Wager

By Annie of the Writing Group

This is a sidestory of "

Pranked

". You can read the two stories in either order.

Was that Rose Keller walking in front of me? Naked?

Of course, I'm also naked. In fact, I'm trembling. Might be the air conditioning, might be nerves. It's good to be off that blazing-hot asphalt outside, since I'm barefoot.

I caught up to Rose. She was walking with her beautiful stepdaughter. I couldn't see Rose clearly, but I know what she looks like in clothes. I couldn't see her because I didn't have my contacts.

I was, I am, jealous of Rose's looks. Trim, pretty, tall, even beautiful hair with lots of body. Compare that to short, blob-shaped, saggy me, with my cellulite, thin hair such a drab brown most people can't even remember the color, little pale-blue eyes mostly hidden by in my fat, flat, flabby face... and I lose.

"Rose! I didn't know you were being graded." Rose slowed to talk to me. Stephanie, her stepdaughter, sped on ahead. Ah, youth, no patience and too much energy.

Rose was breathing hard. Excitement? Terror? I sympathized. She said, "Maureen! Same to you. I never expected..." She stopped herself. Rose and I had been neighbors for years, but not really close.

I was so nervous I started babbling. "Well... I bet Don. He didn't think I was brave enough. Honestly, I think he's turned on by the idea of me naked in public, silenced and bound, he was egging me on." I tried to smile, but I don't think it was really a success.

Rose sounded almost as nervous as I was. "That's the opposite of me. Pete is totally against this, but I need any edge I can get looking for work. A bet? Something big enough to get you to be slave graded?"

"If I go through with it, we go to Saint Bernadette for two weeks. If I don't, we do a golfing vacation in Scotland. Don can play at some famous courses."

Rose was understandably thinking about herself, and being slave graded in a few minutes. "Well, anyway, nice to see a familiar face. That's the line to check in for grading, right? Good luck, Maureen. Let's have lunch, say, Wednesday?"

"Wednesday! It's a date."

---1 month ago----

Don looked ashamed, and angry at me for making him feel that way. "Maureen. I... we... we talked about this. I just can't function that way any more. I love you, I'm totally loyal to you, and I just can't, can't..."

Patience has its limits. "Don, you won't get therapy, medical or psychological. You haven't touched me below the waist in months, and before that it was only when I broke down and begged. I don't know what to do."

Give him credit, Don didn't say the obvious, "You could try losing 50 pounds." He had to be thinking it. I was thinking it, too, but I just couldn't. Diet, exercise, they just didn't work for me. I tried weight-loss drugs, and they let me take off 10 pounds, but then either I stopped losing, or the drugs made me nauseous all the time and I had to stop taking them. I wasn't willing to have unnecessary surgery like stomach-stapling.

Instead Don said, "Maureen, we

talked

about this. Therapy isn't going to help."

Once, when I was so frustrated I could scream, Don offered to buy me a vibrating dildo. He was shocked to hear that I owned three vibrators. Vibrators are fun, but they aren't a substitute for lovemaking. I missed it so much. So much.

And Don told me he felt the same way about jerking off. It was pleasant and all, but not a replacement for fucking me.

He was too kind to say he was turned off by my flab, but I knew it, and he knew I knew.

"Don, my love. I'm going to prove to you that it's possible to love this body." That was a weird thing to say, but I had a plan.

"What? You're going to have an affair?" He clearly didn't believe me. He was right. I'd never do that. In all other ways, Don and I were the perfect couple, I love him, we talk constantly and have an amazing understanding between us, we support each other. We have three great kids we adore. I would never risk that. That wasn't my plan at all.

"No, you know I would never betray you, Don. I just saw an ad, there's a slave grading at Quarry's four weeks from Sunday." I was doing my very best to be casual. I was failing. I know I sounded and looked nervous and excited.

"You're... you're going to sell yourself into slavery to get sex?!" Don was freaked.

"No. Just get graded." To get sex. "I won't, I couldn't betray you. I already said that. I just... I'll be touched, at least, before, during and after the grading. I'll feel desired, because I will be. You know how slave grading works." I didn't stare, but the front of his pants did seem to be pushed out from the inside. Something in there was growing.

I had a thought, to make Don even more excited. "Here's the deal: I'll make you my custodian. That way, you decide if I'm sold or not. If you decide you want me gone, you can just accept any offer that comes in after the grading, and you'll never have me demanding more from you than you feel like giving, ever again."

"But, I love you, Reen. I'd never..." He trailed off.

"OK. I don't want to be sold away from you, but I want it to be your decision." It was working. It was nice to see Don's turned-on expression again.

Suddenly he said, "You don't have the guts. You'd never strip down and let strangers grope you. This is one big bluff."

"Bet?" We've been making dramatic bets since we met in college. "We didn't decide where to take our vacation this year. If I get graded, two weeks in Saint Bernadette." I had been pushing for a vacation on the Polynesian island for years. It just never worked out before.

"Done! If--no, when!--you back down, we'll do a golf tour. Two weeks in Scotland. St. Andrews, Royal Dornoch, and the other two famous courses." Don was grinning. This was a classic example of our bets. Nobody could actually lose. We'd always play up how much we wanted to win and how desperately we'd try to have the other one lose, and then we'd both be happy however it turned out. Don would enjoy Saint Bernadette, and I've always wanted to see Scotland.

Our eldest, Emily, had figured out the bet game (as she called it) by the time she was seven. That made it even more fun, because we could always make her laugh by exaggerating and clowning around with the bets. Em's 16 now, she doesn't think it's nearly as funny. Flora and Genie still laugh along with us, though.

I grinned back at Don. This was going very close to my exact plan. "Can we agree on a no-kids vacation? We haven't had one since Em was born. You know your folks and mine will be arm-wrestling over who gets the girls. Maybe we can split them, one week each?" I carefully didn't stare at the first hard-on I'd seen Don get around me in a year.

"Done and done! Yeah, the grands will thank us for this... and in two weeks, they'll be thanking us for taking the three terrors back." Don couldn't possibly love the girls any more, but that doesn't stop his dad jokes about them. And shouldn't.

"One more thing. Since I am, am,

am

getting slave graded, I want you to help me prepare." Trap set, now it's just a matter of taking my prey.

"Help how? I can't, um..." He didn't want to say, "... make you thinner or more beautiful."

"I know perfectly well I'm not young or shapely, Don. I'm fat, not stupid or delusional. I can improve other things, though. Slaves are graded on obedience, slave positions, attitude, even slave etiquette. I can do the position practice on my own, but I'll need a sort of crash test dummy to practice attitude and etiquette on. Hell, you could help me just by leading me around on a leash, so I don't trip over my own feet at the grading." Was I smiling? I was.

"Why would I help you?" Don was smiling evilly. Well, we do always play up how against each other we are when we bet, right up until someone wins. I was still encouraged by the bulge in his sweatpants, though.

"Sportsmanship?" I don't give up easily, either. We're well-matched.

"This isn't a sport, my dearest. It's a bet. Totally different. You'll play the actual sport of golf this summer in Scotland, Maureen!" Yeah, that's the drama we both enjoy. Our eyes met and that wonderful sense of connection, of being on the same page, warmed my heart. Now if only I could get Don to warm my privates again.

---Now---

Quarry's was jammed. It's scary to fight your way through a mob of shoppers completely naked. Getting your foot stepped on is very different when you're barefoot, for one thing.

I had thought about what jewelry to wear--the only thing I was permitted. I wanted to make as good an impression on the graders as possible, without overdoing it and looking clownish. I went with emerald stud earrings (Don said that they bring out my eyes), a chain of gold links to match the gold setting of the earrings, and a Navajo bracelet. It was silver and didn't really match the others, but it was a gift from Don and I'd always associated it with bravery--Don had been so scared and so brave when he proposed to me.

After all, while I did want to do well at the grading, my real audience was Don Helfer.

I put my shoulder-length hair in a simple braid. Keep it out of the way if I have to crawl around on the floor or something.

It had been very hot and scary and exciting to arrange a prepaid ride-share to Quarry's. I would be naked, not even carrying my wallet or phone. The driver could do anything to me, drive off with me! The driver who actually showed was a nice young Latina woman named Teresa who asked me lots of questions about slave grading and was impressed with my courage, so it ended up being fun, but the wait for the ride was scary.

The line to check in for grading was very long. There had been at least 20 women ahead of me--and one man--when I arrived. Now, it was just Rose, then a stranger, and me. I could feel myself wanting to run away. Foolish, of course. What made it even more nerve-wracking was, I couldn't wear my glasses or contacts to be graded. My vision isn't the worst, but I'm farsighted. I could see OK to find my way around, but I wouldn't be able to read anything smaller than a billboard until I got my glasses back. It would be illegal for me to drive, too, because I couldn't read the instruments on the dash.

That had been very useful. I was able to persuade Don to come to the grading (but hang back and not interfere, of course--that would be unfair, since he bet against me!) and drive me home after. He was around here somewhere, probably, already. I knew he was interested. I knew that because he got hard every time we talked about it. The funny part is, he had to know I saw. We were both refusing to mention it. It was the same sort of game we played with our bets, we would both keep up the illusion until some big event. I was hoping for the big event today to be in our bed....

While I was thinking about Don's reactions, Rose and the stranger had been processed. The Quarry's clerk, a blonde young woman, asked for my name and checked against the reservations. "Maureen Spallanzini Helfer? Last four of social security number, please." Once my identity was confirmed, she turned to the man behind her and waved at me, a gesture I saw as, "This one's yours."

He stepped forward, took me very firmly by the left arm, and led me to a little work area. "Ms. Helfer, I'm required to ask you some questions and record your answers. Once that's done, there will be a delay before we can begin your grading. As you see, we have a lot of you future slaves to process." I assume they're trained to call us "future slaves" as a way to get us used to the idea, because they hope to sell us eventually.

The medical exam was first. It's pretty basic--blood pressure, weight, checking your skin for needle marks and rashes. They took a blood sample to confirm I didn't have any infectious diseases. Weight would certainly be a negative for me. I didn't want to hear it, but I could hardly cover my ears, so I knew that I was at 180 pounds. I've been higher, but that's still more than enough.

He turned on a video recorder and pointed it at me. "Please state your full name."

I know graders keep photographic and video records, which they "maintain" for an annual fee. Miss payments, they start to appear on the Web. Joke's on him: I'm not ashamed of who I am, or what I'm doing. I answered, "Maureen Erica Spallanzini Helfer".

"You are here today to receive an official slave grade?"

"Yes."

"No one has coerced you to do this?"

"No one."

"You understand that, in order to grade you, you will be temporarily given the legal status of slave, owned by the Circle-Q Trading Post, a division of Quarry's Enterprises?"

"Yes."

"You understand that, as a slave, you will be subject to slave punishments, potentially including electric shocks as well as other forms of pain, such as paddling and whipping?"

"Yes." That... I was never even spanked as a child. I had no idea how I'd handle physical punishment."

"You understand that, once graded, you will receive a permanent tattoo of your Slave Identification Number, and a slave identification chip will be implanted into your body? You further understand that removing or altering either of those two things is a crime under the Federal Slave Registration Act of 2015?"

"Yes."

"I know this is boring, Ms. Helfer." I was scared nearly out of my mind. I was

not

bored. "One last question: taking all these things into account, do you consent to be slave graded?"

I was smiling broadly despite my fear as I answered. "Yes, I do consent to being slave graded. Thank you."

Why was I smiling? One, it meant that I couldn't back out. Saying that meant that I was a slave until Circle-Q issued my grade. That meant that I had won the bet.

And two, I had just caught sight of my Don, watching from the Sporting Goods department. Since I was farsighted and had no glasses, his standing that far away made it easier for me to recognize him. His wearing a Hawaiian shirt I had bought him 10 years ago helped, along with the shock of red hair. I would recognize that Hawaiian shirt anywhere. Golden pineapples on a deep blue background with brilliant red and white flowers didn't take perfect vision.

Don would know I had won as soon as the grader did whatever he would do next.

What he did next turned out to be picking up a pink collar.

---------

"Catch and release" is what it's called. The slave graders do the initial processing, then take a break before they actually grade anyone. Slaves have to be restrained, of course. For us temporary slaves waiting to be graded, that means they basically stuck us somewhere and made us wait.

In my case, the grader locked my wrists in padded cuffs, then fastened them to the front of my slave collar (where there was a D-ring) using a two-foot chain. Then he used more cuffs and more chain to fasten my ankles a foot or so apart, so I could only take tiny steps.

"Slave, we really have nowhere to put you in this area. Far too many of your slave sisters came to us for grading today." They were really pushing the idea that we were all intending to become slaves for-real. "You may freely walk around Quarry's. Think of it as a naked, bound, silenced shopping trip!" He smiled nastily at me as I stood naked and bound, looking up at him. (I'm short, and he was quite tall.) Then I thought, "Silenced?"

"That collar you are wearing is a fully-instrumented and capable Royal Writ device. Let me demonstrate with a Level 1 punishment shock."

I barely had time to think "What?" before the jolt hit me. It was painful, like a hard slap only around my neck. I gasped.

"That punishment was for not addressing me as Master during your questionnaire. You are required to address all free people as 'Master' or 'Mistress' for the duration of your term slavery." He stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"Yes, Master!" I blurted out. That was Level 1? Level 10 would be very, very bad.

"Much better. Now, the collar has two other functions you need to think about today. One, when I press this button," and he held up a remote control, "it will prevent your speaking. Any attempt to speak will result in a focused jolt. I strongly suggest you not be talkative! And two, when we want you to return to this area for grading, it will pulse like this." He pressed a different button on the remote and I felt a distinct vibration from the collar. It wasn't painful, but it was certainly very noticeable. "The next time you feel that, it means that you must return to this spot to be graded. You have 5 minutes to get back, or 3 if the grader is in a hurry to go on break." He grinned nastily again. "I suggest hurrying, because an impatient grader will give you a punishment shock for encouragement." Pause.

I catch on quick. "Yes, Master!"

"Good. Also, if you start feeling this," and yet another button on the remote caused a very unpleasant tingling for a few seconds, "that means you have wandered too far from this area, and you should walk in this direction. If you get further away, the feeling will increase, and then it will be replaced by intense punishment shocks."

"Yes, Master!" I decided to stay close to the slave grading area until I was graded!

I noticed that Don was now closer, watching from Jewelry. That made me think of the bracelet I was wearing, Don's gift.

That

helped me to be brave in this weird and unpleasant situation.

"OK, it's time for my break, Slave Maureen. There are a few dozen slaves ahead of you waiting for grading, so you'll be walking around for a while. Remember that a free person can do basically anything to you they want, short of injury. It's illegal to fight back, and if you run away you might just get punished. Oh, and you can't use the restrooms. If you need to piss, you use the sandbox over there." He pointed at a totally non-private thing like a giant cat litterbox! I hadn't thought about that when I came to Quarry's. I had two cups of coffee that morning. Dammit, now I suddenly needed to pee.

"Slave, you can't wait here in the grading area. You have one minute to get out before I jolt you. I need my coffee break!" There was that nasty smile again. I instinctively said, "Yes, Master." Or tried to, because I got out "Y-" before the collar activated. It wasn't a punishment shock like the first one, but it made the muscles in my throat clench, and I couldn't get out another sound. It wasn't so much painful as terrifying. I stood up straight in my chains, then bowed my head to the Master and started shuffling painfully out of the slave grading area of Quarry's.

I said before how scary it was, trying to get through a packed department store while I was naked. It was far worse now. I was slave naked, collared. Also, I was bound hand and foot. People were staring. Well, I actually couldn't see people's faces clearly because I didn't have my contacts, but I assumed they were. Could I find a place to hide, somewhere in the store with fewer people? I started shuffling along the main aisle between Slaves and Slave Gear on my left side and Jewelry on the right. I passed Don on my right doing that, which wasn't an accident. I felt a little better, knowing he was there, even if he couldn't protect me--because I had told him not to! That would lower my slave grade. Somehow that seemed less important now.

Shuffle, shuffle. It was tiring, inching along in tiny steps.

As I passed a young couple, the husband casually reached out and tweaked my nipple between his fingers. It didn't really hurt, he wasn't trying to hurt me, but it shocked me so much I froze and gasped and tried to protect my chest with my bound hands, which was pretty futile. That amused the wife, who chuckled a little. I automatically said, "Stop that!" Except, of course, I said nothing, because the collar closed my throat when I tried to make a sound.