For Want of a Nail

"Look honey, it's the only way we will have the cash to make payroll."

"But it's risky, Magda."

"Not really. I'm sure to assess for enough collateral. It's no different than floating on credit for a while when the checking account runs low. We just need to get over next week's hump. Everything evens out after that. We repay the loan and go on about our business.

"If something goes wrong..."

"Oh, come on sweetie, the economy is roaring along. We're doing great. This is our chance to really rake in the bucks!"

"It's not just filling out papers you know. By all accounts, the assessment process is beyond humiliating."

"I'm a big girl, Joe. Yeah, I'm not crazy about getting naked in front of the loan officers at the bank, but it's not like I'll end up on the auction block or anything. My assessment file will stay in the hard drive at the bank. That thing's not even connected to the internet! Once the loan is repaid my file will be wiped and my glorious naked physique will reside only in the memory of the loan office staff."

"I still don't like it. Maybe I should do it."

"You know women assess much higher than men. We've talked about this before, we're both curious about what I'd bring on the open market. I mean, take a look at me!"

Joe gazed at his gorgeous wife. At thirty-five, she still turned the heads of men of all ages and quite a few women. Long, red, almost crimson hair, trim, nubile figure, fantastic legs, and large, firm tits. She looked at least a decade younger than the calendar claimed.

"I'll be able to easily bring in the bucks we need. I'll go to the bank when it opens, grab lunch downtown, and be home in time to make dinner for you and Jerry. Since it's work-related, I won't even have to take a vacation or personal day. Isla can run things for the day."

"But if something goes wrong..."

"I love you like crazy, husband, but you have to cut out the worrying or you'll give yourself a coronary. I intend to grow old with you, Mister!"

**

"Everything seems in order with your paperwork, Mrs. Hamilton."

The short roundish chief loan officer paused. Magda suppressed a giggle. By design, she had worn a short skirt and a tight blouse with a plunging neckline. The little perv couldn't keep his eyes off her.

"But, while I'm sure, you will assess for the figure in question. If, however, you sign for a ten-year enslavement commitment, it pays out at a far higher rate."

"Then sign me up for that!" returned Magda.

"It is at this point I issue the standard disclaimer. In the event that you fail to repay your loan by the specified date, or the bank asks for payment early, as is its right, Imperial Banking Corporation of North America will claim said collateral, namely, you, and take it to the open market in an attempt to recoup its outlay."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. Hicks."

"Fine, then the last thing that must be done is to have you properly assessed so that we know that we are getting a fair value for our money. Please follow me."

Three hours later, after a degrading and humiliating physical and more than three score of photos that Magda would never want to see the light of day, she was back in her clothes, even more than the amount she requested on a cashier's check. The only bright spot of the entire ordeal was when the bank officials informed her that her evaluation, nice as it was, was left intentionally low.

"Quite frankly, Mrs. Hamilton, if you were to hit the open market, this bank would do very well indeed."

She could hardly wait to tell Joe how much, unofficially, they claimed she really was worth. The cashier's check went from Mr. Hick's hands to her hands, to the teller's hands to the joint business account shared with her husband. All she left with were receipts and unpleasant memories.

Later that night, however, Magda stood naked on a chair in her bedroom while Joe shouted out price guesses.

"Higher!" she squealed.

Joe named a figure.

"Higher!" repeated Magda.

This happened several more times before Magda chuckled, yelled, "Sold!" and leaped into her husband's arms.

"Really?" he asked in an amazed tone when their prolonged kiss had ended.

"Honest to God!"

"Holy shit!"

**

Come payday, Magda and Joe had more than enough money to cover the payroll. The temporary cashflow crisis was averted.

"I have eighteen months to repay the loan. We don't have to rush to get the money today," said Magda as she, as company treasurer, signed the last check.

"I'd prefer that we paid it back immediately, Magda."

"We could, but that might put us back in the same cash flow pinch; budgeting a bit at a time makes more sense. I'm putting a bit aside each week in the account labeled "Freedom." I'll pay it off in twelve or fourteen months. Piece of cake."

**

The terrorist attacks were sudden and simultaneous in several parts of the world. Troops were mobilized in most Western countries. The bottom fell out of the world's stock markets and a panicked populous drained their bank accounts in hopes of having hard cold cash in the face of the crisis and its raft of unknowns. Like virtually every outstanding loan in a dozen countries, Magda's was recalled by her bank. At this point, Joe and Magda had put aside barely half the required sum. Magda pored over the books. Joe tried to sell some equipment. Selling their house was not an option as it did not have enough liquidity. The stock market plunge had taken the bottom out of their 401Ks, cutting off that avenue of escape Even if they could sell their house in this economy, a huge if, there was no way it would sell in time to placate the bank. The funds simply weren't there, and, in this suddenly shaky economy, no one was buying gas-guzzling, heavy equipment. Nor were they opting for new construction projects. As the day ended the greatly dispirited couple made their way home. Their paradise on earth had become a hellscape. She stood terrified, wrapped in Joe's arms. "Oh, God! What can we do? If we leave right now, can we make it to Canada by morning?"

"Maybe," said her husband slowly, "but even if they didn't turn us back at the border, we would lose everything the business, the house, we'd have to pull Jerry out of school."

"But it is a chance to stay together, Joe. Starting over from zero isn't that daunting if we are a team."

"OK, I'll get the suitcases out of the attic."

The married couple's hearts dropped when they heard the unmistakable sound of a large vehicle or vehicles pulling into their gravel driveway. A moment later a megaphoned voice pierced the dusk.

"This is the Federal Slave Regulation and Enforcement Agency. Exit the house with your hands above your heads!"

Joe made a move to reach for his rifle, but Magda stayed his hand.

"Please honey, if you get killed, Jerry effectively becomes an orphan. I need you strong for him."

Magda strode to the window, opened it, and said,

"Don't shoot or break down the doors. We are coming out."

Joe and Magda exited the house with their hands up. Side by side they approached the phalanx of cops and federal agents. Magda's irises were scanned. Her cheek was swabbed for a DNA sample. In seconds, the sensitive portable equipment confirmed Mrs. Magda Hamilton as the person the bank now owned title to. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, and she was led to the backseat of a panel van. Magda wanted to exchange a last kiss and embrace with her husband but the representative from the bank forbade it and burly cops and feds tugged Joe away. Magda was crying heavily as the van rolled into motion. She had only a vague idea of what lay ahead. Her imagination however was adept at summoning demons and eldritch horrors.

The drive was both too long and not long enough. The van made several stops. Women, just as distraught as Magda joined her. The trek ended at a local prison. The women were all herded into a holding cell. Miserably, they sat on the bench. Most were too anxious to even weep. The world they knew was at an end. Their future was years, in Magda's case, a decade, of involuntary servitude. Legal slavery.

In alphabetical order, the women were taken from the cell, processed, and returned. Magda's wait was not long. Two policewomen marched her off to a side room. Two more were in the room.

"OK, Mrs. Hamilton, I'm sure you have a good idea as to what happens now. You are going to strip off. Everything comes off, including hair extensions and fake nails. Everything, once it comes off, is going into this shipping container and will be mailed to your next of kin. Once you are naked, we are going to search you everywhere. Then, it's shower time and you get our ever so stylish old lady underwear and an orange jumpsuit." stated the head matron.

Magda, who was positive had cried herself out, found new tears that fairly gushed from her emerald-green eyes. The matrons were completely unmoved by Magda's emotional display. As each garment was neatly folded and placed in the shipping container, her misery increased. In just her bra and panties, the enormity of the next steps hit with the force of an out-of-control Mack truck. The lacy brassiere sat atop her blouse. She ceded her knickers. This was much worse than her voluntary strip at the bank! Magda's face screwed up when she realized she was down to just her wedding band and engagement ring. Her cry as she tugged them off was akin to a woman delivering a stillborn infant.

It all passed before her. The first meeting with Joe. Their first night of incandescent sex confirmed to both that they were meant for each other. Their honeymoon in the tropics where they skinny-dipped by moonlight and tried anal for the first time. The happiness of her pregnancy and motherhood. Now, Joe was left to raise Jerry on his own. When she saw her son again, if she saw her son again, he would be in college! It was so unfair! God damn those terrorists! She was just as much their victim even though she had been hundreds of miles from the bombings and knifings. Her name would, however, never appear on any memorial wall.

Magda watched the shipping container being sealed almost like a stranger. Surely, this horror must be happening to some other woman.

"Pull yourself together, Mrs. Hamilton. Then, squat and cough!"

The humiliation was profound. The alien clothes felt alien, as though they were possessed by the souls of every previous inmate who had worn them. Magda was led back to the holding cell. She felt like a stranger to herself and wondered if she would ever feel joy, satisfaction, or peace of mind again.

When the last of the women had been processed, a matron announced, "You will all have to bunk out here tonight. I realize that your cell is crowded, but you sure as shit don't want to be sharing cells with criminals. Don't hate us ladies, we are just doing our jobs. In the morning, you will be collected by the SREA and sent to your final dispensation. I'm going to issue pillows and mattresses to all of you. There should be just enough space on the floor and benches for everyone to fit."

"What happens in the morning?" asked one of the terrified women.

"I'm not sure, darling, we've never had so many of you at once. Usually, it's one or two at a time and those are handled directly by the SREA. They only call on us cops when they have large numbers to deal with. Quite frankly, if it wasn't for the outstanding overtime pay you girls would not be worth the effort."

The severe-looking matron paused and studied her charges before continuing.

"Lights out is at ten thirty. We'll wake you at seven, feed you some coffee and Danish, and pass you on to the Slave Regulation and Enforcement Agency. They should be ready for you by then."

"But what will happen?" repeated one of the women.

"Oh, come on girl, you should be able to figure that out on your own. Some horny guy or gal is going to purchase you. Those wonderful pictures you posed for at your local bank are even now winging their way around the internet along with all your vitals. Who knows how many creepy guys have already whacked it to your charming poses?"

This pronouncement was met with screams of horror from the caged women.

The matron smiled and said, "That's enough of a bedtime story from Momma Law!"

She turned smartly on her heels and exited the wing of the prison.

**

Magda found herself a spot on the floor between two women, but she barely slept. Her mind was still abuzz. She missed everything about her old life, especially the little things. Making lunch for Jerry, doing laundry, and even Joe snoring like a jackhammer next to her. All of it was gone. Magda was smart enough to know that whoever bought her wasn't going to be interested in her being a sterling conversationalist or a whiz at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! Her insides turned and twisted, for a moment, she thought she would vomit. Other women in the cell had already upchucked in the communal toilet. Others paced, nervously in small circles in the one bit of floorspace not occupied by thin mattresses. Somehow, despite everything, Magda managed to drift off for a few fitful moments throughout the night.

Promptly at seven A.M. policewomen, who most assuredly were not about to be sold to pervy, obese guys, with bad hygiene and more inches in their wallets than between their legs, took utter delight in slamming their nightsticks against the bars and walls surrounding the holding cell.

One by one, the women were led from the cell. In a conference room were the promised Danish and coffee as well as a pair of cops and a small group of SREA agents, both male and female. When her turn came, Magda was led to a chair.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton. We have a lot to do and not much time to accomplish it." said a female agent.

"It's in the best interest of the SREA to unload its stock and get it situated as quickly as possible."

"I'm not "stock," protested Magda, "I'm a human being."

"Don't interrupt! This meeting is a courtesy nothing more. You are currently merchandise, and your bank needs funds to help them stay liquid. Those funds are federally insured. The government has clients that can supply those funds. You are here so that you have some understanding of the process."

Magda gazed up at the woman, anger, and frustration in her eyes.

"Thanks to the hospitality of local law enforcement, we were able to get our workflow problems resolved in our office. The van outside is going to take you and the other salable items to said offices. There you will turn over state property, receive your identification barcode and training collar, and be vended."

"Vended? I'm not a party favor! I'm a woman and a citizen."

"No, you ARE a party favor. Should have read the fine print in your contract or paid back your loan promptly."

"Fuck you!" spat Magda.

"Au contraie, lady, you will be the one that gets fucked!"

A male SREA officer asked, "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, get Red here out to the van."

The male SREA officer took utter delight in pulling Magda to her feet and slapping the handcuffs on her. The van ride was towards downtown, where the Slave Regulation and Enforcement offices were. Ironically, the route took them right by the bank where Magda had used herself as collateral!

The armed guards with itchy trigger fingers made Magda fall in line. She and the other passengers from the van were chained together and marched into the building. The guards followed them in. The destination turned out to be a white-tiled room with lots of equipment and tables. The cuffs and chains came off.

"OK ladies, STRIP!" announced a middle-aged woman in a SRAE uniform.

"Place your prison duds in the nearest cubicle. Proceed to the showers. Once you are dry, you will be bent over a table and your barcode tattoo applied to your right butt cheek. Then, you get your lovely control collar, we give you a little something to wear and then you will be introduced to your purchasers. After that, you are their problem until the terms of your agreement ends."

Naturally, there were male agents in the room. Naturally, none of them left the room or even turned their heads toward the walls. "Welcome to the next decade of my life," said Magda softly and bitterly to herself as she began shucking her clothes. The shower was at least hot, and the steam concealed her from view momentarily. Magda bit her lower lip as the tattoo artist applied the stencil and the needle drove home. Magda hated tattoos on principle. Now she wore one that, basically denoted her as livestock. It could be scanned by almost any agency, federal, regional, or local, and spit out all her vitals and who she "belonged to." Magda saw lots of unwanted sex in her future. She could even end up in a legal brothel, turning tricks for the next ten years!

Her clothes, when she received them were little more than a sheer matching federal blue crop top, a short skirt, a stars and stripes thong, and a pair of blue plastic clogs. Once attired, Magda was led to a side room where several very large men forced her head through a hoop. The hoop generated a collar, that quickly encircled Magda's neck. It was emblazoned with her Federal Slave number. As Magda was allowed to return to her full height, her breathing was immediately cut off as the collar constricted her throat. Magda's eyes grew large with panic. One of the huge bruisers smiled as his finger came off a remote-control button and said with a wink, "That's how they'll keep you in line, gorgeous!" Magda took a deep breath, the lesson learned. Her next stop was the lounge where there were magazines, a television, a coffee machine, and lots of manuals on what a slave's proper conduct should be. Each woman was encouraged to help themselves to a manual. Magda cracked the spine of one and immediately blanched at the contents.

One by one, other collared women's Slave Registration number was called, and they were led away, handcuffed to a SREA officer. Finally, Magda's number was announced. Grudgingly, she stood up and extended her right arm, expecting to be cuffed, and marched to her fate.

"Your purchasers have gone to the trouble of coming to the center to pick you up in person, Red," stated the female SREA officer. The officer held tight to Magda's wrist and led her to a side room, that was tricked out like some den in a very rich person's house. A man and a lad who appeared to be not yet twenty sat next to each other on the short couch. They rose as Magda was led in. The newly enslaved housewife had seen the leer on their faces many times they were assessing her like a wolf appraising a lollygagging lamb. The collared woman noted that the man was quite tall and powerful looking, He had a noticeable gut. The lad was fit, if on the skinny side, and resembled, in a general way, the large man, Magda pegged them as father and son. Where the man was brown curly and greying, the son was dirty blonde and straight. The elder's eyes were deep brown and looked at her with pure lust, the younger eyes were blue and full of curiosity. Maga felt a chill in her marrow. The duo looked like it was quite capable of all sorts of mischief, especially the father!

The man stared intently at Magda.

"Slave Magda, this is Mr. William Carter, Senior, your owner for the next ten years," stated the SREA agent sounding just like a used car salesman. The agent handed over the controller to Magda's collar.

"You ain't gonna give me any trouble gal, are you?" stated the big man forcefully.

The implied menace as he enunciated the word "trouble" as well as his room-filling presence had Magda shaking her head vigorously.

"Terrific!" intoned the man. "Gal, you will call me either Sir or Mr. Carter. The boy you will refer to as either sir or Junior. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Carter."

"I won't leash you so long as you are obedient and walk next to me."