I stared at the envelope with a hollow sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was ... the billing for next semester’s tuition, and then there was books ... and I was broke, completely broke. The part time job I had served only to pay the rent and buy a few gro- ceries, the plight of the average college coed. My roommates were no better off than I. Each semester had been an enjoyable, fun struggle just to get through. We shared a spe- cial comradely, my support group, my friends, and my companions.

I had started school with a partial scholarship and a grant. It just covered tuition. I sponged books from my parents. I stood tall, proud of my new independence. I was on my own, and had done okay over the past two and a half years. But this semester was different. The public cry over taxes and balanced budgets had caused most of the grants to dry up. My application had been denied. I applied with the bank at home for a student loan, or an installment loan, or anything available ... nothing. Student loans were reserved for those currently under application. I had been using grants. I was near panic.

School meant everything. It was my banner of independence, my future, and my life at the moment. And it was not only threatened but very much in jeopardy. I had always planned for a college degree ... I had worked so hard toward it ... It was just within reach ... and life was snatching it away. My stomach knotted, twisted, and descended further.

What was I going to do? My scholarship would only do about a third of the tuition. My job did not pay enough to gain on tuition. I could use the library for books, or borrow, or something ... but I had to do the tuition thing first.

One of my roommates in my first semester had worked at a “titty” bar down town. She danced topless three nights a week and weekends. The money was good ... and she al- ways made tuition. She talked me into going with her on “amateur night” as a lark one night. After a few too many beers I had “competed”. It was a rush to be center stage, with the full attention of all those people when my bra came off ... But they had gone nude the following semester ... She quit after a few nights, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that. I was in good physical shape, good looking enough and all, but nude in front of fifty strange men?? But it still might be an option...

One of my classmates last semester worked as an “escort”. She whispered about it a lot ... She had started as an escort in her freshman year. The money was almost good enough but not quite. So she began servicing her “dates” periodically ... for a fee of course. She “dated” a lot around tuition time. But that was really not an option for me ... unless, of course, I couldn’t get a job as a stripper.

I sat at the table, a small round white dinette, with the morning paper and a bowl of cereal. What was I going to do? I would dance, hell I would “escort” if I had too. I was NOT going to drop out of my life, my future! My stomach knotted at the thought of either choice. I gabbed at my cereal bowl. Work was one thing ... I needed $2500 NOW. And ultimately that really was the whole of the problem. Where does a college coed get that kind of money in two weeks without a loan? I gabbed again ... I really had no appetite. It was a procedural thing at the moment ... Then my eye caught an ad. It was a local number.

Tuition got you down? Loans for college tuition ... call - Brad, with...

“Hey, Lu. Have you ever heard of anyone getting a loan from these guys?” I showed Lu the newspaper.

“Yeah. Actually I know of another girl who got a student loan there last semester. She said the guy seemed a little sleazy ... but the check cleared.” Lu went back to fussing over her nails.

“Think I ought to call him?” It was entirely rhetorically. I stood with the phone to my ear and dialed the number. My heart fluttered with the first ring. It rang ... My hopes leaped upward, and rang ... My spirits sagged, and rang ... My brow fell. It WAS Saturday I had to remind myself. Damn, the answering service picked up.

“No answer ... figures.” I left a message and walked back to the living room. I sat heavily into the recliner, officially depressed. It seemed hopeless. Jobs, even good jobs, gave a weekly paycheck, and I needed much more than that right now. I thought about the whole “dating/escort” thing ... I was not a virgin, had not been since my junior year in high school. I had enjoyed several favorable young men here, but sex-for-hire, hooking to pay for tui- tion ... It seemed so far from my reality. No never, not me! I had standards, morals, and values ... I had to pay my tuition! I starred blankly at the want ads for escorts ... I did not like my options, drop out or do the deed. I tossed the paper to the floor. I’d call them on Mon- day. I owed myself one more day of dignity.

The phone rang. Lu answered...

“For you, Renée. It’s the loan guy.” I stood so quickly I stumbled. I blushed at my foolish- ness and answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“Is this Renée? I am returning your call regarding a loan ... yes; we have student types of loans available ... How about this afternoon ... say around 4:30 ... good. See you then.” I had hope, if only until 4:30 tonight. My heart pounded hard in my chest. I felt giddy. I turned away from Lu. It was embarrassing to be in this situation and feel so silly about a simple loan application.

Four-thirty came on a slug’s back, even for a Saturday. I hoped the time would pass more quickly. It did not. Finally patience gave way. I had to do something besides wait. I left nearly twenty minutes early. I just had to know if this would solve the problem, if not, well, I had made an appointment with an escort service ... my final option. I just had to finish col- lege. And so many people who stop for a semester, for whatever reason, never get back and finish. I wasn’t going that route.

The ‘office’ was locked and empty. It was a white slat board old home converted into a shanty office. It was freshly painted, neat, and very empty! It was four twenty. I peered inside, paced the walks, and returned to the car to wait it out. It was four thirty-five ... My stomach turned a knot as I thought about ‘dating’ for tuition money.

An old VW bug, rusty and belching smoke pulled into the drive. A middle-aged man neatly dressed stepped out and walked to the door. He opened the office. I paused, starred, and groaned, depressed to say the least. What a joke! My rattletrap college car was better than this guy’s. My hand reached the doorknob. I drew a deep breath struggling with the despair in my chest. I stepped into the relatively barren office, worn carpets, with one desk and two chairs. Yeah, right! I turned to leave, but then, what the heck. Ask the questions, I was already here and the options were sooo much better.

“Hello. Are you Renée?” He stuck out a pleasant hand. It was clean. I took it returning the formal handshake.

“Yes.”

“Be seated. Let’s have a chat...” I sat down, uncomfortably before my last hope for dignity. I felt so uneasy in the office, in the chair, in this whole place ... but then what awaited kept me fairly focused upon the moment at hand. “So you are looking for a student loan? For what college? What are you studying?”

“The State college ... business management...” I answered formally.

“And how much do you need?”

“Tuition and books for spring semester...”

“And when do you wish to repay this note?”

“After graduation ... the same as with any other student loan,” I responded, almost sur- prised at the question.

“And what do you offer as collateral against the note?”

Collateral? What did a student have to offer ... no bank had ever even asked for collateral with a student loan? I stammered, “I ... I ... I don’t know. I don’t really have anything of value ... except my car ... and that’s 12 years old now.”

“I am looking at something of considerable value even now that you may use as collat- eral.” He paused looking directly at my body. I was dumb-founded. What could he be looking at? Me? What does that mean?

“Me? How?” I queried.

“Good. You understand. Yes, you. I will give you a loan for $2000.00 made out to the col- lege. That will take care of your tuition, and another for $400 which should do books.” I was still puzzled. “You will return a copy of your grades at the end of the semester, C’s and better you will not owe until you complete your education. If you miss reporting your grades through any one semester, I will assume you have either completed your educa- tion or dropped out. Payments will begin the following month. Interest will be figured at 1/2% monthly higher than the banks are charging competitively for student loans. Ques- tions?” He paused briefly. I could hardly contain my excitement ... and surprise.

“No. It sounds too good to be true. I had all but given up on raising the money...” I didn’t want to tell him about the ‘dating/escort’ I had planned as a last resort. “But I have a $700 scholarship. So all I need is $1300 and books.”

“Agreed. It is very true ... but I will hold your body as collateral. If you fail to repay the note in a timely manner or the note goes into default ... well...” He smiled wryly. “I will own your body for the next three months, the same term as your semester. I will use it as I see fit to recoup my monies. Do you understand?”

I considered carefully the problem, tuition, dancing, escorting, and or whatever other job I might find ... There were so many enticing options available.

“Yes. I understand.” He pushed the documents in front of her. I quietly, intently, read each and every word.

I, Renée, agree ... to own and use my body ... for a term of three uninterrupted months...

The papers seemed to say exactly what he had explained to me. I agreed to become an indentured woman. My body to be used as collateral to repay the monies for a term of three uninterrupted months ... I signed the papers pushing them across the table back to him. He examined the signature. Then he opened a drawer and produced a camera.

“I need to take your picture to help insure the security of my collateral.” He clicked, the camera flashed. I blinked surprised at the brightness of the flash. “Take good care of my collateral. If I need it, I will demand it in as good a condition as possible.”

“Three uninterrupted months?” I asked quietly. “Good condition?”

“Yes. If due to health, job, family or any other particular reason you must leave the service of your indenture ... the clock will be completely reset at the date of your return. And if it becomes necessary to foreclose on the collateral, and you have not maintained it ... well, I will be forced to ‘whip’ it into shape.” He grinned wryly. It sent a shiver through my chest. He stood leaving me in silence.

I could hear him fussing with something or another in the back room. Several lengthy min- utes latter he returned with two very business like checks, the first, made payable to the college, the other to the bookstore. It was done. I stood holding the checks in my hand. He thrust his hand forward. I shook it gladly. Problem solved ... for now...

The checks cleared without a hitch. I finished the semester as any other. My grades were good. They were always good. I truly gave no thought to tuition. I had a source. I entered the shanty office quietly. My grades ... and a request for tuition at hand. The man sat wait- ing.

“Hello, Renée.” He stood to accept the report of my grades. “Good. I see you take your studies very seriously.”

“Yes.” I sat calmly in the vacant chair. “Are you available for another loan? The next se- mester begins in a few days.”

“Why of course, my Dear. The terms are exactly the same as with the last ... How long before you graduate?”

“Summer, fall, and spring of this next year.” I spoke confidently. I will graduate ... on time.

“Will you be using our services in the future?” He looked over at me while he typed on the documents.

“Probably ... sure. Why not! You’ve been good to work with.” I felt enthusiastic about the future, and was glad enough to have this particular reoccurring dilemma out of the way. The thought of someone owning my body really never occurred to me past the signing of those first documents on that very first Saturday. I fully intended to repay the man for every cent ... so the indenture was never a question to me. And by graduation day I owed nearly $9000 or one-year full use of my body. Had I the notion of the future I would have gladly ‘dated’ those weeks necessary to get through tuition. But I had not ... and nothing dampened enthusiasm or slowed my progress towards my degree.

Shortly after the beginning of my last semester I met Roger. He was all I could have ever hoped in a man, short of those late night fantasies with Brad Pitt. We dated for a month before Roger asked me to marry him. I was on a rocket ride! I graduated in June, with honors, and married in July. Roger was doing his post grad work when we met. He had a year, and then our lives were our own, to mold, shape, and build what we wished as we wished. The future was all I had dreamed as a little girl.

Two major companies courted me for the last month of my studies. Roger was committed to a firm in Denver. They were picking up 50% of his tuition. I accepted an offer from one of the lesser Hotel chains because they could train me locally and place me in Denver with Roger next year. All was moving along so well...

I missed reporting my grades to the shanty, even though I had graduated Cum-Laude. I never heard from the shanty office, and did not search out a payment schedule from them. Money was more than just tight without roommates to share rents, food and such, as they had over the past several years. My training salary barely covered the apartment. And Roger could buy food. If we were very very careful we could keep the phone hooked up ... but not every month. That was when the first payment demand on my loans came in the mail.

I just didn’t know what to do ... so I ignored it. And frankly, I never figured that anyone would dare to collect the body I used as collateral ... and several of the other students I knew had ignored their student loan payments with no reprisal ... I tried to get an install- ment loan to cover at least at part of the principal. I wrote a letter explaining my situation and offering to begin payments at the end of Roger’s post grad studies. Nothing ... He could wait. He’d have to. I just didn’t have any money. Months passed. I took no more thought about the notes ... and then another letter arrived via certified mail.

Renée: It has been some eight months since I have heard from you. You are in default on the agreements and terms of your loans with this firm. Your note has been sold for recov- ery of assets...

The air rushed out of my lungs with a loud groan. I utterly collapsed into the kitchen chair. I remembered clearly the terms, the warnings, and the consequences. And now my body had been sold to satisfy the debt. My pussy tightened at the thought. My stomach knotted. My hands went clammy and cold. What would Roger say? How would he react? And how would I explain my situation? So many questions ran about in my mind ... and no answers. I reread the letter. Nothing ... no indications as to who was going to recovery their asset or when. I shuddered. My body was not going to belong to Roger or me for a year. What could that mean ... to my marriage and me?

I remembered where I had filed my copies of the notes. Maybe there might be some clue in them. I hurried to dig them out of the closet file box. Roger came in as I plowed about frantically.

“You okay?” he asked, sensing my near panic.

“No!” I all but shouted. “Here. Here they are!” I clutched them tightly in my hand ... then I starred at Roger, my husband, the man I loved ... I had to tell him, to show him my situa- tion, our situation.

I spread the notes upon the table in chronological order, top to bottom, with the latest de- mand for recovery. Roger sat at the table in front of the papers while I cried, panicked, rambled through the tuition story, and cried some more.

“There. That’s the problem.” I shoved a finger at the last letter. “I never ever thought someone would, well, buy my body.”

“And why not?” Roger asked flatly. “You’re a very pretty woman.” He sat staring at the papers. I stood too frightened to move or speak.

“And what of us?” I stammered terror in my voice at the possibilities. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see where this goes. I love you and am not going to give you up that easily. But this could be a real problem too.” He looked at me without much emotion, mostly just stunned I guess. I was breathless.

“And what if they come for me?” I choked tears out of my eyes.

“We’ll just deal with it as it comes along.” Roger stood. Walked to me and held me close for a very long time. I cried until the fear and tears were gone for the night.

It was nearly a month before the next certified letter appeared.

Ms. Renée I purchased your notes several months ago. I can see that you have received the letter of default and collection. You will be given the next two weeks to get your things in order. I will collect my assets on the 3rd of next month.

You will be spending the following two weeks at my compound in a very strict training. Your husband will be allowed to visit you to assure your safety and witness your training.

The next two weeks you will remain in my possession. You will be allowed to return to your current employment, but must return to the compound directly upon completing your shifts. Your husband will be allowed to visit you or use your services as any other client during this time.

At the end of the first thirty days you will be allowed to return to your husband under cer- tain conditions and circumstances that you will learn during your training. You will continue in my service for clients and business needs until you complete a term of one year.

Any breach of these terms or conditions and I will ship my assets to another venue in my business. If you fail to be at home, alone, and ready to make delivery of my assets on the 3rd I will retrieve them by force.

The postmark was local, no signature, nothing to identify the sender. I held the note dumb- founded for nearly a full minute. I placed it upon the table pushing it away ... My mind froze. I slumped into a chair in front of the letter. Roger read it aloud...

“Well, Renée, I guess you’d better tell them at work that you’ll be missing a few weeks...” He paused. He took a deep breath. “A month. I’ll really miss you ... but then I can come and visit.” He left unsaid the words about clients, business, and services. I was grateful for that! I was scared, petrified more precisely.

Today was the 3rd of the month. I hurried Roger off to work. We had made love all night, and had reaffirmed our commitment to each other. And Roger had saved a few dollars along ... for services. He held me so tightly. I did not want to let him go ... but he must. Not just for work, but I couldn’t bear to have him watch them collect their asset, my body ... and me with it. I had made this deal and I would have to pay it off. But fear is really what raced through my soul as Roger walked out of the door. What would they do with me, to me, to my body? A tear stole down my cheek.

I sat rigidly upon the kitchen chair not daring to move, not knowing what to do ... just to wait. The first ten minutes dragged painfully by. It was 8:30 am ... then 10:10 am ... then 11:00 am. The doorbell rang.

My heart exploded. I jumped so hard I nearly passed out. I could not breathe. It rang again. I stood, staggered to the door, trembling as I peered out. There was a moving van out front. I latched the safety chain and cracked the door.

“Yes. May I help you?” I paled at the answer.

“I have come to collect.” It was simple flat and uninformative.

“Yes. I know.” I closed the door, undid the safety chain and opened the door to the man. He motioned to the van. Three others appeared quickly, a man and two women. They walked in closing the door behind them. They stood. I sat.

“Sign this.” He shoved a pen and paper at me.

“Why? What is it?” I grunted as the paper.

“A release to collect the asset ... we will collect it with or without, but don’t fight it. Just sign the paper.” I didn’t read it, probably should have, but in my fear and despair I didn’t bother. I just signed it and shoved it back at him. “Get the cross.” The man stood and left with a woman at his side. They were gone for several minutes before returning ... several long minutes without a word spoken. I didn’t have anything to say, and they didn’t press con- versation. I was nauseous. The man and woman returned toting a box about the size of an armoire. He opened the doors. The woman extracted a wooden X shaped object. It was not so heavy as it seemed awkward, extending from just above my head to the floor. I watched blankly. I had no clue...

“Stand up and remove your clothes.” I heard the voice and did not move. It seemed to be a distant sound coming from a clouded dream. I sat still staring at the cross. He grabbed my hair jerking me to my feet. I screamed with pain, yanked violently back into the mo- ment. I stood staring angrily at the man holding my hair.

“Strip, woman!” he commanded loudly. I fumbled with the first button of my blouse. My fingers failed me. In a flash buttons were flying in every direction as my blouse tore open. The suddenness of my exposure overwhelmed me. I stumbled forward and slumped to the ground...

“Damn woman...” The man bent to check my general health. “Strip her.”

I was barely conscious of their actions. Truthfully I didn’t wish to be conscious. I felt my arms slip from the sleeves of my torn blouse. The button of my Levi’s, the zipper, and my legs lifted from the hips sliding off of my legs. No muscle moved. I was paralyzed by the reality of my collection. I could not breathe. I sank deeper into unconsciousness.

They removed my bra and panties with a knife. The two men lifted my body from the floor. My clothes lay strewn about the kitchen. One of the women began to strap my ankles to the bottom of the cross. Then she strapped each thigh. My mind struggled through a fog of unconsciousness. I became aware of the straps about my wrists, then my biceps. I looked up.

“NO!” I yelled out loud. One of the women shoved an object into my mouth. I choked as it hit the back of my mouth. She strapped it tightly about my head. I could not speak. My eyes flashed wildly around the room. I struggled but could not move. I was completely se- cured to the wooden cross.

“Wrap her up.” The man in charge barked again. One of the women began rifling the cup- boards. Saran wrap, clear plastic wrap ... and what was that for? She began to wrap it firmly about my left leg. At first I had to laugh at the foolishness of it, such a light plastic would never serve any purpose. Wrap after wrap, layer upon layer, I became more and more immobilized. They produced another box of plastic wrap ... first one leg and then the other was firmly wrapped to the leg of the cross. They were very firmly fastened...

“Plug her.” The other woman produced a small thermos. I shook my head violently. She found a bottle of olive oil I use for cooking. Looking directly at me she lubed the thermos. I could feel tears of desperation well up in my eyes. She placed the object upon the tender folds of my labia. One by one she lifted, separated, and spread my vulva opening my pussy. I felt the pressure against my soft body. I closed my eyes. It was uncomfortable. It hurt ... and it was inside me. They began to wrap me again. The thermos was closed against escape, then my tummy. Layer upon layer, tightly my body was wrapped and bound to the cross. They paused as the wrap reached my breasts. Two small round rub- ber objects similar to the ends of a football appeared. They held them up for me to see clearly. I knew what they were for.

“These have been specially designed for the occasion.” The dark haired woman pointed to the inside. “The inside ends are covered with an abrasive similar to medium fine sand pa- per. You see these?” Her fingernail ticked one of the pointy things inside. “They’re for your personal enjoyment.” She placed the first over my right breast. She tucked and fussed. I winced as the metal nubs pricked upon my tender breasts. She tweaked my nipple rolling it back and forth. I could feel the coarseness of the abrasive upon my sensitive flesh. She smiled ... I stared back wide-eyed and blank. She squeezed the rubber cup upon my breast firmly. The nubs brought tears to my eyes. She smiled stepping to my left breast. In another minute both breasts were fitted snugly with their nubbed cups. The wrapping be- gan anew. The rubber cups were wrapped tightly to my chest pressing hard upon my breasts. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

Sure the nubs hurt. My pussy hurt from the thermos hidden within. But more, I hurt. I was embarrassed to be here in this situation. Embarrassed to be naked in front of these peo- ple. Embarrassed to be bound upon this wooden cross. Angry with the circumstances and myself ... I hurt inside myself. Another tear trickled down my cheek. The wrapping stopped at my torso. The women each stood upon a chair and began to wrap my arms binding them more firmly to the upper pylons of the cross.

A leather hood was pulled gently over my head. It was immediately dark, very dark. But I could breathe just fine. I could feel the laces being threaded and adjusted at the back of my head. Gently but firmly my hood was snugged about my head. I was completely pos- sessed.

“Get the blower and let’s be out of here.” The man commanded again. I heard what sounded much like my hair blower. Then I could feel the warmth upon my legs. The plastic wrap was shrinking in the warm air, sucking itself to my flesh, and fitting more and more like a second skin. It was tight upon my chest. The cups dug deeper. It hurt. My arms molded within the new skin. I was near panic when the hair dryer shut off. I could still breathe. I was okay, physically, but emotionally, well that was another situation.

I felt myself being moved, wavering in motion as I was lifted from where I had been bound. I struggled to listen, to hear, and to imagine what I did not see. The armoire! Of course! I was being placed into the armoire that had housed the cross. I heard the door click shut ... and latch, lock closed. A faint whir ... I sucked hard at the air. It must be a circulating fan. I felt ... well ... bound, humiliated, and near panic.

The armoire tilted upon the dolly. I was being escorted to the moving van. Bump ... the threshold at the front door. Bump, bump, bump, bump, bump ... one, two, three, four, five ... How many times had I counted those stairs from the apartment while I carried an arm full of groceries? Then the dolly rolled up the walk ... bump ... and into the van. The overhead door rolled down and latched. I was ‘Collected’. I passed out again...

I awoke slowly sometime after I was ‘collected’. I’m not sure if it was a drug or recovery from the panic of the abduction. I couldn’t move. I tested my right arm. It was tied at the wrist and elbow to something and raised above my head. My left arm felt the same. My skin tingled. I struggled to move my arms, nothing. I wiggled my legs, first one then the other. They remained bound. I could not move. I turned my head, nothing. My mouth ached at the edges. It was dark, stiflingly darkness.

Voices. I hear voices. In reflex I tried to turn towards the sounds, nothing. I lay still.

“She’s quite the looker. And you bought her off of Leonard?”

“Yeah. She’s mine for the next year. Got a husband though. Could be trouble, but I think he’ll play along ... at least for a while.”

“She’s ready.” The voice sounded ominous. I held my breath, cringing at the horrors rac- ing through my mind. My flesh crawled, tingled, tensed and quivered. It was cool across my tummy. I was naked ... at my center regions, and ‘down there’. My stomach twisted turning over. In front of who ... and where ... and I still could not move or utter a cry for help. But then who would hear me? I groaned or grunted.

“Good she’s awake ... begin.” I felt something warm at my mid-section, and then my loins warmed. I felt a wave of near panic welling up from inside of me. Then I felt something, no someone, touching, not fondling, but touching ... lifting the folds of flesh around my pussy. Tears began to trickle down my cheeks. What were they doing to me? I struggled to move, nothing!! It was warm, almost but not quite hot. My skin tingled. It took about ten minutes to finish whatever they were doing. The fear never subsiding...

Then they were done. I could feel the plastic wrap being cut away from my skin. I was re- leased. It was utterly numbing. My limbs failed me. I sat dazed and scared. The woman removed the nubbed cups from my breasts. Pain shot through them in every direction at the exact same instant. Tears welled up in my eyes. My arms hung limp at my sides. The feeling was slowly returning to my legs. I felt something-heavy clamp down tightly around each ankle. I knew almost instantly that they were some sort of shackle. The thought of running arose instantly and melted away with reality. My heart sank to near despair. A strap was buckled around my neck. I heard locks click shut at every touch.