Two office girls, Julie Jo Johansson and Marcie Dumont, embark on a great adventure at Box M Ranch, which offers a BDSM Boot Camp. The advertisements say the camp is for anyone who wants to totally experience true master-slave relationships– from either side.
I originally published this twenty-two-chapter book in 2016. I will be publishing a new chapter approximately every week. In Chapter Three, JJ and Marcie fully submit and begin their journey out to Box M Ranch.
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2016 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Chapter Three: Departure
JJ woke up around 6:30 when she heard another loud “Thump” against the door to the room. She called out, “Who’s there?” but there was no response. Instead, a sheet of paper slid under the door. There was enough clearance that whoever pushed the paper beneath the door was able to propel it halfway across the room where it landed, face up, near the end of the bed.
At the top of the page, in very large, capital letters it said, “ASSIMILATION INSTRUCTIONS.” Beneath that, in almost normal-sized type, it said, “At exactly 7:00 am you are to stand on your number alongside the rear sidewalk. The two numbers assigned to this room are 1061 for Marcie and 1062 for JJ. You are to leave EVERYTHING that you own in the room. It will be stored and returned to you when you complete– or abandon– your training.”
Near the bottom of the page was another statement in smaller type. It said, “Remember to use the bathroom before you leave your room. It will be your last chance until we arrive at the ranch.”
“They sort of treat us like children, don’t they?” JJ said.
Marcie responded, “I think we will have to work our way up to being treated like children.” She paused and added, “But the warning about the bathroom is a good idea. One of the best ways to control someone is to control when they can go to the bathroom. After a while, you will do anything just to be able to pee.”
“I call dibs on the bathroom,” JJ spoke up. As she slipped into the bathroom, she added, “I’ll make sure you have plenty of time.”
Despite her promise to make it quick, JJ was in the bathroom for over fifteen minutes. “Sorry,” she said when she came out, “... butterflies. I really needed to go, but couldn’t.”
“That’s OK,” Marcie replied. “I have time. You go ahead out and I will catch up before seven.”
JJ stopped to take out her earrings, which she placed with her other jewelry in one of the pockets of her suitcase. Then, wearing just off-white shorts with a matching top and a pair of sandals, she walked out to the sidewalk next to the alley.
There were two dozen or so other young women and five men standing in line. JJ looked for her number and found it painted on the sidewalk in large, ornate, red lettering which read “Slut 1062.” She reddened slightly as she stepped into place.
She looked across the alley and could see people– mainly young men– standing around on the various balconies like they were waiting for something. They began pointing at something, and JJ followed their fingers to the end of the alley where a rather large man dressed in desert camo pants and a khaki T-shirt was approaching. Over his left breast was a small Box M emblem and the word “Security” in camo brown.
He stopped in front of the line of women and men and yelled out “Box In!” After they had all turned to face him, he said in an equally loud voice, “That is the first command you need to know. Box In– or just Box– means the same as Attention. It means that you are supposed to be standing at attention and listening to me... AND ONLY TO ME!”
He repeated the command of, “Box in!” and when the line snapped to attention he walked from one end to the other, stopping at each person to show his disgust and shake his head derisively. “I see that most of you sluts have read the instructions and can tell time,” he began. “It looks like only one of you might end up being late this morning. But that’s not your problem. That’s one-oh-six-one’s problem.”
“Box rest!” he shouted. Then added, “That means that you can stand in the ‘at ease’ position with your hands behind your back, BUT YOU STILL LISTEN TO ME!”
JJ was muttering to herself, “Hurry up, Marcie. Hurry up,” while the leader continued his rant with, “Our missing recruit has only three more minutes to get her slut ass out here.”
He put his hands on his hips and glared at the now cowering line, “But like I said, that’s not your problem. Your problem is that you can’t follow simple instructions. The instructions said very plainly that you were to be out here exactly at seven... AND you were to leave EVERYTHING that you own in your rooms.”
He paused while he once more walked up and down in front of the line. “But did you do that?” he bellowed. “Noooooo! You didn’t!”
Looking up and down the line of trembling people, he continued his bellowing rant, “Not one... not one single one of you spunk-for-brains sluts followed the instructions you were given. You are all going to stand right where you are until you figure out what you have done wrong and what you have to do to make it right. And furthermore...”
His words stopped abruptly at this point as he stared past the line of sluts toward the back of the motel. JJ turned to see what had startled him to find Marcie walking out of the room barefoot and naked. She quickly closed the short distance from the room to the alley and took her place on the Slut 1061 marker. As she crossed her hands behind herself to stand in the at ease position, a clock in a nearby church began to ring the hour.
“What in the hell do you think that you are doing!?” he screamed in her face.
“I’m doing what I was told to do,” she responded. “It’s exactly seven and I left everything that I own in the room.”
The huge man broke into a grin and said with a soft chuckle, “That you did. That you did.”
Looking out over the line of sluts, his face returned to its mask of anger and his voice again became loud and gravely. “I stand corrected,” he said. “One of you did follow instructions... and the rest of you have 30 seconds to figure out what the hell you did wrong that she did right.”
By the time he had finished speaking, JJ had already dropped her shorts, top, and panties to the ground and stepped out of her sandals. “I will give you time to take your stuff back to your rooms,” he said. “Then I need to go over some of the rules for your first week of training.”
JJ ran back to the room and stuffed the clothing into her suitcase. As she scampered back to her place, she could hear loud comments from the balconies across the alley. She didn’t really understand Spanish, and too many were talking at the same time anyway, but she was pretty sure that she heard “chiquita” and “puta.” She could also see some of the men on the balconies making rude gestures.
Finally, everyone was back on their numbers.
“Rule number one,” he barked out, putting his face right up against Marcie’s. “Unless you are ordered otherwise, you call any man in clothing ‘Sir,’ and any woman ‘Ma’am.’ If they are dressed in black, you will address them as ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress.’ If all that is covered is their genitals, you will call them ‘trustee.’ That applies to men or women. They will call you ‘recruit’ or ‘slut’ or whatever in the hell they want to call you!”
He stepped back, put his hands on his hips, and yelled loudly, “You got that?!”
Most shook their heads or said yes.
“That will not do!” he screamed. “If I– or any Sir, Ma’am, Master, Mistress, or trustee– asks you a question, you will answer beginning with the proper title of respect, then your answer, then a repeat of the title of respect, and ending with the rank designation.”
He returned to his position with his hands on his hips and shouted, “You got that?!”
He smiled broadly and then said in almost a normal tone of voice, “Here is your first exception. I am ‘Sarge.’ I am in charge of security at the Box M Ranch.”
Pointing to his camo pants, he said, “Security staff dresses in camo even if they are doing other tasks around the camp. You will address any security staff as Sir or Ma’am. You will address me as Sir or Sarge, preferably Sarge. ... You got that?!
Again it was Marcie who answered first with “Sir, yes, Sir, Sarge.” The rest echoed her answer seconds later.
“Rule number two,” Sarge yelled, holding up two fingers. “You will immediately obey any Sir, Ma’am, Master, Mistress, or trustee. ‘Obey’ means you will immediately do whatever it is that they order you to do. If you do not obey– or if you hesitate– you WILL be punished.”
Once again, he put his hands on his hips and stared up and down the line of naked women and men. “You got that?!” he yelled.
“Sir, yes, Sir, Sarge!” they yelled back, this time in unison.
As he was speaking, a bus pulled into the alley behind him. It was shaped like a school bus, but the windows had slats of metal across them like a prison bus so that only a few inches of the glass were visible. It was painted white, but the paint was badly faded, and rust spots showed in several places on the sides. In front, above the windshield, it said, “Prisoner Transport.” On the side, it said, “Box M Security - Prisoner Transport.”
“Those are all the rules you need to know at this point,” Sarge said in his normal, loud voice. “But this is another decision point.” He pointed at the bus, and two men, also dressed in camo, stepped out of the bus, each carrying an armload of prison chains. “You’ve had a taste– a very small taste– of what the next three months might be like. If you still desire to totally experience a true master-slave relationship, then hold out your hands and let these men put you in manacles and shackles. If not, go back to your room and wait for the limo to take you back to the airport.”
One of the men and two of the women turned and walked back toward the motel. The rest held out their arms, waiting for the men to put them in chains. As they approached one woman, she suddenly cried out, “I can’t do this!” and ran back to her room. The remaining twenty-six women and four men stood silently in place as the men in camo worked their way down the line placing the wrist and ankle chains in place.
While the chains were being locked, Sarge laughed– it was more like a grunt– and said, “If any of you think that you are Masters or Mistresses rather than slaves, know this: Everyone starts out as a slave at Box M.”
He began walking up and down in front of the naked row as he barked out, “In the next ninety days, your true nature will show itself. Those who show the proper inner strength will have the chance to move up to trustee and perhaps enter the Masters’ or Mistresses’ track. Those who show an innate submissive desire will have the chance to become true slaves. Some of you will deny what you are and go home early. Some of you will recognize that this is not for you and go home early. And some of you will just have a very interesting three months that you can tell your friends about... ... but I doubt they will ever believe you.”
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm and growled out, “Now get your naked asses on that bus!”
As Marcie and JJ walked around the front of the bus to the door on the other side, both could see cell phones and cameras being held by the young men on the lower balconies. JJ reddened in shame and turned her head away from the flashing cameras. Marcie smiled, waved, and shouted out, “Hola!” The crowd on the balconies gave her a round of applause as she stepped into the bus.
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END OF CHAPTER
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The true rulers of this world, the credit card companies, have made it almost impossible to sell books with true BDSM themes. Erotic publishers will soon be a thing of the past. So I have pulled all of my books from the one publisher that I had left, and have decided to share them with my on-line followers.