The Dance

She swung around the pole, hiked her knee and then paused. Wearing nothing but a leather miniskirt and black high heels, she noticed with pleasure that all of the men in the room were watching, enraptured. The normal club patrons were up front hooting and hollering while the more well-to-do men were sitting in the reclining chairs in the back. She could barely see through the thick cigarette smoke, but she could tell that none of the chairs were reclined; every man, be they in business suit or dirty t-shirt, was watching the beautiful woman with the long dark brown hair, toned legs and arms, slim waist, and large perfect breasts which were heaving from her exertions. She had chosen a long routine, being last, hoping to impress the rich men that may have been more interested in the teenagers that came before her.

She kicked her leg as high as she could, exposing her bare ass and shaved vagina, an action which still made her blush. This was not the Marie her mother raised. This was not the mother of the two year old son which she knew she would never again see. This 22 year old woman was sultry, lithe, and alive as she had never been. She put her leg down, her twenty minute long routine at an end. With sweat dripping off of her nose, hands, and legs, she walked wearily but confidently from the stage. Many of the men were clapping and yelling while a few wrote something down or made voice notes into tape recorders and cell phones. She hoped they were writing good things. She prayed that a rich man would purchase her; not one of these animals that were yelling and screaming and would probably love nothing more than to do horrible things to her. She wanted an owner that would love her. A part of her mind screamed at her to run for the exit, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. After all, she didn’t exist; at least not in the way a normal American woman would.

As she entered the back room, she removed her skirt and heels and threw them in the pile against the wall. That was her costume, and it most likely would not travel with her to her new home. It would be washed and given to the next set of girls that came through this place.

She stepped into the shower, vowing to herself that she would scrub clean every last part of her body so that she would look her best for the coming auction. Once she had locked herself into her cage, there would be no opportunity to do anything but sleep. As she began scrubbing, she thought back to how she had ended up here. Marie, a good Christian woman with a strong familial upbringing, in a strip club washing up after a performance and about to be auctioned to the highest bidder.

Marie was on her way home from work. It was volunteer work at a local politician’s office, as her husband would not allow her to hold a true job so soon after giving birth to their two year old. He had said that she should be with him at least until he was in school. In truth, he probably didn’t trust her to hold a job. After all, she was just a woman. He was not the man she married and although she still thought she loved him, she was getting sick of fearing for her health every time he came home at night, drunk and belligerent.

As soon as she opened the door, she felt something was wrong. None of the lights were on in the house except for the kitchen, which was very much not the norm for her husband. She gasped as she came around the corner. Her husband was lying on the floor, face down in a puddle of his own blood, a male police officer standing over him. The officer was holding a gun. He looked at Marie and told her to stay back. Shocked, she did as she was told. The officer, wearing gloves, approached her and handed her the gun. He asked her to turn the gun over, looking for any marks that would identify it as her husband’s. He told her he suspected suicide. She didn’t realize until too late what she was doing. By then, the officer was grinning at her.

“Marie Dubois, you are under arrest for the murder of Frank Dubois,” he said, to a completely aghast Marie. He finished reading her the Miranda rights as he handcuffed her and escorted her out of her own back door into the alley where a patrol car waited. He threw her violently into the backseat, causing her to hit her head on the opposite window.

She shook her head to try to clear it. She tried to use her hands to move the hair out of her eyes but they were locked uncomfortably tight behind her.

“There must be a mistake…you know I didn’t kill him, you were there,” she stammered. She knew she sounded like a fool and that they were obviously framing her, but she couldn’t think why.

“Lady, we saw you holding the gun. We have a letter that you wrote to your friend in Arkansas saying you were tired of him and wanted him dead so that you could collect on the life insurance policy that you bought behind his back,” the officer responded. “Actually we forged your signature on the policy and we don’t know if you have a friend in Arkansas or not, but all of that put together will be more than enough to indict you and give you the death penalty. Your son will be taken to an orphanage where a loving family will adopt him and raise him themselves. Your life will be far more interesting, though. Don’t bother fighting; the judge, the cops, even your family attorney have a vested interest in seeing you get the death penalty. Don’t worry though; you won’t die at the hands of the state. Whatever happens to you after you disappear is not my concern. I’m getting a cut of your selling price regardless.”

She sat in stunned silence. Not only was she being framed; she was being abducted. She realized quickly that there was no escape. How could she, Marie, housewife, escape the police?

Before she had time to think about it, they were arriving at the precinct. As they were booking her, the woman behind the counter looked her over doubtfully. She didn’t look like the type that would normally be arrested, wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. She saw a glimmer of hope and began pleading with the woman.

“Please, I’ve been framed and these officers want to make me disappear so they can sell me on some sort of auction! You’ve got to believe me! You’ve got to help!” she begged.

“Oh, the crazy husband murderer you were telling me about,” the woman said. “You’re right, she is pretty. Too bad. The women where she’s going do mean things to the pretty ones.”

She booked Marie and the male officers led her to a holding cell. The cell was empty except for her. Having never been in jail before, Marie wasn’t sure what to do next. She felt cliché holding onto the bars as if she were in a movie, but couldn’t think of anything else. Besides, it gave her something to brace herself against. Everything had happened so fast.

She remembered once attending jury duty. She remembered a man with far less evidence stacked against him being indicted for arson. She herself had been one of the jurors pushing for the guilty vote. Now that she was on the other side of the fence, she wondered if she really stood a chance in court. Her fingerprints on her husband’s gun in her own house with a recent life insurance policy and a letter, even if forged, to someone saying she wanted to kill him? Add to that the only witnesses being a pair of corrupt police officers that were going to say they walked in with her holding the gun? It didn’t look good for her.

She put her head against the cell and moaned as she realized she would most likely never again be free. At least, she thought, her son would never again be hit by her husband.

The trial was quick. She was allowed representation but it was chosen for her. The man was obvious in his attempts to make her story look fake; not that she had much of a defense.

The psychiatrist declared her mentally sane and the experts said these things were common of low income house wives who care more about money then their loving husbands. On the last day of the trial, the prosecution even suggested that she had most likely been sleeping with the senator she was volunteering for. The man was a political enemy of the lawyer and this move erased what few doubts the jurors had left.

The deliberations lasted less than an hour. She was guilty on all charges; murder, infidelity, even child cruelty for doing such heinous acts a mere two years after their son was born.

She listened to the proceedings with a blank look on her face. What could she say? The whole thing was obviously a setup, but a damn good one. Only she and those involved would ever know. Even her family, to which she was not close, would probably believe her capable of this as they had thought she was evil simply for marrying her husband.

The sentencing was just as quick. Her state readily accepted the death penalty, especially for a murdering whore. It was rare to put a woman to death, but it didn’t matter. Although her case was big news for the first few days, certain people made an effort to make sure it disappeared quickly. They had her scheduled for execution as soon as possible.

Marie watched from a closed circuit television in her cell as they led someone else to her death. She couldn’t tell if it was a dummy or another woman. It moved realistically, but the hood on the head kept her from verifying anything. They strapped the thing in, pulled the lever, and called it a day. She slept little that night, wondering about her fate.

She awoke to a jailor entering the cell. He told her to be quiet and still. He placed a hood on her head, disturbingly similar to the one that had been on the executed body. He handcuffed her hands behind her back. She could then hear a rustling in front of her that sounded similar to a large leather knapsack being arranged. He told her to step forward and guided her feet. As soon as she was standing on it, he pulled the large sack up to her neck and tied it.

She did not resist as she did not know where she would go if she did get away. Besides, the past few days of solitary confinement had given her time to think about things. She wasn’t at all sure she missed her old life, even if she was unsure of the future. She hadn’t exactly been free, as her husband had kept her on a pretty tight leash, and at least in jail she hadn’t been physically abused.

The jailor carried her out of the cell and threw her onto a pile of laundry. He then carted her out the back door and placed her in the bed of a pickup instead of the laundry truck. She stayed dutifully still the entire time.

It took the truck a few hours to get to its destination. By then, the rough ride and confined hood had given Marie a terrible headache. Her wrists ached from being bounced against the bed of the truck and she was extremely sweaty from being locked into a leather bag in the summer heat for two hours. She felt herself lifted from the truck bed and carried a bit. A female voice told the person carrying her where to place her and she was stood with a chain wrapped around her still hooded neck to keep her standing.

It didn’t take long for someone to come by and remove the hood. Marie’s blurry eyes took a moment to focus on the more mature woman in front of her. The woman waited patiently for Marie to try to speak. Marie’s throat, however was very parched, and only produced a hoarse grumble.

The woman held up a garden hose with a sprayer and pointed it at Marie’s mouth, a questioning look on her face. Marie gladly opened her mouth and received the cool water. As she drank she looked around. She was in a warehouse chained to the ceiling by her neck. There were a few other women in the room who looked to be near her age, all of them attractive and all of them nude. They were all chained to the ceiling but a few were sitting down on the cement floor while most were standing. Many of them wore leather gags that covered their entire mouth. One poor woman was also pulled by her neck onto the tips of her toes, barely able to breathe. One of the sitting women was reading something.

The woman who had given her water stopped the flow and set the hose down. She untied the bag and slid it down Marie’s body, carefully helping her step out of it. She threw the bag into the middle of the floor and pulled out a pair of scissors. The woman then began cutting Marie’s clothes off; first her t-shirt, then her blue jeans. Marie started to protest when the woman began cutting off her panties and bra, but the woman merely gave her a stern look. Marie could guess by the woman’s domineering manner and the fact that all of the other women were naked that arguing would probably be futile. Even the woman cutting off her clothes was wearing a low cut blouse, tight skirt, stockings and high heels. The woman unlaced Marie’s shoes and took them off, one by one, carefully letting Marie keep her balance since Marie’s hands were still cuffed behind her back. She put all of the clothes and shoes into the bag and deposited it on a stack of similar bags.

Marie, completely nude, stood there as the woman came back and retrieved the water hose. She then soaked Marie completely from head to toe, causing her to shriek from the shock and avert her face. Once Marie was completely drenched the woman applied soap. Starting at her feet, the woman silently and efficiently coated Marie in suds all the way to her neck, paying special attention to Marie’s more sensitive areas. She then coated Marie’s shoulder length brown hair in shampoo. She washed Marie’s face gently with a rag.

Every time Marie would start to speak, the woman would shush her. None of the other women were talking either, though Marie could tell that a few of them were mumbling and screaming into gags. Not wishing to be gagged, Marie let the woman finish bathing her in silence.

After being rinsed, the woman released Marie’s hands. She also released the lock on the chain on Marie’s neck and told her to sit. Marie did as she was told, not wanting to anger the person who was obviously in control. The woman reattached the chain to Marie’s neck and told her she could either sit or stand, her choice. She then handed Marie a small pamphlet.

“Read that and you’ll understand a bit about what’s going on. It’s not as horrible as you might think, but you are no longer a member of society as you knew it. You are now, and forevermore, a slave,” the woman said. “You will refer to me as Mistress because although I am also a slave, I am your superior for the time being.” She then turned away and walked off, pausing only to give the choking, tortured woman a quick slap on the breast.

Marie wondered what was going on with that one poor woman and decided that she had probably upset the mistress lady. She watched the lady leave the room then turned her attention to the small book in her hands. It read:

You are now a slave. Much care is taken to acquire only the most attractive women, so you may be proud that you qualified. You are probably also terrified, which is understandable. You are, for all extents and purposes, no longer human. You have no rights. To the public and the government, you are dead. You live only as a slave now.

She read this paragraph a few times, letting it sink in. She realized she was crying as the concept of slavery sunk in. She had read about slavery in school but had never though she would end up with a chain around her own neck. She read on:

The people you will meet that are not slaves are the people who make a business selling them. In this facility, we train our slaves to be dancers. You will have three months to prepare before going on stage. You will be performing in a strip club, owned by this facility, which is known for having new women every month. You will have one night, one performance to make an impression on the crowd. You will compete with five other slaves.

After the show an auction will be held. There will be five buyers, so every slave will be purchased. In this way we make sure that every man, no matter how poor, has a chance to own a beautiful woman. However, the best, most sensual and attractive dancer will demand the higher bids that only the richer men can provide. These men tend to be kinder, looking mainly for a companion that can never leave them and take half their fortune. Therefore it is in your best interest to train as hard as possible and perform to the best of your abilities.

You will be responsible for your own routine and picking your own costume. Pick carefully as the right clothes and right moves just might grab the right owner.

There will be slaves on hand to help you prepare. Most of these slaves are almost free. They do as they wish as long as it does not conflict with their master’s wishes. They are here as a courtesy from their Master to help you train and learn to attract the right man. Feel free to talk to them about the entire system and how they feel. You will find that most of them prefer their new life to their life as a free person.