graded in recent years bewildered me. This fact was to my advantage in this case as this facility did slave grading mostly as a service, and the loan company was paying for mine. Although I will have to sign papers agreeing to become a slave for the period of the grading, I would at least be at a facility that did not use this fact to generate significant revenue. I took a few deep breaths. I was going to be ok, I made a good plan.

I stood naked in my room. I had showered twice making sure I was as clean as possible. I knew I would be stripped there, I didn’t need any extra humiliation. Slave grading was done without make up so I only did my basic skin care the night before. I had read Greenwood’s website about the process. Pubic hair was allowed but must be trimmed. That took some time this morning, I don’t normally trim it except when I am going swimming, so not often. I have always been “shy”, that’s the word people always used. I was never one of the popular girls and had never felt comfortable trying to look sexy. It’s not that I didn’t care at all. I always looked put together, cute, a bit too formal. Preppy would be a decent description but maybe a lower effort version.

I walked to my mirror. I am 5’1”, a bit on the short side. My brunette hair was long, going past my shoulders, covering the tops of my breasts. Those had always been a difficulty for me, although I was also proud of them. They were larger than most, but on my slim frame they looked naturally erotic. Like making a statement just by being there. They were not crazy, but definitely contributed to some back pain some days. I was used to trying to hide them, or at least never wear anything that put them on display. Anything low cut was out. I owned some, but the thought of going out in public like that always made me hesitate. I looked down to my pubic hair. I could shave it now; I did my legs and armpits, I thought. I decided not to, again. I had a few more hours before I needed to drive to Greenwood Slave Services. I dressed in modest cotton underwear, a sports bra, leggings, a long skirt, and a sweater. I knew I would have to take it all off, but I wanted something that feels normal when I put it back on once this ordeal is done.

The next few hours I spent checking over my plan, and growing increasingly anxious. I paced back and forth and scrolled on my phone until I heard a text notification.

Greenwood: “Your upcoming Slave Grading is at 12:00 PM today. We are excited to see you! Remember to have a plan for the next few days if you are held over. This is rare but possible. You should arrive with your phone as handing it over is required. You should have plenty of sleep the night before and eat a good breakfast. Greenwood takes the care of Slaves very seriously and will ensure your safety during your stay. We recommend you try to enjoy the experience. Many find it freeing and relaxing to spend a day as a Slave. We will ensure you have a safe and enlightening experience. Failure to arrive will forfeit fees and incur a 2k fine.”

I shuddered feeling a lump in my chest just reading who the text was from. After reading it I had a mini panic attack. It wasn’t really anything I didn’t expect, it was the immediacy of it, the inevitably of it now. I knew it was possible I would be kept for more than a day, but it shouldn’t happen to me. I had only told one friend about this. Most of my friends would judge me or at least be annoying if I told them I was doing this. Yes there were other ways to get the loan but this really was the best for me. My friend Elenor would take care of anything if I was there all day tomorrow. I could have planned more in case I was kept longer but I didn’t. To prepare for that I would have to tell my family and I did not want them to worry or honestly to know that I was going through this. I didn’t want the image of me on my knees with a collar telling someone I just met “yes master.”

The drive helped to calm me down. Something about driving lets the mind think without over thinking. There was no turning back now, I had my plan, I was ready. This was the first time I really let myself fantasize about the experience. I am straight, I mean at least mostly straight. I had never had a serious boyfriend. To my friends and family I was always the smart school focused girl. I never really brought up sex, but I was not asexual, like some thought. I had always just been annoyed by male attention. It was embarrassing and usually came from places I would prefer it did not. I had a resting bitch face that helped, but I was still hit on. I never entertained the attention even if some of the guys were attractive. I just didn’t want to deal with it all and if I showed any interest saying no became way harder. Here though I would not be saying no. They couldn’t fuck me, one of the reasons I picked this facility. Still they could do things that I had never tried that I wouldn’t mind trying if it was with the right person if it didn’t get out to the people I knew. I had wished I could explore my sexuality without it coming back to my normal life. Well here it could happen. Even something that was not considered significant to do to a slave would be the most sexual experience of my life.

On Greenwoods website there was a page about their training programs. All advertising to their rich clientele. Many Slave companies had websites that looked like a porn site, Not Greenwood, theirs was classy. Still, on the training page there was a video of a slave girl on her knees legs wide apart showing off her pussy. She was perfectly bald down there. She bounced slightly letting her butt touch her feet, a good stretch that didn’t seem to faze her. She had her hands behind her back and was looking right at the camera. She said, “Please make my little slave pussy cum Master”. Then a man’s hand reached down and rubbed her enlarged clit. He rubbed her for a few seconds and then pulled his hand away. He said “You will not be having a silly little orgasm.” She smiled at the camera and nodded with excitement like it was the best news she got all day. I watched the video many times in the last few weeks. You might be thinking I kept masturbating to the video, that I wanted to be her. No, I was excited by it, but I didn’t allow myself to follow that train of thought. I felt more shock and disdain for the page than eroticism anyways. In the car on my way there I decided to lean into any excitement I felt.

I had to do this, there was no turning back so I might as well think about what I might enjoy here. The thought of becoming like that girl showing excitement at being a sex object for men was not something I was going to go through at a grading, and not something I wanted. The thought however; of a man I don’t know seeing me naked, touching me down there, was something to consider. No one was going to know I did this, and it was not my choice. I can experience this without being judged by it, without it changing how I see myself. I also won’t have anyone coming after me from this. These were slave handlers; they see dozens of naked girls every day. The indifference of the handlers was going to be an interesting experience. I would be seen by men, appraised by them honestly. No flattery, no insults, just the truth. Dealing with guys I had turned down was something I had been burned by. It probably added to my instinct to shut men down. Here there would be none of that. I didn’t have to put up a shell, I could just experience this day, however it went. It was going to be the first time I was seen naked by a man. It may be the first time I am touched down there, I may even orgasm. I felt my clit becoming excited from this train of thought.

I arrived in the parking lot of the facility. Signs directed me to a lot for girls coming for grading. I parked and looked at the time, a full hour early. I waited in my car for ten minutes. My anxiety was growing just sitting there so I decided to just go in. The building reminded me of a bank, marble columns, and lots of stone work. It’s not grand, but made more to look like an institution of the community. Inside was a nice lobby with a couple front desks but only one is occupied. There were three odd metal poles on raised stands in the lobby that confused me. Until I realized these were stands to put a person. I stared for a minute until I understood how they worked. There were two sets of cuffs one lower for the hands and one higher for the arms. Judging by the position of the hook for a collar to be attached the person’s arms would be pulled close together near the shoulders. I shuddered thinking of this harsh position.

The woman at the open desk looked at me expectantly. She was dressed professionally almost like she worked in a bank. I walked up and gave my name, Sarah Jones. “You are an eager one aren’t you, we recommend you come only 15 minutes early. You are 45 minutes early. Just couldn’t wait to get in a collar?” When I hesitated to answer she continued, “I got your file here, oh you had quite a drive. You must have picked this place out. Not a bad decision. I was just teasing, you look so anxious. It’s fine to be early. Don’t worry you are going to be fine here. I just marked you as here.” I recovered from my initial embarrassment and thanked her for her kindness. I admitted I did look at more than one place before choosing this facility.

The ornate iron gate connecting to a hallway opened and a man in a security looking outfit came out. I recognised that he was a Handler. He looked young, probably only a year or two older than me with a bit of a baby face. He spoke with the woman at the front for a minute while I waited. I noticed he had a lot of things on his utility belt including cuffs, and what I recognized as an extendable cattle prod. My heart rate was shooting up as I stood there. Then he told me to follow him and we walked through the hallway to a room labeled “Inspection 1”. It had a table with one chair and a camera on a tripod, otherwise it was empty with cinderblock walls and white paint.

He turned to me and said “So you are like really early and I see this is your first time here, just for a grading. So here is the deal. You are checked in now, you need to sign these papers on your treatment here and then I will put a collar on you. Be good and I will let you sit in here until we are ready for you. Give me any trouble and I will have you in here naked kneeling on this tile floor until the start time, probably around 1 p.m.” Keeping my composure I reply, “I will be good, sorry for being here so early I just want to do well. Thank you, but can I please have some time to read these over before I sign?” He looked at me and chuckled. “Of course you can read them over, you already signed the main paperwork, so if you don’t sign these you will still be collared and naked on your knees until you sign. The loan company would have to apply for you to leave now. They just go over some of the rules here and ensure our clients haven’t been coerced into being here. It’s for your own good. Give me your hands please.” I looked at him confused for a moment then I saw the cuffs in his hands. I put my hands out and he attached them. They were not like police handcuffs. They were thick steel with a padded inside that formed to my hands without extra space. The cuffs were connected by a thick metal piece. I realized that although comfortable they were very restrictive and with more comfort came less need to remove them.

After I was cuffed he had me turn around and he showed me the collar that would soon be on my neck. It was about an inch and a half wide, and a half inch thick. The outside was polished silver plated steel. He put the collar around my neck and locked it together. He then pressed a button and the whole thing adjusted to my neck, it was close in size already, but then it was held in place perfectly pressing just a bit into my neck. Pressure but not pain. He directed me to turn around with a hand on my shoulder. I was struck by how easily he touched me, it wasn’t threatening but his authority was obvious.

He kept his hand on my shoulder as he spoke. “Alright, how does that feel? Do you feel 2 small metal bumps on each side of your throat?”

“It feels weird, not painful but the pressure is consistent. I won’t have it on long at least. I guess I feel the bumps, they are small but the whole surface is pressing into my neck.” I put my hands up feeling the strange object.

“Sarah, stop touching it. Those bumps are because it is a shock collar. You are registered as a slave right now in this facility. You are going to want to be in the right headspace quickly. When asked a question you need to answer it first. I am not trying to scare you or hurt you. You can talk to me and other members of staff, just answer questions and be respectful.” He said all this with a kindness in his voice and on his face that both reassured and surprised me. He looked genuinely concerned for my welfare.

I obeyed him quickly, lowering my hands to my sides. His attitude made me feel bad for talking so casually to him. I did not want to feel the shock collar, he was warning me to keep me safe. “Sorry Sir, I appreciate your help. I am really scared here, but I want to do well.”

He relaxed a bit, smiling. “I can tell that you are scared, it’s going to be totally fine just follow the directions. No one here wants to hurt you. You are registered here, but you got here early and I am not going to punish you for that. I am sure you are excited to get all of this done. Now look over these papers, I will be back in about 10 minutes.” he directed me with a hand on my back to the chair.

As I sat down I felt more comfortable. Not good, but better. I am surprised by how this man’s hand on my shoulder made me feel more comfortable, not less. I look up to him. “Sir, thank you I really appreciate you making me feel more comfortable, and letting me read these.” His kindness when he could be stripping me and using electric shocks on me made me trust him. My fear made me eager to have someone I could trust. He acted like I was just here for an ordinary appointment.

He looked back at me before leaving and turned my appreciation into submission. “Aww, you seem like a nice girl. I treat all the girls who come through here well. It’s my job to make you feel comfortable and ensure you submit like a good slave girl.” He paused after that word letting the turn in his attitude sink in. “Don’t say Sir to me, you will say Master. Now be a good girl and try again, and use the right words.” he said in a condescending way like he was talking to someone younger or stupid.

“Thank you, Master. I really appreciate it, Master.” The words come out of me quickly. I am so afraid in here and he was being nice to me. It made me feel in control to be really nice to him so that he treated me well. I always used planning to control whatever I could. That’s how I would deal with stress. With that last line of his he changed the script. I wanted to be someone who wanted to do a good job so that his job was easy, someone who shows up early to make things easier. I wanted to have a deal that if I just did what was needed to get the grading done he would make it easy on me. He turned that into something else. He made me a silly girl who is just eager to submit to male authority. He is about my age and in any other place he would be my peer. Now I am scrambling to call him Master just because he was nice to me.

I was hating myself for that last response as I read over the papers. I actually said Master twice. The first paper went over what I already knew, and I signed to confirm that I had made the appointment and was the one to sign digitally. It was just a confirmation. The second one said that I would comply with the orders of handlers, and act with respect. Failure to obey multiple times can be punished with any of the light punishments used in training at this facility and or an extension of up to two days. Additionally any handler could extend a day for repeated disrespect. Punishment extensions can not go over 5 days. The last line reassured me a bit although I was pissed I was just now reading this. I signed it as well.

The same babyfaced young handler came back. I see his name tag this time. I am surprised to see Cole, of course I have to address him with Master. “I signed them both Master.” I say still trying to be on his good side even if he had humiliated me as he left last time.

“Aren’t you such a good girl, thank you very much. I am going to file these, a woman is coming to get you proceeded. It might be a little while. So just hold tight. I will let you sit until then with your clothes on.” He smiles looking at me expectantly.

“Thank you Master.” He was humiliating me now. At first I was making a choice to be helpful and appreciative. This was thanking him so he doesn’t punish me. He was expecting it.

He puts his hand out to me. “Phone”

My hands are cuffed but I get my phone quickly. And put it in his hand. “Here, Master.”

“Good girl, you probably can’t be torn away from your phone normally, but you give it to me without being asked twice. Is that right?”

“Yes Master” I was cornered and had no good options. If he was just trying to get me in the right headspace for my own good, then I should obey, and if he was doing this to get off on humiliating me, then not obeying him would just give him reason to make my life harder. I was there for a while alone. There was nothing to do. I was left to my own thoughts.

When the door opened again I was actually happy to have something happen. It had been probably an hour, but felt longer. A woman in her 30s came in. She was blonde and a bit overweight although still attractive. She looked more bored than kind or cruel. At some point it’s probably just a job.

“Get out of the chair, slaves don’t sit in the chair.” She said gruffly.

“Yes Mistress, um the other guy he said I could. Sit.” I stand quickly.

“You will call him Master, and I don’t care. Just do what I told you and we will get this done. If I think I need to shock you to get you moving I will. If you are efficient then I won’t, that easy. Cole is going to be dealing with your grading. I am just getting you to the holding room. Now give me your hands so I can unlock you and then you will strip, yes completely. I hate when a slave girl stands there in her underwear like maybe I get to keep these on.”

I put my hands out. As soon as the cuffs are off, I start to strip. I have been thinking about this moment for weeks, and I go into muscle memory. I don’t think about it; I just undress. It’s easier with a woman here as well. Her attitude is not comforting, but her indifference made me feel less exposed. I am completely naked faster than I expected.

“Unshaved, that’s a choice. Now let’s go.” She cuffed me and led me into the hallway.

We walked further down the hallway to a room labeled “Holding 4.” The room was completely bare except for a few eye bolts on the floor and ceiling. It’s a small room, only long enough for a person to lie down lengthwise. It was like a large closet. There was an outline for kneeling painted on the floor facing the door, and a small drain. She uncuffed me and pointed me to the outline.

The cement floor was cold to the touch. She directed me into the proper kneeling position. Tops of my feet lying flat on the cement, sitting on my ankles. She tapped on my shoulder, and I pushed my chest out. My ankles were not used to this position and started to hurt right away. The tops of my feet pressed into the cement. My knees and some of my shins pressed into the cement as well, but it was the bones of my feet where I was in pain after just 30 seconds. She had me put my hands facing up on my thighs, and look down slightly. By this point the pain in my ankles, feet and knees was rising.

I was shocked by the discomfort of this position. “Mistress, please, this is hurting already. It’s right on cement and my ankles are hurting.”

“I’m sorry it hurts, but this is part of the process. Just don’t leave that position. You don’t do yoga, I assume. It’s going to hurt if you aren’t used to the position, but it’s not dangerous.” She closed and locked the door.

For the first few minutes, I stayed still, but the strain on my ankles and all the bones on the sensitive tops of my feet continued to grow. I slowly shifted my weight forward to my knees. This reduced the pressure but was not enough. Within 5 minutes of being in this position, I was sweating and panicking. I got up on the balls of my feet, pushing more of my weight to my knees. It felt much better, but I was definitely not in the position I was told to be in. I shifted back and forth several times over the next 10 minutes. Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, I would move back to sitting on my ankles, then shift back to the balls of my feet.

My mind was racing from fear to anger to acceptance, then back again. I tried to be practical, to understand I needed to do this and it can’t be that long. It was probably about 15 minutes, but felt like far more when the door opened. I had been panicking for some time now, imagining being left here for hours, what if there was a camera and my fidgeting was punishable. I was in a state of significant discomfort, mental panic, and total loss of control. I had been fantasizing about the door opening for so long now that my mind filled with relief when it did.

Cole walked in and shut the door. “Oww, she put you on your knees. I bet that hurts, you look distressed. Don’t move though. I have to ask you a couple questions then you can get up. If you are good for me during your grading I will get you a little mat to kneel on.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. This really hurts.” I was sitting on my ankles. Some of the pain had softened with time, but this position was screaming at me. My focus was so much on the pain, staying still, and getting these questions done that I hardly thought about the fact I was naked in front of this man. My breasts, which I had always tried to deemphasize, were now totally bare and pushed out on display. With my knees together, my pubic area was mostly hidden, although the fact I was not shaved was obvious.

“Alright, are you ready for your grading?” He looked over my body with obvious pleasure as he asked.

“Yes” I replied quickly thinking only of getting out of this position.

“I need you to say Master with each answer. Sorry I bet it feels stupid, but those are the rules, I will move on to the next question though. Do you understand that you will be photographed in many positions?”

“Yes Master.”

“Do you understand that the specific tasks required of you may change and up to your Handler to emphasize any value you might hold as a slave?”

“Yes Master.” I had not expected that question.

“Do you understand that you may be asked to perform sexual acts as part of your grading?”

“Well, I know some, but I am a virgin and I had filed that with the facility, and I...” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

“Yes I have that, you will be leaving with your virginity, I won’t do anything to lower your sale value. Now do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

He reached out a hand to help me up. My joints and muscles were so sore I lost balance and put my other hand on his arm, steading myself. The pain morphed as I stood. I looked at my knees and saw they were red, my feet looked worse, probably slightly swollen. I let go of him and stood next to this man, completely naked. I started to blush as he started to explain some of the positions and tasks I was going to be doing. He was back to a kind professionalism. I found myself liking him despite everything. He had not put me in this situation and I could have a mat next time I was in here. It was that woman who had made me suffer.

He cuffed me again and walked me out into the hall. We went into a new, larger room. It was a small gymnasium, but instead of workout equipment or a basketball court, it was filled with sex and bondage devices, most of which I didn’t understand.