A ‘Routine’ Enslavement
by Falcon
This is a fantasy and any similarity of names or places to actual persons or places is purely coincidental. This story features scenes of non consensual sex. Persons who do not wish to read such scenes are advised to stop now. The author does not condone in real life the activities depicted in this fantasy.
Prologue
The year was 2136. The United States would be unrecognizable to those who had lived there in the early twenty first century. For one thing there had been a civil war over the issues of taxation, the voting franchise and slavery. Ultimately the side that prevailed in the far greater number of states was the side that wanted a major reduction of taxes, a limitation of the voting franchise to tax paying citizens and the return of slavery.
A new nation named Capitallia was formed consisting, at first, of 15 western states that declared their intention to secede from the U.S. This led at first to armed conflict, but soon other states switched their allegiance until a total of 38 of the original 50 states comprised the new nation, named for capitalism, the social and economic system that the new nation meant to promote in every way possible. The capital of the new nation was New York City, while Washington D.C. remained the capital of what was left of the old United States.
In Capitallia, the voting privilege and citizenship status were limited to those who could demonstrate certain educational achievements and pay a uniform per capita tax. Taxes had been vastly reduced by avoiding unnecessary wars and by largely eliminating the “social safety net”. The society had also become quite class conscious. There were sharp distinctions between those who were citizens and those who were not, with each class having distinctly different rights and privileges.
Because of this class consciousness, and the absence of a ‘safety net’, the criminal laws, as well as laws pertaining to contract and debt, had evolved in ways that earlier generations might have thought harsh.
Radical change had been made inevitable by decades of rising crime rates, persistently high unemployment, sharply rising levels of credit default by unemployed debtors, and the resulting high prices caused by those debtor defaults.
The public had grown weary of the high costs of building and running prisons, and of the high costs of coddling insolvent debtors. When special interests pushed for a radical new solution, the public was ripe for it. Slavery, of a particularly high tech nature, had been reintroduced.
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Bill Steelforth had arrived at his office early for a meeting with a key client. Bill was a ‘slaver's agent’. He represented a number of diverse clients, but most particularly the interests of an elite slave owning and trading firm known as Richmond SlendaBond.
Bill was in his mid forties and at the peak of his career. Often he would visit a new city and scout out attractive young women there who might be insolvent. When he found an interesting target he tried to interest one of his clients in acquiring her. If he received a green light, he would then hire a local attorney, arrange for the client to buy up all her debts, and assemble all the required evidence the attorney would needed to take her down in court.
When such an enslavement had been successful, his client would employ only the most advanced methods for tracking and controlling the new slave. Not only would he or she be ‘micro chipped’ but would also have a digital bio implant which allowed his or her owner to remotely monitor vital bodily functions, remotely administer punishment for disobedience or remotely administer sexual pleasure to reward highly skilled service.
This morning, after the client meeting, he had discovered a pretty twenty something girl waiting for him in his outer office. She was scantily clad, handcuffed and apparently in the custody of a uniformed guard. The guard indicated that the girl’s sexual services were to be a gift to him for the day from one of his clients.
He instructed the guard as to his desires. The girl was to be stripped of all clothing except for her high heels and collar, then sent to his inner office leashed and with hands cuffed behind her back. The guard was to bring in her clothing bundle also, then wait outside to collect her later.
First he would keep the girl standing at the side of his desk. She was easy on his eyes, particularly as the high heeled shoes brought out the muscle tone of her slender legs, the handcuffs prevented any attempt at modesty and the steel collar around her pretty neck proclaimed her status as a sexual slave. Her wiry black pubic hair had been trimmed in such a way as not to obscure her feminine parts.
He surveyed the spectacular New York City skyline from his 27th floor corner office. While she stood there awaiting his pleasure he decided to make a few calls. Then she found herself pulled her by her leash around to his side of the desk. He commanded her to assume a kneeling position, facing him, under his desk. He settled into a comfortable position in his executive chair and unzipped himself. If the girl’s training had been complete, she would need no further instruction.
He eyed the file on his desk. This case was one in which his services had been retained for the acquisition of a particular person. The case concerned a debtor designated for what could only be called a ‘routine’ enslavement. She should have been just like a hundred other insolvent female debtors whose freedom he had taken in the interests of his clients. He just wasn't sure she was the type of person his company ought to be acquiring. He told himself that he wasn’t getting soft, just being careful.
As he contemplated his reservations about the case at hand, he was receiving much pleasure from the girl crouched between his legs. She would have chosen to be almost anywhere else if the choice had been hers to make. But his client had come to own her as a result of his own efforts a year earlier. He experienced a thrill as he realized that her present sexual services were a kind of reward to him from the client for a job well done.
He had not felt compassion for her. She had deliberately defrauded many businesses and her present sexual slavery was a punishment well deserved. He felt that he could, therefore, enjoy guilt free the pleasures she was forced to provide.
While seated in his executive chair he had been able to look down upon her blonde head, her well tanned shoulders, and her tear stained face. He enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of her warm wet tongue slowly caressing the sensitive
under side of his penis and glans. This pleasure had alternated with the rapid and feather light butterfly movements of her tongue on his testicles.
She had aroused him from complete flaccidity to a partial erection very quickly, hoping to end her task in record time. But he, wishing to prolong both his own pleasure and her humiliation, had made her desist whenever it seemed he might be approaching a point of no return.
Bill knew that such a profession as his, with its attendant pleasures, would not have been possible a century earlier. But the straight-laced majority of citizens had become more tolerant of the desires of a minority to discreetly pursue such
vices as pornography, nudity, prostitution, drugs and gambling. This had helped set the stage for what was to come.
However, the main event that had ushered in the New Order, along with those changed attitudes, had been the creation of the new nation of Capitallia
Two months ago the assign gram his secretary had pulled up on the optiFiber machine indicated that his client, SlendaBond, wished to acquire ownership of one Stephanie Glenn, in satisfaction of her debts to that firm. There was a megafile elinked with some photos of Stephanie and her vital statistics. He had noticed that she was a looker!
Her file detailed her professional accomplishments as an accountant, the papers she had written for professional societies and the community charitable activities she was involved with. He had begun to question if this was the sort of young woman the firm ought to be enslaving.
He had called up the client to ask if the firm couldn't just let this particular quarry slip through the net. The answer that he got was an emphatic no! He was told that they, in turn, had a client who was prepared to pay the firm a pretty penny for the privilege of penetrating her as and when desired for the rest of her life.
The client’s client would be willing to sign a twenty year lease to possess her body, following her slave training. The company couldn’t afford to just forego such a deal!
As he had read further in her file he began to notice tell tale signs that someone might have run up bills in her name without her knowledge. It wasn't his job to rectify such things, he told himself. Those were the kind of things that her defense attorney should question. Nevertheless something about this case had made him uncomfortable.
That was two months ago. Since then the case had moved forward to the point that earlier this day he had been able to do a “Creditor’s Examination” on the finances and on the person of this Stephanie Glenn. He had, of course, touched and intimately examined many women destined for slavery in the course of his career. At first it had been exciting. Then it got to be old.
But with the young woman today, some of the old excitement had returned. He stood before her this morning, peering into her mouth to check her teeth with one hand, while cupping her vulva with the other hand. As he did this he experienced her trembling and a sense of her intense vulnerability. As a result he actually had some tender feeling for her! He had locked eyes with her for one brief moment. Then he
reproached himself for a moment of weakness and went back to the business of examining her much as he might inspect livestock.
His thoughts had moved forward in time to the girl under his desk still trying to bring him to climax. His penis hardened as he thought about the delicious experience he had with Stephanie at her exam this morning. This thought, together with the additional help of the young tongue beneath the desk licking his testicles, brought him to an explosive climax. Spurt after spurt of his seed entered the mouth of the pretty twenty something, and he made sure some of the spurts decorated her face as well!
He insisted the girl continue to stimulate his completely flaccid penis with her lips and tongue for the better part of an additional half an hour. He hoped to come a second time. But as thoughts about the exam this morning began to focus more and more on the possible injustice of enslaving Stephanie, he realized his penis was down for the count. He no longer had the desire for another orgasm at this time.
He pulled on the leash of the young woman beneath his desk, indicating that she was to rise from her lowly position. He noted the ropes of his semen splattered all across her face and running out of the corner of her mouth. She had not been able to tidy herself up since she was handcuffed.
He took a tissue and cleaned her face himself, taking particular care to wipe away her tears and to wipe his semen from her eyelids. Then he used his key to unlock her handcuffs and gave her permission to put her clothes on. He led her on her leash to the guard waiting to collect her just outside his office. He wished to be alone with his thoughts.
Chapter 1. Stephanie’s Interview
I applied to Masterson Automotive for my first job in accounting. I was 22 years old and it was the year 2134. Six months earlier my classmates and I had received our diplomas. The majority of my professional friends had received no job offer since graduation.
On the day of my appointment I chose to wear high-heeled shoes and a rather elegant blue dress that came down only to mid thigh. I knew that my legs were one of my most attractive features and that showing them off might help my chances! When I arrived on time for my appointment, I felt I really could not afford to blow this opportunity.
I was excited but could also feel some tightness in my chest. I found myself in a reception area. I noted six other women about my age and two young men, all professionally dressed, and all with eclip boards busy data inputting what I assumed were job applications. Apparently I had competition as the company had advertised only one opening.
I had transmitted my completed forms via the opti some weeks earlier, along with a letter indicating that I had researched this firm and the reasons why I particularly wanted to work here. I remembered that some of the questions on the forms had been quite personal, even intrusive, but I had answered them anyway. After about fifteen minutes, a door opened and a man called out my name.
“Miss Stephanie Glenn?
I looked up to see a tall middle-aged man looking in my direction.
“I am Jeffrey Duncan from Human Resources. Please follow me.”
I smiled and stood to greet him.
He escorted me down a long corridor, plushy carpeted and with tasteful artwork, to what was apparently his own office. There was a spectacular view of the New York City skyline. He moved behind his elegant desk, with his back to me, and began speaking for a moment to someone on the phone. I eyed the comfortable chairs in front of his desk but he had not invited me to sit down so I remained nervously standing. After what seemed an eternity he finished his call.
“Miss Glenn, I do apologize for the interruption. Won’t you have a seat please? Could I have some coffee sent in for you?”
I took my seat but shook my head regarding the coffee as I was too wired already.
“My colleagues and I have reviewed your resume and impressive cover letter, obtained your academic transcripts, and checked out your references. Seldom have we had the pleasure of considering such a superbly qualified applicant”, he beamed!
“Thank you sir!”
“Your fine academic record was much enhanced by evidence of your social skills and by an obvious interest in physical pursuits. We like to hire applicants who are both socially adept and physically fit.”
“I do try to constantly challenge myself to maintain my skills, sir!” I said this with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
I felt genuinely complimented. I was pretty sure that the “physical” reference was to the fact that I had been captain of the college cheerleading squad, and also an avid tennis player. The “social” reference was doubtless to the fact I had been Pledge Mistress and later President of my sorority.
“If we make you an offer,” he continued, “you will find that your duties with us may include mingling with our clients at various social functions. You would be comfortable with that wouldn’t you?”
“Yes sir, I have always liked to mingle at social and business functions. Perhaps you could spell out just what my duties might be at these functions?”
I felt myself tensing up just a bit, wondering if I should be reading anything between the lines in the way he was phrasing this extra-curricular job requirement.
He leaned back in his chair and seemed to be considering his next words carefully.
“I won’t go into detail on your actual duties.” He paused to see if I would object to this omission before continuing.
“I will say that some of these functions may be quite formal while others may consist of picnics, swimming pool outings and the like. Nothing you can’t handle!” There ensued a long pause in which he seemed to be studying my body language for any clue to how I might be taking all this news.
“Your apparent social skills and obvious physical attractiveness are important to us. Clients respond favorably to such attributes.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted my physical attractiveness to be so much a factor in their hiring decision. The implications of that were beginning to worry me.
“Thank you.” I said somewhat more hesitantly than before.
“I need to inform you at this point, Miss Glenn, that we give three exams to each applicant who reaches this stage of our selection process. One is psychological, one is medical, and the last we call a “physical aesthetics exam or P.A.E”.
I was no longer making eye contact with him and my muscles tensed. The tests he mentioned were beginning to sound quite intrusive and in spite of my somewhat desperate circumstances and need for this job, I was contemplating a refusal and an early termination of this interview.
“I sense your hesitation,” he offered. “It is not uncommon for candidates to feel some apprehension about these tests. But I can assure you, Miss Glenn, that you are very close to receiving an offer from us, and that these exams are little more than a formality which will soon be over and behind you as you begin what we all hope will be a brilliant career with us!”
Not without some trepidation I reluctantly nodded my assent. He indicated that the Physical Aesthetics Exam would be scheduled first, and gave me the date and time for that appointment.
“After you pass your ‘physical’ exam, which I am sure you will, I will notify you of dates for the other two tests”. With that he rose, shook my hand, and escorted me out.
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When I reported for the “physical” exam I went directly to Room B17 in the basement in accordance with instructions Mr. Duncan had given me. There a male receptionist, who couldn’t have been more than 19 years old, greeted me.
“You must be Stephanie Glenn”, he stated. “We have been expecting you!”
He escorted me down a long hallway deeper into the basement complex. Finally we entered a private examination room. He handed me a paper gown.
“I will need you to disrobe and put on this gown”, he said.
“Put your clothing and personal effects in one of the lockers on the wall over there”.
When he made no immediate move to leave, I wondered for a moment if he planned to stay and conduct my examination himself.
“The Examiner will be with you in just a few minutes”, he finally said, and left me to get undressed.
After getting naked I very carefully put on the flimsy paper gown, which was sleeveless and came only to mid thigh. I had to wait quite a while and this gown was little protection against the chill of the air conditioning.
While waiting, I saw a “Physical Aesthetics Examiner” certificate on the wall for a Thomas Baxter, the man who was evidently going to “examine” me. He had no medical training but instead had a Master’s degree in “The Aesthetics of the Human Body”. I had not even known that such a degree program or professional certification existed. But much had changed in Capitallia in the last ten years.
At long last, Mr. Baxter entered the room, introduced himself, made some small talk and proceeded to fill out a buff colored form. He called out his observations as he checked the various boxes and made additional notes.
“I see that you are pretty, a redhead, fair skinned, freckled, have high cheekbones, brown eyes, and a slightly upturned nose”, he announced, checking off items on his form.
“I also see that you have the kind of thick lips most people would consider sensuous!” He announced this with some enthusiasm as he scribbled some note on the form.
“Thank you sir.” I wasn’t sure I liked where this might be heading, but I certainly didn’t want to antagonize the man, who might very well hold my future in his hands.
“I will need to take one or two good photos of your face for our files. Please step over here in front of this screen.“
I did so and waited patiently while he focused studio lights on my face and adjusted the background lights. He took front and side shots and seemed satisfied. With the photo taking done, he motioned me away from the photo taking area to an alcove with a paper covered leather table and softer lighting.
“I will need you to remove the gown at this time”, he stated matter-of-factly, “as these exams are always conducted with the subject naked.”
I pondered the fact that Mr. Duncan in Human Resources had not told me about this aspect of the exam. It was one thing to be nude for a medical exam, but doing it in that context felt very different. I hesitated enough for him to notice my discomfort, but then reluctantly complied. With me naked he began to call out his additional observations.
“I see that you are slender, even exquisitely so!” he observed, checking more boxes on the buff colored form.
“You have well defined clavicles,” he continued, “breasts that are of modest size and firm, a flat and well toned stomach reflecting, no doubt, your cheerleading and tennis pursuits!” he said, checking still more boxes on his form.
“And I can’t help but comment on your very long, slim, and beautifully muscled legs of the kind that our clients, seeing you at a beach party or swimming pool, would certainly find most attractive! Are these the legs that won third place in the Boston Marathon?”
“Yes sir, they are.” I didn’t like where this was going.
“I read about that on your resume. That is why I decided to do your physical myself! I wanted so much to see and touch those marathon winning legs!”
That last point Mr. Baxter found it necessary to verify by asking me to flex and tense my leg muscles several times while he fondled my thighs and calves. He seemed to be particularly interested in my hamstring muscles, and how ‘defined’ the tendons under my flexed knees were. It had become way too personal, but I bit my tongue.
“I note that your nipples erect very nicely when stimulated!”
While he played with them, I tried to do multiplication tables in my head to avoid becoming aroused. He made another note on the form. Then his interest shifted to my genitals
“I see that you are a natural redhead and that you have applied a lovely perfume to this area of your body! You have trimmed your hair ‘down there’ just the way we like our female employees to do, so the vulva is adorned but never concealed.”
I jerked instinctively when I felt his right hand fondling my bare left buttock as he pulled me closer to him for a better view. I thought it outrageous that he thought any of my private parts were the company’s business. I saw him make more notes on the buff colored form.
“No doubt you are wondering why we care about such things?” He looked at me quizzically.
“I don’t know if Jeff Duncan told you this or not, but there will likely be times when you will be socializing with clients at pool parties in the nude. Clients like pubic hair but also like to see what you have down there!”
I didn’t know which I felt more, the urge to slap his face or the urge to cry! But I had come that far, so I might as well see it through. I could decide later if I really wanted the job.
After I had settled down again he asked me to do jumping jacks on a trampoline to assess my physical fitness. I saw a flash go off and surmised that my naked body had been photographed during this exercise. He had not asked me if he might do this, and I was not at all happy about it!
He had me turn my back to him and proceeded to palpate my firm buttocks. He then instructed me to bend way forward and touch my fingers to the floor. He let out a whistle!
“I must tell you, Miss Glenn, that because of the width of you hips and the fact that your thighs are so slender, there is quite a nice gap between your legs just below your crotch!”
“And your point is?” I practically shouted at him in my irritation.
“At the nude pool parties, our clients really notice and appreciate women of your build, since, whenever you bend forward even a little, you provide them with a lovely rear view of your vulva!” He made another notation on the form.
“There is something else Jeff probably didn’t tell you”. He paused, a worried look on his face, as if considering whether he should go on.
“Sometimes, when we are entertaining clients there will be ‘opportunities’ when you could help the company if you volunteered to have sex with one of them. I can assure you these situations are always purely voluntary.“ He said this in such a casual, matter-of-fact way, that I thought he might be making small talk about the weather.
I was quite sure by this point that I would not likely accept any offer the company made. Nevertheless it would boost my self-confidence to at least have an offer to reject after six months of fruitless job hunting.
“You will never be forced to have sex with anyone if you don’t want to!” He proclaimed as though pointing out one of the great benefits of working at Masterson Automotive!
“But if you do have sex with one of our clients, then we want to be very sure the client is going to find you pleasing in every way. That is why we must now proceed to a more intimate examination of your person.”
“But I am sure I would never volunteer to have sex with a client!” I intend to keep my work life and my personal life entirely separate!”
“That is pretty much what every young woman tells me at the time of her exam. But quite a few of them later change their mind. That is why we have to be thorough now, just in case.”
“I need you to spread apart the lips of your vulva with your fingers. I need to have a good look inside.“
I was seething inside but had not yet decided whether to let him know it yet.
“You are not a doctor sir!” I said with more than a little concern. “I see no reason why you need to look inside my vulva!”
I was shocked at the impertinence of this man and the company he represented. I could feel my breathing speed up and the muscles of my upper back and neck tense. My arms were trembling.
“It is partly for hygiene and partly for aesthetics. Now come along and get with the program! I don’t have all day you know!”
He had answered me with an impatient tone and a look that seemed to say it was almost beneath his dignity to respond to my silly female objections.
“Did all your other female job applicants agree to this procedure?”
“Nearly all of them, yes.”
I was stalling for time to decide what to do. I reminded myself that jobs in the accounting field were extremely difficult to find under the economic conditions of the time. Finally I nodded my head in reluctant acquiescence and held by labia open for his inspection.
The man took his time and seemed to be immensely enjoying his work, examining, but not touching, each little detail of my vulva while he hummed a tune and stopped a few times to make copious notes on the buff colored form.
“You have a very pleasant aroma ‘down there’ compared to most women I have examined!”
He said this as though I ought to be everlastingly grateful for such a compliment. I became aware of my own sexual scent and looked down, observing that my inner labia were becoming visibly engorged with blood.
Even though he had not actually touched me down there I was becoming aroused. It was the humiliation of the whole situation that was making me hot, and not any feeling I had for him.
Before I knew what was happening I saw a flash and knew he had taken a second photo without my permission. This time it was of my vulva in an aroused condition!
Without even stopping to think I shoved him away from his camera, grabbed the camera and jerked out the film cartridge, tearing the cartridge apart with my bare hands! What I didn’t learn until much later was that the image had already been electronically stored and would be sent to Jeff Duncan and others for their perusal!
“All right bitch! We have plenty of good job applicants here! I don’t need to waste my time with girls like you who don’t appreciate the opportunity you are being given!”
He stormed out of the room. I got dressed. Just then an attractive woman of middle age, a Mrs. Binson, came in to talk with me.
“Miss Glenn, I understand that you and my colleague, Mr. Baxter, did not get along”, she said with what appeared to be genuine concern. “Sometimes he can be a bit rough in his manner with the applicants. I will be happy to take over for Mr. Baxter if you would feel more comfortable with a female examiner?”
“Yes, perhaps that would be better.” I breathed a sign of relief.
“There is one other requirement, Miss.” She paused, momentarily.
“We will need you to sign this consent form, Stephanie.” As she made this announcement she put a clipboard with a form in front of me.
“What is that for?” I asked.
“It is for the clitoral response test. It is permission for me to touch your privates, Miss Glenn, for the purpose of arousing you and for testing your capacity for sexual response.”
This female examiner was clearly going to be no better than the male one!
“We need this signed to protect me personally, and the company”
“Protect you from what?” I asked.
“Why in case an applicant should later decide to file a complaint alleging that she was sexually molested during the interview exam. Believe me, it is no big deal. All our applicants sign this. It is just routine.”
I felt the bile rise in my throat and I found myself yelling at her.
“I hate to fucking spoil such a successful fucking run you and your colleague have been having, Mrs. Binson, but my answer is “no fucking way! You can tell Jeff Duncan I said so, and if that disqualifies me, so be it!” I was hoarse from shouting at her.
With that I put my clothes back on and stormed out of the lab and out of the building. I really did not expect to hear further from the company after my angry outbursts.
Two days later, much to my surprise, I got a call from Jeff Duncan indicating that my objection to the clitoral test had been noted, but that I was still in the running for the job.
He scheduled me for the medical exam at a clinic where the company had a contract. I got that out of the way the next day. It was a routine sort of exam and certainly proved to be far less embarrassing than the P.A.E. had been.
Three days after that I got the call to come back the following day. Upon arrival I was informed that Mr. Gregory, the company psychologist, would see me. After a short wait a twenty something girl in a micro skirt took me from the reception area to his office.
I wondered how they got their female employees to dress in such a lewd way.
Before I had a chance to pursue that thought we were there and I was ushered into what seemed a much less elegant office than Mr. Duncan of Human Resources occupied.
“Hello, Miss Glenn, I am Paul Gregory, he said with a warm smile. Have a seat. Most employees call me ‘the company shrink’, but really I don’t bite. This will be your last stage in the interview process. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, I just had some, thanks.” I appreciated his courtesy but felt I could do a better job fielding his questions without the distraction of balancing a cup in my lap.
“Today we will see if we can learn what makes you tick, what your fears are, and what incentives would motivate you to your highest level of achievement here at Masterson Automotive.”
He announced all the foregoing with an expansive gesture and a genial smile, but I did not feel cheerful. I knew I needed to be on guard for a trap. I felt the muscles in my upper back begin to tense up. This sounded as though it might be as intrusive mentally as the other exam had been physically.
“First I am informed”, he paused for a pregnant moment, “that you refused our clitoral response test. Is that correct, and if so, why?”
“Sir, I just believe some things are too personal to share with a prospective employer!” I responded, in my most mellifluous voice, with as much of a smile as I could muster.
“Quite right! He said as he grinned from ear to ear and slapped his knee for emphasis.
“We were actually pleased” he said, “that you refused that test! It showed us that you have some spirit and ability to be non compliant when the situation calls for that! What surprised us, frankly, was that you hadn’t walked out when he asked you to hold your labia open for his vulva exam!
He looked at me curiously, hoping for some reaction. I was acutely embarrassed and at a loss for anything effective to say. Then he continued.
“There was really no need for you to have submitted to that. The fact that you did, however, shows us that you are pliable, at least to some degree. We like women who are pliable, within reason.”
I was not comfortable with this conversation.
“Mr. Gregory”, I said, “that whole episode is something I would like to put behind me. Could we please just move on to the rest of this interview?”
“Indeed! I need to ask you if you have any ambitions to rise to a management level position with our firm
“Definitely yes!” I replied confidently.
I could see that he was very intently making eye contact with me and watching my body language for anything that might contradict my words.
“Would you consider yourself to be a ‘take charge’ kind of person? “
“I can only rely on my background to show you that I do have ‘take charge’ potential. Would you like to hear of some of my accomplishments?”
“Most definitely!” he replied.
“In college I was Pledge Mistress of my sorority in my junior year and was elected President in my senior year! In high school I was captain of our cheerleading team two years in a row! I would think that illustrates that others respected me as a natural leader!” I exclaimed as I smiled brightly.
“Then I must also ask you what kind of leader you were?”
“What do you mean sir?” I asked, confused by his question.
“I mean were you the kind of leader who rose to the top by pushing anyone aside who got in your way?” Were you ruthless?”
I got an uncomfortable feeling as I saw his eyes boring into me. He wasn’t going to let me fluff this one off or change the subject. Clearly he was going after something in particular!
“I don’t understand sir? Why would you be asking me that? I always tried to lead by setting a good example and by obtaining the consent and cooperation of all concerned.”
He leaned back in his chair with a resigned expression and avoided making eye contact with me.
“Are you telling me the whole truth, Stephanie?” He asked as though suggesting that I was being deliberately evasive.
“I guess so. At least I tried to.”
“Well, I do have some information about you, Miss Glenn, that I obtained by interviewing some of your old high school classmates.”
He said this like a cat playing with a mouse. He was again looking right at me. I felt my spirits sag. I knew that some of them had never liked me back in the day, and who knows what they might have said to him!
“What I learned was that when you were captain of the cheerleaders you organized your teammates and a select few other girls into an exclusive clique. I was told that your clique was cruel to girls who were not members.”
After throwing this accusation my way he just let it hang in the air for several minutes. He was watching my facial muscles and my body language intently. He had not asked a direct question so I just tried to look calm and waited him out. He continued.
“I was also told that behind your back half the girls in your high school referred to you as ‘the bitch’. Is there any truth, Stephanie, in these statements?”
Now I had to respond, and I was at a loss! I knew there was truth in what he had heard about me, but I struggled to find an artful response. I needed an answer that wouldn’t kill my chances for this job.
“Perhaps some of it is true.” I said. “I really don’t know what to say. That was quite a few years back and I was only 16 or 17 years old at the time. Now, after finishing a four year college I believe I have matured. I am not the same person I was then.”
I could feel my brow was hot, my cheeks were flushed and I was starting to sweat. Maybe the job was slipping away from me in spite of all I had endured so far.
“We hope so Miss Glenn. We certainly hope so!” He responded with a sigh and paused a long moment before continuing.
“We are certainly willing to allow for the possibility that you are not that same person after a college experience.” He finished his thought in a more optimistic tone.
“Thank you sir!” Maybe there was still hope, I thought.
“How would you say you have related to men in connection with dating, during your junior and senior years of college, and since then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Miss Glenn, were your contacts with men in social or dating situations generally pleasant for both you and the men? Or would you say these experiences were antagonistic?”
“I socialize easily and most of my friends call me an extrovert!” As I said this I knew that it was glib, and not entirely responsive.
“That is not what I asked!” He was nearly shouting at me now. After a pause he continued in a calmer tone.
“I have also interviewed some of the men you have dated, and some men who wanted to date you and were rejected. What I learned does cause me some concern.”
“What did they say sir?”
“They said you seemed to delight in putting men down, that you would only date guys who were extremely handsome and popular, and that you seemed to well …” he paused, “find, how shall we say, the ones that also had a hidden submissive side!”
I was stunned! How could he possibly know these things about me? Even my best friends did not know this about me!
“Also”, he continued, “it was said that you were vicious in the way you would humiliate men you did not want to date, and that men you did choose to date were usually treated badly when you tired of them!”
I thought fast. How could I strike just the right tone and maybe make my vice seem like a virtue?
“I will not deny any of it sir. I believe though, that some of my past behaviors could be viewed as signs of an aggressive character. If I can smooth out some of the rough edges, such a character trait could actually help me in a future management role!” I paused for effect and to observe his reaction. He indicated with a wave of his hand that He liked what he was hearing and wanted me to continue.
“I think I can grow out of my past ‘bitchiness’, if you will, and put those aggressive traits to good purpose if I am given a chance here at Masterson Automotive.”
“You just said the magic words, Miss Glenn! He beamed!
“I am impressed with your resourcefulness that you know how to sell a negative as a potential positive!” This he uttered with an expansive sweep of his hand to show just how much effective my words had been.
He waited to be sure I would hang on every word. I was excited to think I had possibly snatched victory from the jaws of defeat! Maybe I was still in the running! He continued.
“I am also impressed with your honesty” he continued “that you would so easily acknowledge the truth of what was said about you! I will tell you that, if we were to make you an offer, you would be in a level 3 position and you would be reporting to Tom Jenkins, head of Accounts Receivable.”
After another twenty minutes of more routine questions, Mr. Gregory announced that the interview was concluded and that I would be contacted within a week or two with the company’s decision.
Chapter 2. The Slaver As A Young Man
Earlier today my partner and I, together with staff, celebrated the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the William Steelforth Agency. A second cause for festivities was that 2136 was promising to be a banner year for the firm.
Our celebration caused me to reflect on just who I, William Steelforth, had been as a young man, what my values had been then and since, how I developed an early interest in slavery, and why I eventually founded a firm to earn my living doing something I not only believe in, but also enjoy!
I was never an egalitarian, even in my high school days, since I always believed that people were essentially unequal in every sense. The founders of the United States erred, in my judgment, in building a nation on the principles that all people should be equal before the law and equal in the voting booth.
But things were starting to change.
In 2089, three years before I was born, our nation, now called Capitallia, had been formed by 38 states seceding from the old United States. All this had happened because of a civil war over the issues of taxation, the voting franchise and slavery.
The new nation had started by adopting a constitution very much like that of the U.S. There were two very significant differences however.
The first was encoded as the Servitude Article of the new nation, and provided that Congress might pass slavery laws or indentured servitude laws which would be constitutional, not only as a punishment for crime, as in the United States, but also as a means for the satisfaction of debt. The article also provided that Congress might pass laws establishing voluntary servitude or slavery, i.e. a man or woman might sell himself or herself into bondage.
The second was encoded as the Citizenship Article. Its effect was to deny universal suffrage in favor of a restrictive definition of citizenship:
Section 1. Citizenship in Capitallia shall be a right that must be earned by demonstrating appropriate knowledge of basic principles of government, and by paying a citizenship tax that shall be apportioned equally among all citizens. No person who has not attained the age of twenty-five years may become a citizen.
Section 2. A person who is not a citizen shall not be entitled to vote, serve on a jury, own real estate, own a business, own or carry a firearm, or sue or be sued in the civil courts of the nation’s judiciary.
Section 3. A person who is not a citizen may be required to carry or wear an identification device that shall provide for positive ID, remote
tracking, and public display of his or her status. Such device must be presented to any officer of the law upon demand. Such person shall have only such rights of personal, financial, or medical privacy as Congress shall see fit to provide by statute.
Section 4. Administrative tribunals, with limited appeal rights, shall be established to resolve disputes by or against persons who are not citizens.
The Congress soon passed legislation to implement the Citizenship Article and within a few years after the founding of the new nation the number of citizens had been reduced to about half of the nation’s adult population. This was to set the stage for still further developments that would make the nation even less egalitarian.
Congress was also under pressure from the very beginning of the new nation to pass legislation implementing the Servitude Article. At first Congress passed laws that only allowed for ‘indentured servitude’ for a limited number of years. Indentures whether voluntary or for debt, could be bought and sold, but it was said that the person could not be bought or sold.
Only a few years after the Citizenship laws were passed Congress had enacted the “Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act”. I would have been only a few years old at the time this was passed.
The purpose of this law was to provide some relief for creditors by indenturing the insolvent debtor for a term of up to eight years, or until he or she had worked off the debt, whichever came first. The law also allowed a man or woman to indenture himself or herself voluntarily for up to eight years in exchange for some valuable consideration, such as payment of medical expenses of a loved one.
The debtor’s indenture belonged to his creditor in the first instance, and could be sold to others. It was said that the indenture could be bought and sold, but not the person. Nevertheless many young women and men wound up having their indentures sold to brothels.
My own first experience with prostitution happened the year I started high school. Prostitution had been legal for some thirty years by then.
The laws, for some time, had permitted boys as young as 14 to enjoy the services of licensed houses of female prostitution if accompanied by their father or male guardian. My first two visits were with my dad. The minimum age for a girl wishing to enjoy a male prostitute was 16, and only if accompanied by her mother or a female guardian.
On my first visit I was 14 and accompanied by my father. This was some 11 years after the “Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act” so that, while there may have been a few voluntary prostitutes, most of them, at that time, were serving the public on a strictly involuntary basis. Many a young woman, indentured for debt, or convicted of some crime, ended up being forced to serve the public sexually, in either a public or private brothel.
The supply of women available to brothel operators was plentiful and their cost was low, and accordingly the prices charged to the customers were quite reasonable compared to what prices had been for such services when all prostitution had been voluntary! . Perhaps best of all, or so I thought at the time, was the fact that these new involuntary prostitutes had no right of refusal. They must serve all customers, and in whatever way the customer desired!
It seemed just to me that young people should work off their debts in this way if that is where they were most needed, and just also that the most productive members of society should be able to enjoy themselves by patronizing such establishments.
While kinky services were probably available even then, my father thought it best, for my first visit, to sign me up for a very conventional intercourse experience. I never was informed, on that occasion, if the woman who serviced me was there on a voluntary or involuntary basis. Perhaps my father did not want me to dwell on that aspect of prostitution at the tender age of 14. What really mattered to me then was that I was going to enjoy my first fuck!
A year later I talked my father into taking me again. This time I was all keyed up on the idea of enjoying a woman on a non-consensual basis. I asked my dad if special arrangements could be made.
I wanted to be certain I would have the opportunity to fuck, not just any woman, but one who was paying her debt to society for, say some white collar crime! I wanted a chance to read her file first and learn something of her sexual history and what was the crime for which she had been sentenced. That would make fucking her much more of a thrill! It was!
I can remember a rather heated discussion I had, in my senior year of high school, about servitude ideas with Mr. Maxwell, my high school civics teacher. My teacher had given a rather impassioned lecture about the evils of our law that legalized a limited form of slavery. I went back to his classroom at the end of the school day.
“You wanted to see me about the homework, Bill?” My teacher glanced up at me from his desk expectantly.
“No sir,” I replied. “I really wanted to talk to you about what you said in class today.” I hesitated. “What I mean is, you said you had some serious objections to that law, you know, the one about indentured servitude.”
“Go ahead Bill.” He shifted in his chair and looked more interested already.
“I just don’t get it!” I blurted out. “I thought it was a pretty neat law! Our family gets its grass cut, its cars washed, and snow shoveled, all for next to nothing! We even have a maid to keep the house tidy. Dad says we couldn’t afford any of these things before the indenture laws! And all my friends think it is a cool law too!”
“Don’t you ever think of the rights of the people who are indentured?” My teacher responded, in his patient teacher voice.
“Well yeah, I guess I think of that sometimes. But these people need to pay their debt to society, or to their creditors, so they really gave up their rights when they committed a crime, mismanaged their money or sold themselves to pay for medical care!!”
“Some of us would argue,” he pointed out in a calm even tone, “that there are certain rights no person can give up or have taken away! Even if he or she is hopelessly in debt, or has committed a crime!” The prime examples would be the right of a person to life, to liberty, and to the pursuit of happiness.”
“Sir,” I replied with excitement, seeing the possibility of a rhetorical victory, “would that mean that a man who is too poor to feed his family or pay for his family’s medical care, for example, should not be able to sell himself into slavery, in exchange for financial support for his family?”
“That had always been one of the core beliefs of our forefathers! It is in the Declaration of Independence of the United States. It was the law we all lived under until radical revolutionaries brought about the secession of our state and 37 others from the U.S. just a few years before you were born. You realize not all of us agreed with the secession, but we lost out to the radicals.”
“But Mr. Maxwell, what if the man dearly loved his wife or his child and one of them needed an operation that cost well beyond the amount of money he could ever earn in wages as a free laborer? Should he have to watch his loved one die because he cannot raise money by selling or indenturing himself?”
“Bill, listen to what I am saying! The man should not be faced with such a choice in a civilized society. Medical care is a basic right, and society should pay for this man’s loved one to have the operation if he cannot pay himself.” My teacher was beginning to show signs of impatience with my argument.
“If medical care is a basic right,” I replied “doesn’t that mean that some of us must give up quite a bit of our ‘liberty’ and our ‘right to pursue our own happiness’ in order to pay for someone else’s medical care? Isn’t that a form of slavery in itself?” I felt I had him there.
“Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, Bill. If a woman, for example, has to indenture herself just to live, or to pay for her child’s operation, she can hardly be equal to other citizens in any sense, can she?” He seemed to feel he had me there.
“Why should we even care” I boldly questioned “if everyone is equal in political, social, or legal terms?”
He looked shocked at my statement.
“Sir, you seem to be saying we should go back to the egalitarian ideas of the old United States. Did that nation not, in effect, allow the slothful and the willfully uninformed to have a huge voice in determining who the national leaders would be and how the tax dollars would be spent? “ I was on a roll. How could he possibly counter my argument?
“Bill, when you create a class of people who don’t have all the same rights as the rest of us, you create the conditions for that group of people to be terribly exploited for their labor and even for sex! Surely you have heard about all the young women who are forced to serve the public sexually?”
“But why is any of that a problem sir? Maybe certain people deserve to work long hours for low wages or even make themselves useful in sexual ways! That may well be the best way, or the only way, that people with no special skills can earn their living or repay their debts!” I certainly wasn’t going to share with my teacher the fact that I had enjoyed non-consensual sex services myself at the age of 14 and again at age 15!
“Bill, I have papers to grade. Let us continue this discussion another time.”
He turned back to his work and when I left him I had the distinct impression that I had made the better argument. I did not try again to pursue these ideas further with my civics teacher, but continued to think about them for the next few years.
To be candid, my early interest in slavery was due to the very sexual possibilities it opened up!
During my high school years, I was pleased to see that laws were passed implementing Section 3 of the Citizenship Article, requiring all non-citizens to conspicuously wear electronic bracelets or necklaces. It was fun to be able to see at a glance who was a Citizen and who was not.
At that time I was not yet eligible for citizenship since I was only nineteen. Congress, however, had excused all persons under the age of twenty-five who had no brushes with the law from wearing the degrading bracelets.
It soon developed that non-citizens had little privacy. Any citizen who wished to do so could scan their electronic bracelet, learn that person’s identity, and even pull up quite a substantial file on that person. Congress had not, however, chosen to declare the medical and financial records of such persons to be publicly available.
When I was about 19 I had my first opportunity to visit a house of prostitution as an adult and to really choose what I wanted from the full menu of services. I found that one of the services available to me, as a paying customer, was that I might sexually dominate a young female prostitute during my time with her, if I wished. I could even have a rape like experience if I so desired. I did not choose to avail myself of this option.
I did have advance information that a certain Suzanne Metzker, a girl I once knew in high school had been for a year or more indentured in this particular brothel. And that she had had many customers during that year. I knew what shifts she worked and what fees her employer charged customers for her services.
This girl, when she was in high school, had gone out on several dates with me. I was just interested in her for sex. I tried to get her to go down on me but she thought that was a filthy practice. She was also pushing for a more serious relationship than I cared to have with her. So she had broken off our budding relationship. I had missed the sex for the rest of my senior year. I thought it would be rather pleasant to hire her services now! I knew that she had no legal right to refuse me now, but I would not force her. I would have enough pleasure just seeing her suffer the loss of face in my knowing that she was now a public whore! If she didn’t want to serve me now I would dismiss her and choose a different girl.
It was likely, of course, that Suzanne could ill afford to reject me now. She would need all the customers she could get to make satisfactory progress paying down her debt and thereby winning back her freedom. Also the brothel had a policy that if a customer was not satisfied by one of their girls and had to choose another, the first girl would lose one half of her total credits for that week. That made it very expensive indeed for a girl to send away a customer unsatisfied. I felt quite sure that Suzanne Metzger would now, finally, be taking my penis in her lovely mouth.
I had to wait some time for my appointment with her as she was entertaining another customer when I arrived. During this time I struck up a conversation with another customer, a young guy about my own age, in the waiting lounge. He introduced himself as Charles Witherspoon, and I responded, introducing myself simply as Bill.
“Are you waiting for a session, Mr. Witherspoon?” I asked, just to make conversation.
“Not at all. Call me Charlie please. I just had an incredible session! Right now I am just waiting for my traveling companion to finish his session so we can leave.” He seemed to fairly glow with satisfaction and pride.
“What was so wonderful about your experience Charlie?”
“Her name was Vicki Rogers, a hot number. To really explain, Bill, I need to go back a few years to when Vicki and I were both high school students. Say, if you have some time to kill, they have an exquisite Merlot here! Would you have a glass with me? I’ll buy!”
That seemed like an attractive offer, so I accepted. He signaled to a cute waitress who promptly came over and took our order. I could not help but admire her tanned and toned legs in the very short micro skirt she was wearing.
“I had one date with her then,” Charlie continued. “I never even got to first base. Two days later, when I called for a second date, she acted like I was some kind of creep! The next thing I knew Vicki was spreading lies about me, that I had exposed myself to her and tried to force myself on her after she said no!”
“Did you ever find out why she did all this?” I was genuinely curious now.
“Maybe someone in her clique got to her and she felt she had to redeem herself in their eyes,” Charlie replied. “Soon all the girls had heard her story and no one wanted to lose face with the other girls by dating a guy like that! She totally humiliated me and trashed my reputation.”
“Was that the end of the story?” Just then our leggy waitress brought our wine. We each took a glass, then Charlie continued his story.
“It was the end of our high school encounter and any chance I had for a social life back then. But just a few days ago, while surfing the net for prostitutes, I discovered her listing. There was her name and photo, and the name of the high school we had both attended, so there could be no mistake that this was the same girl. The notice said she had been indentured to this brothel only a week ago.”
“What was your reaction on learning this?” I leaned forward eager for his response.
“I thought that there could not be anything more delightful than indentured servitude! This fantastic new legal system was going to give me the opportunity to pay her back at last for the sexual injury she had caused me, and to pay her back in a sexual way!”
“Here, here!” I said, then “To Servitude!” as we clinked glasses.
“This girl had not only rejected me in the ordinary sense, but had crushed me with her supercilious disdain, ruined my name with her libelous stories. She had taken something precious from me. Now I wanted so much to take something precious from her. I wanted sexual justice! Could there be any better way to obtain that justice than by raping her?”
I was seeing his point all right, even though I doubted I could follow through with a scheme like his even if I had been injured as much by a girl as he had been.
“Could there be any better justice than to mount her slender nakedness, not by her consent, and penetrate her most private parts! I wanted the pleasure of violating her!”
“So what did you do?” My curiosity was overcoming me.
“I called the brothel and learned that she had not had any customers as yet, and was still a virgin. I hinted at the fact that I was eager to have a rape experience with this particular girl.”
I sat on the edge of my chair. He had certainly got my attention with this tale.
“The brothel manager indicated that newly indentured girls are nearly always reluctant to begin their work as prostitutes. He felt sure that this one, based on her known attitude and personality, would probably be completely unwilling to be fucked by her first customer! I told him that I would pay triple if I could be that first customer, and if I could have her restrained in advance for my pleasure. The manager agreed to my terms.”
I now saw that he probably had succeeded in carrying out his sexual vengeance here today. Doubtless this was what had caused that glow of satisfaction I had noted in him at the beginning of our conversation.
“When I entered the session room, Bill, I found they had secured her in a spread eagle position on a leather padded bench known as a ‘fucking bench’. Her legs were widely spread and secured to adjustable struts extending out to the sides. There were electric motors that could extend or retract these struts. There was a bolster to raise her pelvis and lock her hips from moving to either side. Also there was a belt around her waist to insure she could not lift her pelvis up from the bolster. Her arms were secured to the side of the table. She was naked, except for panties, and also blindfolded. All was exactly as I had requested of the manager. I had requested that her panties be left on so that I might have the pleasure of removing them.”
I was intrigued at his scenario. I even thought of doing something like that with my session and the girl I had known in high school. I could, of course, if I chose to do so. But I did not have that much anger in me. I rejected his scenario for my own use even while generally approving of it for him.
“I had specified the blindfold because I wanted to heighten her anxiety by keeping her in ignorance, at first, of who the person was that would now be taking liberties with her body. I resolved to say nothing at first so that she could not recognize me by my voice. I proceeded to examine her in a leisurely manner. Her body was toned and well defined from her years of gymnastics and dance training. I let my fingers trail over all the different parts of her.
I had the satisfaction of glancing at the graphical screen which was displaying results from her digital bio implant. It showed me clearly that she was experiencing both fear and anger at her violation! It showed me which parts of her brain were most active! So I continued to toy with her to see if I couldn’t raise these readings still higher. I experimented to see if I could shift the focus of her brain activity to different regions. She first demanded I desist. I did not. Then she demanded to know who was doing this. I said nothing.“
I realized that I could perhaps emulate this part of his scenario as a kinky way to begin my own session, even though I would give my girl a choice about the actual sex.
“After enjoying myself in this silent way for perhaps fifteen minutes, I spoke to her about how much pleasure I was having. I asked her if she recognized me from my voice. She could not, though she admitted the voice sounded very familiar. I took her blindfold off and inquired if she now recognized me. She was shocked and her previously demanding manner changed now to fear. She knew she had wronged me and that I might now take my reprisal. I began the delicious pleasure of unveiling her privates, lowering her panties an inch, then enjoying the view as her curly pubic hair became visible, then another inch, then more view to enjoy, and so on until I had them all the way down below her crotch. Then, using my pocket knife, I cut them and removed them altogether.”
It occurred to me that I could do this gradual unveiling of Suzanne Metzger’s genitals in much the same way Charlie had with his girl.
“By now, Bill, I am hard with my excitement. I tell her that her most private parts are about to be penetrated and enjoyed by a male she had wronged a few years back. I mount her and ease my dick into her warm soft feminine parts that would deny me entrance if they could. I feel the tightness of her vagina, the gentle pressure of her labia pressing against the sides of my penile shaft.”
I am getting hard myself just listening to him describe his sexual vengeance!
“I thought about touching the electro control that would bring her long firm slender muscular thighs together, so that I might also experience the tensing of those firm leg muscles against my own. But then I thought it would be more of a thrill to make her do it herself through the control of her brain I could exercise through her bio implant! I experienced the delicious pleasure of viewing and touching the long slender arms and delineated clavicles of this creature, as she bucks under me and tries so hard to dismount me from her privates. I am also mindful of the pleasure of the coitus itself as I piston in and out of her unwilling feminine sheath.”
This account of a delicious and sensual rape is getting me so hot that precum has moistened my briefs!
“I enjoy the ultimate pleasure of watching her face turn red with shame and humiliation as she realizes that she is lubricating copiously and that her bucking is no longer to dislodge me but to experience for herself the pleasure of the fuck. She is now giving me the gift of her own sexual response to being raped, a gift she would give anything to withhold from me, but cannot. She sees on my face that I am fully conscious of her unwiling response and that I am enjoying that gift immensely. This is the moment I reach my peak and shoot my seed into her womb. At last I pull out with delicious sensations in my head and in my loins. I had a rush of such a nature as I had never experienced before!”
I rose to my feet and high five’d him! Damn, I liked this man’s style! We exchanged business cards so that we might get together in the future and share experiences.
After some time I had to bid him adieu as I was informed that Suzanne Metzker was now ready to serve me. The manager informed me she would be in room 106 waiting for me and handed me a pair of keys.
“One is for the door to her room, sir. The other is for her handcuffs and ankle restraints. You see it is standard policy now, after the ‘Act’, that indentured prostitutes are restrained when they await their customers. You are free, of course, to dispense with those restraints during your session with her if that is your pleasure.”
As I walked down the corridor to her room I began to speculate what Suzanne’s reaction would be on seeing the guy whose advances she had rejected in high school now appearing here as her customer and master. The social inequality would be simply delicious. That would be the best part of the whole brothel experience!
I unlocked the door to her room and found her scantily clad and restrained hand and foot. She recognized me at once. I sensed some embarrassment in her having a fellow student from her high school see her under these circumstances. Indeed the readout from her digital biometric implant confirmed that she was then experiencing acute embarrassment.
I made no move to free her from her restraints. Instead I pulled up a chair so that I might converse with her for a while. I asked her to tell me how life was in the brothel and how she was getting along there with the other prostitutes.
I made it clear to her that I would not force her. And as I predicted, she was not too proud to service me. She said she hoped I would let bygones be bygones and that she needed my business. I explained to her exactly what sexual services I desired, and that I would require her to provide these services while remaining handcuffed. She consented to this as well as the sex.
After I had enjoyed her sexually for about an hour, I was inclined to relax and socialize with her – further enjoying the social inequality of the situation. I had a couple of beers sent in and we both sat down. I had dressed by that time but she was still naked as I had not given her permission to put any clothes on. She still had her hands cuffed in front but was still able to hold and drink her beer. At my request, she began to tell me the story of her life after high school and how she came to be indentured for debt. I was fascinated! I began to suspect that she had, in fact, been wrongfully imbonded based on trumped up debts! Indeed the graphic display of data coming from her biometric implant told me that she was telling me the truth! At that point I felt justice required I restore her to some dignity, so I unlocked her handcuffs and bid her put her clothes on to continue the tale.
We talked for another half hour and then I took my leave of her and the brothel.
Despite my own rather pleasurable experiences with her, I was beginning to question the injustices that often seemed to take place. She had clearly fallen, perhaps through no fault of her own, to a social class much lower than my own.
Chapter 3. The Slaver’s Career
Here I will lay out how I, William Steelforth, progressed from the unqualified slavery enthusiast I was in high school to the qualified slavery advocate I had become as managing partner of the agency which bore my name.
After high school, the next opportunity to have an animated exchange about my ideas with a teacher came in a discussion with Professor Petersen, my philosophy teacher, in my sophomore year of college. Unlike my high school civics teacher, he was actually a proponent of slavery. But the kind of slavery I had heard him advocate in the classroom was rather harsh and indiscriminate. I approached him one day in his office.
“You wanted to see me about something, Bill?”
“Yes sir. I was glad to hear you speak favorably about our slavery laws, but I wondered if you had considered the injustices that are probably going on?” I watched to see his reaction. He seemed curious but cautious.
“Bill, there are always going to be some minor injustices with any new law. The important thing is we are no longer coddling debtors and felons. There is a fundamental kind of justice in punishing the felon by making him labor for others, instead of others (taxpayers) being made to labor to support him (in prison). There is also a kind of rough justice in not letting the insolvent debtor off the hook through bankruptcy laws, but rather make her provide her labor or her sexual services to the public, if she has no other way to make her creditor whole.”
“But Professor, why could we not refine our new law to insure that every enslavement would be a just enslavement?”
“What is your definition of a just enslavement, Bill?”
“For a debt enslavement to be just,” I said, “there would have to be proven failure, fraud or wrongdoing, and not simply a run of bad luck that could happen to anyone. The law should bear equally on all without regard to race, gender, religion, or national origin. There would need to be careful fact checking by the Court so that no false claim against a debtor could succeed. There would also have to be some limits on the nature of the enslavement imposed by the Court so as to provide proportionality between the fault of the debtor and the duration and intensity of the punishment to be imposed!“
“Bill, you are making a mistake in thinking that the primary purpose of debt enslavement is to punish. To be sure the debtor will experience it as extremely punitive, but that is incidental. The real purpose is to force the debtor to make the creditor whole even if extreme measures are needed to realize that goal. Whether the debtor simply had a run of bad luck, or was guilty of some fault makes little or no difference. Either way we want to make his or her creditor whole!”
“But sir,” I replied, “the ‘Community Labor and Debtor Restitution Act’ allows the creditor to take possession of the debtor’s person for the duration of the indenture and to direct him or her in such labors as he might see fit. Few if any restrictions are placed on the nature of the labor that could be required under these indentures!”
“And your point is?” he glared at me.
“What about forced prostitution? Is that just?” I had enjoyed that service myself on several occasions but was beginning to have some doubts about the ethics of it.
“Bill, in many cases that would be the only valuable service a young person with no special training or work experience could provide that would have any realistic possibility of discharging his or her debt. Remember restitution is the goal, not punishment. I don’t think most people would be particularly troubled if a young person were forced to pay off his or her debt by providing sexual services to the public. Keep in mind that society today has developed pretty relaxed attitudes about sex and prostitution. It doesn’t carry the stigma it once did.”
“I take your point Professor. Perhaps we can continue another time. I will be late to my next class if I don’t leave now.” I took my leave.
I studied the various systems of slavery throughout history, particularly the Roman system and the system in the American south prior to our Civil War. I much preferred the Roman system as it was not racially based, and any person, citizen or not, and regardless of race, sex, ethnicity, or national origin could be enslaved for just cause. I had many discussions about all this with my college philosophy professor. With his help I began to formulate my ideas for what would constitute a decent system:
Despite the fact that many debts were being paid off and the public was enjoying new sexual possibilities, there were business interests that were not satisfied with this system of limited indentures.
One day my philosophy professor let met know about an upcoming symposium, called “Slavery for Today and Tomorrow”, to be held at the university with panel discussions in which both academic types and business leaders would hold forth on how our present system of indentured servitude might be improved.
On the day of the event I found myself in a gathering of people who were in a very good mood. I ran into George, a friend I knew from biology class. He explained to me why everyone was in such a good mood. It seemed that the corporate sponsors of this gathering had wanted everyone to be happy and relaxed for the panel discussions. So they had decided that each attendee should be provided with an attractive prostitute to see to his or her sexual needs during the conference.
On checking in each person was given a ticket for an assigned seat in each of the forums, a ‘privacy blanket’, and a lockable steel collar with a number on it matching the assigned seat number. As the attractive young lady at the checkout counter handed George and I our blankets and collars she explained how the system worked.
“All you do, gentlemen, is wander the hallways here where you will see hundreds of indentured prostitutes on display, each one naked, handcuffed and attached by a chain to a wall stanchion. When you find one you fancy, lock the collar around her neck, marking her as your ‘property’ for the duration of the symposium. Then go to your first forum.
“Within about ten minutes one of our guards will have found the neck locked girl with your seat number on her collar, and will bring her, still handcuffed to you. How you choose to use her for your sexual pleasure will be entirely up to you. Most of our past attendees have chosen to receive fellatio, with the girl kneeling under the privacy afforded by the blanket. But if you wish to engage in sex more openly, that will be your choice. Or, if you prefer, we do have private rooms available for nominal rent. If you so request, the guard who brings your girl will give you a room key and charge your account.”
“But what if she won’t do what we ask, or even runs away?” George wanted to know.
“Don’t worry about that! Each of these girls has had at least 6 months of rigorous obedience training! And she knows only too well what the consequences would be should she displease one of our conference attendees!” The checkout lady said this with a sly grin.
As George and I walked through the corridors there were, as the lady had said, hundreds of indentured and chained prostitutes, both male and female. At first we passed only males, and we noted some of the female conference attendees were looking them over rather closely. One lady was weighing, in the palm of her hand, the scrotum and balls of a guy with a washboard stomach and very defined musculature. A little further on we saw a long row of female prostitutes.
Just then I saw a chained and very slender body, but couldn’t quite see the face yet. When the girl turned I recognized Julie, a girl who had been in my English Literature class last year. She was drop dead good looking, but always had her nose in the air. She seemed to think she was above everybody else. I never dreamed I would ever see her naked. Maybe I could have some fun with her now.
“Julie! Do you remember me? I was the guy from English Lit class last year you wouldn’t go out with. Apparently your circumstances are quite different now! I would like to hear how you wound up chained to this wall!” She could not meet my gaze.
“I lost my job as a waitress toward the end of last year. I missed some payments on my student loan. When the bank found out I had no income they demanded payment in full of my entire loan. I could not pay it, so they indentured me for 4 years for my debt!”
She was still looking down and not meeting my gaze. I wanted to study her face.
“Look at me Julie!” She finally met my gaze and, as she did so, I reached out with my right hand and cupped her vulva, all the while studying her face. I saw a tear form and start to trickle down her face, even as my fingers were exploring her pubic hair.
“I think that now that you are indentured, you might serve me well as a cock sucker!” As I said this I proceeded to lock my collar upon her neck. Her face now turned red with humiliation. My friend George was playing with the breasts of a girl a bit further on and soon had his collar locked on her neck. We then proceeded to our first forum.
The first was a panel on the legal aspects of servitude, how to make indentures ‘appeal proof’ and how to make sure you have good title to a person whose indenture you buy at auction. The leaders of this panel were a professor of commercial law and a couple of practicing attorneys. We had not been listening to this panel for more than ten minutes when a guard brought our prostitutes to us. We both draped blankets over our laps and bid the girls go down on their knees and fellate us. It was most deliciously pleasant to have these sensations to enjoy even as we listened with interest to the panel. We would make the girls slow down or stop whenever there was danger of a premature climax. We wanted to make this pleasure last all day if possible!
Of course we took our girls and our blankets with us to the next panel discussion with the convenient leashes attached to their collars. This panel was led by CEOs of pharmaceutical and plastics companies. Their concern was how to protect proprietary processes, trade secrets and the investment they make when they put a new hire through an extensive technical training program. They had always had the problem of losing the training investment whenever a new employee would quit after a short time. Worse than that was the problem of that employee going to work for their competitor and taking with them their knowledge of trade secrets. The new indenture system was giving them a fairly workable solution to the training investment problem. But it was no answer to the trade secret problem. I nearly shot my load into Julie’s mouth during this discussion, but managed to hold off. Julie did get a few drops of my pre cum on her tongue. George did have his climax.
Another panel was led by Certified Public Accountants. They bemoaned the fact that young staff accountants frequently would come on board for a few years, acquire much confidential knowledge of the finances of the firm’s clients, then leave the firm, taking all that confidential information with them and peddling it to the client’s competitors. Now Julie was very gently massaging my scrotum and testicles with the tip of her tongue. It was delicious.
The most interesting panel of the day was about the growing prostitution industry, and was led by CEOs of firms in those enterprises. Their complaint was that young prostitutes, after working there for a time, would be in a position to betray the business and its clients by selling to newspapers the names of the firm’s clients.
Equally serious was the possibility that they might reveal details concerning the sexual peccadillos of a particular client, much to the latter’s embarrassment! As I heard this I knew I wanted even more control over Julie. I squeezed Julie’s nostrils closed with one hand while I forced my penis to the very back of her throat, triggering her gag reflex. She soon found that she could only breathe when I retracted my penis slightly. I found it very pleasant to control her breathing in this way!
What the businessmen in all three of the foregoing industries really wanted were employees they could train and keep as captive labor for the employee’s entire life! They wanted ‘employees’ who would never be free to leave their employment! They wanted to, in effect, ‘own’ their employees! With these thoughts in my mind, I could hold back no longer. I shot a plentiful load of semen into Julie’s mouth. I forbid her to swallow it quickly, but insisted instead that she swirl it around her mouth and tongue and fully experience the taste. The speaker went on about the need to either replace or supplement the system of limited indentures with a system of full chattel slavery. At the conclusion of the prostitution panel, the day’s formal activities were over and the same guard who had brought Julie earlier came to take her away. He promised I could have her again the next day.
The second day of the symposium was devoted entirely to the question “How Do We Achieve Our Objectives?”
As I entered the auditorium a few minutes late, pulling Julie by her leash, and found my seat, a rather tall distinguished looking man was holding forth at the podium. I later learned his name was Robert Dexter of Dexter Pharmaceuticals.
“I think we all know what kind of system would best address the concerns expressed in our panels yesterday.” Mr. Dexter fiddled with his notes. “But to achieve such a system we must have public support and getting that may depend on what name we give to our system. I propose that we not call it ‘chattel slavery’, as some have suggested, as that sounds too harsh and conjures up images of the past where masters whipped slaves and broke up families by selling members one at a time. Surely, gentlemen, we can achieve our goals without resorting to that sort of thing!
There was a loud round of applause and cries of ‘Here, here!’ I had Julie sitting on my lap this time, the better to explore her nakedness! When things got quiet again, Mr. Dexter continued.
“We have had, for a year now, a committee working on this problem of how to sell our system. What they have come up with is a concept called “Kinder and Gentler Slavery”. We may even be able to sell this as less harsh than the present system of indentures, even while we are making the slavery permanent! The trick would be to call attention to the human costs of family disruption under the present system, and the effects on a spouse and children when the primary breadwinner must serve for many years without pay! “ I began with Julie by gently caressing her long slender legs.
“We slave owners propose to contract with the public” Mr. Dexter continued “to provide humane conditions for our slaves, including a commitment not to whip or break up families, a commitment to provide good medical care for the slave and his immediate family, and a decent retirement for each slave. You all received a leaflet outlining the key points of the new proposed system
There was an undercurrent of murmuring at this. My fingers were now busy in Julie’s crotch, testing the resiliency of her pubic hairs, inserting my index finger in her vagina, while using my thumb to gently stimulate her clitoris. I was beginning to get a sexual response from Julie, which she would very much like to have suppressed. Finally a woman rose to her feet and asked for the floor. I knew her as manager of a minor chain of bordellos. The presiding officer gave her the floor.
“What I want to know is how are we in small business possibly going to be able to provide these idealistic benefits?’ She took her seat.
“Basically costs are covered by having your industry association offer group insurance. It is all explained in the leaflet you all received as you came in.”
After some further discussion of the pros and cons, a resolution was passed giving the sense of the symposium in favor of the new proposal. The second day was nearly over. and the guard came again to collect Julie.
I was so excited about this new system of slavery that we had all agreed to promote to the public that I just had to put my hard dick into something soft and feminine. Julie was available and fortunately had nothing to say about it. Her vagina was mine to enjoy if I wished to do so. When the guard came to collect her I asked instead for a private room. There I slipped my penis inside Julie and reveled in her subservience!
In the weeks that followed, the leaders of the pro slavery movement appeared on various TV interview shows to get the widest possible exposure of the new plan.
At the end of the day, the public bought the new idea.
By the time I got out of college the Congress had passed the “Criminal Punishment and Debtor Satisfaction Act” bringing back the institution of chattel slavery and providing that a Court might enslave a person either as punishment for crime or in satisfaction of a debt owed to a plaintiff creditor. Criminals, once enslaved, would become, in the first instance the property of the government, later to be sold at public auction to the highest bidder. Debtors, once enslaved, would become, in the first instance, the property of the plaintiff creditor to use in any manner he might think appropriate, and ultimately could be sold at public auction should the creditor so choose.
Although Capitallia had legalized total slavery, the public seldom saw naked slaves being paraded through the streets, as was often the case in earlier slave owning societies. This was because the new nation had carried forward most of the ideas regarding public nudity, exposure of children to nudity and ‘lewd public acts’ held by advanced societies for centuries.
Paradoxically, however, it was believed that forced nudity might be an effective form of shame punishment to inflict on slaves and criminals, provided that such displays took place in semi public settings where only adults who had chosen to view such spectacles need observe.
With all of these developments I could see the direction my career should take. There would be a need for bright and aggressive people to work as ‘slavers agents’. After working a few years for another firm, I had the financial ability to start my own agency.
During these early years I became aware that it wasn’t just slavery that made people unequal in our society. The delicious inequality that I so enjoyed was also a feature of the class system with its distinctions between citizens and non-citizens.
There was some upward and downward mobility between classes. A person born as a non-citizen might, with considerable diligence, earn his or her way up to being a citizen. Similarly, one born as a citizen might, with considerable neglect of responsibilities, fall to the status of non-citizen.
For all this mobility the class system nevertheless offered special privileges and pleasures to citizens. For example, during the early years when I was establishing my agency I had to get to the office early one day for a meeting with a potential financial backer.
As usual I had taken the maglev train from my suburban home to the city, there to catch a personal transportation (PT) capsule to my office. The train ride had been relaxing and had given me a chance to catch up on some reading.
As I stepped off the maglev to the platform I looked to where the PT capsules queued. There had been only one remaining. I had rushed to it and noted that a rather attractive young woman was going to beat me. It was plain that she was not even a citizen by the conspicuous non-Cit identification bracelet around her slender wrist. No citizen would be required to wear such a bracelet.
“Citizen’s privilege!” I shouted at her, but she did not yield to me as she was required to do by law.
Her failure to defer to me had caused my blood pressure to rise, the muscles of my neck to stand out and my shoulders to tense up. It had been more than just irritating
since I believed such rudeness would cause me to be late to my meeting. I pointed my cell phone at her bracelet just before she entered the capsule and touched the “Identify” icon on the screen. Immediately I had her name, photo and federal ID number on my display. I then touched the “Save” icon. This sent her key access data to my personal computer at the office. I could later use that data, at my leisure, to pull up any and all information about her that might be in publicly accessible government files. This might help me decide whether or not to prefer charges.
I saw her speed away in my PT capsule and steeled myself for a wait of possibly up to fifteen minutes before more PT’s would be available.
In spite of reaching my office late, my meeting with the backer was successful. After the meeting I decided to look up information about the non-cit who had taken ‘my’ PT this morning. Failure of a non-cit to yield to a citizen was a misdemeanor punishable by up to 90 days in jail. I was amazed at the wealth of publicly available information I could pull up about her with just that federal ID number. Nothing as private as financial or medical records, of course, since she did have some privacy rights even as a non- citizen. I could, however, learn her credit history, her criminal record (if any), her educational background and her current employment (if any). And there were hundreds of photos of her taken by public surveillance cameras including photos of her in a bikini at the beach.
I decided that I would press charges, at least for now. She would be entitled to an administrative hearing of course. I would have to present some evidence to back up my complaint. I thought the video clip I had captured on my cell phone camera would be sufficient to get her convicted. But what I was really hoping for was that she would come to my office to contritely apologize and beg me to drop the charges. Perhaps she could express her contrition in a sexual way. That would be sweet.
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Our agency has, since its inception, been in the business of scouting out persons who were insolvent and could therefore be enslaved and who also had some talent or youth or beauty to make it all worth the trouble. Our service also has included hiring a local
attorney in the jurisdiction where such debtor lives, and working with that attorney to achieve a successful enslavement, then delivering the ‘merchandise’ to our client. Our clients have tended to be predominantly nationwide or international corporations. We have done some work for wealthy individuals as well. For the last five years our largest single client has been a nationwide prostitution service.
Throughout the years I have always insisted we maintain the highest ethical standards. I believe I know right from wrong when it comes to who should be enslaved and who should not be. My relationship with my clients has always allowed me to exercise discretion in such matters.
During the early years of my practice enslavements were generally straightforward and not too difficult to achieve. All my team had to show was that the debtor owed over $10,000, was not able to pay it off within three years and that we were the sole creditor. But gradually the courts expanded the rights of defendants in such proceedings. It was held that a defendant might present a defense that he or she would be worth more to the creditor free than enslaved. The plaintiff would then have to prove the contrary.
Then the courts began to develop a doctrine that defendants had a right to play to the sympathies of jurors by presenting highly personal information about themselves. They could, for example, discuss their fear of enslavement and their insecurities or anxieties in general in court as they wished. Finally there was a case where the male defendant asked the judge if he might present to the jury testimony of his masturbatory habits and his fear that, if enslaved, he might be denied masturbation. The judge saw it otherwise, the jury enslaved the man, but the appellate court nullified his enslavement.
In the case of Madison v. Bielman the appellate court held that defendant had been prevented from exercising all of his rights to a creative defense and denied the fullest possible opportunity to try to win the sympathies of jurors. Double jeopardy attached, so there could not be a new trial and the man was set free.
Another aspect of the Bielman ruling also worked to the advantage of defendants who planned to present themselves naked at trial. That was a requirement that prospective jurors who might object to hearing highly personal testimony from or about the defendant must be excused from serving. The court held that no juror could be forced to hear about masturbatory practices if that went against the juror’s own beliefs. Defense attorneys were only too happy to challenge such jurors for cause. The end result was that the empanelled jury was likely to be far more sympathetic to the defendant than would otherwise have been the case.
These legal developments had made my job quite a bit more difficult. We had to work harder, but we were still successful in enslaving most of the people we went after.
As my practice grew I saw the need to bring in a partner. At first I took on a male partner. My workload eased up considerably. One day I was reviewing some of his cases and discovered that he had enslaved a young woman apparently for no other reason than his own desire to fuck her! What was particularly disturbing was that he had apparently created fictitious debts for her in order to force her into insolvency. Neither the court nor the defense counsel had caught this. I could see that there was a woeful lack of procedural safeguards in this new debtor enslavement industry! Of course I fired this partner. I did not approve of his conduct on both practical and ethical grounds.
I found myself looking for another partner to replace the fired one. Not being gay or bisexual, I did not enjoy the male enslavements as much as the female ones. The thought naturally occurred to me that if I had a female partner she could handle the male enslavements and leave me free to spend all of my time on female enslavements and indentures.
I pursued my contacts within the industry and eventually came up with a promising candidate. I called her in for an interview.
“Miss Johnson, perhaps we could begin by your telling me of how you became interested in slavery and why you chose this as your profession?”
“Well Bill, if I may call you Bill, I suppose I developed an interest as a little girl. The idea that some people would have the right to own and control other people always intrigued me! It was only fitting, after all, that people of inferior ability, mentality or moral status should serve their betters!” This would make for a just world, assuming, of course, that the right sort of people were enslaved and that the right sort of people became their masters!”
“Miss Johnson, I was hoping you would say just that. It is very important to me also that only a certain sort of person be enslaved, and that all enslavements be legally just.” I described to her the experience I had with the male partner and why I had to fire him.
“I understand Bill. That is the way I feel also.”
“Part of my purpose in taking on a partner,” I said, “particularly a female partner, is to be relieved of the need to do male enslavements myself. So I would want a heterosexual female as my partner. The law allows us to do a “Creditor’s Examination” of any debtor once we have made a satisfactory prima facie case and the debtor has been bound over for trial. This exam typically includes not only the debtor’s financial assets and liabilities, but also the debtor’s person. Our clients nearly always want us to do this so that they have early information as to the debtor’s potential value on the auction block. So we do a complete physical, including sexual response testing.”
“If we give our client a completely favorable report on the debtor’s body,” I continued, “accompanied by photographs, and the debtor is reported to the client as responding well to sexual stimulation, then the client will typically give us carte blanche to pursue the case. This allows us to hire private investigators if needed, or to hire jury consultants if indicated. If the debtor’s body is not so desirable, or he or she has shown poor response to sexual stimulation, the client may give us a very limited budget.”
“Miss Johnson, if you come on board with us, I would want you to concentrate almost entirely on the male enslavements and the male Creditor’s Exams, and to enjoy doing so! If I never have to look at a penis again or weigh a man’s balls in my hand, it will be too soon! So I need some reassurance from you that you are heterosexual and that you will enjoy the work I have in mind for you. That will allow me to concentrate on my first love, which is enslaving females who deserve this fate!”
“I am heterosexual Bill, and you will find me quite enthusiastic about my work!” I am looking forward to those exams!”
And so the firm continued to grow and prosper up to the time of our celebration.
Chapter 4. Stephanie’s New Job
Two weeks had passed since my interview. I had just about given up hope of landing the job at Masterson Automotive when the phone rang and it was Jeff Duncan. He offered me an entry level position in their accounts receivable department and named a starting salary that sounded good. My department head would be Tom Jenkins, while my initial training supervisor would be a Miss Watson, assistant head of the department. It was agreed that I would report for work the following Monday.
On Monday I went to my job dressed in attire more modest than what I had worn to the interview. I wanted to play it safe. I had noted during my interview visit that most of the female employees were wearing quite conservative attire. I did not want to draw hostile glances on my first day.
I waited in the reception area with a sense of mounting anticipation.
“Hello, Stephanie Glenn I presume? My name is Vicki Watson. You will be working closely with me. Tom is in meetings all day today so you probably won’t meet him until tomorrow. I will take you to our department, but they are painting the hall we would normally use today, so we will need to take an alternate route, cutting through the observation mezzanine of the company’s gymnasium.”
We went up a flight of stairs and walked down a long corridor to where there was a set of double doors where she hesitated.
“If you aren’t entirely comfortable with male nudity you may want to avert your eyes for this next bit. You see we are doing pre employment physicals for non-citizens in the gym today. If you choose to look down over the railing you will see perhaps a hundred naked applicants of both sexes being examined, assembly line style.”
“But what about the indecent exposure law? Doesn’t that apply here?”
“Not at all. Since we are a private employer we can simply waive that on company premises. We just have to take care that no children or non consenting adults see these naked applicants.”
I was amazed at this revelation. I followed her through the double doors and tried my best not to look. But I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t every day I got to see naked men! Some of those guys were very well hung! I felt sympathetic to the men and women I saw who were being stripped of all dignity as they were herded like cattle from one examining station to the next.
“Why aren’t they examined individually and privately, as I was?”
“Stephanie, you are a citizen, so we were obliged to respect your dignity. These people are not citizens so we owe them no such consideration. It is more efficient for the company to examine them in this manner, whatever the cost to their dignity! We are doing them a big favor just to let them apply for jobs here!” If we give them a job, however lowly the position, they can generally avoid being picked up for vagrancy and make enough progress paying down their debts so that some creditor doesn’t enslave them!
“That could really happen?” I had heard of slavery, of course, but I thought it was only imposed as a punishment for crime.
“Yes indeed! Creditors want, and are entitled to, satisfaction under our laws. Many nonCits fall into slavery every month, while some of the more fortunate ones manage to earn enough money to qualify for citizenship. There is both downward and upward mobility. Being a non-cit is not a condition of birth but a status one falls into by not being or remaining productive enough to achieve or maintain citizenship.”
I had learned something new, that non-citizens could be enslaved for debt. Fortunately citizens, myself included, did not have to worry about that!
Eventually we got through the gym, went down another hall to the area she indicated was our department. She showed me the cubicle that would be mine, and introduced me to June and Lacy. These two would be my colleagues in the department.
“I understand you have experience doing general ledger work through trial balance. That being the case, you should have no difficulty doing the kind of reports we usually give to new accountants in this department. To begin, you will be working with June in the preparation of a report on receivables for the division head.”
With that she left me with June to get started. After several hours working on the project June suggested that I might join her and Lacy for lunch.
“We are going to a café called the ‘Garden Club’ here in the building where some of the more broadminded employees have their lunch and enjoy a bit of entertainment at the same time. So, if you don’t have any serious hang-ups about nudity, why don’t you come with us! I think you will find it quite an experience!”
I agreed to try it and followed them to the center of the building where we entered a private courtyard with lush greenery and a fountain and quite a few tables set out where people were dining. What immediately shocked me was that, standing next to many of the tables where patrons sat, there were waiters and waitresses that were, except for steel collars around their necks, completely naked!
They all appeared to be physically fit. They were obviously explaining menu choices and taking orders. We proceeded to sit down at one of these tables and soon a male waiter approached. He placed a bowl of fragrant soapy water on our table and some small cloth napkins. I wondered what that was for and asked him.
“Since you are new here I will explain. It is ‘hygiene water’ which we waitstaff place on each table in case a patron wishes to touch us. Would each of you young ladies like to start with a glass of our best house wine?”
“I’m sorry, I stammered, could you please repeat the question?” My two companions laughed out loud. June was in stitches, her shoulders shaking, and her knees bouncing up and down with her belly laughter! In truth I hadn’t even heard his question because I was totally preoccupied looking at his penis. It was almost at my eye level and only a little more than a foot away from me! It was of impressive size, though flaccid. And it was circumcised. The glans had a purplish hue. Below it was a low hanging scrotum containing two very impressive balls! I made a conscious effort to raise my glance to meet his glance. Suddenly I became aware that my face was red as I realized he had noticed where my eyes had been. We all agreed to his suggestion and he left us to get the wine. Lacy opened her eyes wide as she looked at me, taking in my embarrassment, and then she tossed her hair with a quick flip of her head, as if to say ‘better get used to it, honey!’
As I looked around I noted that female waitresses were generally waiting on male patrons while males were waiting on females. Some male patrons were intimately touching some of the waitresses.
“I know the company can waive the indecency laws on company property, but how do they even get guys and gals to do such humiliating jobs?” I asked.
“Simple. Notice the steel collars around all the young necks! The young college kids you see here waiting tables have all been enslaved by a court, either as punishment for a crime or as restitution to a creditor for debt. They work naked here because their owners have ordered them to do so! It is intended to be a humiliating punishment for them as no free person would volunteer for such work!”
I was well aware of just how strong the taboo in our society was against a person appearing naked before members of the opposite sex. So I had no doubt that the humiliation was very real indeed! I had heard of sex slavery before, of course, but had never experienced it so up close and personal!
Just then our well hung waiter returned with our wine. As he stood next to Lacy to present her a glass, I noticed that she had placed her hand on his muscular buttocks and was drawing him in closer. Then, with her other hand she began playing with his genitals. I was shocked to see this going on in a restaurant! Presently he became partially erect and I noticed some pre cum forming on the tip of his penis!
Lacy seemed satisfied that she had been able to procure such a reaction and proceeded to wash and dry her hands using the ‘hygiene water’ and small towels he had earlier provided. I thought how humiliating it must be for him to actually invite such intimate touching by providing, in advance, the means for a customer who so indulges to clean herself!
“Why don’t you fondle him a bit Stephanie?” Lacy stated as she finished drying herself.
“I would not feel comfortable doing that. It is not that I am a prude, or that I wouldn’t enjoy it under other circumstances. But the involuntary nature of his service would trouble my conscience if I were to indulge. I don’t believe sexual slavery is right or decent! I think we should not take advantage of another’s misfortune!”
“Well hello ‘Miss Holier Than Thou”! Do you think you are better than June and I?
“Leave her alone Lacy. She just sees things differently than we do. Perhaps in time she will become comfortable with sexual slavery, as most people eventually do. Then she will be able to indulge herself right along with us!”
After our lunch the three of us returned to our department, just in time for the weekly staff meeting called by the division chief. The meeting took place in the Emerson Library. I was introduced to all present. After much routine business, the meeting adjourned. Miss Watson came by to check on how I was settling in and whether I had any questions about the report June and I were collaborating on. Soon it was time to go home for the day.
The next day Miss Watson introduced me to the head of our department, Tom Jenkins. He was a portly and not very attractive man. He kept me standing in front of his desk for some time while he fiddled with various documents. He kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You are to be complimented on your very professional mode of dress, Miss Glenn. Some of our new female hires try to impress the male managers by wearing short skirts to work. I see you have exercised better judgment than that.” His eyes seemed to sweep up and down my figure. I had the distinct feeling he was undressing me mentally.
“Thank you sir. I am glad you like my outfit.” In truth I wished he would move on to talk about things other than my physical appearance. He was beginning to creep me out.
“I will be leaving for Europe tomorrow. It will be a month long trip where I will combine business with pleasure. I trust that you are getting along just fine with Miss Watson, who will be your interim supervisor.”
It was a statement, not a question. After a few more pleasantries he indicated that our meeting was over. I was disappointed in his rather curt manner and wondered just what sort of boss he would prove to be. Still I was getting on all right with the assistant department head, so perhaps things would work out anyway.
During the weeks that followed I made steady progress with my report and gradually gained more confidence as I learned my way around all the people with whom I needed to interact. I did experience some discomfort on learning that Lacy was talking to many of my co-workers about the incident in the Garden Café. She was convincing a lot of people that I was a prude because I would not touch the waiter’s genitals! She and June were no longer inviting me to join them for lunch. I wasn’t comfortable going back to that place where I had so embarrassed myself, so I started bringing a brown bag lunch.
Miss Watson eventually assigned me a project that June thought should have been given to her. June then started putting it about that I must be sleeping with one of the male managers to get such a choice assignment! The corporate atmosphere was becoming decidedly more hostile to me.
The month was soon up and Tom Jenkins returned from Europe. If anything, he was more portly than before his trip. I was really turned off by his appearance. After a couple of days he called a staff meeting and announced that Miss Watson would be leaving us effective immediately. Everyone would be reporting to him directly. Also he announced that, largely on his recommendation, the company was starting a new tradition of casual Fridays. All employees would be given extra time to make use of the company’s gym and swimming pool on Fridays to maintain physical fitness. There would be poolside refreshments served every Friday at mid afternoon. All employees would be expected to dress casually. Jeans or even shorts would be acceptable dress.
The first casual Friday I chose some jeans that fit me loosely and a modest top. Jenkins made some crack about my “excessive modesty” and suggested I needed to get more into the spirit of things. He also asked me out for a date. I declined politely, indicating that I was currently involved with someone else. I hoped he would accept this.
Then he began to pick on my work on the slightest pretext.
When the following Friday rolled around I decided perhaps it would be harmless to humor him a bit so I wore short shorts and a sleeveless short halter top as many of the other women in the department were doing on Fridays. He seemed very pleased. He made no secret of the fact that he liked my body. His hands began to wander where they shouldn’t go. He touched my bare shoulder and traced my collarbone. I pushed his hand away. He again asked for a date. I felt I needed to put him down firmly this time so as to discourage any more attempts. I made it clear to him that there could be no physical relationship between us since I wasn’t attracted to him in that way.
Around mid morning he called me into his office for a private conference on my latest report. He instructed his secretary that there were to be no interruptions, then closed the door. He motioned for me to sit next to him on the sofa he kept in his office. I was a bit uncomfortable with the intimacy of this considering how scantily I was clothed. He groped one of my breasts. I slapped his face.
“Keep your hands off my body!” I screamed at him.
“You better watch your attitude, Miss Glenn, if you want to keep your job!” He said this with a growl.
Not daunted, he began to fondle my left leg. That really was too much! My legs weren't for the likes of him. I felt way above him in the sexual pecking order of things. I needed to defend my status by keeping those hands off my body. I pushed his hand violently away from my left leg, then I slapped his face real hard, forehand and backhand. His pride was clearly stinging as well as his face.
“That does it bitch! Go pick up your final paycheck! You don't have a job with this company or any other company if I can fix it! “
I go directly to Human Resources and file a sexual harassment claim. Jeff Duncan interviews me about my harassment claim. Paul Gregory, the company shrink, also interviews me. I find that I am still fired despite my claim of harassment. Many weeks go by and it becomes clear the company will not investigate my claim.
Chapter 5. Petition for Enslavement
Unemployment took its toll. After approximately three months of not being able to make a mortgage payment or pay down any of my credit cards, unpleasant things began to happen. First, the finance company came and repossessed my car. I received notice from the bank that my home faced foreclosure if they did not receive at least two months payment by the end of the month. Charges had begun to appear on my credit card statement for merchandise I had never purchased!
Since I was a little girl, my favourite way to fight depression was physical activity. Cheerleading and tennis had done that for me in my high school and college days. Since then I had continued to play tennis and as a result, had remained physically fit. It didn’t hurt also that I had competed in the Boston Marathon again this year, winning second place this time! My slender and toned body was one of the few things I could feel good about these days!
My ultimate nightmare began one day last June. I had just finished a game with Becky, one of my regular partners. My pulse rate was high. It was a hot day and I was feeling tired, as I towelled off the excess perspiration. But I was also exhilarated. I had won two sets out of three! Just then I saw a man I had never seen before on the tennis courts. He was a tall and very muscular fellow dressed in a business suit and holding a clipboard. He walked directly toward me until he was only a few feet away.
"Are you Stephanie Glenn of 301 Rosewood Circle?"
"All day long," I responded, somewhat flippantly.
"I am officer Fred Jones, official process server for the District Court for the State of New York. I am here to serve you with some legal papers, and I need a signature from you right here" he said as he thrust the clipboard at me.
"What if I don't want to sign this?"
"Lady, all your signature means is that you acknowledge receiving these papers from me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you don't give us any trouble it may go smoother for you with the judge."
I made a conscious effort to breathe. With my fingers starting to tremble, I signed where he indicated, he gave me my copies, and I saw him walk back to the parking lot and drive off.
My eyes now began to focus on the document. In bold type right across the top it said "PETITION FOR ENSLAVEMENT OF DEBTOR”.
Becky had walked up to stand next to me and also saw that heading.
"Why do they need your help with an enslavement proceeding, Steph?
"Give me a minute Beck." I had a dawning premonition about this.
"Is the debtor someone you know?"
My eyes had just landed on the block on the form where it identified the debtor whose freedom was now placed in jeopardy. It showed my name and my address. My voice was starting to choke up and my hands now shook uncontrollably.
"I am the debtor in question!"
"There must be some mistake! They have you confused with someone else!"
"There appears no mistake Becky. They have my name and address on the form, my correct date of birth, my social security number, my most recent employment, and a list of debts that appear to be mine. The plaintiff is some outfit called Richmond SlendaBond Ltd."
"Do you know this company Steph? Did you ever do business with them or borrow money from them?"
"Not at all. Never heard of them before."
"How can they do this to someone of your class Steph? I mean I have heard of bankrupt debtors being stripped of their freedom before, but normally it is only some guy or gal from the lower class. They don't have all the same rights we do you know! Surely you can fight this, can't you?"
"I hope so Beck. I surely hope so. I will try to find a lawyer first thing tomorrow." I became conscious that tears were now streaming down my face. I felt that I was slipping into a state of shock.
Of course, I had no money to pay a lawyer, but I applied at the Court Clerk's office and the Court assigned me a Michael Green. I had my first meeting with him a week later:
"Miss Glenn, you have asked me if, in my professional opinion, the plaintiff, Richmond SlendaBond Ltd, could actually take away the freedom of someone of your educational attainments and social class. While I cannot predict what the outcome of your particular case will be, I can tell you that there is a widespread misconception that it is only lower class debtors who can be forced into servitude. This is actually not the case."
"So you are telling me that I actually can be enslaved?" My heart was pounding.
"Indeed yes” the lawyer continued. There are no distinctions of class in the law when it comes to servitude proceedings. Anyone owing more than ten thousand dollars to a single creditor and unable to pay can be placed into bondage by the Court or a jury - male or female, young or old, prince or pauper."
"But you said Richmond SlendaBond Ltd was the plaintiff in this matter. Why don't they just take my property?” I wailed. “Why would they want to own me?" He smiled at me, apparently amused by my naiveté.
"Your lovely body would seem the most obvious reason, my dear! Those slender, well tanned, and lightly muscular legs of yours would give any man a desire to gain complete control of you!
I noticed where his eyes were focussed and I struggled with little success to pull my short skirt down. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind for his impertinence, but realized I had few options but to try to get along with him. I could afford no other attorney.
"Who is this Richmond SlendaBond?” I asked incredulously. “I never borrowed money from them. Why are they the ones coming after me?"
"They have bought up all your debt from your various creditors. They are now your only creditor. They are the parent company of Skelly Girl Enterprises, a prostitution service that is well known for catering to business and professional men. Does that answer your question?" I nodded my head. I again made a conscious effort to slow down my breathing as the implications of that sunk in.
"Can you defend me?” I pleaded. “Do I have a chance against these people?"
"Yes I can defend you” he replied in such a tone that I could only wait for the other shoe to drop.
“But I must inform you there is a high risk that we will not prevail. Petitions of this type succeed more often than not, since the debtor defendant always has the burden to prove that she or he should not be enslaved. That requires proving that she or he would be more of a financial asset to the creditor as a free person than if forced into involuntary servitude! In other words we would have to prove that the plaintiff is pursuing the case out of ignorance or for purely vindictive reasons. In your case young lady, with no job and no immediate prospect of one, we probably can't meet our burden, considered purely as a matter of law. But there is another way you might save yourself."
"Please sir, just tell me what else I need to do."
"We should ask for a jury trial. There will be 12 jurors. Since your freedom is at stake, they must vote unanimously, just as would be true for a criminal case."
"That sounds encouraging!"
"Yes, but you need to keep in mind that the burden of proof for the plaintiff is much less than in a criminal proceeding. All he has to do is show that you owe him more than ten thousand dollars, that you have no reasonable prospect for paying off that debt in a timely manner, and that the only way that he can obtain satisfaction of this debt is by taking possession of you!”
"You probably will lose your freedom as well as any personal property you may have. Better get your affairs in order now!”
"Surely there must be another way to beat this thing?"
"Yes but I hesitate to mention it because of the way you reacted when I stared at your legs a few moments ago."
"Whatever do you mean sir?"
"I mean that even if the plaintiff makes a perfectly adequate proof that he is entitled to take your person, you can still appeal to the sentiments of the jurors. They have an absolute right, under the doctrine of jury nullification, to set you free, regardless of the law or the evidence against you." It is simply a question of setting up a situation where they will want to give you your freedom."
"How do we do that?"
"By having you appear as sympathetic as possible to them. By having them identify with your fears and care about what will happen to you. We must make them want to free you! But this may well entail giving up quite a bit of your psychological privacy!” I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going.
“Your trial won't be coming up for another two months, but there is a more immediate matter that we will need to tackle. A preliminary evidentiary hearing in your case is scheduled for next week. The purpose of this hearing will be to determine if the court should bind you over for trial. The plaintiff need only present plausible evidence that he is the sole creditor and that you owe him $10,000 or more. We can try to get the case tossed at this hearing but it is likely the plaintiff will prevail.”
“What if I am ‘bound over’ for trial? What does that mean?”
“First it means we will have to argue for you to remain free on bail until the trial. Many young men and women facing the possibility of enslavement do have a tendency to flee the jurisdiction.”
“But I have no money for bail!” By now tears were rolling down my face.
“I can try to get you freed on your own recognizance. There is a good chance the judge will go along with that since you are a professional person of good character. But then there is the matter of the “Creditor’s Examination”.
“What is that?”
“In the old days it meant that a debtor might be ordered by the court to submit all financial records to the creditor for his examination, and to give testimony under oath to the creditor concerning those finances. Now it means all of that plus the fact that the debtor, in this type of proceeding, is also ordered to present himself or herself to the creditor for an intimate examination of his or her person!”
“Does that mean my b-body?” I had a growing premonition of utter shame ahead.
“Yes! You will probably find this examination most humiliating. In addition the plaintiff will make you testify under oath as to any evidence you have that might rebut his evidence at trial.”
“But why does the law require this?”
“Because the creditor is entitled to make some advance assessment of what his chances of prevailing at trial would be and what you would be worth to him should the enslavement be successful. That could mean what price you might bring when exhibited naked on the auction block, for example! This advance assessment is useful in determining whether he should proceed with the case and spare no expense, or should perhaps consider cutting his losses by offering you some sort of long term payment plan in lieu of enslavement.”
“And what about your fee? How much and how can I possibly afford it?” I practically croaked.
“You can easily afford my basic fee, and if there are extras we will work something out.”
With that we ended our first meeting.
The following week we went before the judge. My attorney had me sit next to him at counsel table. I got my first look at the people who were trying to take away my freedom. When the judge called the case and asked for identification of the parties, I learned that the plaintiff’s agent was a Bill Steelforth and that the man with him was the attorney for plaintiff. My attorney advised me that Mr. Steelforth was the owner of the William Steelforth Agency, a reputable slaver’s agent.
My attorney was not able to get the case tossed at this preliminary, and I was bound over for trial on my own recognizance. The plaintiff asked that I be remanded to custody pending trial, but the Court ordered, instead, that I might be free on my own recognizance but must have an electronic tether device attached to my left ankle. This would make it easy for authorities to track me down should I attempt to flee the jurisdiction. I had never before felt so unfree as when the bailiff placed that device on my ankle, cinched it tight and locked it beyond my power to dislodge it. The judge had told me it was made of hardened steel so that it would be impossible to cut it off!
The hearing was adjourned. As my lawyer and I walked down the courthouse steps, he indicated that he had something on his mind.
“Miss Glenn, have you decided yet whether you will take the witness stand in your own trial and let me ask you a whole series of embarrassing questions about your fears of enslavement?”
He watched my face closely for my response.
“I think probably my answer is going to be no. I just think it would be too humiliating!”
His face registered his disappointment.
“Then there is something I will need to show you that may bear on your decision.”
He gestured for me to follow him. After a walk of four blocks we came to a large outdoor arena enclosed by a wooden plank wall. A very large sign on the wall said “New York City Municipal Slave Market”. We could hear much raucous shouting, jeers, applause and laughter coming from inside the arena. There was a smaller sign over the entrance we were approaching which I could just make out. It said “Nudity Inside. Only adults who will not be offended will be admitted here!” There was someone at the door checking the Ids of younger people to see if they were 18 or older.
I did not feel too comfortable about entering a place such as this. But my lawyer was very insistent. As we entered the enclosure we saw that many people were crowding up to an elevated stage area. My attorney kept pulling me forward until the two of us were close to that sawdust covered stage. There were naked men and women on that stage wearing iron collars and with numbers written on their bare buttocks, and on their foreheads, apparently with a black grease pencil. All of them had their hands cuffed behind their backs and were wearing leg irons.
One in particular, a man, was standing on a raised block above stage level. In spite of my horror at the overall scene, I could not help but notice that he was a gorgeous guy, perhaps 30 years or so in age. He was slender of build, and very well muscled. I noted his broad shoulders and well developed pectoral muscles and biceps. My eyes travelled down to his groin. He was circumcised. I noted his very long and moderately thick penis, and his impressive low hanging testicles.
“Do I hear twenty two thousand?” a man I took to be the auctioneer called out in a loud voice.
“Twenty two thousand, five hundred!” A feminine voice in the crowd answered.
“Do I hear twenty five thousand for this great specimen of masculinity?” The auctioneer cried.
“Let us see if his stuff works first!” Someone in the first row cried. Other people called out “hear, hear” to that.
The auctioneer signalled to his assistant, a young and attractive woman. She came forward wearing black leather gloves and a tight fitting black leather outfit that left her arms, legs and midriff bare. She was tanned, had a very flat abdomen and looked like she worked out regularly. She used the tip of a riding crop to lift the slave’s penis and to flick it this way and that. But it remained flaccid. The auctioneer gave a second signal to his assistant. With that she went behind the slave and began to slice at his buttocks with her crop. The crowd could see the man wince with each stroke.
“How cruel that is!” I remarked to my attorney.
“Not as cruel as it looks. They are administering a fairly mild form of discipline because he is being rebellious in not showing the crowd his erection. He has committed the sin of pride. That is not permitted to slaves. She is not striking hard enough to cut him or leave welts. She is striking him because he is a masochist and the gentle whip strokes will arouse him in time, however much he might prefer not to show the crowd his erection!”
I soon observed the truth of these remarks with my own eyes! That penis was growing stiff and pointing straight out toward the crowd! The crowd loudly cheered. The auctioneer’s assistant then came around in front of him again and flicked that penis left and right using the tip of her crop. This made it plain to the crowd how hard the slave had become.
“Let us see him climax!” Someone in the third row shouted, and others shouted their agreement.
The auctioneer nodded to his assistant. She took her gloves off and began to gently touch his genitals. He looked mortified. She cradled his ball sack with one hand, then put lubricant on her other hand and began to stroke his penis. Soon she was rewarded with a few drops of precum, which only those in the front row could see. After a few more minutes he began to shoot copious strings of semen that fell on the sawdust floor. His face was red, and his humiliation was complete! The crowd roared its approval! The auctioneer’s assistant smiled, took a bow and retreated to the back of the stage!
I felt my nipples grow hard and my vulva grow moist!
“Do I hear thirty thousand?” The auctioneer called out.
“Forty thousand!” Shouted an attractive young woman in the third row.
“Forty two thousand!” Shouted a matronly lady in the second row that I took to be about 45 years old. The young woman in the third row looked crestfallen. Clearly her limit had been reached.
“Going once! Going twice!” The auctioneer banged his gavel. “Sold to the lady in the second row!”
Two guards stepped forward and marched the slave to a holding pen on one side of the stage where sold slaves were kept until their new owners could claims them. The auctioneer then called for the next slave to be auctioned. It was a very attractive young woman who was trembling with fear. I did not want to stay and watch her humiliation.
My lawyer looked intently at me. I was embarrassed. I worried that he could see right through me. I felt that he might perceive that I had been sexually aroused by what I had seen.
“Do you understand why I brought you to this place?”
“To teach me what slavery is?” I said with some uncertainty.
“Quite right. I hope that it has occurred to you that, if we lose your trial, it could well be you standing on that stage in a few more months! It could be you who has to entertain
that crowd with your sexual responses to an auctioneer’s crop while men bid for the right to own your body!”
“Wh-What do you w-want from me?” I stammered.
“I want you to agree to take the stand and let first me and then opposing counsel question you in detail about your most secret thoughts and feelings about enslavement! My goal is for us not to lose that trial and expose you to the kind of humiliation you saw here today. After all, what is a little mental privacy sacrificed in the defence of your freedom?”
He looked me straight in the eyes.
“Let me think about it. When do I have to decide?”
“You can make that decision at your trial. I will ask you then and the judge will ask you.”
We parted and I did not hear further from him for some weeks.
Three weeks after that I received an “Order for Creditor’s Examination” signed by the judge, directing me to present myself on a date certain, together with any financial records, at the offices of the William Steelforth Agency. The Order also stated “the female defendant is ordered, in preparation for this examination, to shave off excess pubic hair around her genitals in accordance with the enclosed diagram.” Clearly the plaintiff had petitioned the court in such a way that I was not permitted to shave myself completely but must leave some pubic hair that would adorn but not conceal my sex. I cried and cried at the implications of this. My attorney agreed to accompany me for this exam.
On the appointed day, my lawyer and I went to the agency where Mr. Steelforth courteously escorted us into a large conference room and we were soon joined by plaintiff’s counsel and a court reporter. I was required to take an oath to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. At first they asked to see my financial records and they asked me some questions about my finances. They then asked what defenses I planned on making to their suit and to present any evidence that I had in support of such defenses. It was all part of the “discovery process” as my lawyer explained.
Then the moment I was dreading arrived. I was asked to undress completely and submit to a physical examination by Mr. Steelforth. I did not want to undress for this man who was trying to take my freedom away. I also felt embarrassed at the idea of my own lawyer seeing me naked. And I had no doubt these men would see plenty because of my court ordered pubic haircut! I began removing my clothes and folding each item neatly on the conference room table. It seemed strange to be undressing in a conference room rather than in a doctor’s office. And in front of a rather handsome businessman in a three piece suit. The hardest part was when I had to push my panties down in front of this man, step out of them and place them on the pile with my other clothes.
Mr. Steelforth then had me turn this way and that, and assume various attitudes and positions, so that he might assess my ‘auction appeal’. I felt the palms of his hands and his fingertips touching various parts of my body. I was about to object but my lawyer gave me a warning look. Then he undid the clasp that was holding my hair in a ponytail and he ran his fingers through my hair, apparently enjoying its silkiness. I was then asked to open my mouth wide while he shined a flashlight inside my mouth and tested the soundness of my teeth with his fingers. At one point he used his fingers to lift my tongue so that he might see underneath it. After a time he asked me to stand on a small pedestal with my legs well separated and he pulled up a stool and sat with his face directly in front of my crotch! With his thumb and index finger he then began touching my labia and pulled them apart to see that which they normally concealed. I knew that he could then see every detail of my vulva! I felt my face and breasts flushing with my humiliation. And whether I liked it or not my nipples had become quite erect from all this stimulation.
He then brought out a diagram of what he called “a generic vulva”. He began comparing my vulva to the generic one and making notes on the differences and measuring the overall length of my slit and the length of my clitoral hood and recording these measurements! I was fully displaying my most private female parts to this man, and to the others present in this room! I could sense the eyes of each person in the room focused upon my crotch! I started to cry! Tears streamed down my face at the irretrievable loss of my genital modesty. They had all seen my most intimate and sexual parts displayed for their edification!
Of course he did not miss the opportunity to go behind me, order me to bend forward while he spread my buttocks apart, peered at my anus for awhile, no doubt also enjoying the rear view of my vulva.
Just when I thought things could not possibly be any more humiliating, I was told that I must masturbate for Mr. Steelforth’s further edification. I shot an appealing glance at my lawyer, begging him with my eyes to object to this latest outrage. His hard look told me I must go along with the program. So masturbate I did! I was required to do this on the conference room table where everyone could have a good view!
I thought at first that I could get away with just going through the motions and fake my climax. But Mr. Steelforth had been in the business of examining slaves and potential slaves for many years and he said he could always tell when a young woman was faking. Finally I gave up all pretence and masturbated for real bringing myself to a real climax. They all saw it and the aroma of my sexual secretions filled the room. I wanted to sink through the floor!
Finally Mr. Steelforth gave me permission to put my panties back on. It was only then I learned that he had videotaped my masturbatory performance for the edification of his ultimate client, a person or organization as yet unknown to me!
While I sat there bare breasted and with only panties on, he asked me a series of embarrassing questions about how often I masturbated, how old I was when first I masturbated, what sorts of things I thought about while masturbating, and on and on. Because I had taken an oath at the beginning to tell the truth, my lawyer advised that I would have to answer each and every one of these questions.
Finally Mr. Steelforth seemed satisfied and gave me permission to put the rest of my clothes on. The meeting was concluded.
Chapter 6. The Trial
My attorney called me one day to advise that we would have no choice but to proceed to trial. No out of court settlement was possible and the client had instructed the Steelforth Agency to proceed and to spare no expense to bring this matter to a “successful conclusion”!
I was informed that my jury trial would be entirely public. Spectators would be permitted in the courtroom, and the trial might also be televised. The news media had managed to get some pictures of me in my tennis whites - short shorts and a tube top with my midriff bare. These photos were published along with notice of the proceeding against me. Some of the news stories were indicating that the trial might prove quite humiliating for me. As a result there were more potential spectators than the courtroom could accommodate. The bailiff let them come in a first come first serve basis. Then he informed those who had not gotten in that they might watch the trial on closed circuit TV in the lounge down the hall.
Most of the spectators were male, but there were also some women I had managed to antagonize from my former place of employment who seemed to take a particular delight in my present predicament. I felt my chest tighten up when I noticed Mr. Steelforth, who had taken such liberties with my body during the “Creditor’s Examination, sitting at the plaintiff’s table along with the plaintiff’s counsel.
Then I saw something that chilled my blood. Mr. Jenkins, my former employer, was right there in the third row! His presence here today was particularly hard to take since he had been the one who had caused me to be in this position by sexually harassing me, firing me, and then blacklisting me so that I could find no other work. Evidently he had come to gloat. I felt that he and the others were ogling me. My lawyer asked me if I had any impressions concerning the spectators.
"I think the women here mostly would like to see me taken down a peg or two, and the men mostly want to gawk at me and imagine what it would be like to get into my pants! " My lawyer just laughed and indicated that was his impression also.
After the "All Rise" and the entry of the learned Judge Alfred P. Morelock, the trial was underway. The judge proceeded with his ominous address.
"The Third District Court of the State of New York is now in session. We are here today on the matter of an enslavement petition filed by the corporation known as Richmond SlendaBond Enterprises against an alleged debtor identified in the petition as Stephanie Glenn. At this time counsel for the opposing parties will identify themselves for the record.”
“Roger Vandenberg for the plaintiff, your honor.”
“Michael Green for the defendant, your honor.”
“Before proceeding further I want to be sure that the defendant is present. Please stand and identify yourself for the record."
I stood and gave my name and address. As I did so I noticed one of the TV cameras turn toward me and then saw a close-up of me on the big screen. A hushed murmur could be heard from the gallery. I remained standing.
“You may sit down, Miss Glenn. The Court will allow questioning and dismissal for cause of any juror who is morally opposed to our enslavement laws.”
The court proceeded to empanel a jury. Far more women than men objected to the morality of enslavement. In the end I found that my jury was to consist of nine men and three women.
"Counsel for plaintiff and defendant being present, the jury having been sworn in and all interested parties being present, let us proceed."
Plaintiff’s counsel made his opening statement.
“We will show that this defendant is insolvent, that she owes the plaintiff more than ten thousand dollars and that plaintiff is now her sole creditor. We will further show that she has stated, by affidavit, at the time of her Creditor’s Examination, that she is unemployed and has no immediate or foreseeable prospects for obtaining gainful employment. We will also show that we have done a Family Impact Study, as required by law, to establish that she has neither a spouse, nor children, nor an aging parent whose welfare may depend on her remaining free. Finally we will show that she has far more value to plaintiff as human property than she would ever be likely to have if she remained free.”
The plaintiff’s counsel now began to set forth his case in chief First he called Morgan Richmond.
“Mr. Richmond, you are the President of Richmond SlendaBond Ltd. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Richmond, could you please tell the Court what is the nature of your company’s business?”
“When the indenture and enslavement laws were passed, I determined that it could be quite profitable to acquire insolvent debtors and market them to other interested parties. I then started a firm to bring about the enslavement of certain debtors through legal process. We accomplish that with the help of firms that do the scouting and legwork for us, such as the Steelforth Agency. We first buy up all of the target’s debt, and when we are successful with our legal action, we actually take title to the human property, train that property to the appropriate level of slave skills and obedience, and then sell. Of course, we try to buy low and sell high to make a profit.”
“Does your firm deal only in female slaves?”
“No indeed. We are an equal opportunity enslaver.”
“Please tell us why you named the firm ‘Richmond SlendaBond’, if you would sir?”
“I chose that name because we decided to specialize in introducing only slender debtors to a life of bondage. That was partly a matter of my own tastes and preferences, but also because I felt that was a market niche that could be quite profitable for us.”
“Thank you Mr. Richmond. Your witness.” My attorney stood to begin the cross-examination.
“Mr. Richmond, since you have stated you enslave only slender debtors, would it be correct to conclude that the uses to which your slaves are put are primarily sexual in nature?”
“That is correct.”
“Will you tell us then how you market the sexuality of your slaves?”
“We have a subsidiary enterprise called ‘Skelly Girls’. It is a nationwide prostitution service catering to businessmen. But not all our slaves are marketed in that fashion. We also cater to the desires of wealthy individuals who wish to purchase a slave outright from us, or to lease one for a period of years, perhaps to serve as a domestic servant with sexual duties also included.”
“Would it be your intention Mr. Richmond, if you are successful in this proceeding, to use the defendant in your nationwide prostitution service? Or lease her to a private client?”
“Objection, your Honor! Mr. Richmond is under no obligation to state what his intentions are for Miss Glenn!” The plaintiff’s attorney had risen to his feet.
“Objection sustained!”
“And what about yourself sir? Do you personally make sexual use of your own slaves? Would you personally rape Miss Glenn?”
“Objection, your honor! Mr. Richmond’s personal sex life is not relevant to this proceeding!”
“Objection sustained! Move on counsellor!”
“I have no more questions for this witness your honor”. The witness stepped down.
Next there was a rather dry presentation of documents showing that I owed to the Plaintiff more than ten thousand dollars and other documents showing that my meagre assets were nowhere near sufficient to satisfy these debts. Various witnesses were called from the accounting department of Richmond SlendaBond to authenticate each of these documents, and each, in turn, was entered into evidence against me. My lawyer had tried, on cross examination, to trip up some of these witnesses and get some of the documents excluded, but was not successful in this. He and I were both of the belief that some of the alleged debts had been fabricated.
Plaintiff’s counsel then called Mr. Steelforth to the witness box and he was duly sworn in prior to beginning his testimony.
“You are the managing partner of the William Steelforth Agency, is that correct?”
“I am.”
“Could you explain briefly what is the nature of your business sir?”
“Our role is to represent the interests of clients, such as Richmond SlendaBond, who wish to achieve satisfaction of debts owed them by debtors who are unable to pay in money. We do this by enslaving the debtor, through lawful process, so that the creditor may sell him or her at auction, or make such other use of the slave as he may see fit. This always involves researching the candidate to see if he or she is enslavable, then hiring legal counsel, and marshalling all the necessary documents and witnesses needed to secure a successful outcome. We sometimes act as ‘talent scouts’, seeking out debtors in a given city who owe money to our clients. On other occasions we are commissioned to bring about the enslavement of a particular person desired by our client.”
“Which was the case with this defendant, Mr. Steelforth?”
“We were specifically commissioned by a client desiring to own Miss Glenn.”
“Did you or your firm follow all the prescribed legal procedures to determine Miss Glenn’s assets, debts, present employment status, prospects for employment, and ability to enter into a payment plan that would discharge her debt in three years or less?”
“We did carry out a Creditor’s Examination to that end. We determined that her assets were wholly insufficient, that we were the sole creditor having purchased all her other debts, that she is unemployed, and has no ability to enter into a legally sufficient payment plan.”
“For the record sir, and under oath, did your firm do the legally required Family Impact Study?”
“We did that as part of the Creditor’s Exam. Miss Glenn advised us under oath that she is unmarried, has no children or any other person dependant on her personal care or financial support.” Mr. Vandenberg seemed satisfied with this response and turned to the judge.
“At this time, your honor, we wish to introduce two affidavits signed by Miss Glenn on the above points and call her as a witness to authenticate them.”
“Defense will stipulate to admission of the affidavits. No need to call her as a witness.” Mr. Vandenburg then continued his examination of his own witness.
“Mr. Steelforth, do you believe Miss Glenn has far more value to your client as human property than she could ever have if allowed to remain free?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can you support that belief with objective evidence?”
“During the Creditor’s Exam I did personally examine Miss Glenn’s naked person. I found her to be incredibly attractive. I also touched her intimately and found her to be highly responsive in a sexual way. I know from years of experience in the industry that her beauty and her sexual sensitivity are qualities that would be much in demand by licensed prostitution services. Male clients will pay very well to have sex with a woman like Miss Glenn. She could earn a considerable amount of money for my client in a relatively short period of time.”
“But Mr. Steelforth, if all that you say is true, does it not also follow that she could earn that same considerable amount of money as an independent prostitute, while remaining free?”
“In my experience it does not work that way. In the first place Miss Glenn has adamantly maintained that she would never willingly become a prostitute. If she were enslaved, that choice would no longer be hers to make. Also it is quite well known in the prostitution industry that male clients will pay much higher fees to have sex with an indentured or enslaved prostitute, as opposed to a free one. Therefore her earning potential, and ability to repay her debt, could never be as high if she were allowed to remain free.”
“Thank you Mr. Steelforth. I have no more questions for this witness.”
The judge then turned to my lawyer.
“Does defense counsel wish to cross examine this witness?”
“No, your Honor. Not at this time. But we would like to reserve the right to recall him later.”
“Your Honor, the plaintiff rests his case.”
The judge declared the plaintiff had made a prima facie case that he should be allowed to take my person in satisfaction of a considerable debt. Now it would be up to my own attorney to dispute the validity of some of the alleged debts, or to convince the jury that I would be worth more to the Plaintiff if left free than if enslaved. Failing that, to appeal to the jurors to ignore the law and set a beautiful woman free. To do that he would have to persuade the jurors to become very interested in knowing me, perhaps on a very intimate basis.
At that point the judge, noting the time, declared that the Court would be in recess until 2 pm.
********************
Promptly at 2 pm the judge banged the Court back into session. The bailiffs had allowed even more spectators in so that it was standing room only.
“This Court is now back in session in the matter of Richmond Slendabond Enterprises v. Glenn.
My lawyer rose to address the court.
“If it please the Court, defense will proceed at this time.”
“Proceed.”
“The defendant has agreed to present to the jury as much of her person as possible, that they may better judge her character and sympathize with her in her desire to maintain her freedom. She will testify in her own defense and we will present much information relative to her psychological nature and concerning the reasons for her fear of enslavement. We will call character witnesses as well.”
“We will show that Miss Glenn is not insolvent, and that some of her alleged debts have been fabricated in order to reach the statutory amount of ten thousand dollars. We will show that, when the fabricated debts are eliminated that my client’s actual debts do not exceed seven thousand dollars. While we admit that my client is presently unemployed, we will show that she is highly trained as an accountant and that she does have real prospects for employment in her field within the coming year. Finally we will show that, in the event Miss Glenn does not secure professional employment within the coming year, she would be willing to accept employment in the adult entertainment industry, perhaps as a nude dancer at private parties, where she could earn more money and discharge her debt more quickly than if she were ‘human property’ as plaintiff desires.”
My lawyer then proceeded to introduce documents apparently showing that my debts were much less than had been claimed by the plaintiff. He called some witnesses to authenticate these documents.
Then he called two witnesses that were in the head hunting business. They both testified that a person of my education and skills should have no great difficulty finding employment in the accounting profession, once the current recession was over.
Next my attorney called me to testify. I was sworn in and climbed up on the witness platform.
I experienced acute embarrassment! I saw that some of my colleagues, both male and female, from my old job at Masterson Automotive were here watching me in my shame. I saw Tom Jenkins in the third row staring at my red face and gloating in my humiliation. He, more than any one person, was responsible for me being in this predicament! All because I had double slapped him for fondling my leg. There was June who had once accused me of sleeping with Tom to get a choice assignment! There was Lacy who had spread rumors all over the company that I was a prude because I felt it was morally wrong to touch the genitals of our indentured waiter! There was Jeff Duncan from Human Resources! All these people seemed to be immensely enjoying my humiliation!
I was sure my face was red as a beet!
My lawyer began my direct examination.
“Your legal name is Stephanie Glenn, is that correct?”
“That’s right.” I mumbled in a dying voice.
“You will need to speak up so all can hear you. State your name loud and clear.”
“I am Stephanie Glenn”. I said, forcing myself to get the words out.
“And do you live at 301 Rosewood Circle, in the town of New Rochelle, State of New York?"
“I do.”
“Miss Glenn, I need you to tell us all if you fear enslavement, and if so why.”
“Yes sir, I do. I highly value my freedom and I think it would be terrifying to lose that. I also have the fear that, as a slave, I would be forced to do things, sexual things, that would go against my principles. I fear that I might experience so much unrelenting humiliation, on a day to day basis, that I might lose the will to live.”
“Miss Glenn, do you believe, if the jury lets you keep your freedom, that you could find a way to repay your debts?”
“I do. I am quite marketable as an accountant once the present recession is over.”
“But what if that doesn’t happen? Then what?”
“I am prepared to do what I must as a free Citizen, to repay my debts. If it means I have to accept employment in the sex industry to do that, I will swallow my pride and do such work!”
“Give us some examples of what kinds of employment you might accept.”
“There are many private clubs where men go to watch naked women dance. I would be willing to be such a dancer if I can find no other work. There are also opportunities to work as a nude dancer at private parties. If all else failed, I would even consider making soft porn films.”
“What about prostitution?”
“No! I would not do that! It is against everything I believe in.”
“But if these jurors decide you should be enslaved, you could be forced to prostitute yourself. You could be forced to have sex with any man who could pay your fee. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, I am afraid so. That is why I fear enslavement so much!”
“I have no more questions for this witness, your Honor. Your witness.” He said turning to plaintiff’s counsel.
“Miss Glenn, I have a question for you. You have said that you would never prostitute yourself because it is against your principles. Isn’t it also against your principles to default on your debts?”
“Yes sir that is true.”
“Yet you would not do everything possible to repay your debts if your other plans for earning money did not work out. In other words you would rather violate the legitimate rights of your creditors to expect repayment of debt, before you would violate your own notions of propriety when it comes to having sex with strangers for money?”
“Yes sir that is true.”
“I have no more questions for this witness.”
The judge looked at me.
“You may step down from the witness platform, young lady. “
The lawyers for the two sides proceeded to make their closing summations. Then the judge gave the jury instructions on the law as it applied to this case.
With that the trial was over.
.
Chapter 7. These Legs Are Made For Running
My attorney and I were passing the time in the courthouse lounge. I wanted a cup of coffee but I was too wired and nervous already! It had been over two hours since the jury had retired to choose a foreman and begin deliberations. I asked my lawyer what it would mean for my chances if the jury returned a quick verdict or took a much longer time.
He explained to me that if things dragged on too long, that meant the jury was probably deadlocked. That, in turn, could lead to a compromise verdict where they would convict me of the lesser charge, so that I would be indentured for ten years to SlendaBond instead of becoming their outright slave for life. He said my best chance for keeping my freedom intact would be if they returned a quick verdict.
When it was three hours, the judge called us all back in and announced that court would be in recess until tomorrow when jury deliberations would continue.
That night in my condo I was so scared I couldn’t sleep! My heart was pounding! My breathing was labored! The muscles of my torso and shoulders were very tense. What if they did enslave me? If it was going to happen it would probably happen tomorrow. It would be an unthinkable and intolerable calamity! I simply could not stand being enslaved! It would go against everything in my nature to be stripped of my freedom and dignity in that way!
Worst of all would be the forced sex that would be sure to follow! I simply could not stand that! So many women were being forced into prostitution these days that prices paid by the johns were very low. The very idea that I might be made into a public whore– that every Tom, Dick and Harry with $20.00 to spare on payday could stick his dick into me! How could I live with that? Or maybe I would be made into a private prostitute to service exclusively the needs of some rich bastard! Some obese pot bellied son-of-a-bitch who could diddle my clitoris whenever or wherever he chose! How could I live with that?
I was wearing short shorts. I looked down at my legs. They were beautiful legs! Too pretty to be pawed by strange men I hated! Swift legs! Runner’s legs! They had carried me to a second place finish in the Boston Marathon last year! I thought of that old Nancy Sinatra hit “These Boots Are Made for Walking”. Well just maybe ‘These legs Are Made For Running’! Maybe these legs could save my life – so to speak!
What to do? Was escape my best answer? I knew this would be hard. I was wearing an electronic ankle bracelet. Escaping slaves were nearly always caught, and usually faced severe punishment and public humiliation for the attempt.
The ankle bracelet was made of hardened steel. The judge had said it could not be cut off. Yet the ankle bracelet’s lock could be picked open surely? I just needed to find someone with the rights skills and tools. Then what? Where would I go? How would I live? If I made one mistake they would have me back in their clutches in no time. For all these difficulties it seemed to me that a life on the run would be infinitely superior to being stripped of my freedom and dignity and becoming someone’s sex toy!
I would need identity documents under a fictitious name to survive. Who could help with that? I would have to concoct a fictitious resume to get hired somewhere. No one would hire me if they knew I was a fugitive.
One step at a time! There was Tom Murphy. He was a locksmith and he and I had often played tennis. Usually I beat him. He had come on to me a couple of times and I had turned him down. Clearly he had the hots for me! Maybe I would have to sleep with Tom to make it worth his while to help me? But what if Tom turned me in instead of helping me? I would have to take that chance, but there was something I could do to improve the odds. I got the small stun gun out of my night table drawer and slipped it in my purse.
Then I called Tom. I pleaded with him for his help. I told him I was in a real jam, without saying that I intended to run from the court. I did not want to say too much on the phone. I hoped he hadn’t heard anything about my case and had no reason to suspect my true purpose. I just told him I had a job of lock picking and asked if he could meet me at an address in lower Manhattan. He said he would.
I scooped up what cash I had in the condo, some candy bars, a change of clothing and my prescription meds. An hour later I was meeting him at the address I had given, one that I knew to be an abandoned building. I had taken the subway there.
“Hi Tom!”
“What’s up Steph? Why this meeting in the middle of the night at an abandoned building?”
“Tom, you must promise to keep my secret! I am in trouble with the law. I am probably going to be enslaved tomorrow unless I can skip town, but first I have to get this damned ankle bracelet off me so I can’t be traced!”
“Oh I don’t know Stephanie. I could be in a world of trouble if you were caught and they found out I had helped you escape!”
“Do you know how much trouble I could be in without your help tomorrow? I could well be human livestock, someone’s property! Do you think I could ever stand that?”
“Knowing you, I doubt that you could!”
“Then help me PLEASE! If I am caught I will never betray you. I will never let them know you were the one who got the bracelet off me! Besides I will make it worth your while!”
“How will you do that Steph?”
“What do you want Tom? A blow job?”
“I would want more than that Steph! I always wanted to get into your pants! That is my price now!”
“OK, OK, already! If that is what you want, that is what you shall have! Now please help. I don’t have a lot of time left before morning to make my getaway!”
“Put your foot up on that block. I want to examine the bracelet”
I did so and he examined my bracelet ankle and leg for some time. His hands began to play with my left calf and feel the muscle there and the under knee tendons. He kissed my knee. He caressed my left thigh. I was hardly in a position to object to anything he wanted to do!
“Can’t you just pick the lock?”
“Opening the lock, or even attempting to open the lock, would immediately transmit a signal to police that the lock had been tampered with! It would also report our exact location to police!”
“Is there no hope then?”
“The bracelet is hardened steel. But I could cut it off with my diamond bit power drill. That would not cause any alarm signal to go to police.”
“Fine. Do it then.”
“Not until I have been paid, sexually speaking!”
I nodded my agreement and we found a way into the abandoned building. Tom brought a blanket from his truck to lay down on the floor. We fucked until Tom had climaxed. Then he agreed to get on with the job. He went to get tools from his truck. Twenty minutes later he had cut clear through the bracelet in two places so that the two halves could be separated.
Tom saw a small stray dog nearby. He got some meat out of the truck and used it to tempt the animal to within capture distance. He wrapped a piece of cloth around the dog’s belly and used that, in turn, to attach the two halves of the bracelet. He told me as long as the GPS sensors keep picking up a moving signal from the bracelet there would be no alarm to alert police that the bracelet was no longer on me.
“Steph, there is an organization here in New York City called the ‘Underground’. They are some very courageous volunteers who take huge risks to help people escape slavery. I know a guy who would know how to contact them. They can help you. Would you like me to call?”
“Sure Tom. That might solve a lot of problems I thought I would have to solve all by myself!”
Tom left me for a few minutes and called his friend from the truck. When he came back he said a representative of the ‘Underground’ would meet me in the heart of Greenwich Village in one half hour. He named an intersection that was 10 blocks from our warehouse location. He said I would have to walk there by myself. Everything was on a ‘need to know’ basis with this group. They wanted me at the meeting place, not Tom and me together.
“Steph, these clothes that you are wearing – were they purchased with a credit card?
“Very likely, Tom. I don’t like to carry large amounts of cash when I shop, so I use the card.”
He went out to his truck and returned a few minutes later with an old shirt.
“You will need to take off all your clothes and put on this old shirt instead. All clothing these days contains RFID threads that can be picked up by government or business scanners. The thread scanners can identify precisely what the article of clothing is, who manufactured it, what retailer sold it on what date. If you used a credit card to buy these articles then the scanner will also have your identity linked to each of these items of clothing!”
I did as he said. I found the shirt a couple sizes too big for me, but at least it came down to mid thigh on me so it protected my modesty. Tom and I parted and I began the walk of 10 blocks. I was scared as some of the blocks I had to walk down were poorly lit and sometimes frequented by a rough element. Also it was a bit windy and I had to struggle to keep Tom’s shirt from blowing up and revealing too much of me!
Soon I was in Greenwich Village standing on the corner where I was supposed to wait. It seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes before a young man asked me for directions to the theatre district. As he came closer he was soon whispering to me to just stay put for a couple minutes, then follow him down a subway entrance. I did so and soon I was following him into a subway car. We rode it for several stops, then he signaled me to exit the car with him. When we reached the street there was a car waiting. We got in and I was immediately blindfolded and the car drove around for a while. Finally we got out and he guided me into the front entrance of a building. Only then did the blindfold come off. He rang a bell and drove off, leaving me to wait for someone to answer the bell.
I had no idea where we were, but I soon learned we were at the ‘safe house’ maintained by the ‘Underground’ in lower Manhattan.
A matronly woman in her forties opened the door and ushered me inside where I also met an athletic man about her age and a nerdy looking young man about my own age.
“You may call me Jan, the older man John and this young man Jeff”, the woman said, “although these are obviously not our real names. We will be the team that will help you alter your appearance, give you a paper and electronic identity, a past to go with that and equip you with necessary knowledge of computer security systems. Our team goal is not to have you live here but to prepare you for a new life a long distance from New York City. We plan to put you on the 6 am mag-lev train out of Grand Central tomorrow morning, westbound for Chicago. My own role is the appearance stuff. We can’t have you looking like the “Wanted” poster the police will post in the next few days, now can we?”
“No, I guess not” I replied. Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt these people knew the ropes and were going to solve a lot of problems for me that I thought I was going to have to work out alone. They would help me avoid all the pitfalls that could cost me my freedom.
“Why don’t I do my magic first? “ she said as she led me to a different part of the house.
“Let us see what we can do with those eyes first”. As Jan said this she reached for a pair of contact lenses and had me try them on.
The contacts fitted perfectly and changed my eye color from brown to blue. She added a false nose, did a makeup job, had me color my red hair blonde, and provided me with two sets of clothing. She then took a typical head and shoulders photo of me suitable for a driver’s license photo.
The second member of my team, John, then worked with me first on choosing a name. He showed me a short list of possibilities.
“I think I would like to be Rebecca Stevens”, I told him.
“We can arrange that”, he replied, “but it is also important that we create a past for you to go with that name. You will need to be able to tell people where you grew up, how many brothers and sisters you had, what high school you attended, what jobs you have had, and so forth.”
“Couldn’t we just give me enough paperwork for me to flee to Canada or to one of the southern states that is still part of the old United States? After all, they don’t have slavery there so I would be safe, right?”
“Not quite so fast young lady. It is true they don’t have slavery there, but they do have extradition treaties with Capitallia. If you were matched to Capitallia’s ‘Wanted Persons’ list, you would be sent back! Since the precautions you would have to take to protect your new identity would be just as great in those countries, you might as well hide in your own country.”
“Ok, I get it!” I sighed, realizing the enormity of the task ahead of me.
Then he worked for many hours with me creating the details of my past. He drilled me on these details until he was satisfied I knew them cold. He proceeded to create the paper documents I would need including a driver’s license, a social security card, photos of my supposed family members, of a boyfriend I supposedly had back in my hometown and two alternative resumes.
.
The third member of my team, Jeff, then indicated I was to follow him into the computer lab in the basement of the house.
“Rebecca, and I may as well start calling you by your new name, my job is to tutor you in what you need to know about electronic identification of persons in our society. You wouldn’t want to be picked up by police because you walked by the wrong scanner would you?”
“No way!” I was beginning to feel like it was all going to be just too much knowledge for me to master. I had never been a top student in high school math or science and had never taken a computer course.
“Good. Then let us get started. All clothing manufactured in the last 50 plus years in Capitallia contains special RFID tags or threads. Other common objects people usually carry on their persons may also contain these tags.”
“What does RFID stand for?” I asked.
“Radio Frequency Identification.” Jeff continued, “When you pass by the right kind of scanner, radio frequency waves are sent out by the scanner which can read information from these threads.”
“That must be what Tom meant – why he made me put on his old shirt instead of the clothes I was wearing?”
“That’s right. You were lucky to have a friend that knew about this stuff helping you before you came to us.” I breathed a sign of relief hearing this.
“When clothing is manufactured a tag or thread is inserted somewhere in the fabric that uniquely identifies that particular article of clothing. Something like a serial number. Shows who the manufacturer was, date of manufacture, etc. The identifier would not be the same for any two pieces of the same type of clothing even from the same manufacturer.”
“How does that identify a person?”
“When you or I walk into a retail store and buy an article of clothing with a credit card, or perhaps a whole shopping cart of articles on one purchase, the store’s computer creates an account for us with our name and address and other personal data pulled from the credit card account. It then reads the RFID tag of each article we are buying as the cashier scans them for price and attaches those “serial numbers”, if you will, to our personal account in a process called “imprinting”. The next time you or I visit that store, as we walk in the front door we pass by a scanner that reads the RFID tags of every article of clothing we are then wearing. If it finds some articles that are already linked to our customer account, it uses that link to identify who we are. Such identification may be used to target specific advertising messages to us that is likely to be of interest to us as individuals based on our previous buying patterns.”
“But what if we had originally bought all our clothing for cash?”
“Good point. If everything was bought for cash and the clerk could not otherwise identify us at time of purchase, then there would be no account for the scanned RFID threads to be imprinted upon.”
“The new clothing we provided you had been purchased for cash and would therefore not have RFID threads coded to match any particular person. That way if you passed any government scanner or retail store scanner, the computer lookup on your clothing would return ‘Name Unknown’. That will be safe enough for now.”
Eventually they would get me some articles of clothing with RFID threads coded to my new identity, but that would take some time. He explained that the “Underground” also had computer programmer operatives working in federal and state law enforcement. These operatives would eventually fix the federal law enforcement database so that any biometric scan of my fingerprints or retinas would link to my new identity rather than my old identify.
In the meanwhile he stressed that I must not carry anything at all that had been purchased with a credit card under my original name and address. All kinds of objects, in addition to clothing, contained RFID threads. Most important of all, he said, was that if a scanner ever picked up on my original identify because of one or two articles on my person that had been bought with a credit card, then the computer would register all the RFID threads in my clothing to that identity as well! They would then no longer scan as “Name Unknown” but scan my original name and address! This process was known as “Re-Imprinting” and would result in all my clothing becoming “hot”, as he put it! He gave me precise instructions what I should do if that situation ever arose.
As he was explaining all this to me, I thought about the small stun gun I had earlier slipped into my purse. I knew I had purchased this for cash so any RFID thread or chip it might contain could only scan as “Name Unknown” and not possibly be linked to me. That should be ok and I didn’t have to tell them I was carrying it.
He told me of a place in the foothills of the Catskill mountain range. It was on the mag-lev railroad to Albany about two hours north of New York City. He spoke of a cabin used by hunters during deer hunting season that was walking distance from the town railroad stop. He directed that I was to proceed to Grand Central Station, board a train for upstate New York, disembark at Saugerties and walk to the place. He said I could lay low there for a couple of days while he made up my new ID documents.
There was one minor difficulty with this plan though. The mag-levs all used biometric identification of passengers to thwart criminals and fugitives on the run from the law. My biometrics would give me away at this point since they would not have time to fix that in the federal database for at least a week. To get around this difficulty I would be escorted on the train handcuffed as a “prisoner” by two uniformed “policemen” who would flash badges at the train conductor. These “policemen” would ride with me to my stop at Saugerties and get off the train with me there. The conductor, seeing me handcuffed and in custody already, would not require a fingerprint scan!
Finally he gave me a capsule I was to carry in my mouth at all times. In case of my arrest I was to bite down hard on the capsule. No, it was not poison he hastened to explain. Rather biting down would cause it to send a signal to the “Underground” that one of their safe house locations was about to be compromised so the place could be cleared out before police could arrive.
The last step was for me to don a blindfold and follow the woman who had first admitted me. She put me in a car and drove me to Grand Central Station. I was instructed not to remove the blindfold until several minutes after I would hear her drive off. The two “policemen” then met me as I entered the station, placed me under “arrest”, bought tickets for the three of us and rode with me to Saugerties. There we parted company and I walked to the cabin following the directions I had been given.
A day later there was a package at the Saugerties mag-lev station for me to pickup. It contained the computer verifiable ID documents I would need and a prepaid debit card in my new name with $500 on it. I boarded the train heading north again first to Albany, then west to Chicago. The trip to Chicago on the mag-lev took 5 hours.
Once in Chicago, I realized I needed some necessaries. I walked into a chain drug store and froze when I heard a synthesized electronic voice say “Welcome to our store, Stephanie Glenn!” I thought “What the Fuck! How did they know who I was! Then I realized there must be something in my purse that their scanner was able to recognize. I rummaged through my purse and found it. It was a package of Tampax I had purchased in New York City from another drug store of this same chain! It must have contained an RFID chip.
I must get rid of it! But would that be enough? I remembered the explanation I had gotten from the Underground about Re-Imprinting. What it meant was that the previously anonymous threads in the clothing I was wearing would now be linked to my true identity – at least in the drugstore’s computer system. Their system would then check my identity against the government’s wanted persons register. If their system found a match, they would be legally required to forward all data to the government’s computer system. My clothing – all of it – was now “hot”! I ran out of the store in a panic!
I knew that I must lose this clothing, all of which was now trackable. I had to assume the drug store chain got a match for my identity with the national Persons Wanted List. By now the threads in all my clothing would be cross-registered with all law enforcement agencies. Every time that I would board a bus or a subway or stand at a street corner waiting for a light to change my RFIDs could be picked up and transmitted to police.
I ran into a sporting goods store and bought in line speed skates for cash, then into a dark alley where I stripped off all of my clothing, even panties. All that stuff was trackable. I remembered the specific instructions I had been given by the safe house in New York for just such a situation as this. I fashioned a sign with a piece of cardboard and some string which I hung about my neck proclaiming myself a slave who is being punished through forced nakedness while on an errand for her master. I took out the handcuffs, black leather collar and coin purse the safe house had provided. I fixed the handcuffs so it looked as though I were cuffed. I put the black leather collar around my neck and fastened that in a way that it looked impossible to remove. It had ‘D’ rings where a leash might be attached. I hung the coin purse around my neck and put my cash, ID and credit card into that. I chucked my purse and all my clothing in a dumpster in that alley.
Then I ran out into the street absolutely naked. I was confidant police would not arrest me for indecent exposure because there is an exception for slaves who are being punished by public humiliation. Also I believed police would have trouble catching me while I was moving so fast on those roller blades. Interested male spectators would not have long to study my body as I whizzed by. I ran as fast as my slender muscular legs and the skates could carry me toward a destination about 10 blocks north where I remembered there was a launder-mat.
During this run, with my heart pounding, I ran along one block where young women were being vended. I saw twenty or more of them, each secured by her collar with a length of chain to a wall stanchion. Each wore only a bikini top and a thong – the minimum needed to comply with public decency laws. Above each one was a sign with her slave name, her price, and a paragraph describing who she had been when she was free. This one had been a schoolteacher right here in Chicago, that one a secretary from Milwaukee, and so forth. By now it was dusk. Artificial lights illuminated these women and the signs over them. Male passersby of various ages had stopped to examine these women with, apparently, a view to possible purchase. I was appalled at what I saw – and it caused even more energy to flow into my legs that I might escape such a fate myself!
Up ahead I could see the street was blocked off to automobile traffic. Evidently there was some sort of street fair going on. I kept going. They had the street blocked off with a high wood plank fence that ran almost the whole width of the street. There was an entrance archway straight ahead of me. I noted a sign that said “Adults Only” over the entrance and someone there checking ages of young looking persons. Evidently whatever was going on in this street fair was not for children. As I entered the fair the lights were coming on in the various exhibit areas and booths to offset the gloom of the faltering daylight.
One brightly lit exhibit caught my eye. It was a group of naked male slaves, each one slender and lightly muscled, tethered to a wall and handcuffed. Evidently public nudity was perfectly legal in Chicago as long as it was in an area where children were not admitted. That these men were slaves was evident, not only from the handcuffs, but from the iron collars about their necks, and the fact each had a brand on his inner thigh. There was a booth nearby where tickets were being sold.
As I passed by, a couple of women who had just stepped away from the ticket booth were approaching two of the naked males. I noticed these two slaves had not an ounce of excess fat on their bodies, washboard abdominal muscles and were especially well hung. Their penises, even in their present flaccid condition, looked to be 8 inches long. Their testicles and scrotums were of impressive proportions and hung low. The women approached the men and began to fondle them between their legs. Under a different set of circumstances I would have liked to buy a ticket for myself and do the same! I had come a long way since the time I refused to fondle the male waiter in the ‘Garden Café’!
A little further on I saw a truly shocking exhibit called “The Generator Station”. Here were a dozen or more young women, all rather athletic looking, in a line on a raised platform. All of these women were quite naked and ranged in age from early to late twenties. Each was astride a kind of stationary bicycle, having no seat, with her neck in a yoke and arms restrained at her side. Each one had her legs vigorously pumping away at the pedals. A sign overhead announced that these women were generating, with their young and well-muscled legs, and as part of a court ordered punishment, all the electricity consumed by the entire street fair! Around the neck of each young female was a sign with her name, vocation and a brief description of the offense for which she had been indentured.
There had been much talk about finding alternative energy sources in the early twenty first century. Apparently this problem had been solved with slave labor! I shuddered, breathed more deeply and felt a new burst of adrenalin and oxygen energizing my own legs. If these legs did not serve me well now to escape, then these legs might well end up as pistons for some businessman trying to save on his energy costs!
There were two male overseers walking up and down the line. They carried no whips. They carried instead remote controls that enabled them to somehow control the women in their labors.
Soon after I had exited the street fair and found myself back in normal traffic. I found myself fast approaching a gang of college boys who were drunk and were pointing at me and making fun of me. It was clear they meant to molest me as I approached them. I ducked into an alley to avoid them. Some of them were in hot pursuit but I was easily able to out run them with my roller blades.
After I got beyond the alley and round the next corner I was confronted with some of the other college boys who had taken an alternate route to corner me. I am surrounded. But I had had some martial arts training and defend myself well, and make a getaway on my inline skates. Finally I reach the launder-mat, go in and steal some clothing that is about my size, run out with it, find another alley where I change into these clothes.
The underground railway people in New York had given me a contact person for their Chicago shelter. I tried the phone number but no one answers. I will have to wait until the contact returns home.
I needed a place to sleep just for that night. I tried a motel but noticed they were photographing each person as they check in – even if they are paying cash. No doubt this is in case things turn up missing from the room. But I can’t be sure there isn’t a link to law enforcement and there will be an APB out about me by now. I tried a couple of other places but they also were photographing.
Then I think about maybe pitching a tent in one of those tent parks. It is summertime and the weather is not bad. Probably they don’t photograph people who check into these places. I bought a cheap throwaway wireless laptop and used it to locate one of those camping parks within 2 miles of a commuter train stop. I found a twenty-four hour store that sold sporting goods, and bought, with cash, a cheap tent, a backpack, a sleeping bag, some cooking gear, and a few other camping necessities.
I boarded the train with my tent and things in the backpack. After a ride of 30 minutes, I got off at Pine Tree Road and walk the 2 miles to camp. They check me in with no problem and no questions asked. No identity check, no photographing. I pitched my tent and settled in for the night. In the morning I built a fire from wood logs and made myself some coffee and oatmeal. I have paid for a week so I left the tent up. I took the commuter train back into Chicago.
In Chicago I again tried phoning my contact for the Underground. This time I was in luck. I was given an address where I would be picked up for a blindfolded ride to the safe house. When I arrived at the house I was given a bed in a dormitory and a chance to bathe and eat good food.
By then it was early Sunday afternoon. I knew that I would need a job. The staff at the safe house got me settled into their dormitory and suggested I should apply for a telemarketing job, until I could find something better. They aren’t too fussy about references for that kind of work. I used my throwaway laptop to find job openings and phone numbers.
Early Monday morning I got busy applying. I secured a job. Everything was OK the first day. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a job. With that I was able to go out and rent a small apartment of one room and stock it with groceries. I was on my way!
I went back on my throwaway laptop. I checked for news stories about myself. Sure enough they had sent police looking for me when I did not show up for court that next day. The judge had declared the trial in recess until such time as I would be apprehended and could again be brought before the court. He informed the jury that, in all probability, this would not take more than a week or two, given all the high tech tracking devices now deployed everywhere!
The judge also announced that since I was now a fugitive from the law, that when I was caught, there would be some serious additional penalties! The court would make an example of me with a special humiliating public punishment! Well they didn’t have custody of me yet. And with any luck they never would! I had made a new life for myself!
I managed to line up a professional job interview. I was to meet a Richard Smithson at a restaurant and bar called “The Ball and Chain”. From the name I wondered if some of the employees were slaves. When I arrive the hostess checked my name.
“Rebecca Stevens?” I nodded. “Mr. Smithson is expecting you. Right this way.” She led me through the restaurant to his table. I saw that there was a long stage down the center with nude pole dancers gyrating.
“Miss Stevens. I hope you don’t mind the atmosphere here. Having the meeting here seemed like a good idea, as I needed to know if you would be comfortable with nudity, prostitution and, of course, slavery?”
I could not believe he expected me to be ok with all this.
“You see my firm uses enslaved call girls and enslaved dancers to entertain clients. I might need you to come to trade conventions with me and assist in making clients comfortable in the hospitality suites. This could include ascertaining a client’s desires and preferences and choosing an appropriate slave girl to meet his needs. You would be ok with that wouldn’t you?”
“Surely Mr. Smithson. I have been called upon to arrange such things in my last job and I assure you it would be no problem!”
I lied through my teeth. My true feelings were exactly opposite on all these points but I knew what I had to say to get the job. Soon a naked waitress came and took our orders. I noted that there was an iron collar around her neck and a number tattooed on her left buttock. He caressed her bare thigh. She seemed not to notice. We started with a fairly expensive wine and I actually found him to be a fairly good conversationalist.
“I see from your resume that your last job was in Accounts Receivable for Murphy Automotive in San Francisco. Why did you leave that firm?”
“The firm went under sir. Their market position eroded because of all the new competition in the Bay area.”
I hoped this would discourage him from any attempt to check out my references at this phony job with a company that never existed. Soon the main course arrived and we dug in. We made mostly small talk.
As the evening wore on I thought that things were going well with this interview. We were on the dessert course. Just then two policemen approached our table accompanied by a woman who looked vaguely familiar.
“That’s her!” the woman shouted pointing at me. She had spoken loudly enough that all the other patrons in the restaurant turned to look in my direction.
“The reason we called you at home and asked you to accompany us here, Mrs. Reed, is that the restaurant does RFID scans on the clothing of all its patrons to identify regular or returning customers. We had put the RFIDs of your reported missing clothing out on an alert since yesterday. The scan of this young woman’s clothes that was made earlier this evening matched the alert so the restaurant’s computer automatically reported it to us” one of the officers said.
“I have the receipts to prove the clothes she is wearing are mine! I want my clothing back right now!” the woman shrieked. I had intended to mail the clothes back to her, but with everything that had been happening I had not managed to do that yet.
“Do you have some proof of who you are, Miss?” the first officer said.
I fumbled nervously to produce my new false identity papers, while breaking into a sweat. My heart began to pound.
“Miss Rebecca Stevens, you are under arrest for the theft of this woman’s clothing from the launder-mat. Stand over there please. We will need you to remove the clothing belonging to Mrs. Reed at this time, so that we can return those items to the rightful owner!”
I could not believe it! They expected me to strip right there in the restaurant! In front of all the patrons! I knew I had to do it or they would do it to me. Mr. Smithson, who was on the verge of offering me the job, just looked on dumbfounded as more and more of my body came into his view. When I was entirely naked they handcuffed me and escorted me out to the patrol car. I draw quite a bit of interested gawking from restaurant patrons first and then from passersby on the street.
At the police station they photograph me and lock me up, still naked, in a holding cell overnight. I later learn that a story has run on page 6 of the leading Chicago newspaper titled “Launder-Mat Clothing Thief” with a naked photo of me. Of course they pixelled out my genitals to comply with the public decency laws.
In the morning I was still naked in the holding cell, when I was visited by two out of town skip tracers from New York. It seems they had been able to track my movements to Chicago by means of that same damn Tampax pack. My true identity had been linked to the RFID chip in the package when I bought the Tampax along with other items on my credit card in New York City. Sensors in the mag-lev train I took from New York to Chicago had picked up the signal and found a match against my name on a federal wanted list. This had alerted the New York skip trace agents to follow me to the state of Illinois. When they arrived they saw the story in the Chicago paper about the naked clothing thief and compared the photo that accompanied that story with the photos they already had from the New York court. They felt they had a match, and were able to positively confirm it when they visited me in the Chicago jail. Since Illinois and New York had reciprocity with respect to extraditions, they had no trouble getting clearance to bring me back to New York City.
They transported me back to New York just as they found me, naked and handcuffed.
I tried not to make eye contact with other train passengers who openly gawked at me. About half way back I just started sobbing and sobbing. My ingenuity and my runner’s legs had not been enough to save my precious freedom!
In New York I was placed in a holding cell to await what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 8. The Slaver Helps a Dancer
Immediately after the jury retired to deliberate Stephanie’s case, the SlendaBond attorney and I retired to the VIP club in the courthouse to await the verdict. We discussed the fact that the longer the jury was out the better our chances of achieving at least a partial enslavement of Stephanie. If the jurors were having trouble reaching a verdict they would probably settle on a compromise verdict where at least we would have Stephanie under an indenture for 5 or 10 years. That might satisfy the client and give us something to celebrate!
I really wanted to win this victory over Stephanie. Something in her nature and bearing challenged me to beat her. At least the sexual part of my being wanted this victory even if the intellectual side had doubts about the justice of our case. After three hours the judge called us back and adjourned proceedings for the day. As it was a Friday, proceedings would resume Monday morning.
The next day, Saturday, I was a featured speaker at a symposium called The Kinder and Gentler Slavery of Today and Tomorrow. I continued to be just as much interested in the theoretical and legal aspects of slavery as I had always been in the practical end of it. This conference reminded me of that earlier gathering I had attended many years ago, with my friend George, when we were both college students. That was the one where the very idea that slavery could be made “kinder and gentler” was first publicly proposed and became the basis for a concerted campaign to persuade the public.
The speaker before me had gone on at great length about all the legislation that had been passed to implement the concept. Slave owners today had accepted that they were responsible for life long medical care for the slave and to provide for his or her retirement years. Those owners who tried to duck such responsibilities were subject to criminal prosecution. While the slave herself, of course, had no legal standing to bring a legal action to secure these benefits, there were slave advocacy organizations that investigated abuses and could bring a lawsuit on her behalf or alert public authorities to prosecute where appropriate. As the public saw all of this being successfully implemented, opposition to slavery as such greatly declined. This was, of course, the major purpose for the whole concept.
The title for my own talk was “Putting Equity into the Enslavement Process”. I had been introduced to this group as one of the most successful slavers in the business, having enslaved, for debt, over 1000 men and women, over the last ten years, through the legal processes. Therefore I had some credibility with this audience. Most of those in attendance cared more about expanding the supply of slaves than they cared about justice or equity. But they would listen to someone of my background.
I began by pointing out that we were losing some potential slaves because juries often were still sympathetic to those in the dock. There was a public perception that quite a few people had been indentured or enslaved who did not deserve such a fate. Many citizens of Capitallia seemed to feel that slavery for debt was a punishment and should only be imposed where there was some fault or wrongful conduct by the debtor. Many felt that it was wrong to enslave someone simply because they had a run of bad luck and could not pay their debts. As I said these things I remembered that I had felt and expressed much the same to Professor Petersen as a young college student. I had always felt it morally, but knew I would have to sell it to this audience on some more ‘practical’ basis.
I then gave example after example of cases wherein I thought there had been some injustice. I naturally changed the names and places. I also gave examples where juries had refused to enslave even in cases where I thought we had a solid case and the debtor well deserved the punishment we were seeking. It was the need for unanimous verdicts, and the feeling on the part of some of the citizenry that the system was not just that led to these defeats, I pointed out. If we would introduce some reforms we might improve the reputation of the system with the citizenry to where we could be successful with 95% of all attempted enslavements, instead of succeeding with just 75% of them, which was about all we had been able to achieve up to this time. That idea resonated with my audience. There were shouts of “here, here!”
But there was another point I wished to make with this audience. I had become aware of many cases where slaves who were highly skilled in a profession or in the arts were having such talents wasted. Their owners could make quite a bit of money by just hiring them out as sex slaves and did not always see it in their interest to allow a slave to carry on with his or her profession. Allowing a slave to pursue a career, I said, need not conflict with sexual usage of that slave, either by the owner or others. Further I pointed out the potential added pleasure an owner might have in owning a slave who was highly accomplished as a result of many years of training and dedication to a skill or craft. I heard some murmuring and nodding of heads in response. The audience was clearly intrigued though their response was more muted than when I was talking about how to increase the numbers of enslavements!
As I was saying all this I happened to notice a slim and very attractive woman who looked vaguely familiar cleaning and shining the brass sculptures that decorated alcoves and niches in the hall in which we were meeting. She was quite some distance from me but I could just see that she was apparently a slave as she was scantily clad and had an iron collar with rings about her neck. She cast frequent glances at me as though hoping to make eye contact but not quite daring to do so. I was puzzled if I knew this woman or not, but had to put her out of my mind for now.
I wrapped up my talk by proposing that we all go forth through our various professional societies and press for changes in the laws so that, in future, it would be necessary to prove debtor wrongdoing as well as a creditor’s need for restitution in order to support an enslavement proceeding, even at the stage of the preliminary hearing. Cases in which there had been no wrong doing should not even reach a jury, except perhaps where the only remedy sought was a short indenture of two or three years to provide at least some restitution to the creditor.
After the symposium ended I headed back to my office. I decided to check in with the two skip trace agents I had hired to keep an eye on Stephanie. I almost always hired such agents when a case reached this stage. After investing all this work I did not want to lose a potential slave who decided to make a run for it. It would be very deflating to my ego and my penis if a girl I nearly had in my grasp were to slip my noose at the last minute!
The agents had bad news for me. They had lost her. They had been watching her home, but she had managed to get out unobserved. One of them waited at her home all night to see if she would return. She did not. The other agent was able to link into the GPS signals emanating from her ankle bracelet. He quickly went downtown and homed in on the moving signal. He was dismayed to find the ankle bracelet attached to a dog and not to a girl! Then the agents knew she had definitely flown the coop. They began working their contacts in the law enforcement community to see if they could get some RFID tag information that would help them follow her to whatever place she had flown.
They told me they were sorry not to have better news, but that was where things stood. They felt it was probably only a matter of time until they would get a break, but nobody could be sure when or if. The elation that I had felt at the end of the trial the day before had pretty well faded on this news.
I had been working there for perhaps another half an hour after that disappointing conversation when I heard a very tentative soft knocking on my locked outer office door. As my secretary had left for the day I went to unlock the door. There I saw a vision that stiffened my penis! A beautiful woman stood there, naked but for high heels, with the posture and bearing of a dancer. She was the same woman I had seen at a distance polishing the brass earlier that afternoon in the lecture auditorium. She still wore the iron collar, and also a coin purse and a note from her owner hanging about her neck. She was slender as a reed and delicate in her upper body, yet the musculature of her hips and legs was well developed. She had the typical physique of a ballerina. Suddenly I knew who she was. It all came back to me. I had enslaved this woman some two years earlier! She had been one of perhaps a thousand debtors I had taken down in court over the last ten years. Sometimes it was hard to remember them all.
I remembered to breathe again. I invited her to follow me to my inner office. My curiosity was getting the better of me. I sat down but did not immediately invite her to do so. That might not be prudent until I learned the purpose of her visit. Then too I was enjoying the view of her dancer’s body. She had assumed the “slave display position”, standing erect, head held high and legs well separated with knees slightly flexed. Her hair was a very dark rich brown and cascaded down almost to her waist. Fortunately she had it tied back in a ponytail so that it did nothing to obscure her lovely breasts, the delicate tracery of her ribs or the flat muscular plane of her belly. My eyes traveled down to the rich crown of dark brown curly pubic hair that adorned her vulva and all the sexual details of that vulva that I could clearly perceive because of her assumed position, because of how she was made and because of my vantage point. Because her legs were slightly flexed I was able to enjoy too her well defined leg muscles and the tendons of those muscles at the crotch. She was the very picture of feminine sexuality!
“Does your master always send you on errands naked? I asked.
“No indeed sir. I am as you see me because I wanted to show proper respect sir! I thought it would be wrong to conceal my body when I am coming here to beg you for a favor!”
“Did your master send you to me, Vivienne?”
“No Mr. Steelforth, sir! I beg you that whatever you may decide about granting or not granting me a favor, that you will not tell him that I came to you. Please sir! It would mean a whipping!”
“Well I can’t promise that just yet. It may depend on the nature of your request. And what is the favor that you seek from me?” I asked. The growing awareness of the power I had over this lovely creature was beginning to cause an excited stirring in my genitals.
“You know, do you not, what my profession was before I became a slave?” she whispered.
Indeed I did. Vivienne had been a ballerina with the National Ballet of Capitallia. In fact she was one of their principal dancers and had played the leading role in a performance of Giselle I had very much enjoyed only six months before I had enslaved her. Of course I was troubled by the idea of enslaving such a talent, but the client was insistent. At the time I had hoped, perhaps unrealistically, that this client, once he owned her, would see that she had talent and find a way for her to continue to practice the career she obviously loved, even as he used her sexually for his own pleasure and the pleasure of his friends and business associates.
“Well sir, I recognized your voice while I was polishing the statues at the lecture hall this afternoon. I heard you say to that audience that you believed that it would be consistent with the “kinder gentler slavery” to allow a slave to pursue an artistic or professional career!’
“Why yes I did say that, Vivienne. I take it your owner has not allowed you to continue with your dance career? How then do you maintain yourself in such superb physical condition?
“No, he has not permitted a ballet career, sir. But he does insist on much daily exercise and a different kind of dance training now in his place of business. That is how I keep my body fit. I now work hard to keep up my skills and appearance as a pole dancer for the nudie bars!’
“What a comedown that must be after ballet!” I said. “And what about sex? Does he use you that way too?”
“He has always used me for his own sexual pleasure and often hired me out to his friends and very important clients as a sex slave. I was working the VIP lounge before the lecture. Then the lounge cleared out when the lecture started so he found something else for me to do until the lecture would be over. He later sent me on an errand to buy something from the drug store in the lobby of your building, sir. I knew this was where you worked and took the liberty of coming up to see you sir.”
“And what is it exactly that you want from me?” I said with mock harshness. I could feel my scrotum tightening and drawing my testicles up closer to my pubis.
“I am just asking s-sir if you could t-talk to my owner and try to persuade him of your view that slaves should be allowed to p-pursue careers. He might listen to a man of your stature in the industry!”
“I will do that Vivienne, and I may go one better. If your owner agrees, I would be willing to talk also with the Artistic Director of your ballet company to see if he will take you back in the company as a slave dancer. Would this be a shock to him? Or have there been other enslaved dancers in his company to your knowledge?”
“No, it would not be a shock sir! I know of three, one guy and two girls, that I danced with two years ago that are back with the dance company after their enslavements. Their owners have them driven to and from rehearsals and there is always a guard backstage to ensure that they obey the Artistic Director. Their owners don’t worry about any attempted escapes because of the bio-implants. Apparently it is working out all right!”
“So you would like me to speak to him? I think he will listen to me as I have contributed generously to his company over the years?”
“Yes, would you please sir? Permission to break position to beg sir?”
“All right!” I said with a sweep of my hand. Vivienne broke from her ‘slave display’ position, dropped to her knees, then prostrated herself, pressing her lips to my shoes and holding them there for a long moment.
“I will do what you have asked, Vivienne. But I think you know how the slave system works. If you want a favor you must be prepared to pay for it with your body, for that is the only currency you will ever have!” My penis was hard as a rock now.
“That would be my pleasure, sir!” Vivienne was looking up at me with the most wonderful mischievous smile. I pulled open a desk drawer and took out a leash and a pair of police style handcuffs. I fastened the leash to the collar around her neck, pulled her to her feet and cuffed her hands behind her back. I loved to fuck a handcuffed woman! I led her into the bedroom adjoining my office and laid her out on the bed. I proceeded to mount her and introduce my penis to her tunnel of love. I plunged in and out of her many times then just stayed inside her for a long, long time, losing none of my hardness. She was young enough to be my daughter. She was a hard body dancer and I a businessman! All I could think of was that I was inside a woman who would probably never have given me the time of day if she were free. But that made it all the more exciting!
After a time I dismissed Vivienne. And my thoughts turned back to the case of Stephanie Glenn. Although I had managed to enjoy certain intimate liberties with her at the Creditor’s Exam, I had not, as yet, had an opportunity to fuck her. There was a very good possibility her owner would allow me that pleasure if only my agents could find her and bring her forcibly back to face her jury next week. Vivienne had been a pleasant interlude to take my mind off the trial for a while. But now I turned out the lights of my office and walked to the elevator hoping that tomorrow would bring exciting news.
Chapter 9. The Verdict
I had spent the night naked in jail after my ill-fated escape attempt. By morning I was shivering with cold as I wrapped myself in the one blanket I had been allowed. The cellblock, which had been dark, suddenly was full of light and sounds as guards came through banging their batons on the bars to wake up all the prisoners. Soon a male guard unlocked my cell and jerked me to my feet, handing me at the same time some jail-issue clothes.
“Prisoner 4306! Use the toilet if you need to. Then put on these clothes and comb your hair. You are coming with me. Now make it quick! I haven’t got all day!” He kept idly banging his baton on the bars of my cell door.
I badly needed to urinate but had never done such a thing in front of a man before. Still it was clear that right now would be my only chance, maybe for hours. So I sat on the stainless steel toilet bowl that had no seat and let go with a loud tinkling sound while he watched. There was no toilet paper so I splashed water from the sink on my vulva and dried myself with a corner of the blanket. He looked bored, probably had seen hundreds of women relieve themselves in much the same way. I picked up the clothes he had brought. They were standard summer jail issue – orange short shorts, a sleeveless white tee shirt, bulky white socks and sneakers. The tee shirt was emblazoned with the words “Manhattan City Jail” in bright orange letters. A bra was provided and a very used threadbare pair of panties. I pulled everything on as quickly as I could.
“We have no time to waste. I’m to present you in court in twenty minutes for your trial.”
He first cuffed my hands behind my back, then led me down the jail cell corridor and into a waiting van that took me to the courthouse. I was soon seated at counsel table with my defense attorney, but still cuffed. I looked around and saw that Mr. Jenkins, my nemesis and former employer, was in attendance, as well as others I had known who had probably come to gloat at my misfortune. The courtroom was only about three quarters full, though the back row, reserved for non-citizens, was entirely full. My attorney told me quite a few non-citizens had been turned away after the back row filled.
“All Rise!” Judge Morelock entered the courtroom and took his seat at the bench and began his usual opening remarks.
"The Third District Court of the State of New York is now in session. We are here today on the matter of an enslavement petition filed by the corporation known as Richmond SlendaBond against an alleged debtor identified in the petition as Stephanie Glenn. Trial having been completed and all parties being present, we will proceed.”
“Miss Glenn, your foolish attempt to flee the jurisdiction of this Court will not go unpunished, regardless of the outcome of this trial. It will be necessary to make a public example of you to discourage other defendants from trying the same tactic. I will more fully address this matter at a later time.“
“For the record, the jurors have not been told of the attempted escape, but only that the case had to be adjourned because of ‘schedule conflicts’. If there are no motions at this time, I will call the jury back in and give them an opportunity to ask any questions they may have, before releasing them back to continue their deliberations.”
The jurors all filed solemnly back into the juror’s box and were seated.
“Have you chosen a foreperson?” the judge asked.
“If it please the Court, my name is Robert Rickson and I have been chosen”, a tall distinguished looking man had risen to address the judge.
“Have any questions for the Court come up in your deliberations so far?”
“Yes, your Honor. We wanted you to go over the instructions again as to how we are to formulate our verdict.”
“Very well”, the judge said, “You are to decide the following questions:
“Your verdict must be unanimous on all five questions or I will send you back for further deliberations until you are unanimous or until I deem there is a hopeless impasse. You may prescribe any disposition of the case, including complete freedom for the debtor, regardless of your findings on the first four questions. You may also make any additional recommendations to this Court concerning sentencing.”
“Thank you, your Honor. That clears up our questions”, the foreman said and took his seat.
“You may return to your deliberations at this time, and Court is now in recess until further notice.” The judge banged his gavel and left the courtroom.
My lawyer and I then retired to the lounge to await developments. A guard accompanied us to keep an eye on me and my handcuffs were not released this time. I wanted a cup of coffee so my lawyer had to make it for me and present it to my lips. I did not have the use of my hands. Time passed slowly, but after about two hours we were summoned back to the courtroom.
At 11:30 am the judge banged the Court back into session.
“This Court is now in session in the matter of Richmond SlendaBond v. Glenn. The jury has sent me a message they wish to report a verdict at this time. Bailiff, show them in please.”
Jurors filed in solemnly as before. I noticed several of them were looking directly at me. My lawyer whispered to me that that was usually a good sign.
“Will the jury foreman stand. Has the jury reached a verdict in this matter?”
“Yes we have, your Honor” Mr. Rickson stated.
“Bailiff, will you collect the verdict form from the foreman at this time.” There was a hush in the courtroom as we all forgot to breathe while this took place, and the judge studied the form for a minute. His expression gave nothing away.
“Mr. Foreman, I will read the questions one by one and ask you to answer as to the jury’s verdict. “ the judge intoned.
“On the first question: Do you find that this defendant owes the creditor at least ten thousand dollars and is unable to pay?”
“We so find, your Honor.”
“On the second question: Do you find that this defendant is in any way at fault for contracting this debt or for her inability to pay it?”
“We find this defendant to be without fault, your Honor.” I breathed a sigh of relief at this, and heard my lawyer do likewise. I also thought I heard some expression of disappointment from the gallery. The judge banged his gavel for order.
“On the third question: Do you find that this defendant has shown a willingness to do everything possible to discharge this debt while retaining her freedom?”
“No we do not, your Honor!” My heart was in my throat at this announcement.
“On the fourth question: Would enslaving this defendant likely result in extreme psychological duress or trauma?”
“Yes, we believe it would, your Honor.”
“On the fifth question: What shall be the disposition? Shall the defendant be freed, indentured for a limited time, or enslaved for life?”
“This defendant shall be indentured to this creditor for a term of ten years, your Honor.”
At this, there were murmurs of glee from some spectators in the gallery. One whistled. Others were openly weeping for me. The judge banged his gavel for order.
“So say you all? If any juror does not support this verdict, let him speak now.” Silence.
“Does the jury have any special recommendations, before I pass sentence?”
“We have two, your Honor. First, we believe that since Miss Glenn is a professional person and is not at fault in this matter, that she should be permitted, while under the complete control of her creditor, to pursue her profession with all earnings from professional or other work to be the property of creditor. Second, we believe that due to Miss Glenn’s delicate nature, there is risk of trauma, and that creditor should be required to provide psychological counseling for her so that she can survive this indenture with her mental health intact.”
“My thanks to the jury”, the judge said. “There is one final duty for the jury, and that is to be present for the reading of the sentence and bear witness to the actual reduction to indentured slavery of the defendant. As jurors you will be asked to sign as witnesses that this has been done in your presence. Prior to sentencing, however, I am required by Public Law 96-012 to order that baseline physical and mental tests be performed upon the defendant for use in monitoring her subsequent well being under the indenture. Accordingly Court will be in recess until 9am tomorrow morning so that this can be accomplished. I will confer with counsel now in my chambers and consider the sentence to be imposed. When we reconvene at 9am we will have sentencing and the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’ that is open to the public and will complete this proceeding.” With that, he banged the gavel and people started to file out of the room.
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My attorney whispered to me that we were wanted in judge’s chambers along with Mr. Steelforth and the StendaBond attorney. So I followed him to chambers, still handcuffed, and the guard followed me. I was conscious of my scanty attire as the building was highly air conditioned and I could feel a cool draft on my bare legs and arms. As we entered chambers I noticed that Mr. Steelforth hung back for a while to make a phone call. He rejoined us just as the judge came in. I quickly dropped to my knees before the judge’s desk at a signal from my attorney. I was no longer a free person and no longer entitled to be treated as such.
“The reason I wanted to see you all in my chambers is to discuss this surprise recommendation of the jury that Miss Glenn be allowed to practice her profession while under indenture. This is rather unusual since it is normally thought that the characteristic unquestioning obedience required of a person under indenture is not compatible with the kind of discretion normally needed by a professional person to carry out professional responsibilities.”
“Your Honor, we object to this …” the SlendaBond attorney started to say, but got cut off by Mr. Steelforth.
“I have just spoken with our client, your Honor, and he is quite amenable to working out something consistent with the jury’s recommendation. He is prepared to allow Miss Glenn to work in her field as an accountant, to exercise professional discretion and work under minimal supervision in her professional work, while yet being under slave discipline and the need for instant and unquestioning obedience in her, er …other duties!”
“You mean her sexual duties, counselor?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your Honor. I did not want to state it so baldly, but yes.”
I sat and listened to all this from my lowly position on the floor. All these men were discussing me as though I were not even in the room.
“You have been quite an advocate for allowing slaves to continue their professional careers, have you not Bill?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your Honor, I gave a talk on that very idea just last Saturday at the symposium.”
“I heard something about that. I take it defense counsel has no objection to this rather unusual arrangement?”
“No, indeed, your Honor. It sounds as though she will have a much less degrading experience during the ten years of her indenture if this can be worked out!”
“And the counseling?”
“My client is willing to provide for that also”, Mr. Steelforth agreed.
“Then we are all in agreement”, the judge summarized. Meeting adjourned.”
For lunch my guard handcuffed me in front, so that I could have limited use of my hands for eating and drinking. In the restaurant I was shivering with cold in my jail short shorts and sleeveless tee shirt so I asked the waitress if she could provide me a tablecloth to drape over my legs. She obliged.
“Can’t we appeal?” I said in a pleading tone to my attorney.
“Stephanie, I need to explain something to you. Appellate courts only will hear arguments alleging that the trial judge made an error in applying the law. They will not second guess juries on questions of fact. In your case the judge has done everything by the book, so I don’t see any error of law.”
“But couldn’t we at least try? What could it hurt to try?” I wailed.
“It could hurt a great deal Stephanie. Appellate courts don’t like their time wasted with frivolous arguments. On cases like yours, if they felt we had no real argument of law, they would very likely increase your sentence, perhaps by as much as two or three years.”
“Then is there no hope at all?” I said in a very subdued voice, tears running down my face.
“Trust that I will be following your case as further developments unfold, and if I see facts developing that would warrant it, I can call for an evidentiary hearing on those facts.”
My attorney went on to explain to me that this “professional slavery” as he called it, might well be saving me from spending the next ten years as a public prostitute. He quickly added that there might still be sexual services demanded of me by the owner of my indenture, in addition to professional services. But these services would likely be only for the entertainment of my owner and perhaps a few of his friends, rather than the general public. I would not be turning tricks for money.
After lunch my attorney and the guard escorted me to Examination Services on the sixth floor of the courthouse. There I received a standard medical examination and was interviewed by a psychologist and took a standard IQ test and a standard test of general knowledge. Then it was back to the jail for the night.
Promptly at 9 am the next morning the judge banged the Court back into session. My guard brought me to court in the same jail shorts and tee shirt I had worn the day before and had again cuffed my hands behind me. The bailiffs had allowed even more spectators in so that it was standing room only. Word about the “Ceremony of Indenture” had evidently gotten around, and many had come to witness my humiliation. The jurors had all filed back into the jury box.
“This Court is now again in session in the matter of Richmond Slendabond v. Glenn. The jury having rendered its verdict, we are here now for sentencing and for the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’.”
"IT IS THE ORDER OF THIS COURT THAT THE ALTERNATIVE PETITION BY THE PLAINTIFF, RICHMOND SLENDABOND, TO INDENTURE THE DEFENDANT, STEPHANIE GLENN, BE AND HEREBY IS GRANTED FOR A TERM OF TEN YEARS, AND THAT OWNERSHIP OF HER INDENTURE AND PHYSICAL CUSTODY OF HER PERSON BE CONVEYED BY THIS COURT TO SAID PLAINTIFF, ALONG WITH A DOCUMENT OF TITLE TO ANY AND ALL PERSONAL PROPERTY OR REAL ESTATE THAT SHE MAY POSSESS, AT THE CONCLUSION OF THIS PROCEEDING."
“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT PLAINTIFF SHALL ALLOW THE INDENTUREE OPPORTUNITY TO PRACTICE HER PROFESSION UNDER HIS GENERAL SUPERVISION AND CONTROL, IN ADDITION TO ANY NON PROFESSIONAL
DUTIES HE MAY PRESCRIBE, AND SHALL ALSO PROVIDE FOR HER MEDICAL DENTAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL CARE DURING THE TERM OF HER INDENTURE.”
“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT THIS ENSLAVEMENT SHALL BE NON-PUNITIVE IN CHARACTER PURSUANT TO PUBLIC LAW 96-012, AND THAT PLAINTIFF, OR SUBSEQUENT PARTY HOLDING INDENTURE SHALL MAINTAIN RECORDS SUBJECT TO AUDIT BY ANY CERTIFIED SLAVE ADVOCACY ORGANIZATION.”
"At this point there is a ceremony”, the judge continued, prescribed by law for judicial indentures which requires that certain things be done in open court and that it is the final duty of the jury to witness that these things have been done and to affix their signatures as witnesses to the ceremony’”.
“The law also prescribes, that a person about to lose his or her freedom to indenture for a term of years, shall present himself or herself humbly to the jury. It is a sign of servility that the one about to be indentured must show to the Court, to his or her jurors and to his or her betters in the courtroom.”
I was then made to face my jurors, kneel to them and thank them for indenturing me! While in this position a machine was wheeled up behind me. I stole a quick glance and saw what appeared to be a giant hypodermic needle and means for strapping a person’s head into a harness. The judge sharply ordered me to only look forward toward the jury and to make eye contact with jurors. I felt hands strapping my neck to the machine and clamping my head in place so that I could not move. Then a bailiff was swabbing my neck with some cool liquid that smelled like alcohol. I felt a sharp sting in my neck, searing heat and a loud report like a gunshot echoing in the courtroom. The room swirled around me for a moment as some of the jurors looked on sympathetically and many in the gallery smirked. I felt a bandage being applied to the back of my neck.
I knew that my neck had been penetrated by something! Then my head cleared in time to hear the judge saying something to the jurors to the effect that "if she ever tries to run now we will have no difficulty tracking her!" I later learned that they had injected a bio-implant in my head that would transmit a unique serial number to satellites for the term of my indenture that would make me always identifiable and locatable by police agencies all over the world! This bio-implant would also monitor my vital functions and radio transmit that information as well, and was capable of receiving a coded transmission initiated by my owner that would do various things to my body!
If the judge had meant to break my spirit right here in front of jurors and spectators he had done so. Every shred of dignity had been taken from me in this proceeding! Soon all my bonds were released and I was spun around to face my jury in a standing position that they might enjoy the sight of me broken, my body wracked with sobs, and tears streaming down my face! I could not face the jury. I just could not! I hung my head and closed my eyes! One of the bailiffs dried my tears. Then the judge ordered me to stand erect, hold my head high, open my eyes and make eye contact with each and every juror! When I was slow to comply I felt a paddle slam into my buttocks! I straightened up and opened my eyes. I did not want to be hit again! I saw smirks in the eyes of some spectators who, I suspected had much enjoyed my humiliation a moment before and further enjoyed seeing me slammed upright just now!
"Young lady,” the judge intoned, “this is as good a time as any for you to begin learning that instant obedience is required of you in your new life as an indentured slave."
There were titters of amusement everywhere and I saw more smirks and knowing smiles! God! Did no one care about my dignity as a human being who had just been stripped of her freedom? Even my own lawyer seemed amused.
“THE FINAL PART OF MY ORDER TODAY CONCERNS THE MATTER OF YOUR WILFUL ATTEMPT TO FLEE THE JURISDICTION OF THIS COURT. IT IS THE LAW THAT ALL SUCH ATTEMPTS MUST BE PUBLICLY PUNISHED TO SET AN EXAMPLE TO OTHERS WHO MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO FLEE. THE COURT ORDERS THAT YOU BE TAKEN TO THE NEAREST PUBLIC SLAVE AUCTION PLATFORM AND WHILE AT THAT PLACE HAVE YOUR SLAVE NUMBER BURNED INTO YOUR NAKED BUTTOCKS. THIS IS NOT ONLY TO PUNISH YOU FOR FLEEING, BUT ALSO TO IMPRESS UPON YOUR MIND THAT YOU ARE NO LONGER A FREE PERSON, BUT THAT YOU ARE, FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS UNDER THE ABSOLUTE CONTROL OF ANOTHER.”
The judge ordered me to thank the jury again for indenturing me. This time I was to prostrate myself on the ground before the jury, holding my forehead in contact with the floor until given permission to rise. While I remained in this position he had the bailiff pass the witness form to the jurors for their signatures, certifying that they had personally witnessed my fall from freedom.
“At this time I thank the members of the jury for their service. The jury is discharged. Go home!”
The jurors filed out one by one, casting glances at the former free girl who now lay enslaved, and prostrate on the floor.
“Court is now adjourned."
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The judge had not said I could rise from the floor. But Mr. Steelforth came to get me and bade me rise. He put a steel collar around my neck and attached a leash.
“You belong to us now, Miss Glenn! Regrettably you have a date with the branding iron now that must be gotten out of the way before we can begin introducing you to your new life.”
He led me, still handcuffed and in my jail shorts, out to the public corridor and down the elevator to the courthouse garage, where a van was waiting to take me to my rendezvous on the public slave platform. I soon found myself on that same sawdust covered stage in front of a crowd where my lawyer had taken me before trial to show me what slavery meant.
Mr. Steelforth presented me to the master of ceremonies along with a copy of the judge’s order for my branding. While the M.C. read the order I looked out upon the crowd. To my horror there was my nemesis again, Mr. Jenkins, and several of the same coworkers from that company who had watched my trial. Here they were to gloat again. The Master of Ceremonies then announced to the crowd that there was to be a bit of extra entertainment that afternoon. I saw and heard smirks and guffaws from the mostly male crowd. Then the M.C. noted that the order called for me to be branded naked abd signaled to a guard to strip me.
“Guard, since she is handcuffed already, you will need to assist her in meeting this requirement.”
The guard stooped down in front of me as I remained seated and removed my shoes and socks. Then he made me stand, removed my jewelry and used a pair of scissors to cut off first my tee shirt and bra, then my jail short shorts and panties. There was laughter, some jeering and more guffaws and wolf whistles from the crowd. I was glad that I at least could keep my legs together. I knew they could see very little of my vulva with all that pubic hair down there and thighs close together.
The guard bent me over a bench atop the stage, with my buttocks toward the crowd, my back horizontal at approximately eye level for the crowd, and my feet well apart. I was secured in this obscene posture by various devices. Looking over my shoulder I could make out the faces of the first couple of rows of spectators. Several of the men were smirking at my predicament. I was quite certain those in the first two or three rows could see not only my bare ass but also my labia, clitoral hood and pubic hair between my legs. It seemed particularly degrading to be forced to put on such a display while restrained in such a demeaning posture. A fat woman in this posture would show little or none of her sexual anatomy because her fat thighs and fat ass cheeks would mercifully conceal those parts. But I, with my so slender thighs and so compact ass ovals, knew that I would be showing everything!
I could sense every one’s eyes focused on my crotch! I started to cry! Tears streamed down my face at the irretrievable loss of my modesty. They had all SEEN my most intimate and sexual parts displayed for their amusement. They could all choose to keep that vision among their best memories for life and experience the pleasure (at my expense) forever. I could not take any of that vision of me back from them.
Just before I felt the searing pain they told me that it would be my slave number that would be burned into my flesh marking me as what I now was. I began to cry uncontrollably as soon as i knew what they were about to do to me. It was so degrading and so final and so humiliating that these things were done to me in the presence of my enemies. An instant later humiliation was the least of my problems. I thought pain was a stubbed toe. This pain was so intense and I screamed so loud I felt sure that I had shattered some of the beer glasses in the crowd. Then I was sobbing uncontrollably not just tears but my whole body wracked with convulsions.
Mr. Steelforth then stepped up to collect me, re-attached his leash and placed a cape around my shoulders as he led me away to my new life.
Chapter 10. The Cylinder Room
Stephanie proved remarkably easy to control. I felt no need to have guards come along when I took her for her branding and later when I took her to the slave training facility. Partly this was because she was handcuffed, but probably the most important reason was because her defense attorney had given her the standard briefing about how the ‘bio-implant’ in her neck made successful escape impossible, made non compliance pointless and also provided her masters, including myself, with the ability to render her instantly unconscious should she be in any way rebellious. It wasn’t lost on her that I had, on my left wrist, a remote control to her implant. She was a proud young woman and obviously had come to the conclusion that reluctant obedience was much preferable to being rendered unconscious.
In one sense the first step in conditioning Stephanie to her new life had been the branding of the slave number upon her naked buttocks in front of the crowd. But in another sense it began two days later when a local property auction firm hired by my client picked up Stephanie from the jail where she had been recuperating from her branding. They took her to her own home where their appraisal team proceeded to inventory all her belongings in her presence. I knew this was going to happen but did not hear the details of it until I talked to Stephanie later.
The following day I decided to personally deliver her to the Richmond SlendaBond Slave Training facility. I knew that this was a place where slaves were broken and, as it turned out I learned very much about how this would be done to Stephanie. My new partner, Virginia Johnson, came along for this visit. We made the long trip with Stephanie beside me on the front passenger seat and Virginia in the rear. My partner knew why I would find this seating arrangement agreeable and gave me a conspiratorial wink. The truth was I felt like taking certain liberties with Stephanie during the ride. Her hands were cuffed behind her and the only clothing she wore was the short cape I had given her at the courthouse. When she was standing it came down only to mid thigh. When I helped her into the passenger seat the hem of the cape rode up even higher. and I made sure the hemline rode up almost to her crotch when I placed her in the seat. She could not, of course, adjust the hemline for greater modesty as her hands were cuffed behind her.
Her tanned legs fascinated me. I longed to caress her left thigh and enjoy the feel of those long sleek muscles. I longed to raise the hem of the skirt up to her waist that I might enjoy the sight of her curly red pubic hair and her womanhood. My conscience stopped me from doing either of those things. I believed the girl had been through quite enough stress already. Also I believed these actions could be better tolerated by her once she was broken to her slavery.
When we first got into the car she kept glancing nervously at the control device that I wore on my left wrist, which controlled her bio-implant. I think she feared that at any moment I was going to use it to render her unconscious or to manipulate her body in some other way.
About an hour into the trip she had relaxed considerably. Probably she decided I would not use the controller to harm her. I noticed her quietly sobbing.
“Is there something distressing you Stephanie, apart from our destination today?” I asked.
“Yes sir, Mr. Steele. Yesterday some men picked me up at the jail and took me to my own home to appraise my belongings for possible auction.”
“I imagine they were there to appraise your furniture.” I said.
“Well they did that all right. But they also went through my diary and all my personal papers, photographs, videos, scrapbooks, correspondence and all the little things that tell the story of a person’s life. I felt like they just wanted to invade my privacy and cause me embarrassment. They kept speculating aloud to their fellow workers how much the diary might bring at auction, how much the correspondence, etc.”
She began crying again and I noted that she was red faced with embarrassment even recalling this incident. I also saw the tension in the muscles of her neck, shoulders and back.
“Stephanie, your furniture and your car will be auctioned. But I may be able to help you with the personal items. I can’t promise anything yet, but I will try to get possession of those items from the auctioneers and store them for you so that you may get them back after you have served your ten year indenture.”
“Thank you sir!” After that she drifted off to sleep.
After about two hours we were well into a rural area and saw the long stone walls of a country estate. We drove up to the gatehouse where a guard checked our slaver credentials before waving us through into the enclosed grounds. As we drove up the long driveway to the main building we saw numerous scantily clad young people engaged in all sorts of grounds maintenance tasks. It was surprising to see such a display of bare arms, bare midriffs and bare legs on this crisp fall day. I supposed that if these tanned and fit employees all kept working at a brisk pace they would not get chilled. I saw the telling non-citizen identification bracelets on the wrists of these workers. Purely out of idle curiosity, I pointed my cell phone at one pretty young female worker who was trimming the bushes and downloaded her ID information so that I might retrieve her personal history files later.
We drove the car around to the rear and pulled into the loading dock. We noticed 3 mini-vans parked nearby. These bore the name of a widely respected non-profit slave advocacy organization. I led Stephanie on her leash from the car to the rear entrance of the building. Once inside we stepped up to a long counter and were soon acknowledged by a rather pretty female security officer. Her badge and a stun gun at her belt proclaimed her no nonsense attitude. She stepped briskly up to the counter.
“Name!”, she said.
“Bill Steelforth and my partner Virginia Johnson” I replied.
“Name of the slave please!”
“Stephanie Glenn” I responded, beginning to feel a bit cowed by this officious young woman.
“We were expecting you a half an hour ago Mr. Steelforth!“ We waited while the young security officer typed our names into a computer terminal.
“We have her file here. It seems her enslavement order from the court is already on file. I will just need you to sign our standard transfer form,” she said while shoving a long form with lots of legalese at me.
I quickly glanced it over and signed where she indicated. After completing the check in and obtaining a receipt for Stephanie, my partner and I proceeded to the central elevator bank. Soon we found ourselves on the fourth floor where we walked down a richly carpeted and softly lit corridor hung with expensive looking paintings. We had an appointment with the owner of this international firm, Morgan Richmond. We did not have long to wait before his secretary announced us to him through the intercom.
“Bill Steelforth and a Ms. Virginia Johnson to see you Mr. Richmond.” Soon we were being escorted into his inner sanctum.
“What brings the two of you to our neck of the woods, Bill?” the old man asked, genially.
“Virginia and I have long been curious as to how you so effectively break new recruits to a life of slavery and obedience” I replied. “For my own part, I am particularly interested in how you will do it in the case of Miss Glenn. She has got under my skin and I would really enjoy seeing what will happen to her!”
“Not so fast. First I must object to your terminology. We don’t ‘break’ slaves here, Bill. To break someone implies damage that cannot be undone. Everything we do here is designed to enhance our client’s experience of absolute control of the slave, yet everything we do must be completely reversible in nature. When a slave’s term of indenture is completed or when the court orders a slave freed, we have to be able to restore that slave to the point that he or she can return to the life they had before enslavement. The freed slave must be able to function independently just as before, and have all intellectual and physical abilities intact.”
“Secondly we don’t just grind out one uniform product here. We fine tune our methods to produce the particular type of slave our clients most wish to have under their control.”
“Fascinating!” I said. “Will I be able to see these methods used on Stephanie?”
“We may be able to show you the first stage today, Bill” Morgan replied. But to see the later stages of her subjugation you will need to visit us again in about 30 days.”
“Why don’t I have our Training Director, Charlie Witherspoon, join us?”
I could hardly believe my ears. Could it be? Could this be the same Charles Witherspoon I had shared a drink with in a brothel in my youth? The one who told me so excitedly about how he had raped an old high school classmate who had maliciously ruined his social life? I saw the old man push an intercom button on his desk.
“Margaret, would you see if Charlie is available and send him in to join us?”
In a few minutes, when Charlie walked in, I stood and high fived him just like we had done at that brothel so many years before.
“I gather you two know each other!” Morgan said. Charlie quickly filled the old man in on the circumstances of our meeting at the brothel so many years earlier. He seemed delighted to hear about our risqué experience of two decades earlier. Even Virginia was amused.
“As we were driving up to the main building”, Morgan, “Virginia and I saw a lot of young people with non-citizen wrist bands toiling away on the grounds. I was curious about that.”
“Non citizens are much cheaper than slaves, Bill. They will work for low wages and we are not required by any law to provide them with health or retirement benefits, as we would be if they were slaves. Most of them we hire by the day only, and these hires require no periodic examinations or record keeping or auditing by any outside organization.”
“In the main hallway of the building, Morgan, we passed a classroom full of slaves taking some sort of written test. What is that all about?”
“We are required, under the “Kinder and Gentler Slavery” law, to administer tests once/month to all our slaves. These test the slaves mental and emotional state as well as include physical and medical exams where we inspect for and document any bruises, cuts or injuries as well as any evidence of malnutrition. Any decline in a slave’s weight or mental, emotional or physical condition must be documented in our files.”
“What is the point of all that?” I asked.
“As you know Bill, a slave has no standing to complain to any court or administrative body concerning his or her treatment while a slave. But any certified slave advocacy organization can come in at any time and conduct an audit of these records that we are required to maintain. There is an audit team in the building right now.”
“Yes, we were wondering about that”, Virginia interjected. “We saw their vans out by the loading dock.”
“They have to be cross-licensed by the State of New York and by the Federal Government of Capitallia. Besides auditing records,” Morgan continued, “they can also demand to do their own unannounced examination of any random sample of our slaves. If they find we have abused a slave they can petition the court for us to forfeit possession of that slave. We have always had good reports, but some of our competitors have gotten heavily penalized for not adhering to the standards of humane slave care specified in the statutes.”
“I am reassured to hear of all this, gentlemen!” Virginia nodded her head in agreement.
“But that is the whole point”, Charlie replied. “We want the public to be reassured so that there will be ever greater popular support for maintaining and even extending the slave system.”
“These two have been expressing interest in our training methods, Charlie. Perhaps, if you are free just now, you could take them on a tour.”
“I have an hour or so. Have they both signed the confidentiality agreement?”
“I was just getting to that.” Morgan said. “I am sure you realize that much of what we do to the slaves in this facility is proprietary in nature. We are not required to document or disclose our training methods under any law. I must, therefore, insist that you both sign our standard “Confidentiality Agreement” before we can take you on a tour or discuss our methods with you.” Morgan was handing us both clipboards with an agreement and a pen.
“Of course, Morgan. No problem.” I quickly put my signature where Morgan had indicated and handed it back to him, as did my partner.
“You might say our basic mission at Richmond SlendaBond”, Morgan continued, “is to take human beings who are already enslaved in a purely legal sense and turn them into human beings that are enslaved in every sense. That is what we mean when we speak of ‘slave transformation’. This is what will happen to your Stephanie. When they come to us, fresh from a court judgment, they are usually angry, resentful, sullen, or outright rebellious. They would sooner say ‘Fuck You! ‘ than they would obey an order we give them. To be enslaved in the fullest sense means losing the ability or the will to resist servitude, losing the ability to say no to anyone in authority.”
“The reason our clients want to control human beings this completely could be a sexual one, or it could have to do with the need to protect business trade secrets or the need to protect a large investment in the training of specialized workers.”
“Since many of them come to us under five, ten or twenty year indentures we have to be careful that what we do to them can be undone when it is time to return them to their lives as free men and women. We are not permitted to injure their bodies or to inflict physical pain and we have to make sure that what we do to their minds is reversible. Finally we must have the ability, before we can set them free, to erase from their minds specific knowledge of certain things they may have known or experienced during their slavery.”
“Can you tell us what kind of things would you erase from their minds?” Virginia asked.
“Certainly”, Morgan continued. “Knowledge of business trade secrets or proprietary knowledge of industrial processes.”
“Are there other things you would erase from their minds before setting them free?” I asked.
“Things like the identity of particular people they were forced to serve sexually or the nature of the sexual services they were forced to provide to those people. We couldn’t very well have a slave freed, at the end of an indenture, going out and writing a book and naming names! If we are to have a robust market for slaves we must protect the privacy of those who use the slaves at all costs!”
“I see what you mean Morgan” I responded. “Earlier you had mentioned that you don’t just ‘grind out one type of product’ as you put it. Could you expand on that?”
“We turn out a variety of slave types here”, Bill, “to meet the desires of our clients. One thing all our products have in common is that they all obey instantly and without question all orders they are given. But the nature of that obedience can vary considerably”
“How so?” Virginia asked.
“Since I knew you were coming, I arranged to have some of our products on display for your perusal. Why don’t we all adjourn to the sales room now? I think a little demonstration would be worth 1000 words.”
Virginia and I followed Morgan and Charlie down the hall to a sales exhibition room. It was a beautiful room with a high ceiling, rich carpeting and dramatic use of lighting and burgundy velour draperies. What immediately drew my eye was a row of short pedestals on each of which stood a scantily clad slave. There was one male slave wearing only a pair of short shorts, and four female slaves each wearing a brief sleeveless midriff baring top and a pair of short shorts. Each slave was brilliantly lit by multiple spotlights somewhere up in the ceiling. All were slender and physically fit, and all appeared to be in their early to mid twenties. None was restrained in any way, but each stood on his or her pedestal apparently awaiting our pleasure. I could see that my partner, Virginia, was letting her gaze rest first on the male’s biceps and impressive chest, then lower to the bulge in his shorts. My eyes lingered on the flat tummies and long slender legs of the females.
“Why don’t we begin with a round of introductions” Morgan said, turning to the slaves. “I want each of you to introduce yourself to our guests, tell us how you came to be enslaved, and how you feel about your slavery today.”
”My name is Henry,” said the first one, “and I was enslaved in a criminal proceeding as punishment for having embezzled money from my employer. Mr. Richmond’s company bought me at a public auction. I do not much enjoy being a slave but I have been ordered by a court to pay my debt to society. I have ten years to serve.”
“My name is Laura,” the second slave stated, “and I was enslaved for debt by this fucking company after they bought up all my other debts. I don’t think slavery should be legal and I certainly don’t think I should be here. I will never get used to it. I fight the slavery every chance I get, but something always makes me do whatever they command me to do.”
“My name is Susan,” the third stated, “and I played a high stakes game of chance. I gambled my freedom against the possibility of a big cash prize. I lost. I don’t like being a slave but I guess it is best I cooperate. It will go easier for me that way.”
“My name is Mary,” the fourth said, “and I too was enslaved for debt. Slavery has been very good for me because it has taught me my place in the world and a proper respect for people who are my ‘betters’. I have learned that it is a sin to be ‘uppity’ and that I am most comfortable when other people are exercising their rightful authority over me.”
“My name is Cocoa,” the last one, a beautiful black girl, said, “and I’m here because I just think slavery is so cool. NOT! I dreamed of a life like this since I was a little girl. NOT!”
“Well, Bill and Virginia, you have met a diverse group of our products in training– our criminal slave, our rebellious slave, our cooperative slave, our submissive slave, and our saucy slave! Despite their various attitudes the one thing they all have in common is that they all do obey. Under the ‘Kinder and Gentler Slavery Law’ we may not resort to physical punishment or the threat of physical punishment to keep them under control. But there is nothing in the law that says we can’t coerce them. Slavery without coercion would be a contradiction in terms. Let me give you a little demonstration of how we do control them.”
“Susan, Mary, Cocoa- Display Now!” Morgan spoke, addressing the three slaves on one end of the row of pedestals.
We were then treated to three female slaves pushing their shorts and panties down to their knees, and standing in place, with their legs well separated, awaiting further orders. I could not help but admire their fine young bodies and erect postures. We were impressed too by their attitudes. Smiling faces and no sign of anger or resentment at what they were being made to do.
With them all on pedestals, our eyes were at crotch level. Virginia was impressed by their instant obedience of course, but, not being a lesbian, showed little interest in their bodies. I, on the other hand, walked up and down the line, studying the buttocks and genitals of each of these three beauties. I was astonished to note that all they all had rings surgically installed in their private parts to which a leash might be attached. One had a labia ring and the other two had rings piercing their clitoral cowls.
“In our culture”, Morgan continued, “free women who are also citizens do not expose their genitals in mixed company for any reason and certainly not on command. These three had been free citizens until quite recently. So it was a true test of their obedience that they exposed themselves completely and without hesitation when commanded to do so. In slave societies of the past this sort of obedience was generally obtained by whippings or other physical punishments, the threat of such punishments, or by withholding necessary things like food or water. We are not allowed to do any of those things to our slaves, yet we get the obedience we want from them.”
“Is it because you win them over with kindness?” I asked, half seriously.
“Hardly. The women we get are almost always experiencing slavery for the first time. They are angry and resentful toward us for the role we played in reducing them to bondage. The last thing they want to do is cooperate with us voluntarily.”
“Then how?” Virginia asked.
Morgan motioned for us all to follow him into a private office at one end of the sales exhibition area where we could talk without being overheard by the slaves.
“We use means of coercion that are not against the law,” Morgan continued, “means that do not involve the application of physical pain or physical injury. It comes down to mind control whether it is done through the bio-implants they all have, through drugs or through hypnosis.”
“Do the women know that they are being coerced and how they are being coerced?” I asked.
“Yes and no. In the case of Susan and Cocoa the answer is yes. They are very conscious of the coercion and how it works, though it works in different ways for each of them.”
“Mary’s case is quite different. When she came to us she was defiant. She felt she had been unjustly imbonded. We subjected her to not only the usual mind control techniques, but also to an extra layer of brainwashing designed to produce the personality you now see. She now feels herself inferior to us and finds it perfectly natural that we, or others who may be placed over her, should be able to order her to push her shorts down!”
Morgan led us back out to the display area and we all gathered in front of Laura.
“If you think I am going to display my privates to all you perverts, you are very much mistaken!” an angry Laura said. I could see the hostility in her eyes and the cords standing out on the sides of her neck.”
“Laura- Display Now!” Morgan spoke while continuing eye contact with Laura. We watched with great interest as Laura pushed her shorts and panties down to her knees, exposing her lovely vulva and pubic hair. We all saw that she, like the other women, had a ring surgically installed through her clitoris. Her whole body was tense. She seemed aware of what she had just done, yet unable to stop herself from doing it. It was as though she had lost volitional control of her own body. I noted the tensing of the muscles in her buttocks and in her shoulders as she did this, apparently angry at having had her volitional control taken away and at having been made to expose her self.
“Laura is showing us right now”, Morgan continued, “verbal rebellion but behavioral obedience. We could also suppress the verbal rebellion in her but some clients like that. Other clients might prefer to see a girl expressing her rebellion only in her body language – in the tensing of her muscles and her facial expressions, while presenting herself as both verbally and behaviorally compliant. We try to please all types of customers.”
I saw Morgan whisper to Virginia and hand her a 3 x 5 card with some instructions to read. Virginia stepped up close to Henry, her eyes only about a foot from his shorts.
“I don’t show my package to no woman!” Henry said defiantly. I could see his calves and biceps flex as though he might be preparing for a fight.
“Henry- Display Now!” Virginia spoke while making intense eye contact with Henry. I saw him proceed to push his shorts and briefs down to his knees, exposing his magnificent endowments to Virginia at close range. His whole body was tense. Like Laura he seemed aware of what he had just done, yet had been unable to stop himself from doing it. Virginia was fascinated. Even from a distance I could not help but be impressed, as his flaccid penis was long and thick and not circumcised, his hairy scrotum hung low and contained two very large balls. Henry was aware of his nakedness and where we were all looking, and showed some signs of embarrassment, but mostly he looked angry.
“Chill, Henry!” Virginia shouted at him, still reading from her cue card. We saw him visibly relax all his muscles and stand naturally.
“Vanilla ladder!” Virginia called out, locking eyes with Henry. We saw a subtle shift in his stance and facial expression, and his eyes took on a somewhat glazed appearance.
“Henry- Erect Now!” Virginia ordered while continuing eye contact. Clearly she was reading this command from the card as she would never have had the audacity to say this on her own. Virginia showed signs of amazement as Henry’s penis began to grow and stiffen before our eyes until it was hard as a rock, while his scrotum tightened pulling those huge balls closer to his groin.
“Henry- Stand Down!” Virginia ordered. That huge penis deflated as quickly as it had grown and the scrotum loosened dropping the balls back into their original position. Henry looked disappointed.
Now Morgan handed me a card with some commands on it and indicated I should address myself to Laura.
“Green Moon!” I said, reading from the card, and making eye contact with Laura. I saw a subtle change in her posture and facial expression, and her eyes took on that glazed appearance we had seen a few moments before with Henry.
“Laura- Arousal Now!” I commanded while reading from the card and making eye contact with her. We watched with interest as Laura’s labia began to engorge and her little clitoris began to extend from its protective hood. Again I noted the tensing of the muscles in her neck and shoulders and was surprised when she said “You have no right to do this to my body, Mr. Steelforth!” I just smiled at her as did Morgan.
“Laura- Juice Now!” I commanded while continuing to make eye contact with Laura. I was fascinated to see sticky sexual lubricant fluid seeping out of her vulva and running down her thighs. The odor of her sexual fluids was very much in the air. I inhaled deeply since Laura was an attractive girl and I was much enjoying the smell of her private parts. By this time Laura looked absolutely mortified at the way her body was betraying her, even as she stared daggers at me.
“Eyes bright!” Morgan said while addressing both Henry and Laura. Suddenly I saw their posture and facial expressions return to normal and the glassy eyes disappear. Both of them looked acutely embarrassed at what they had been made to do.
“With these two slaves,” Morgan continued, addressing Virginia and myself, “you first saw that there was instant obedience to the ‘Display Now!’ command, even though there were both verbal and postural cues that their attitudes were rebellious. Some of our clients enjoy overcoming rebelliousness in a slave like Laura or Henry, and we give them the tools to do that. In fact Laura and Henry were both forced to expose themselves for us by what we call ‘post-hypnotic suggestions’. This does not require that they be under hypnosis at the time, but certain cue phrases have been planted in their brains that they are helpless to resist. The phrase ‘Display Now’ would be an example of such a cue phrase.”
“With these two slaves you have also seen what we call ‘direct hypnotic trance control’ which acts directly on both the slave’s conscious and unconscious mind. It enables us to command his or her body in ways he or she could not consciously command on his own. This higher level of control is required if we are to force a slave to have a sexual response as we did with these two. This type of control requires no cooperation or consent from the slave. The slave is aware at all times that his or her body seems to have a will of its own.”
“With the other three, you saw that they pushed their shorts down when ordered to do so, and without the need for me to invoke trance control. With them it was not even necessary to use post-hypnotic suggestions. Their obedience is based on something else.”
“What is that, Morgan?”
“I thought you would never ask. In the case of Susan obedience was achieved because she knows that if she did not we would immediately invoke either post-hypnotic suggestions or direct trance control. She obeys ‘voluntarily’ because she knows being put under hypnotic controls would not only deprive her of full control of her own body, but result in her literally being compelled to do that which she had moments earlier refused to do. She would then have full awareness that her body is obeying us against her will and no ability to stop her body from carrying out our commands. Thus she knows that disobedience is absolutely futile! There is a severe loss of dignity in that.”
“In the case of Cocoa, who just arrived today and has not begun her mind control training, obedience was achieved because she fears the possibility that any disobedience might cause us to render her unconscious through her bio-implant. There is a severe loss of dignity in that. The control in her case is essentially fear based.”
“The compliance you have gotten from Stephanie prior to her training is similar to that we are getting from our untrained Cocoa here. After training Stephanie will obey us for the same reason Susan did - because she will have experienced just how our mind control techniques can render her own rebellious tendencies futile and will want to avoid, at all costs, pushing us to invoke that type of control. This is the most flexible form of slave control since it requires no trance and is not limited to specific previously implanted key phrases. Also it is not fear based which is a major goal of this enterprise.”
“Now that you have seen the diversity of our products, it is time for you to take the tour with Charlie and let him show you how we produce slaves with these various tendencies. We have focused on the goals of slave transformation so far. Charlie will show you how it is done.
Virginia and I said goodbye to Morgan and followed Charlie out of the sales room and then down an elevator to a subterranean level of the building. As the elevator made its way downward, Charlie began to explain what I was about to see.
“You should realize Bill and Virginia, it is crucial that we have the ability to impose our mind control techniques on even the most resistant subjects. Many who come through our facility will have heard of hypnosis, are very much afraid it will be used on them, and are determined to resist. But their ability to resist will depend on their remaining oriented to the reality around them. That awareness is what we take from them with the help of sensory deprivation and the bio-implants. Let us go into what we call the ‘cylinder’ room and see some of our subjects undergoing sensory deprivation.”
We emerged on a large open floor with a ceiling that was perhaps 14 foot high. My eyes were immediately drawn to a row of twenty vertical cylinders made of clear glass, each about eight feet tall and three feet in diameter. What was striking about these was that each cylinder contained a naked human being, apparently suspended in some clear liquid medium that came up a foot or so higher than head level. These suspended humans had various wires attached to them and tubes coming out of them. Next to each cylinder there was some sort of control console with all sorts of monitoring instruments. The room had a surreal look because overall lighting was dim with the cylinders, their naked occupants and the control consoles brilliantly lit up by contrast.
We stood next to the first two cylinders that plainly contained young women. Further down the row I could see that some of the cylinders contained young men. In all of these the nude occupants were restrained by handcuffs and ankle shackles. In all of them the occupants were hooked up to breathing tubes and I could observe the level of liquid in the cylinders subtly rising and falling in time with their respirations. Fortunately these breathing tubes hid little of their faces from view. Their eyelids were taped shut. My impression was that the two women nearest us were asleep and perhaps enjoying a pleasant dream judging by their fleeting facial expressions. Each had a urinary catheter emerging from her vulva and leading to a clear external cylinder that appeared to be about half full of urine. Charlie carefully studied my facial expressions for a while to judge my responses to all this, then began to offer me an explanation.
“Virginia, this is the first major stage in each slave’s basic training. What we do here is subject them to sensory deprivation so that we can control what they take in through whatever senses remain to them. Right now they are largely resting and blissfully unaware of their surroundings. We are placing them all into a hypnotic trance by means of subliminal audio superimposed on a music track. This is being fed directly into their brains by means of the bio-implants.”
“Why hypnosis, Charlie?” I queried.
“The thing you need to understand, Bill, is that we condition all our slaves to obey verbal commands. That is so that we can sell them or rent them out to our customers and know that our customer, in turn, will be able to control them. The customer cannot rely on the threat of physical punishment to force obedience, any more than we can here, since physical punishments in the form of whippings, beatings and the like are against our kinder, gentler slavery laws. Some other control mechanism is needed. We have found that post-hypnotic suggestions are the best way to achieve that kind of unthinking obedience from a human being.”
Just then I saw Charlie walk over to the operator at the controls of cylinder number three and whisper something to her. A minute or so later I saw the naked young woman who was inside that cylinder begin to buck and flex and un-flex her body repeatedly within the confines of her cylinder. I walked quickly over to stand next to this cylinder where Charlie also was. Then to my amazement I saw the nude occupant use her hands, which had been cuffed in front, to rub her vulva and diddle her clitoris, even as I saw further evidence of tensing of all the different muscles in her body. She clearly appeared to be in some sort of sexual arousal.
“Charlie, doesn’t she have any inhibitions about masturbating like this with people watching her?” I said.
“That is one of the beauties of this whole setup, Bill. She doesn’t know anyone is watching her. She is in a deep hypnotic trance and we are feeding suggestions to her with our subliminal audio that tell her she is at home in the privacy of her own bed! She has no idea that a couple of men and various control employees are watching her every move.”
“But surely some slaves are going to be very resistant to hypnosis, aren’t they?”
“Ah, resistance! That is where the bio-implants really come in handy. They enable us to detect certain patterns of neural activity that suggest the subject is trying to resist the hypnosis. When we detect such patterns we send signals directly into the subject’s brain that cause feelings of nausea. It is not long before the subjects learn to turn away from any resistant thoughts!”
“Fantastic!” I said.
“But it goes even further. When the bio-implants detect patterns of neural activity suggesting cooperation with the hypnosis, our operators are able to send signals of sexual pleasure directly into the subject’s brain through his or her implant.”
“Our techniques are so powerful now,” Charlie continued “with the help of the bio-implants, that not one slave in the last 500 processed at this facility has been able to resist the hypnotic induction or the successful planting of all needed post-hypnotic code commands.”
I marveled at all this. It was the most exciting breakthrough in slave training I had heard in many years. And it completely eliminated the need for any sort of physical brutality such as whippings, beatings or electro-shock. All the desired control over human behavior could be achieved in ways that met the new kinder, gentler ethic of slave management. As I watched the show in the cylinder was becoming even more frenzied. It wasn’t every day I got to watch a beautiful young woman masturbating for real who was not even conscious that she had an audience! Just then the cute young lady at the controls of her tank spoke up.
“Mr. Witherspoon, the girl is very near climax. Should I stop her?”
“No, Betty. Let her climax. I think it will be a nice treat for our guests to see.”
The young woman was massaging her genitals in a frenzy and tensing every muscle in her arms and legs. Soon all this built to a crescendo, then stopped. I saw the most beautiful relaxed look on the young woman’s face. This was one of the most beautiful sights I had seen in a long while. I felt very privileged to have been witness to this very special intimate moment in a slave’s life. I wanted to know more about this young woman – her name, who she had been before her enslavement, if she had ever been married, and so much more. I turned to Charlie and started to ask, but he anticipated me.
“Bill, most of what you probably want to ask me is on that sign on the other side of her cylinder. Go ahead and read it.”
I walked around to the other side and learned that her name was Jennifer Marston, that she was single and had been a member of the corps de ballet of the National Ballet of Capitallia. She would probably know Vivienne, the dancer I had helped get back into the ballet company as a professional slave. I wondered if this Jennifer might need a similar favor from me.
“You are probably wondering if we plan to let her pursue her ballet career while a slave. Rest assured we do. You don’t need to make this one your special project.”
“I wonder if I could have something as a souvenir – perhaps a photo of her or something?”
“I can do better than that. How would you each like a video disk of that whole masturbation you just saw?”
“That would be fantastic!” I said. Virginia said she would pass on that. Fortunately neither Charlie nor I needed to ask the young dancer if that was all right with her. She had no rights anymore.
I looked further down the row of cylinders and saw that two technicians were bringing in a very sedated and naked Stephanie Glenn. I noted that they were headed for one cylinder that was empty. One of the technicians fitted her with a breathing tube and urinary catheter, while the other technician secured a lifting harness around her shoulders. Her hands were cuffed in front with shiny steel handcuffs. Soon an electric hoist raised her high in the air and over the cylinder and lowered her into the clear liquid.
“We will begin the process of hypnotic induction”, Charlie continued, “with your Stephanie just as we have with the others. Within a few days she will have learned to obey a whole range of post-hypnotic commands. Once we have secured her unconditional obedience to commands, we can concentrate on developing the particular attitudes in her that will be pleasing to whoever is going to have ultimate use and control of her person.”
“Now that must be the whole point of what Morgan was demonstrating to us up in the sales room with the five slaves on the pedestals”, I said.
“That’s right. Some slaveholders want a more or less forced obedience. They want the pleasure of controlling a slave who obeys because she must, not because slavery is natural to her or comfortable for her in any way. She obeys ‘voluntarily’ because she knows that failure to do so or hesitation in obeying commands will result in her being compelled by the post-hypnotic suggestions to the point of losing control of her own body. This will be the case for your Stephanie because she has been requisitioned by a client who wants exactly that kind of compulsory obedience from her.”
“Who is the client?” I asked.
“Sorry Bill, but I cannot reveal that at this time. You will be informed when her training is complete and we have turned her over to the control of that client. I know you are eager to follow Stephanie’s training, but she will be in the sensory deprivation cylinder for about the next three weeks. If you watched that it would be like watching paint dry. What I would suggest is that we call it a wrap for today with an invitation to come back and see how Stephanie has progressed 30 days from now.”
“Sounds good Charlie.” We shook hands and he walked me out to where my car was parked.
Chapter 11. Lost Memories
Almost a month later to the day I returned to the SlendaBond Training Facility. Virginia was not with me on this trip. I visited Morgan Richmond again briefly and again set out with the training director, Charlie, for another tour. I hoped to see many things this time that he had not shown me on my initial visit.
“I am just dying to see how far you good people have gotten bringing Stephanie under control!” I said.
“We have been able to embed many post-hypnotic suggestion words in her subconscious that we can use as a backup if she fails to obey ‘voluntarily’. We also now have the ability to put her into direct trance control whenever we want just by uttering a key phrase – just the way you saw us do it to Laura and Henry on your previous visit. We can then directly control her sexual responses, make her nipples erect, make her labia engorge, make her little clitoris come out from hiding in the clitoral cowl, even make her vagina secrete sexual fluids!”
“That is fantastic!” I said, and high fived him just as we did on my previous visit.
“But I don’t want you to just take my word for it. Let us go pay Stephanie a visit in her pod.”
“Her what?” I said.
“If you will follow me, Bill, I will take you to another level of this building called the “pod floor” where you will see how we continue a slave’s education after she completes basic training in the ‘cylinder room’ that you saw last month.
First we visited the Olympic size swimming pool first. There were many naked slaves of both sexes swimming and diving there. They all looked physically fit. We progressed to the gymnasium where we saw row after row of naked humans of both sexes. Some rows were learning to prance. Each was made to lift his or her knees high on each beat of the music. Other rows were doing sit-ups to strengthen and tone their abdominal muscles. There was one row of women only receiving basic fellatio training. Charlie took me close to these young women. It was obvious that each woman in this group thought fellatio was beneath her dignity. Yet each was performing the act on her respective male trainer.
“Why don’t some of them refuse?” I asked.
“Because of the post-hypnotic controls. Some of them are actually responding to post-hypnotic commands even now. Others fear losing control of their bodies to the hypnotic commands, and so will obey ‘voluntarily’ in order to avoid coming under hypnotic controls. Either way they are being compelled to do an act which most of them find repugnant. It is, in a real sense, their introduction to what it means to be a slave.”
I followed him back to the elevator and up to the third floor. As we stepped out on this floor I saw row after row of beds called “pods” containing naked humans with each covered by a clear plastic dome. Each naked slave was restrained except for one hand and I noted a video camera trained on each one. Each wore an earphone headset. Some, but not all, were wearing a special visor over the eyes. Those in this latter group also were connected to IV lines dripping saline solution and other drugs into their bodies.
“This room looks positively spooky.” I said. “What is the purpose of all these restraints, all these visors, and the clear plastic domes?”
“The clear plastic dome is to keep their space draft free and temperature and humidity controlled. That way we don’t have to give them clothing blankets or sheets for reasons of comfort or health. It also means that we can observe them 24/7 without their having any privacy. We do not allow them to masturbate on this floor. It is all part of their training that they are no longer masters or mistresses of their own bodies. The video cameras are there to detect any attempts at masturbation. Operators monitor these video cameras 24/7 and when any masturbatory act is observed, the operator will immediately reprimand the subject through the earphones. A second offense means they lose their free hand privilege.”
“So basically” I responded, “the subject is reminded that his or her genitals are the master’s property and that to touch them without permission ‘would be like stealing’ from the master.”
“That’s right, Bill. We do not want to keep them sexually frustrated on a long term basis but, at this stage of training, it make a powerful impression on their psyches.”
“I’ll bet it does!” I gleefully replied.
“If the cylinder room you saw last month was about ‘sensory deprivation’,” Charlie continued, “this pod room is about ‘memory deprivation’. It is also about the installation of new ‘memories’ to replace the ones deleted.” The new ‘memories’ are installed by means of virtual reality software through their visors. With the help of certain drugs, they will forget certain memories we want them to forget and they will remember virtual reality experiences we implant as though these things had actually happened to them in real life.”
“Where do you get drugs like that?” I said, amazed.
“In the early twenty first century,” Charlie went on, “there was a drug widely used in hospital operating rooms for light anesthesia. It was a beta-blocker called propranolol. It was discovered that this drug had the ability to block all recall of things that happened while the patient was under the influence of the drug. Later researches showed that this drug could be used to help victims of post-traumatic stress learn to forget their traumatic experience.”
“I don’t quite follow you, Charlie. What does post-traumatic stress have to do with brainwashing slaves?”
“Bear with me. Eventually another drug in the same family was found, patented under the name ‘MemZip24’ which could be used to completely suppress any memory by recreating the memory in conscious awareness while the patient was under the influence of the drug. Finally a sister drug called ‘MemZip27’ was developed which had the interesting property that it could reinforce a memory, or turn a virtual reality experience into one remembered as though from real life.”
“But why would you want to erase parts of a slave’s memory, Charlie?”
“The most important way in which we use these drugs, particularly ‘24’, is at the end of a slave’s indenture, prior to setting him or her free. Here the purpose is to purge the slave’s mind of any knowledge or memories of their service which might compromise a company’s proprietary processes, confidential client lists, or the sexual privacy of any person the slave was made to serve during her time of slavery. We cannot have a newly freed slave going out and writing a book exposing the sexual quirks of some of her past masters or their friends.”
“I guess not!” I said. If they could do that after they are freed it would kind of defeat the whole purpose of the slave system, would it not?”
“Indeed, Bill. If you look down the row of pods you will see that maybe a third of them have the virtual reality visors and the IV line hookups. Most of these, in turn, are slaves who are near completion of their indentures. When they leave our facility as free men and women, they will have no memory at all of what really happened during their term of slavery. Instead they will have some false memories of that time implanted by us through virtual reality with the help of the drug we call ‘27’. The false memories are a kindness since that way they will not have constant anxiety about a ‘black hole’ in their memories. In the false memories they will remember that they were slaves for a number of years, but that they only performed mundane tasks like filing, shelving books, digging ditches or whatever. They will not remember who their masters were or the actual nature of the things they did.”
“Wow! Can I ever see the benefits of that! That gives a whole new freedom to masters and mistresses, knowing that their secrets are forever safe!” I exclaimed. “Do you use ‘memory deprivation’, as you call it, for other purposes as well?”
“Indeed yes. Some want a slave who obeys out of a deeply held feeling and belief that we, and others that we may designate, have a moral right to exercise absolute authority over his or her person. We are, after all, his or her ‘betters’. I want to stress that your Stephanie will not be getting this type of conditioning. In her case the client does not want to take away her belief in her own dignity. Rather he wants her to obey him in all things because she will feel compelled to do so by the post hypnotic suggestions.”
“You may remember Mary from your earlier visit. She would be an example of the type of slave who believes other people are her ‘betters’. She is eager to obey and shows no resistance whatsoever. She was nothing at all like that when she was sent to us under court order. In fact she was one of the most independent minded and defiant slaves we ever received at this facility.”
“How is it possible to change a person’s basic nature so profoundly?” I asked, amazed.
“The very will to resist mind control stems from a belief in the dignity of the person based, to a considerable extent, on Jeffersonian notions that all men are created equal, and that certain rights are ‘inalienable’. Any memory of such a belief is the first memory we have to remove from those of our slaves who are going through what we call ‘inferiority training’. Usually we only do this to the ones who are enslaved for life, though it is possible to do it on a reversible basis to the ones who are serving a five or ten year indenture.”
“Will this be done to Stephanie?”
“No because the client did not want a slave who felt inferior. He wanted Stephanie to be independent minded and defiant about her condition. This dovetails nicely with the fact he is also planning to use her professional abilities.”
“If we are going to produce an ‘inferior’ slave, we first strip away the slave’s initial belief that she is, in some fundamental sense, equal to her captors. She is not equal and must learn that early on. She is inferior to her ‘betters’. She is Inferior morally, philosophically, legally, politically. She must learn that all her satisfactions in life are to come from being pleasing in the sight of her master or mistress and their friends. If these people smile upon her then she is worthy and entitled to self-esteem.”
“If she is commanded to suck a penis or lick a vulva, she does not even ask if she is attracted to the man or woman whose penis or vulva it is. Of course she is attracted to that person and his or her genitals because that person is one of her betters. He or she is entitled to pleasure from her. If she is asked to spread her legs for a man’s pleasure she doesn’t question if this is a man for whom she feels some special attraction. She spreads her legs because it is both her duty and her pleasure to submit to one of her betters in this way.”
“So much for producing future slaves like our ‘Mary’. I think what you really came for today is to see what we have done with your Stephanie. Am I right?”
“Yes! Lead on please!” I replied excitedly.
We walked down to the 37th pod on the left side and I gazed, through the plastic dome, with fascination at the girl I had done so much to enslave. Now my client was clearly well on the way to turning her into a creature that would give great pleasure to the ultimate client. Stephanie Glenn was quite naked, like all the others. I noted with great pleasure that a platinum ring had been surgically installed through her clitoral hood. I studied all the details of her body while she slept.
After a few minutes Charlie decided to wake her. He did this by reaching through an access port on the side of the pod that enabled him to directly touch her body. He gave a little tug on her clitoris ring and she woke up, rubbed her eyes, and saw two men staring at her. It took her a moment but soon she recognized me as well as the training director. Charlie unfastened hidden latches that could only be opened from the outside of the pod, and then swung the hinged dome open. He released her hand that had been restrained, cuffed her two hands together behind her back, and released the foot restraints. He attached a safety leash to Stephanie’s clitoris ring and commanded her to get out of the pod and stand on the floor at attention. I admired the long lines of her slender body and the beautiful muscularity of her legs and buttocks. Charlie handed me the genital leash.
“I am sure you will have no difficulty getting her to follow you anywhere, Bill, since her handcuffs make it impossible for her to grab the leash to relieve the strain. Even though it is a safety leash, I must still ask you to be very careful with her. We don’t want to injure her private parts,” he admonished. He walked away and indicated that we should follow.
I began leading Stephanie along with us, being very careful to keep only a gentle pull on her genitals. We went to a small demonstration room that reminded me of the sales room but on a smaller scale. It was a plushly carpeted room with a pedestal, dark blue velour drapes and special lighting. There was some gymnastic equipment, one wall was mirrored, and the room was soundproofed. He ordered Stephanie to stand on the pedestal with her feet two feet apart, placing her well opened crotch at eye level for both of us. I found this view very pleasing indeed and studied the details of her genitals much as I had many months ago at the creditor’s exam. I longed to touch her vulva and pubic hair. Charlie read my mind. He indicated that I might touch her if I chose, but for some reason I declined. I guess there was a part of me that wanted the girl to like me at least a little.
“How is the no masturbation rule working for you Stephanie?” I asked.
“It leaves me very frustrated Sir! ” she said while glaring at me. Her words were deferential but her body language spoke of rebellion just below the surface.
“This slave would like to ask if she might masturbate now?” she had turned to address Charlie.
“I will take it under consideration as a possible reward for you if you first show us you are a good slave girl.”
He ordered her to get down on the floor and give us 20 sit-ups. I marveled at her physical condition and how taught the muscles of her abdomen were. He then ordered her to give us 10 chin-ups and I was blown away by her upper body definition and strength. After that she assumed the standing ‘display position’, waiting for further orders.
“It is worth making a point here, Bill. You see how strong she is. Many of our slaves are this strong by the time we turn them over to our clients. Many of our clients are sedentary people who, although they may workout, are not strong enough to physically master the slaves they receive from us. So it is so very important that we develop foolproof means for the client to be able to control the slave through essentially mind control methods.”
At this point he placed the flat of his hand gently on her lower abdomen just an inch or so above her pubic hair.
“Stephanie,” Charlie stated, “I can feel that your bladder is full. Go get the jar from the cabinet and void for us now.” She did so.
Through all these commands we could see her body was tense, the muscles in her neck were tense. Clearly she did not like being a slave, but she obeyed because she knew the alternative to ‘voluntary’ obedience was to be placed under hypnotic controls and no longer being in control of her own body.
“You did well, slave.” Charlie said. “You have my permission to masturbate now.”
He produced a dildo vibrator from a closet and handed it to her. We were delighted to see her put on quite a display for us. Evidently her slave training had managed to get rid of most of her inhibitions about doing this in front of others. Either that or she was just so desperate for relief that nothing else mattered. We saw her play with her clitoris, and then it came out from under its hood as her labia became engorged and her nipples hardened. We saw and experienced the odor of her sexual fluids running down her inner thigh. While all this was happening she was bucking and flexing her leg muscles and the expression on her face told us she was far removed in her mind from this room and our presence. She inserted the vibrator in her vagina and began to piston it in and out. We saw more flexing of the leg muscles. Soon she reached a shattering climax and her body became limp.
At Charlie’s direction I led Stephanie back to her pod by her genital leash and Charlie locked her back in with one arm left free and closed and locked the clear plastic dome over her nakedness.
“I don’t know about you Bill, but I am starting to feel horny with the show we just watched. How about you and I pick out two slave girls from the gym to give us a quick blow job before we go to lunch?”
“Sounds good to me Charlie!” I had a very satisfying release into some pretty girl’s mouth that I would probably never see again. Charlie did the same. Then he took us to the sumptuous executive dining room on the fourth floor where we started with a fine bottle of Merlot followed by tender porterhouse steaks, and a delicious salad.
Over lunch Charlie explained one other aspect of the program. Because Stephanie was going to be a “professional slave” there was another final step to her training. Up until now most training for her had focused on developing her instant and unquestioning obedience to orders. For her to act as a professional in her field, which was accounting, she needed to be able to be assertive in giving input to her superiors when they would want her input. This would typically be when discussion turned to subjects where her professional knowledge or abilities could make a contribution to her superiors. In such situations abject servility would not be appropriate. But before asserting herself professionally, she would have to always remember to say “Permission to speak freely, Sir!” like any well-trained soldier, and wait for an affirmative response.
Charlie stated that his firm used role-playing groups to teach slaves appropriate slave behavior in professional situations. Slaves needed to learn when to be assertive, how to be assertive, and when to slip back into slave like behavior, at the slightest word or gesture from a superior.
As we lingered over our crème brulee deserts and coffee, I expressed my appreciation to Charlie for the splendid tour he had given me. He in turn advised me that Stephanie would very soon be turned over to the control of their client.
Chapter 12. Enslaved Professionals
One day, at the “facility”, my trainer said the words I had been waiting to hear. These were words I feared, but also words that meant the end of the endless repetition of exercises designed to prepare me for my future.
“Stephanie, your new life is about to begin.”
I remembered clearly that I had once been proud, that I had once possessed freedom and dignity. I had been able to choose what college to attend, what profession to prepare for, what employment offer to accept, what men I would date, with whom I would have sex. All these things were a distant memory now. Since the jury verdict at my trial I had been stripped of all that even as I was stripped of my clothing. They told me it would “only” be for ten years! Then I would be restored to my freedom. So they said.
I had been trained at the Richmond Slendabond facility to obey orders from anyone placed in a position of authority over me. While I still had a will to disobey any ability to disobey had been systematically trained out of me. Escape was impossible due to some device they had implanted in my neck. I had no standing to appeal to any court concerning my status as a slave. Disobedience was pointless since, if I were slow to obey, they would just take over my body in some mysterious way and cause my body to do what they had commanded independent of my will. If they wanted me to suck a penis I would suck a penis whether I did it of my own volition or my body just did it against my will. It wasn’t for me to know how they did these things to me.
When they spoke of my “new life”, all I knew for sure was that it would somehow involve me working at my profession as an accountant. I could not even imagine what it would be like to apply my professional knowledge and skills under conditions of slavery. Would I be able to speak freely my professional opinion about how best to carry out the tasks assigned to me? Probably not. Could I refuse an assignment if I found it morally repulsive? Almost certainly not. Would I be forced to have sex with my business superiors and their clients? Does the sun rise in the morning?
The day for me to leave the ‘facility’ finally came. I was brought down to the loading dock where I waited, my hands securely cuffed behind my back. They could have controlled me quite easily without the cuffs, so I supposed that was done mostly to impress upon my mind that I was no longer a free girl. They had dressed me in low-rise blue jeans that fitted me like a glove, leaving little of my lower form to the imagination. Much of my midriff was bared by the low cut of these jeans together with an abbreviated and tight fitting t-shirt they put on me. The contours of my firm breasts were visible through this t-shirt as were my nipples. When I used to dress like this in college guys would often tent their slacks.
Shortly two more young people were escorted to the loading dock, similarly cuffed. I soon realized that these two were people I had known during my physical training in the gym. There was Jennifer Maisten, the blonde ballerina from the National Ballet of Capitallia. She was nearly as slender as I and had been similarly dressed in low-rise jeans and midriff baring t-shirt. The jeans revealed her highly muscled legs while the t-shirt revealed how thin and fragile her upper body was. Her breasts and nipples could also be quite clearly seen through the translucent t-shirt. The other one to join us was Harold, the lawyer, clad in tight fitting jeans and a tight t-shirt that showed his biceps, shoulders and bared six-pack abdomen. An impressive bulge could also be seen in his jeans at the juncture of his muscular thighs.
Soon an extended body SUV pulled up and two smartly uniformed female security guards got out and approached us. They wore badges, stun guns in holsters and their uniforms proclaimed them to be working for Richmond SlendaBond. They announced that we would all be going to our new owners. We all nervously eyed the controller devices on the wrists of each of these guards. We knew only to well that either guard could render any of us unconscious at the touch of a button. They opened a back door of the SUV and we were escorted in to a carpeted and upholstered space where there were two long padded benches, one on each sidewall. As each of us took a position on one of the benches a guard shackled our feet and one wrist to convenient eyebolts attached to the wall and floor of the truck, then belted each of us in with seat and shoulder belts.
There were no side windows so we would not be able to see where we were going, though there was a long ceiling window that admitted plenty of light. This space was evidently designed for carrying human cargo and was completely walled off from the cab up front where the guards would ride. I noticed a video camera that would enable the guards to keep an eye on us. We were all dying to ask one of the guards where we were being taken but no one did. We had all been voice trained. One of the female guards announced that we had permission to speak freely during the trip but only to our fellow slaves. The rear doors were closed and locked and the SUV began to move.
The trip took about two hours. I suspected we had been heading toward New York City, and this was confirmed when I heard one of the guards announce our first stop.
“This is your stop, Jennifer. We are at the stage entrance to the Montmarcy Theatre, home of the National Ballet of Capitallia. You will be one of a growing number of professional dancers who will work at your craft while enslaved. Enjoy.”
“This is wrong”, Jennifer muttered under her breath, “they can’t make me dance for them if I am not free!”
Jennifer was unshackled from the bench and escorted out of the SUV where a uniformed male guard from the ballet company came out to meet our guards. I heard some conversation about Jennifer and then the ballet company guard was talking with someone on his cell phone. He then announced that Jennifer was not expected here until evening rehearsal. Our guards indicated that Jennifer would be escorted on to her day job and returned to the theatre in time for the evening activities. So that was how it was going to work, I thought. None of us would have any say about who used us or when or how.
The SUV began moving again and after about 15 minutes we sensed the vehicle going down a ramp into an underground parking garage under some office building. When we came to a stop we were all unloaded. Another SUV had pulled in to the parking spot next to ours. On the side of this one was written “Maxim’s Slaves” and “We Specialize in Full Figured Types”. A man of perhaps 40 years with a rather portly pear shaped physique and a slave collar around his neck was being led out of this vehicle. If he was Maxim’s typical product I thought, rather irreverently, then they might as well rename their business “Porkers-R-Us”. Evidently his future owner would be valuing him more for his mind than for his body. They had given him baggy jeans and a baggy shirt to wear. This was the man we would later know as Edgar, the economist and statistician. After he disembarked there was also a woman getting out of that SUV who could accurately be described as “full figured” but certainly not obese. Our respective guards then herded all of us from both vehicles into an elevator.
When the elevator stopped I was amazed at the sight before us. It was a very large gymnasium that was currently being used as some kind of processing center for physical exams. There were lines of naked people everywhere queuing up to stations where doctors and nurses were examining them. A pair of orderlies in white coats met us. Our SlendaBond guards announced that the clothing we were wearing belonged to SlendaBond and must be returned. Maxim’s guards said the same to the portly man and the full figured woman. We were all instructed to undress. I did not feel comfortable doing this in such a large space where so many people could observe us, but I knew better than to disobey or even to hesitate. In no time we were all naked. Then the orderlies cuffed our hands behind our backs so that we could not even protect our modesty. I thought this gymnasium looked vaguely familiar.
We were guided into the first of several lines. I noticed from their collars that some of the people in the line were slaves like us. There were other naked people in line, however, who did not have slave collars but had, instead, those non-citizen wristbands. When we reached the table a nurse checked our blood pressures, listened to our hearts, drew blood samples, and had us produce a urine specimen. There was no privacy here. We had to produce a specimen in full few of several hundred people. If you couldn’t produce one, they had an electric probe that would make you urinate.
As I was leaving the first table and getting into the second line I looked up. There was a kind of balcony or mezzanine overlooking the gym and there were fully dressed people up there looking down at all of us in our nakedness. Suddenly I knew where I was. I looked more closely at the people up there and I spotted my former co-workers June and Lacy. They were looking directly at me and smirking. They had just seen me forced to urinate into a cup. I had once stood up there on that balcony looking at the naked non-citizens on my first day on a new job. This was the facility of my former employer, Masterson Automotive!
There were several more lines to go through and more indignities. At last Harold, Jennifer and I and the “fat guy”, as I then thought of him, had completed the processing and were waiting in one corner of the gym for further developments. We did not have long to wait. A guard wearing a company uniform came over to us. Steel collars were placed about our necks and locked shut with some sort of special tool. The collars bore the inscription “Property of Masterson Automotive” and each had multiple attachment rings to which a leash might be attached. June and Lacy came down to collect us. I noticed the two of them were really looking over Harold’s naked body, his six-pack abdomen, his most impressive low hanging balls and his thick uncircumcised penis. I had seen Harold naked before at the training facility but he was a novelty to my former coworkers. Our fat fellow traveler stood by self-consciously with his pear shaped obesity, his love handles his rather small penis and a tight scrotum that had not fully descended. I felt sorry for the guy.
Lacy and June attached leashes to each of our collars and took the four of us, still naked, up the elevator to the floor where I had worked when I was still employed by Masterson Automotive. I was most unwilling to step off the elevator but I had no choice. I thought I would die to be seen naked and collared by all my former coworkers and by my former bosses. All four of us would have covered our genitals if we could, but of course we all still had our hands cuffed behind us. I felt a warm flush on my face and breasts and that my nipples were getting stiff. I told myself that it was because I was cold but the truth was I was feeling some degree of sexual arousal being paraded naked before everyone I had known at this company before I was fired.
My two former coworkers escorted us all down a well-remembered long corridor, plushly carpeted and with tasteful artwork, to an office that was all too familiar. There was that same spectacular view of the New York City skyline that I remembered from the day I had first come here for a job interview. There was Jeff Duncan, Human Resources Director, seated behind his elegant desk, speaking for a moment to someone on the phone. We all stood and waited. He acted as though it were the most natural thing in the world that there should be four naked and collared slaves standing in his office and waiting on his pleasure. After what seemed an eternity he finished his call, motioned to Lacy and June that they should disconnect our leashes and leave. He did not invite us to sit and he made no move to unlock our handcuffs. Evidently he wanted to make a point that none of us were free.
“Well, my most exquisite ‘human resources’ have arrived at last!” he said expansively. As a “Human Resources Director” I have long aspired to have the kind of human resources which you four represent!”
“Stephanie, Jennifer and Harold, meet Edgar who comes to us from an academic background in economics. You are probably wondering why you are here and what sort of work we have in mind for you?” he continued. “You all have permission to speak freely.”
“Yes sir, we all did wonder that” Harold replied.
“Well you slaves should all know that Stephanie was with us as a well paid employee up until two years ago. Now she will be here again under rather different terms. It seems she got a bit uppity with Tom Jenkins, one of our department managers. Nearly all our female employees are smart enough to know that if a department manager wants to fondle their legs, they are obliged to submit to this. But not our Stephanie. Oh no! She was too full of herself for that.”
“She even went so far”, Duncan continued, “as to file a sexual harassment claim against Tom. Naturally I filed that in my circular file. We don’t keep our female employees in line by investigating sex harassment cases. The general feeling of management here is that harassing the female employees is a perk that goes with any management job.”
I felt the anger rising in me. My heart started beating faster and the muscles of my arms, shoulders, neck and upper back all began to tense. Duncan seemed to notice this and said something to me that didn’t make any sense – something about “green moon”, then “forget fourteen”. For some strange reason I began to relax after he said that, and a short time later I couldn’t even remember what I had been angry about. But I glanced at Jennifer and the two men and saw they were all still tense. That puzzled me.
“But lets get Tom in on this discussion” Duncan continued. “After all the four of you will be working for him now. And I assure you that, since you are all slaves now, Tom will be able to fondle much more than just legs. He is bi-sexual and may find interest in all parts of all your bodies!”
In my newly relaxed state it did not seem odd that a manager would have such access to my body or the bodies of the others who reported to him.
Duncan made a call. Tom Jenkins soon entered the room and took a seat. He openly stared at my naked body, at my firm breasts, my erect nipples and most particularly at my crotch which, still being handcuffed, I was powerless to cover. I was embarrassed of course, yet it did not seem wrong that the man who would be my superior would take such interest in my body. It was his prerogative after all. Duncan had said so. Yet this man Jenkins seemed vaguely familiar to me. I felt that I had known him in a past life that was now beyond recall.
“We have a project in mind”, Duncan continued, “on which the four of you can collaborate. The New York State legislature has recently passed a new Apprenticeship Law. There was a widespread belief in our society that too much idleness has a corrosive effect on our youth. Teenagers have way too much time on their hands and this often leads to juvenile delinquency and the use of dangerous recreational drugs. It also often leads to young people entering the labor market with poor work habits or no work habits at all.”
I found myself in general agreement with these points. I had long thought much the same myself.
“By contrast” Duncan continued, “in the early history of the United States most teenagers were either doing chores on the family farm, helping their families run small businesses, or were learning a trade after being bound as an apprentice to a master in that trade. It was not uncommon for a young boy to be indentured by his parents to a master printer, bookbinder, candle maker, blacksmith or any of dozens of other trades. The boy would be under contract to the master for a term of years at a very low wage, or perhaps for board and room only. In return the master would teach the boy a trade so that when the apprenticeship was up the boy, now a man, would be qualified as a journeyman in that trade and would have a marketable skill which he could freely offer to any employer. It was a good system. Many a boy got an education his parents could not have afforded to buy for him and learned to earn his livelihood in this way and eventually became a master in his own right.”
Harold, our attorney colleague, raised his hand and was recognized to speak.
“Are you saying that the project we will be working on has something to do with this new law?”
“Yes, Harold” Duncan replied. “You see Masterson Automotive wants to be a pioneer in taking full advantage of the new Apprenticeship Law. The new law allows boys and girls to be apprenticed under indenture from the age of 12 up through the age of 19. Contracts are initially written to go from age 12 to age 16, with an option for the
apprentice, having reached the age of majority, to extend the apprenticeship to age 19 if both parties agree.”
“Would the child be free to quit the apprenticeship at any time?” Harold asked.
“Not at all” Duncan replied. “You see the employer makes quite an investment in providing a child with a useful education and is entitled to something in return. He is entitled to have full control of that child during the agreed contract term, so as to be able to fully exploit the labor of his pupil to his own advantage.”
“So there could be all kinds of abuses, just as there were with the historical system of apprenticeship!” Harold exclaimed.
“Well not quite.” Duncan responded. “Our new law is called “The Kinder and Gentler Apprenticeship Law”. It implicitly recognizes that apprenticeship does create a kind of slavery for the young pupils, and so they need all the same kinds of protections that we afford to adult slaves under the Kinder and Gentler Slavery Law. For example no corporal punishment may be used, the hours of work are limited to 20 hours a week so that the child may attend regular school classes, the best medical and dental care must be provided, good nutrition, opportunity for the child to exercise, and a small trust fund setup that will be under the child’s control when he or she becomes an adult.”
“What about sex?” Jennifer asked. “Are the children ever used sexually by their masters or mistresses during the apprenticeships?”
“The new law absolutely bars any sexual contact between master and apprentice while the apprentice is below the age of consent. In New York the age of consent is 16. So the question of sex would only arise if the apprentice freely agreed to extend the apprenticeship for an additional 2 or 3 years after reaching age 16. Such extension would give the master free reign, sexually speaking.”
“But if a child doesn’t agree to extend his or her apprenticeship after reaching age 16, then would that child would have to enter the labor market at that point?” Jennifer persisted.
“True” Duncan replied, “but a 16 year old boy or girl entering the labor market with at least a basic apprenticeship training accomplished would command a much better wage than if he or she had to enter the labor market at age 12 with no such training.”
“Nevertheless” Jennifer continued, “there would be quite a bit of pressure on the 16 year olds to sign off on the sexual consent business to get the benefit of the extended apprenticeship training!”
“I won’t work on a project where 16 and 17 year old boys and girls can be forced to have sex with their teachers!” Harold declared.
“I feel the same way. I won’t do it either!” Edgar said.
“No fucking way anybody is going to make me do work like that!” Jennifer expostulated.
“Your freedom of speech can be taken away, Jennifer, if you abuse it! Do not forget who and what you now are, Jennifer, Stephanie, Harold and Edgar. As slaves you don’t have any choice about what projects you work on any more than you have a choice of your sexual partners!” Duncan exclaimed as he pounded his fist on the desk.
I could see the muscles in the backs and shoulders of the other three tightening up and their faces turning red with anger. I remained strangely relaxed about the whole thing. But of course Duncan was right. None of us had any choice about anything anymore. We could be commanded to do anything and we must obey!
“Keep in mind”, Duncan continued in a more conciliatory voice, “that in Capitallia there is no system of publicly funded education beyond sixth grade. Even the K-6 program will eventually be eliminated as other ways are found for private financing of education. Children of poor families have, until the recent legislation, often found it necessary to enter menial jobs immediately after completing sixth grade. Now there is a way for such children to continue their educations and prepare for much higher paying occupations – all without being a drain on the taxpayers.”
“When you put it that way it sounds like we will be helping these children” Harold remarked.
It sounded like child prostitution to me, but obviously my opinion would not matter in the least. Duncan would only respond that 16-year-old youths were hardly children anymore and that, in any case, they were not being asked to turn tricks.
“Another point to consider is that all apprenticeships are entered into initially as a contract between a child’s parents or guardian and an individual teacher and practitioner of the skill the parents want that child to learn. Children are never apprenticed to impersonal corporations or passed around from person to person. The individual practitioner may well be working as a highly paid professional employee of a corporation when the apprenticeship begins, but if that individual moves to a different corporation, or goes into private practice, his or her apprentice moves with him. A special, and very personal relationship exists between teacher and student that is often consummated sexually when the student has reached an age of suitable discretion and consents to do so. Not every apprenticeship will work this way, but many do.”
“Where do our respective professional skills fit in to such a project?” Jennifer asked, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Let me address that one, Jeff” Tom Jenkins interjected. “What we need is a study of the legal, psychological, economic and financial cost control implications of filling literally several hundred key skilled positions with apprentice labor. Harold, you will contribute your legal expertise to make sure that the plans we formulate are in full compliance with the new kinder and gentler apprentice laws. Jennifer, you earned a degree in psychology as well as in dance, so your day job will be to help us to work out the psychological ramifications of how we can best assist our professional masters and mistresses to motivate and control their apprentices. Evenings and weekends we will loan you out to your old dance company. Stephanie, you will contribute your cost accounting expertise to help us figure out how much money could be saved by using apprentices. And Edgar, we are going to want you to use your training as an economist to take a look at how such a program will impact the price of labor generally. We will want to be sure that we are not bidding against ourselves for apprentice labor or that we are not excessively depleting the pool of unskilled child labor. We will also want you to look over Stephanie’s shoulders to make sure all the economic assumptions she will be making in her cost accounting are valid. Any comments slaves?”
We all sat in stunned silence. They were actually going to force us to work on a project about which we had serious moral qualms. I was also becoming ever more conscious of my nakedness and wanting some clothing to cover my body. Duncan anticipated me on this.
“I know you four probably would like some clothing” he continued, “but, with a couple of minor exceptions, that is not part of our plan for you. Instead you will spend nearly all your time with us essentially naked. The only exception will be that for you women high heels and certain required jewelry will be worn during all working hours. For you men black bow ties will be attached to your slave collars and you will also wear mid calf leather boots during all working hours. The footwear will both call attention to your nudity and improve the lines of your legs. We feel that your constant nudity, while interacting with colleagues, superiors and visitors who are fully clothed, will go a long way to maintain an awareness in your minds that you are not free and are not equal to the others. We will issue you clothing only when needed for protection from job hazards or from inclement weather. That will be entirely at Tom’s discretion, and any clothing issued to you will be of a type or design he approves and be available to you only as long as actually needed for such protection.”
As I stood there, naked and handcuffed, listening to Duncan I began to feel quite chilly and my muscles began to shiver from head to toe.
“You will live in barracks style accommodations on another floor of this building. You will be under constant surveillance. You will be forced to exercise daily to keep those bodies toned. We will use sexual frustration and sexual pleasure as the primary means to motivate the four of you to do what we want you to do. In general you will be denied sex, even masturbation in order to maintain you always in a state of sexual tension. When we wish to reward you for a job well done we will permit you to masturbate or even arrange for you to have a full sexual experience with a partner of our choosing!”
Again I could see the muscular tensions in the bodies of my three colleagues. Naked people find it very difficult not to show their emotions through their muscular responses! Nakedness denies a person not only physical privacy but psychological privacy as well! I had accepted, since some point earlier in our meeting, the idea that my life, my body and my sexuality were at the disposal of my corporate masters, so again I remained strangely relaxed at this particular time.
“The good news for you slaves” Duncan continued, “is that you will be permitted at least 4 hours of leisure every day and all your medical needs will be covered. Your primary care will be from our own company doctor. Should you ever need the services of specialists or hospitals, a medical insurance program the company maintains for all its slaves will cover these. Coverage is more comprehensive, in fact, than what the company provides for its free employees.
Duncan at last noticed that I was shivering from exposure.
“It is not our intention to make you suffer physically from exposure to cold or drafty air. We have a solution for that. Tom, why don’t you take charge of these four, get them settled in and begin briefing them in more detail on the project?”
Tom Jenkins then led the four of us out of Mr. Duncan’s office and down the hall into the large high ceiling open office area where I had worked here when I was a free employee. Coworkers I had known from then stared at my companions and me. Some smirked. Someone called out to me “How do you like your new life, Steph!” This was all just too humiliating for words.
Then I saw something that had not been in this area before. It was an oval shaped conference room formed entirely of clear glass panels, about 15 feet by 25 feet, elevated on a platform about two feet higher than the surrounding open office area. Inside this glass room was a glass conference table and 8 chairs, and all along the back wall of the oval room was a series of 7 glass cubicles. There were major traffic aisles passing both in front of the oval room and behind the row of glass cubicles. Any of the 40 to 50 employees of the accounting department plus visitors to the department would be passing regularly back and forth along these traffic aisles many times a day.
“Here are your new office accommodations” Jenkins said, clearly sweeping his hand toward the raised platform. We call this the ‘fishbowl’. It is all glass so that many others will have opportunities to view you as you work naked here everyday. It is all temperature and humidity controlled to make nudity practical. The glass enclosures will protect you from drafts and there are adjustable infrared heaters in each cubicle you may adjust to your comfort level. He proceeded to unlock all our handcuffs after extracting a promise that we would not use our hands to cover ourselves.
“Stephanie, you take cubicle number one. Jennifer, you are in number two. Harold, you take number three, and Edgar, number four. Now up you go!”
We each found that we had to climb three steps to get up to our new “offices”. I soon became aware that lighting had been arranged so that I would always be highly visible in my cubicle to all in the room and to any passersby. Also I became aware that the only furniture was a specially designed seat consisting of a backrest and two padded thigh supporters, but no center part to protect my modesty. The first thing my eyes took in was a computer monitor suspended from the ceiling, so oriented so that when I sat facing this monitor I would be facing one of the major traffic aisles. Also suspended, next to the monitor, was an “air mouse”. Underneath the monitor were two stirrups for my feet with leather locking bands. There was also a web cam and headset. No printer, no filing cabinet, and only one small drawer for personal things located near the ceiling so as not to obstruct sight lines. There were three video cameras in the cubicle to monitor me from different directions. The chill I had felt in Duncan’s office soon melted away as I felt warmth from an infrared heater which I could control. Jenkins had disappeared into his office.
Someone from Human Resources came in and fitted us women with our high heels and jewelry, and fitted the men with their leather boots and bow ties.
Suddenly there was a message on my computer screen:
“All of you sit down, place your feet in the stirrups provided, and put on your headsets!”
As soon as I had obeyed this directive I felt the leather locking bands electrically lock my feet into the stirrups. It would now be impossible to get up from this seated position until or unless someone sent a signal to electrically unlock the stirrups. More messages appeared on my screen accompanied by their verbal equivalents in my headset.
“You will notice that your feet are now locked in place”, Jenkins voice continued through our headsets, “and that, for you females, the stirrups also raise your knees to approximately nipple level. Should you have a need to arise from your seated positions to go to the bathroom or for any reason you must seek permission from myself or from one of my two assistants. The stirrups are designed to keep your feet well separated. There are also sensors that will detect any attempt to bring your knees together and deliver a verbal reprimand should you attempt to do so. You may not use your hands to conceal any part of your bodies at any time. This is now a paperless office. Everything you will need to do your jobs should be available to you through your computer terminals.”
“Your bathroom”, he continued, “is the seventh glass cubicle at the end of your row.”
We all groaned inwardly. The company meant us to perform even our toilet activities on display to the world. No doubt there would be video cameras and microphones there too, that no one in the entire building should miss out on the sight and sounds of our humiliation.
“At this time slaves”, he continued, “you will all watch a twenty minute training video on your monitors to acquaint you with the programs and services available through your personal computers.”
After the training video we were ordered to convene in the glass conference room to receive our first briefing on our first assignment. We all used electronic notepads to take notes on the briefing that were saved back to our personal computers. I felt this was all coming on too fast. I was overwhelmed with all that had happened to us this day. Nevertheless I opened the “Notepad” program so that I was ready to take notes.
First Jenkins introduced one of his two assistants, Sally Rogers, who would sit in on the meeting. I noticed that she carried a riding crop attached to her belt. No doubt a symbol of her authority. She sat down next to Edgar, our portly economist.
“Sometimes” Jenkins began, “you slaves may feel the sting of Sally’s riding crop on your bare legs or buttocks when she wishes to quicken you in the performance of some task. This is not intended to physically hurt you but to remind you of your station here and of the need for prompt obedience.”
“Masterson Automotive has long been tempted” Jenkins began, “by the idea that we could use enslaved professionals like yourselves to perform key professional and managerial roles within our firm. The advantages would be lower cost per hour and the fact our investment in training slaves could never be lost due to worker attrition. Slaves would not be able to leave their work with us and go to work for our competitors, taking our trade secrets with them. We have to feed slaves and provide for their medical care, but the costs of housing slaves in barracks style facilities is much less than the costs incurred by free employees for maintaining their own homes, commuting and the like.”
Sally Rogers at this point casually used her riding crop to poke at Edgar’s love handles and to lift his small penis up.
“Does this little thing actually work?” she demanded.
“Yes ma’am, it did the last time I tried it.”
“And how did you ‘try’ it? Did you fuck a woman?”
“No ma’am. I don’t get many opportunities to do that, being as fat as I am and as shy as I am. If you must know I masturbated, ma’am.”
“Perhaps I will require you to demonstrate that later on” she replied.
Edgar’s face was turning red and he looked away to avoid eye contact with Sally or any of the rest of us.
“We are not going to let you use it or play with it for quite some time now” Sally continued. “When you have impressed us with some spectacular results on your project we will then let your “little economist” come out and play. We will then reward you by providing you the use of various female bodies for your pleasure, including, quite possibly, the va-jay-jays of your two female colleagues here in this meeting!” she said, looking meaningfully first at Jennifer and then at me.
I caught a fleeting expression from Jennifer that said ‘when hell freezes over’. My own feelings were somewhat more complex. I felt so sorry for poor Edgar, to see him mocked so. I instinctively liked Edgar as a person, though I was not physically attracted to him and probably would never have given him my phone number if we had met when I was a free woman. Nevertheless I was beginning to feel some solidarity with him in our common predicament and it would give me great pleasure to give him pleasure. If ordered to fuck him I would do it with good grace.
“Your team assignment slaves”, Jenkins continued, “will be to explore a variety of different skilled jobs within our organization and determine the extent to which indentured apprentices would be practical in these jobs. For starters I am going to take you all on a tour of one area of our factory where printed circuit control boards are assembled. Workers in this area must be very detail oriented and possess high finger dexterity. We find that adult female workers and teenage girls generally work out best. There is an extended training process for these jobs and we have often lost our training investment because of fairly high employee turnover. If we could replace “at will” employees with indentured youths we might cut out much of that turnover expense.”
“If you will all follow me we will begin our tour.” So saying he led us to an elevator and took us to one of the manufacturing floors.
When we stepped out on the 4th floor we were told we would be entering a clean room environment and we had to all take showers and step through a large blow dry machine. Jenkins and Ms. Rogers each donned a special clean room suit. The four of us had to leave our footwear outside. Then we all walked out on a very busy assembly area. There was row after row of benches where naked workers were assembling circuit boards. No one seemed uncomfortable, as the room was draft free and temperature and humidity controlled. Also there was an infrared light aimed at each worker to simulate the warmth of sunlight. Each row consisted of twenty teen-age girls and a male or female supervisor. Each supervisor wore a slave collar but the girls, who were between the ages of 12 and 16, were obviously not slaves as each wore the non-citizen wristband. I marveled at how uniformly thin their bodies were and how their nimble fingers seemed so well adapted to the assembly of tiny components onto the boards. I noted the immaturity of their young bodies, breasts that varied from small to none and rather well defined ribcages.
“Why are they all naked?” I asked.
“It is mainly because this is a clean room. All workers have to shower and blow dry just as you did before entering this room. Management felt that not permitting clothing would eliminate the risk of lint and dirt particles contaminating the finished boards. Also it made it simple for the girls to take an exercise break in the swimming pool mid morning and mid afternoon and return to work without the hassle of wet clothing, lockers, etc. Then too it was felt that all this nudity would be aesthetically pleasing when we bring customers and other visitors through. I can assure you these girls are not being subjected to anything of a sexual nature, except possibly for some of the sixteen year olds who consent to sexual service for extra pay. These girls are all free employees with permission from their parents to work a 15-hour week so as to not conflict with their schoolwork.”
Jenkins then approached a thirty-year-old slender woman with a slave collar who was obviously the supervisor of the first 20 girls. He caressed one of her impressive breasts and toyed with the nipple briefly, then engaged her in conversation about how production was going. She dutifully reported how many boards had been turned out in the last 4 hours and how many rejects there had been. He introduced her as Rebecca to the 4 of us and explained to her that we were slaves like herself and would be doing a study and might need to ask her many questions.
“Rebecca, what did you do for a living when you were free?” I asked her.
“I worked as a production line manager for a competitor of Masterson Automotive” she replied. “Then the mortgage company raised the interest rate on my mortgage and I could not meet the new payments. I was enslaved for debt. Masterson bought me and I have been here these last 6 years.”
“What sort of problems have you experienced in your job as a supervisor here?” I asked.
“The limited hours these teenagers can work and the constant turnover. I am constantly training new girls.”
“I am sure Stephanie will be coming back to spend more time with you, Rebecca, after she gets her feet on the ground” Jenkins said. “For now we need to proceed with some of her other orientation.”
Tom Jenkins then led the four of us back to our fishbowl. He indicated that I should accompany him back to his private office, while the others were to get more familiar with their computer terminals. When we entered his office he locked the door and motioned me to lie down on his couch. He proceeded to take all his clothes off and came and lay down on top of me. His intention was becoming all too clear.
“I have been waiting a long time for this!” he said rather excitedly.
I wasn’t sure what the big deal was. If he wanted to use me sexually that was his prerogative. He was, after all, my corporate superior. I felt his hardness against my thigh, then against my vulva. When he had lubricated himself, he then positioned his penis and was soon inside me. Although I felt no particular attraction toward this man, the sensation was pleasant enough as he began pistoning in and out of me. His penis was thick and made my vagina feel very full. I did not want him to stop. Soon I began to meet his thrusts and was lubricating copiously. I felt my clitoris becoming quite engorged and sensitive. The muscles of my pelvis and legs were contracting rhythmically as I began to reach my own climax in time with his approaching climax. Then I felt his seed reach my womb.
At that moment he said something that made no sense to me at the time. He said “Bright Eyes!” Then everything changed in an instant. I suddenly remembered who this man was.
“You bastard! I shouted as every muscle in my body began to tense.
He was the one who had tried to fondle my leg when I was a free employee of this company. He was the one against whom I had filed the sexual harassment claim! It was his viciousness that had cost me my job and led to the poverty that ultimately cost me my freedom. And this bastard had the nerve to penetrate me and come inside me and, in fact, still had his half hard penis inside me. I wanted him out of me, but he would not withdraw. He intended to enjoy the sensations my body could provide to his penis for as long as possible.
“Do you know why you were enslaved, Stephanie?”
“Because of my debts” I said
:”Not just that, girl. Lots of people have over $10,000 in debts and don’t get enslavement petitions filed against them. You did because I wanted you enslaved. After you filed the sexual harassment claim against me I knew I had to have you, had to be inside you. Had to become your absolute master. It was a matter of simple sexual justice. So I went to Greg Masterson and persuaded him to start the ball rolling. You didn’t even owe the minimum $10,000 so I had to call in some favors to phony up some additional debt for you to clear the statutory hurdle. But it all worked out and here you are. My sex slave for the next ten years!”
“Pull out! Get off me!” I wanted to throw him off. I knew that I was in better physical shape than he was and my muscles should have been able to throw him off easily. But somehow my muscles would not do as I bid them. I was helpless physically to resist him.
“Better watch your manners, girl! I can fuck you six ways from Sunday anytime I want. Or I can keep you in a perpetual state of sexual frustration. For now I think I will just stay inside you and enjoy the sensations.” He began to fondle my inner thighs, my labia and my clitoris.
I absolutely did not want to feel any more arousal because of his fondling or his presence inside me. So I began to think about the national debt and accounting problems. It seemed like an hour, but eventually he pulled out. Then he penis whipped my face and dried his penis off in my hair.
“Clean yourself up, girl. Then I will expect to see you back in the fishbowl for another staff meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 13. Backstage at the Ballet
One day I received an engraved invitation at our agency’s office. It indicated that I was invited, as a “World Class Patron” of the National Ballet Company of Capitallia, to a special ballet event for patrons only. It was to be an “Un-Dress Rehearsal” of the company’s upcoming performance of “La Fille Mal Gardee” (The Girl Who Is Not Well Guarded). Well of course I knew what a “dress rehearsal” was but I had never heard of an undress rehearsal, so I read on. It seemed that during this very special rehearsal, open to patrons, that all the dancers would dance naked. This was in part to condition the dancers to performing nude since the company was working on another ballet where they would actually perform naked before the general public. It was also intended as a special treat for patrons to show the company’s appreciation for our financial support.
It was an evening rehearsal. On the day of the event I arrived an hour early, as I wanted to go backstage and meet some of the dancers. At the stage door Zeke, the doorman, recognized me immediately.
“Good evening, Mr. Steelforth!” he exclaimed as he waived me past the stage door checkpoint. “If you came to see the dancers I can tell you most of them are up in the second floor rehearsal room doing their warm-ups.”
As I entered I heard the cacophony of excited voices and other sounds one can always hear backstage at any theater before a performance. I also smelled the familiar aroma of greasepaint from the nearby makeup room where some of the dancers were getting their faces done. I wondered if they would apply some sort of greasepaint to their whole bodies since they would be performing nude. I passed the open rear door to the stage and saw briefly that scenery was being moved into position and a couple of technicians were checking out the focus on lighting instruments. I could see the full depth of the stage from the rear and beyond that into the lighted empty auditorium, as neither the Act Curtain nor the fire curtain was down as yet.
I headed up the stairs to the second floor rehearsal room. Most of the dancers were here as Zeke had said. They were not naked but attired in the leotards and tights they would normally wear for classes and rehearsals. The room was setup like dance studios everywhere – mirrored walls and the inevitable barre running most of the way around the room. The barre resembled a handrail attached to the mirrored walls and was set at a height that dancers could use it as both a hand rest and a leg rest in their warm up exercises. As I moved about the room dancers would greet me warmly.
“Mr. Steelforth” they would say “we are so glad you could make it to this special performance! We appreciate so much your generous support for our company!”
Many of these dancers knew me well from earlier visits I had made to their rehearsals. Those who had not met me personally before had evidently been briefed about my support for the company. They all regarded me as their sugar daddy.
I looked for Vivian Morentzy – the accomplished young lead dancer slave I had rescued from degrading pole dance work in a bar six months earlier. She was nowhere to be seen. Since she would be playing the lead in today’s rehearsal I assumed she had a private dressing room and was preparing there.
I did see one naked dancer at the other end of the room and recognized her right away as Jennifer Maisten, the slave I had seen unconsciously masturbating at the SlendaBond training facility in the cylinder room. I walked right up to her, introduced myself and began fondling her breasts and nipples. Jennifer seemed to regard it as purely routine that I should do this. She was well trained. The Artistic Director of the company had told me that I might do this with any of the enslaved dancers.
I stood and watched Jennifer and the others go through their warm up routines. They were so elegant as they assumed all the classical ballet positions. Although Jennifer was otherwise naked, she did have on her toe shoes and leg warmers and was standing in fourth position ‘en pointe’. As she raised first one leg and then the other to the barre, I could not help myself from caressing her long slender legs and buttocks. I asked her if this was her full time job now. She replied that this was her second job and that her day job was at Masterson Automotive as a psychological consultant.
“Oh, then perhaps you know Stephanie Glenn?” I asked.
“Yes indeed. Steph and I work on the same project team at Masterson and she also works here at the theater evenings. The lighting designer needed an all around assistant and gopher so he arranged with Masterson for her to work here evenings. You can probably find her somewhere backstage now if you wanted to talk to her.”
I decided to check out what was going on down on the stage and perhaps look for Stephanie. I had only a short while before the performance. As I was coming back down the stairs from the second floor rehearsal room I ran into the choreographer of today’s performance. He seemed to know who I was and introduced himself as Leonard Morrison. We shook hands.
“I have been quite curious, Mr. Morrison, about one thing. What is it like to work with enslaved dancers? How is that different than working with your free dancers?”
“There are a number of interesting differences” he replied. “For one thing we can keep an enslaved dancer in a state of sexual tension most of the time. We find this most advantageous when dealing with the female dancers. The sexual tension seems to add an extra dimension to their performances. Then too, we can also use sexual relief as a kind of reward for a job well done. With our male dancers we find it advantageous to almost always give them sexual relief just before a performance.”
“What about corporal punishment?” I asked.
“We can do that too within certain limits prescribed by law. Generally if I am very disappointed in a dancer and feel he or she is not performing up to the level I require I can use the quirt I carry at all times to administer a sharp reprimand to the naked buttocks of an enslaved dancer. Naturally we cannot do this with our free dancers.”
“Another thing would be the freedom I have to position a slave dancer the way I want her to stand. I can put my hands on any part of her body to guide her into the exact position I seek. With the free dancers I have to spend a lot of time talking them into the position I want.”
“Thank you Mr. Morrison. I know you have much on your mind and won’t take up any more of your time.”
As I entered the door to the back of the stage a red light was blinking and a technician shouted a heads up warning. I heard the purr of electric motors and looked above me. I could see that the huge wrap around cyclorama, or ‘cyc’ as it was known, was being gradually lowered from way above stage level down to ground level position. This would form the sky backdrop for most scenes. As soon as it touched the stage floor I made my way around the far end of it toward stage right. From here I could see that the fire curtain was down and could hear a murmur of audience voices on the other side. Evidently they had opened the house while I had been upstairs. It was apparent that a rather elaborate set had also been rolled into position.
Just then I saw a strange sight. All of the hundreds of lighting instruments overhead were being tested in some pattern or sequence. Sharply defined beams of light punched through the darkness to illuminate every point on the stage from every possible overhead position or angle. Even as I watched I could see that many of these instruments were being re-directed or refocused or having their tints changed – all by some form of remote control. I looked around and could not see anyone doing this. Things had certainly changed since I took a technical theater course in college. Back in the day lighting instruments were bulky and hot and adjusting them meant someone having to climb a tall ladder. I asked the technician about this and also where I might find Stephanie Glenn. He said that Frank Matters, the lighting designer was doing all this pre-rehearsal checkout of the lights from his studio office and that Stephanie, his assistant, was with him. He pointed me toward a door in one rear corner of the stage.
I found myself in an office with an elaborate miniature mockup of the real set and hundreds of extremely tiny lighting instruments that seemed to echo all the real lighting instruments out on the stage. There was Frank Matters at his desk at a lighting control console and a very naked Stephanie next to him taking notes. One of his hands was resting affectionately on her naked thigh.
“Ah, Mr. Steelforth!” He spun around in his chair when he heard me enter. Stephanie looked startled and amazed to see me here of all places. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. We have heard so much about your generous contributions that have kept this company afloat. If there is anything we can do to make your visit more pleasurable, just name it!”
“Actually I had been wanting to say hello to Stephanie since I had a little time before curtain and she and I go back a ways, don’t we Miss Glenn?”
“Yes, Mr. Steelforth, we certainly do!” she said. I could see her face starting to flush and noted increased muscular tension in her neck and shoulders.
“I understand you are Frank’s assistant now, Stephanie. How did that come about? I thought accounting was your field?”
“Jennifer Maisten and I work together” Stephanie replied. “We work days over at Masterson Automotive. One night she persuaded me to come watch one of her evening rehearsals and my master agreed. Mr. Matters had been looking for a lighting operator and gopher and decided he would like to have me. So he called Masterson and they agreed to send me over here every evening to assist him in any way that he might desire.”
“So what do you do here exactly?” I asked.
“Stephanie is my lighting operator.” Frank quickly interjected. “She sits at a control console on an elevated open platform just inside the back wall of the auditorium. From there she can see everything.”
“Does she work naked in full view of the audience?”
“No. I decided that might be too distracting. So I usually issue her a cutoff t-shirt and a pair of short shorts when she is working in the auditorium. When she is back here with me I like to keep her naked.”
“Frank, I had a little exposure to lighting when I was in college. Just enough to be dangerous. We learned about lighting for plays. Would you say that lighting for dance is different?”
“Very much so” he replied. “With dance performances we are concerned with what we call ‘plasticity’. That means we must use light to bring out the three dimensional qualities of each dancer’s body, so that the audience can experience each dancer as a kind of living sculpture. Now that we are starting to have naked performances we have even more of a challenge. The patrons now want to see every detail clearly, the line of a leg, the voluptuousness of a bared buttock or breast, the form of muscles, tendons, bone structures. They even want to see clearly the details of each dancer’s genitalia. With the technology we have today we can use computer software to insure that lighting accents move around to follow the dancers, and that the most interesting parts are always accented, no matter what position or pose the dancer strikes.”
“Amazing. I had no idea.” I said.
“There is another thing a lighting designer has to worry about now that we have naked dancers. Theaters tend to be drafty. It is now part of my job to see that infrared lighting on stage warms each dancer to the desired degree, but none of them so much as to cause unnecessary sweating.”
“I certainly am looking forward to this evening’s performance.”
“Stephanie and I have just finished our pre-rehearsal run-through of all the cues.” Matters said. “I have to go upstairs and speak with the choreographer, so you two can have a few minutes privacy if you like.” So saying he was out the door.
“How are you doing, Stephanie?”
“I am finding slavery hard, sir!” I saw a tear start to form in the corner of one of her eyes.
I was sure she had mixed feelings about me. On the one hand I had been instrumental in getting her enslaved. On the other hand I had also been kind to her in taking care that all her personal possessions were kept safely and not auctioned off.
“It was never meant to be a vacation” I replied. “It is society’s way of making sure you pay off your debts and your creditors are justly compensated.”
“But what if a person is unjustly enslaved – for debts they did not even owe?”
“Are you saying that was your situation, Stephanie? Why should I believe you, girl? And why are you making an appeal such as this to the very man who did the most to enslave you?”
“Because you are a fair man. Everyone says so. And you could satisfy yourself as to the facts because you have all my receipts and business records in your possession.”
Stephanie was down on her knees before me now, with a pleading look in her eyes.
“That is true. I do have all those records. But if all the debts mentioned in court were not really yours why didn’t your defense lawyer challenge them?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Steelforth. He is a public defender and maybe he just had too many cases to devote that much time to my case. Besides that he had no way of knowing what I know now – that my old boss, Tom Jenkins, wanted to fuck me so bad that he contrived a case against me, even falsifying documents, until he gained complete control of me!”
“Has he actually fucked you?”
“If you m-must k-know, yes!” Her face was red now.
“Under normal circumstances I would say he had every right to fuck you if you are his slave. But if he set about bringing a false enslavement case against you for the sole purpose of fucking you later, he may have committed a felony!”
“And if it was a felony” Stephanie continued “then surely there must be some way it can be undone! There must be some way I could be set free!”
“You should contact your lawyer to see if that is possible.”
“But as a slave I don’t even have the right to call him or write to him. Will you help me Mr. Steelforth? Will you check my business records that you have in your possession and then talk to my defense attorney, Mr. Green?”
She was still on her knees looking up at me with pleading eyes. I felt something for her but was reluctant to let her see that she had made any progress with me.
“I can’t promise you anything Stephanie. But it is possible I will look into it if I have the time.” I gave her a gentle pat on the head as one might pat a child and bade her rise.
At this point I realized there were but twenty minutes to curtain and I wanted to look in on Vivienne, one of the two principal dancers in this evening’s performance. I said good-bye to a tearful Stephanie and made my way to the dressing room corridor. When I found Vivienne’s dressing room I knocked and was admitted. She was naked but for her pointe shoes and putting on all over body makeup to look her best under stage lights. She greeted me warmly, no doubt because of the role I had played in getting her back with the ballet company after her enslavement.
“Mr. Steelforth, I am so pleased to see you! You saved my career when you interceded for me with my owner! Is there anything, anything at all, that I can do to show my gratitude?”
“Well I know you are very busy now getting ready for the show. I expect that your performance tonight will excite me sexually, so I will ask that you remain in your dressing room after the performance until I come for you. I will want to discharge my excitement in your person!” I said with a wry smile.
“Certainly, Mr. Steelforth. I will wait for you!”
“That is all I wanted to say just now. I know you have much to do and I need to find my seat in the house.” So saying, I bid good-bye and left her.
As I entered the auditorium from the front of house I saw the raised platform Frank had described to me. Stephanie, in the scanty attire Frank permitted her, had taken up her position there behind the lighting control console. She was clearly on view to all audience members as they filed in. This must have been very embarrassing for her the first time they made her work like this but I sensed she had gotten acclimated to it.
I took my seat in the third row center on the main floor. A more distant seat, or even a first row balcony seat would have given me a better view of the big picture and a sense of the depth of the staging. But I liked this close seating location because I liked to study the details of dancer’s bodies at close range. For me this was, in no small part, a sexual thing. Particularly when I knew I could look forward to fucking the principal ballerina after the performance. Vivienne was well trained in the classical dance since she was 8 years old, but reduced to pole dancing after her enslavement. At her request I had interceded with her owner and persuaded him that she should be restored to the art form for which she had so long trained. Vivienne would be playing the lead role of Lise in this production.
As I read the program notes I learned that the title “La Fille Mal Garde” means “the girl who is not well guarded”. ** It is the story of a 16-year-old girl with very protective parents and a male suitor who is very resourceful in overcoming obstacles. The ballet, written originally by Jean Dauberval, dates from the time of the French Revolution, having been first performed in 1789 in Bordeaux. It is considered to be one of the happiest and sunniest of ballets. It is romantic yet realistic, both touching and amusing.
As the house lights dimmed, and the jumble of voices in the auditorium became hushed, I thought of the pleasure I would have penetrating the principal ballerina right after the show. Her exquisite grace and beauty would be all mine to enjoy. My penis began to harden at the thought.
The curtain went up on an elaborate set. It was wonderful to see a whole stage full of naked dancers moving to classical music. For me this wasn’t just about looking at cunts, though there certainly were some magnificent cuntscapes to be enjoyed each time a female dancer would lift one leg high or do a pirouette. I enjoyed this to be sure but there were other delights as well. What I enjoyed fully as much was just the unbroken lines of all these slender bodies, the long elegant legs with definition of bone and muscle not obscured by tights and firm well-muscled buttocks that could be examined with no intervening leotards to dampen one’s pleasure. Then too there were all the lovely breasts on display with, in many cases, erect nipples.
I had wondered before the show started what it would be like for all the naked male dancers. I had visions of each male dancer looking ridiculous with his penis flopping all about every time he moved. Surprisingly this did not happen. I had to infer that something had been done to “stabilize” each penis so that it moved very little. Whatever had been done in no way interfered with the ability of audience members to clearly see what at least some of them would want to see in detail. I would have to ask Vivienne about this after the show.
Ballerinas taping their breasts had long solved the problem of distracting movement, for female dancers. Since that wouldn’t work with nudity, using only dancers with relatively small breasts now solved the problem.
One of the highlights of the production was the Grand pas de deux where Lise dances with her suitor. This production was probably unique in its use of a naked couple to perform this playful and flirtatious dance. The choreographer had gone even further than that by having the male dancer erect through this dance, and the female with her breasts flushed and nipples erect. I had seen other productions of this ballet but Vivienne as Lise exhibited the swift intricate footwork as exquisitely as I have ever seen it – such neat pointes, such beautifully phrased sequences, such light jumps. I thought I had died and gone to heaven to think I would soon be fucking this exquisite creature. Vivienne, after all, was an enslaved dancer, and I had full permission from her owner to enjoy her to the fullest.
At the conclusion there were many curtain calls and shouts of “Bravo” and “Brava!” The audience was on its feet. Eventually the calls were over and the house lights were coming up. I made my way backstage by way of the “green room”. I had to pass security to get backstage but I was well known and there was no problem.
I let myself into Vivienne’s dressing room with the master key I had been provided. She was still quite naked from her performance, still had on her stage makeup and her pointe shoes, and was somewhat breathless from her exertions and the excitement of the curtain calls. Fortunately star dressing rooms each came with a cot. I locked the door and wordlessly pulled her down on that cot, and soon was inside her. She wrapped those long slender legs around mine and bucked with all the energy and grace of a ballerina and seemed to be trying to draw my penis in. Soon I exploded in my delight of what had been my best evening in recent memory.
** Readers not familiar with ballet or this particular ballet may find short video excerpts of this ballet on YouTube.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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Chapter 14. The Naked Accountant
Since my return to Masterson Automotive as a slave, the modesty I had known earlier as a free employee was no longer permitted to me. My boss, Tom Jenkins, made sure of that. After he raped me in his office he ordered me back naked to the fishbowl for another meeting. I wiped his semen off my thighs and my stomach as best I could with the box of tissues he handed me. I was not given time to shower. Then I took my seat at the conference table, with the other enslaved professionals, tears running down my face from the recent violation of my person.
Tom Jenkins and his two assistants also took seats at the conference table.
“I know you all met my assistant Sally Rigers earlier. My other assistant, Dick Murris, has also joined us at this time.
I heard my boss’s voice go on about the Apprenticeship Project my team was to tackle. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying because all I could think about was how much I hated this man who had deliberately stripped me of my freedom, my dignity and even penetrated my unwilling body with his penis.
I became conscious of Harold’s voice as he finished asking a long question.
“ … and so, in furtherance of that objective, our job is to figure out how to replace these circuit board assembly girls, who are free to leave at any time, with boy and girl apprentices who are bound for a term of years?”
Because the conference table was of clear glass I could easily see the lower bodies of my colleagues. Naturally I had been looking at Harold since he had just spoken. His body was easy on my eyes, especially his biceps, his six-pack abdomen, his large low hanging balls and his thick uncircumcised penis. I thought I saw his penis stiffen just slightly as he asked his question of Jenkins. Clearly he had no more dignity at this table than I did, but was doing his best to keep up a brave front under these strange circumstances.
“That is right, Harold”, Jenkins replied. “We need to hold down employee turnover. When we do so we will be able to invest more in the training of the apprentice children than we were able to invest in training these free children who usually don’t last more than a year.”
“You stated earlier”, Harold continued, “that children are always apprenticed to particular masters and not to a corporation. Who will be these masters?”
“They will be independent contractors and we will need to enter into arrangements with perhaps a half dozen of them – so that all the skills we are going to need will be represented.” They will not only train the youth but take all the financial risks of doing so, including providing board and room for the kids and seeing to their recreational and medical needs. Upon completion of the apprenticeship they award a certificate of achievement to each teenager. This will give each youth, now on the verge of adulthood, a marketable skill so that he or she may hire themselves out as journeymen.”
“And my job” Jennifer interjected, “is to motivate parents to entrust their children to our masters, and then to motivate the children to obey and work hard for these masters?”
“Quite right, Jennifer”, Jenkins replied, “and when you report for work tomorrow I will expect to see that pubic hair trimmed back in accordance with company standards.”
“Yes sir.”
Since Jennifer had spoken I glanced in her direction and became very conscious of her dancer’s body, first her upper thin fragile form and then her slender but not so fragile lower body through the glass conference table. Her legs were muscular and slender, her buttocks muscular and her pubic hair curly and dense enough to obscure her slit. Evidently that is where Jenkins had been looking when he had replied to Jennifer.
“I know it has been a long day for all of you and that you are probably getting hungry as well. We have a Residential and Leisure Time Program for all our slaves here at Masterson Automotive. So I have asked Dick to take three of you to the residential quarters on the seventh floor and introduce you to the person who will be in charge of you during your leisure and sleep hours. You, Stephanie, on the other hand, will be escorted to Jeff Duncan’s office. He has asked to see you prior to your going up to residence floor. We will reconvene tomorrow at 9am and I will lay out your work for the day.”
With that we all went our separate ways. Sally was still carrying that whip at her belt. Though it was mostly symbolic it allowed no one to forget her authority. After securely handcuffing my hands behind my back, she very firmly grasped one of my arms and marched me down the artwork-lined corridor to Duncan’s office. He was on the phone so we both stood waiting. Soon he finished his call but still kept us standing.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite human resource! ” he greeted me!
He got up from his desk and walked to where I was standing and casually began fondling my breasts and tweaking my nipples. Then that hand moved up and began to lightly trace the lines of my collarbones. He took no particular notice of the fact there were tears running down my cheeks.
“I have asked to see you, Glenn, because I understand you may have experienced some sexual penetration by your manager today that probably was not consensual.”
“You are damn right it wasn’t consensual. I was raped!” I shouted. I could feel the muscles in my chest and upper back tightening up and the adrenalin surging through me.
“Please, Miss Glenn, we don’t use that word here when it is only a case of a supervisor enjoying his enslaved subordinate. The word ‘rape’ is appropriate only when we are talking about a free woman who has the right to withhold her consent to sex. That is not the case where you are concerned. To put it plainly, you can be fucked at any time by Tim Jenkins or by any other person in whose charge he may temporarily place you, or by top executives of this company.”
I started to scream out my defiance to this announcement when I suddenly felt Sally’s hand clamped over my mouth.
“Glenn, your freedom of speech can be indefinitely suspended at any time we find it convenient to do so. We have only to invoke one of the post-hypnotic commands. Nod your head if you understand this.”
Reluctantly I nodded. Sally then removed her hand from my mouth at a gesture from Duncan.
“The important thing, Glenn” he continued, “is that you not allow any feelings of humiliation and/or anger you may be experiencing toward Jenkins to get in the way of your doing your job for us on this project. Jenkins is still your manager, regardless of any feelings you may have about what happened today. You are officially off duty when you leave my office and will be taken to the residential quarters. There will be a good meal for you there and time to relax and unwind from your day. You may take a shower, watch television or whatever until lights out. Try to get a good night’s rest and be ready to go back to work with Jenkins in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, then you are dismissed Glenn.”
Sally escorted me from Duncan’s office and, as soon as we reached the elevator, she released me from the handcuffs. Soon we stepped out of the elevator onto the 7th floor. I sensed right away that the atmosphere was more relaxed here than on the office floors, the lighting softer, there was soothing background music and the air was considerably cooler. I became conscious once more of my nakedness.
“I will introduce you to Helen Weisman, who is in charge here, and she will help you get settled in. “
She led me down another hall to a door marked “Residential Manager” and knocked. Soon a woman perhaps in her mid fifties opened the door and motioned me in, dismissing Sally. I was starting to shiver now in my nakedness.
“This floor was not designed for nudity, Stephanie. The slaves are allowed, even encouraged to wear clothing of their own choice here. So temperatures are kept lower and there are not body warming infrared lights. I have some clothes here that are just your size that you may wear for right now. Put these on please.”
She handed me a basket containing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, socks, panties, a bra and some casual shoes. As I stepped into the panties and fastened the bra it felt wonderful to be modest again, and as I put on all the other items I began to feel warm and comfortable. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be clothed. And everything fitted me like a glove. Evidently they had these clothes custom made from measurements sent over from Richmond Slendabond.
“I will show you your sleeping quarters”, she said as she led me down another hall until we reached a large open area,
Here there were three long rows of sleeping platforms (or pods) with clear plastic covers and cameras everywhere. I immediately understood. It was exactly like the sleeping room at the slave training facility. Everything was designed to supervise sleeping slaves so that there could be no masturbation during the night. She saw from the expression on my face that I understood.
“Now I will take you to your friends in the lounge and you may relax with them until we call you to dinner.”
We entered a spacious carpeted lounge with comfortable furniture, a large screen TV and various books and magazines. On a side bar was a jug of wine and some glasses. My teammates all were clothed in form revealing but comfortable attire and all were drinking. I poured myself a glass. I still keenly felt the anger and humiliation of the day’s events. Perhaps the wine would help me to unwind. Everyone pretended to be watching a game show on the TV, though I could tell no one really cared about that. Their thoughts were elsewhere. Yet no one wanted to start a real conversation either out of humiliation or out of depression.
After we had been relaxing for a while I was surprised to see Sally come into the lounge. I remember wondering what caused her to return so soon after she had delivered me here.
“Glenn, stand please!” she said. I stood.
“I have come back” Sally continued, “to give you a special instruction from Tom Jenkins. He has asked me to speak to you about your little experience with him today. He has an instruction for you regarding that. It is ‘Forget It Now!’ “
The reason I remember that instruction is because Jennifer was there and told me about the instruction after Sally left. The only problem was that I could not remember at that time what it was that I was supposed to forget. And Jennifer could not help me with that.
Soon we were called to dinner and were served a nourishing but low carb meal of salad, vegetables and fish while listening to relaxing music. No doubt all this was part of the “kinder and gentler slavery” law. We had more relaxation time after dinner. We all watched a TV movie to keep our minds off the enormity of our situation. We were all tired from our long and stressful day, so bedtime couldn’t come soon enough. They divested us of all our clothing, then tucked us all into our comfort controlled observation pods, explaining that the rule against masturbation was to insure that we would all be sexually excitable during the day in case anyone wanted to use us in that way. Sleep came quickly.
In the morning we were all awakened at 6 am and extracted naked from our pods and herded, just as we were, to the elevators. We emerged on the floor where we worked and found there were few workers about as yet. They marched us down a hall into a very large exercise room separated from that same hall by floor to ceiling glass. There we were made to do our morning physical fitness on all the various muscle-training machines. Some of us had to do chin-ups on suspended bars right along the glass wall. Early bird workers were starting to arrive and would gather in the hall outside, as they sipped their morning coffee, to gawk at our bodies as we worked out. Then it was the glass shower stalls, also along the glass wall. Some of the same workers moved down to watch us as we showered. After this all of us female slaves were lined up and made to bend over and touch our toes. After a time we each felt a prick in our buttocks and were later informed that this was our weekly shot to prevent pregnancy.
Finally we were marched back to the elevators and to our residence floor where we were served a high protein but low carb breakfast and coffee. Hairdressing and makeup services were then provided to Jennifer and myself, including pubic haircuts. The two of us, now with elaborately coiffed hair, then donned our high heels and jewelry. Meanwhile Harold and Edgar were shaved and received haircuts, then donned their mid-calf leather boots and bow ties. Except for these few decorative items and footwear, we were all quite naked and ready to go to work.
Sally came down to collect us and brought us to our work floor and to our respective cubicles in the glass fishbowl. It was 9 am and time to start work. We were directed to put our headsets on, slip into the stirrups that electronically locked our ankles and then separated our legs. Our computer screens came alive and displayed directions for our morning work. Quite a few of the free workers and some managers sauntered by the glass wall of the fishbowl sipping their morning coffees. Many of them took delight in gawking at our nakedness and the bodily attributes between our legs that, thanks to the design of our workstations, they could so readily observe. I could see that Jennifer was as unnerved by all this attention as I was, and that it embarrassed our two male coworkers as well.
Just then our computer screens came alive and advised us all that we might, from time to time, feel a tickling sensation in our genitals. This would be caused whenever someone passing by our cubicles decided to push one of the ‘geni-stim’ buttons so conveniently placed for their amusement. When we felt such stimulation we were required to acknowledge it by smiling gratefully at the person who had pushed the button. Failure to smile when so stimulated would be a punishable offence.
A final banner scrolled across our screens advising us that if we were highly compliant to all orders from our superiors, that we might then, after months of such compliance, earn the privilege of keeping our legs closed and the privilege of not having our privates stimulated by any of the passersby.
After that there was the image of Tom Jenkins addressing us.
“Good morning slaves! I trust you all slept well in your pods. Today we are going to learn more about the apprenticeship program, visit an “apprentice support center” (A.S.C.), and meet some of the apprentice masters who will be arranging board and room for their apprentices at the center but will be training them in our facilities. At the center we may actually watch these masters and mistresses select young teens for the program. Right now I want all of you to assemble around the glass conference table for a briefing on what is just ahead for all of you.”
As we took our places around the conference table I had a vague feeling of dislike for my boss, but I could not explain the feeling. I felt that I should dislike him for something he had done but could not remember quite what it was. I knew the company had tampered with my mind and probably did not want me to remember what Jenkins had done to me.
“The New York State legislature became convinced”, Jenkins began, “that too much idleness was having a corrosive effect on teenagers”, Tom continued. “It was thought that teens had way too much time on their hands and that this often led to juvenile delinquency, the use of dangerous recreational drugs and young people entering the labor market with poor work habits or no work habits at all.”
“There was a time”, Tom continued, “when most teenagers in the United States were either doing chores on the family farm, helping their families run small businesses, or were learning a trade after being bound as an apprentice to a master in that trade. It was not uncommon for a young boy to be indentured by his parents to a master printer, bookbinder, candle maker, blacksmith or any of dozens of other trades. The boy would be under contract to the master for a term of years at a very low wage, or perhaps for board and room only. In return the master would teach the boy the trade so that when the apprenticeship was up the boy, now a man, would be qualified as a journeyman in that trade and would have a marketable skill. It was a good system. Many a boy got an education his parents could not have afforded to buy for him and learned to earn his livelihood in this way and eventually became a master in his own right.”
Tom continued with an explanation of how the teen apprentices were motivated to practically worship their Apprentice Masters and Mistresses. Children of citizens typically were destined, by age 13, for a private high school and a school sponsored mentoring program. Most children of non-citizens typically were destined for teen labor camps, but a lucky few of them would be hand picked by apprentice masters for individual mentoring.
Not surprisingly, children of non-citizens looked forward to graduating 8th grade with both eagerness and some trepidation. Would a master or mistress choose them? Or would they be consigned to a labor camp? Since standards for becoming a licensed master were quite high, there were never enough of them for all the kids desiring to apprentice. Being selected offered so many advantages – status, bragging rights, a social life mixing with teens of the opposite sex, recreational opportunities, furthering academic education, and most of all a very special relationship with an adult mentor who would impart both career skills and a sexual education.
All the financial risks of taking on apprentices were born by the master or mistress, who had to pay the board and room for three years, pay for the teen’s schooling, any medical expenses, and pay money into a trust fund that would be available to help the student ultimately setup in a trade on his or her own. There were service businesses called “support centers” that would board a master’s apprentices for a fixed fee per child, including dormitory bunk space, meals and use of the gymnasium and other physical fitness facilities.
Capitallia had chosen to cultivate sexual innocence in its children so that these young teens would reach this age with little or no knowledge of sex or of adult relationships.
One of the consequences of all this was those pre-teens were eager to be indoctrinated into the mysteries and pleasures of adult relationships. Such revelations would come from respected teachers that many of them would develop a crush on during their most impressionable years.
The chosen students knew, of course, that, at first, they would only be learning about sex from their teachers and would not be experiencing actual sex as adults experienced it until they turned 16, and then only if they chose to enter such a relationship with their mentor or apprentice master. We had been told earlier that the law barred any sexual contact between mentors and their apprentices. It turned out that while this was true there were some interesting exceptions.
Apprentice masters and mistresses were, of course, interested in the degree of psychosexual development of the young teens as that represented best evidence as to how desirable they would be as potential partners upon coming of age. The laws of Capitallia and New York State allowed for young teens to be intimately examined if medical professionals who were trained and licensed did this. It did not take long before apprentice masters and mistresses discovered that they could use this law to their advantage. Mentors might choose to be present during these ‘intimate examinations’ and even to take active part in them – so long as a medical professional was present and nominally supervising the proceedings.
As I listened to all this I thought “Sure! What hypocrisy! Like there is going to be any way all of these restraints on teachers can actually be enforced in practice! Give me a break!” But as the presentation went on I learned that all teacher-apprentice interactions and medical exams were videotaped for later review and that there were independent auditing agencies certified by state and local governments that made surprise visits from time to time and reviewed the tapes of these interactions and interviewed the apprentices to see if anything of an unauthorized nature had been taking place with any of the mentors.
The way apprentices were recruited was that every spring the area middle schools would have a series of meetings to educate the eighth grade students about apprenticeship opportunities. Apprentice masters and mistresses were invited to come to these meetings and make presentations and take questions from students. In addition each of the masters maintained a web site where more information about that particular master could be found.
In due course each master and mistress would receive hundreds of applications from these eighth grade youngsters accompanied by photographs and parental permission slips. The applications were often accompanied by well-written letters detailing why that teen wanted to train with that particular master. Sometimes these letters contained graphic sexual fantasies about the future relationship after the teen would come of age. The masters would narrow their choices down to the teens they were most interested in and send out invitations to those teens to report to whatever apprentice support center (A.S.C.) the master had available for this purpose. There the teens would be interviewed individually, observed in physical fitness activities, and medically examined.
In furtherance of our project Tom Jenkins decided that our team of enslaved professionals would visit the “Fastlane Apprentice Support Center” to observe the process whereby apprentices were being recruited. We were to accompany Sally Rigers, who would be chief observer from Masterson Automotive, and observe with her the recruiting processes of a number of mentors. Those masters having contracts to train youngsters at Masterson Automotive would be Beth Norris and George Barkston. Beth specialized in training apprentices for factory assembly jobs while George specialized in training young office workers.
Jenkins concluded his presentation. As it was only 10:30 he indicated we should all return to our cubicles and make productive use of the time before lunch. After lunch we were directed to meet back at the conference room at 2 pm for the bus to the apprentice facility.
I had only been settled at my workstation a short while when I saw a party of what appeared to be V.I.P. guests being escorted through our department by a man I guessed was a high up executive of my company. One of the guests was a rather handsome Japanese businessman who seemed to take an inordinate interest in me. He had stopped in front of my cubicle and was openly ogling my naked body. It wasn’t hard to see where his eyes were focused. Soon the executive leading this group of guests came back to see what he was looking at. Some brief whispered conversation ensued. The next thing was Sally Rigers coming into my cubicle.
“The gentleman who has been staring at you”, Sally stated in a rather matter of fact tone, ”is a very important client of this firm. He has expressed a desire to fuck you. He hasn’t had many Caucasian women, so he finds you rather exotic. We try never to disappoint our best clients!”
“But what about me?” I replied. “Don’t I have anything to say about this?”
“What part of slavery don’t you understand?” she said, looking at me as though I might be some kind of retard.
So Sally escorted the Japanese businessman and myself to a luxurious private V.I.P. suite down the hall and left us with a warning look to me.
He did not need me to undress, as I was already naked. There was no conversation. He whispered some word, vaguely familiar to me, after which I found myself completely docile. He began by fondling me from head to toe. Then he unzipped and whipped out his rather impressive penis and indicated I should drop to my knees in front of him. I wanted very much not to perform this act, but found that somehow my muscles or my will had been tampered with by whatever word he had whispered. My muscles, with a will of their own, caused me to drop to my knees and apply my mouth to his soft penis until it wasn’t soft anymore. He was very clean. I hated what I was being made to do but could not stop myself. Soon I felt the first spurt of his ejaculation on my face but he stopped himself just long enough to flip me on my back and enter between my legs. The muscles of my legs, again with a will of their own, wrapped tightly around his legs and drew him in. The muscles of my vagina likewise tightened to squeeze his member inside me. We humped. Soon he was ejaculating, and then pulling out. He seemed satisfied. He bade me stand and gave me a playful slap of dismissal on my buttocks. I stopped in the lady’s room to wipe his semen off my face.
As I entered the cafeteria a young secretary rushed up to me and informed me that I must report to the office of Paul Gregory, the company psychologist prior to taking my lunch. She evidently knew who I was since we had met the day I first interviewed for a job with this company. Soon I found myself standing in front of Mr. Gregory in his private office and being offered a comfortable seat and a cup of coffee. It seemed incongruous to be in such a setting while naked.
“Please excuse me for delaying your lunch, Miss Glenn, but I felt it was important that I get an idea how you are getting on with our program. Some people adapt to slavery more readily than others”, he continued. “Some find it very stressful. We try to make humane adjustments when we can. How has it been for you so far?”
“Do you mean apart from the rapes?” I said.
“Please, Miss Glenn, do not act the drama queen. As a slave you must expect to have non consensual sex experiences from time to time – particularly with your superiors and with important customers of the firm.” As he said this he was looking rather intently at a spot just above my forehead. He drew out a tissue and moved toward me, wiping away a bit of semen that I had missed and was stuck in my hair. He did this with surprising gentleness.
“But sir, I shouldn’t even BE a slave!” I suddenly cried out and began to sob.
“Please explain, Miss Glenn,” he said in a not unkind voice.
So I told him about how I had unfairly lost my job with the company when I filed a sexual harassment charge against Tom Jenkins, and how I was then blacklisted and unable to get any other job, hence unable to pay my bills. I also told him that some of the debts charged against me had been created out of whole cloth just to get me to the $10,000 debt level where I could be enslaved.
“These are very serious charges you are making, young lady. I am more than willing to investigate your claims. If all you say is true then I will see what I can do to help you out of your predicament. For now let us keep this conversation just between the two of us, OK?”
With that he dismissed me and I went back to the cafeteria to rejoin my teammates and have lunch before the bus would leave.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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Chapter 15. Youth Are Not Pampered
After lunch our team was issued minimal clothing. We were told that it was deemed not appropriate to keep us nude since we would be outside of Masterson facilities and in the presence of young teens not accustomed to seeing naked slaves. However our masters wanted to be sure that these youth understood that some of their visitors were, in fact, slaves. Accordingly we had to wear our slave collars along with tee shirts and women were issued only thong bottoms, men were issued Speedos. The result was that all our buttocks were bared so the kids could see that we were branded. A short bus ride took us to the Fastlane Apprentice Support Center.
As we entered the main assembly area of that facility, the coordinator, Mrs. Withers, was covering the last part of her explanation to the boys and girls of how this day’s recruitment process would work. There were about 200 students who had presented themselves for evaluation as possible apprentices.
“Students, you are all here by invitation from one or more of the masters or mistresses. They will be here today evaluating you to determine which of you will receive final offers. I will introduce them in just a short while. I will remind you all that it is a great privilege to be selected for the program and that not all of you will be so chosen. For those who are not selected today there might be another opportunity to be selected for another program next month. Failing that, those not selected will have to present themselves at a by-the-day hire facility for hiring for unskilled jobs. For those who are selected, you will enjoy a very personal relationship with the man or woman who agrees to be your master or mistress during your time of indentured service and education. There are nine Apprentice Masters and three Apprentice Mistresses among our visitors today. Each will choose, at most, three young apprentices. That means only about one in six of you will receive an offer.”
“I will also draw your attention now to the fact that we have five visitors from Masterson Automotive who will be observing our processes today. Many of you will be trained by your master or mistress in the Masterson factory. These visitors are led by Masterson representative Sally Rigers who has brought four professional slaves with her. You have all studied slavery in your classes, including learning about professionals who are enslaved, and know what that means. You can identify these people by their slave collars, bared limbs, thong or Speedo bottoms, and by the fact that their buttocks are branded. While you will, if selected, be entering a period of indentured service yourselves, you should appreciate that your service will be short term and for educational purposes, leading to a brighter future. Their slavery, on the other hand, is to force them to provide their professional services to the person or firm that owns them for no compensation beyond board and room. Their terms of slavery may be long term, sometimes for life, and is essentially to punish them for crimes or for irresponsibly defrauding others of money.”
“First I know many of you will have heard rumors about what might be termed the ‘sexual aspects of the program’. Please be assured that nothing overtly sexual will take place between any of you and your respective master or mistress during the next three years. Only when you are of age, and then only with your consent, will there be any consummation of the often intense feelings you will develop with your trainer during the program. The program is a residential one and you will be separated from your parents, except for holidays, for the duration of your apprenticeships. During this time you will be under the complete care and guidance of your Apprentice Master or Mistress. It will be up to that person to see to your emotional, physical and sexual health and growth. Accordingly they will want to verify, before offering you a contract, that your growth has not been stunted in any of these areas up to now. And once you start your indentured service as an apprentice, you should not expect to have any secrets of mind or body from those who supervise your continued training and growth.”
With that she went on to introduce the dozen masters and mistresses to the students. The familiar face of Frank Matters, lighting designer from the ballet made me feel more at home with this group.
“These good people have kindly consented to come and interview and examine some of you today for possible contracts. Now how many of you have brought in permission slips from your parents to be interviewed as possible apprentices?” Mrs. Withers continued.
Of the 200 plus children in the room, all but three hands went up. Evidently parents who wanted their kids to have additional education they could not pay for, and that the taxpayers would not provide, were very receptive to this program. By signing their kids up as apprentices the teens would lose their freedom for the apprenticeship years, but in return would be trained in a marketable skill and would also continue their general education.
“At this time the three of you children who do not have parental permission must leave and return to your schools. “
I saw three rather dejected looking 13 year olds pick up their things and make their exit. Evidently these kids wanted to be included, but their parents had either balked or simply neglected to sign the forms.
“Now as I explained last week, the interview process may prove somewhat embarrassing. We will try to offer you as much privacy as possible by using private interview rooms. You will first be called, one at a time, to one of 12 medical examination rooms where you will be examined by a doctor or nurse and questioned about your general maturity and sexual development. Therefore they will require each of you to undress completely in the privacy of that room and be naked during your interview. The doctor or nurse may find it necessary to touch some of you – just as a doctor might during a medical exam. The master or mistress who has invited you here today may also be present and may take part in the questioning. One or more of our 5 observers may also be present.”
“But Mrs. Withers … what about us girls?” a rather long limbed twelve year old gymnast asked. “I mean, couldn’t the physical part be done just in front of a female interviewer?”
“I am afraid not Kathy. This is how our visitors wish to proceed, and your parents were all informed of this before they signed your permission slips. So lets not have any nonsense about it now. The same goes for you boys. You will all undress in front of all our visitors today, including the two ladies. So I don’t want to hear any protests about that either.”
I noticed that Kathy’s face was now turning red, no doubt with embarrassment at what she now knew she would have to undergo in the next few hours.
“Once each of you has completed your initial exam and interview we will proceed to the second round, which will focus on your physical development. This will take place in the facility’s gym where a number of different apparatuses have been setup to test your physical strength and physical skills. These tests will also be administered while you are nude, but we will take all the boys as a group while girls wait in their locker room, and vice versa. You will each demonstrate certain physical skills – such as jumping rope, climbing rope, pushups, chin-ups gymnastic routines and the like. Since gymnastic training has been mandatory in all the area middle schools you should all have some basic competence in these areas.”
“With completion of round two” Mrs. Withers continued, “we will proceed to the intensive individual interviews where the Apprentice Masters will interview each of you individually in the counseling offices. Here you may put your clothes back on and there will be no medical personnel. The masters and mistresses will get to know you more intimately in terms of your hopes, your fears and so forth. You will hold back nothing if you want a shot at the benefits of this program.”
“I think we will go boy girl, boy girl, until the 200 of you have all been evaluated. I need all of you kids to take off your shoes and any jackets or sweaters so you can strip quickly when you are called in for your physicals.” There was a flurry of activity as a roomful of kids complied.
“Now let’s start with you Bobby. Beth Norris has read your application for a factory apprenticeship, checked your references and agreed to consider you today!
I saw a very thin thirteen-year old boy smile excitedly at this news.
“You will go now with Ms. Norris and two other observers to medical exam room one, for your physical.” Mrs. Withers stated, and then directed 11 other students to one of the 11 other medical exam rooms.
Sally indicated to me that she and I were also to go with Beth and the boy while my fellow slaves were to go to the other exam rooms and work with other masters. Now I saw this thin boy looking rather scared at the immediate prospect he faced. I saw him get up with obvious hesitation and slowly walk over to where we were standing. I admit that I was rather excited by what I knew lay ahead.
As we entered exam room one, a rather attractive young blonde nurse greeted us. She closed the exam room door to assure privacy and then told the boy to undress. He did so slowly and she had to tell him to speed it up. He then stood before us in just his briefs.
“Continue!” she said.
In a very hesitating manner the boy inched his briefs down his legs with one hand and stepped out of them, all the while holding his other hand in front of his genitals. We could see that he had good muscular development for a boy his age.
“Now let’s have none of that!” the nurse said quickly. “Hands at your side lad, and stand up straight facing us!”
The boy reluctantly complied. I must admit I was fascinated by what I saw, even though I felt sorry for the kid. I had not had many opportunities in my life to observe naked 13-year-old boys. This one was rather attractive and had washboard abs. His genitals appeared as yet undeveloped, with testes not fully descended.
The nurse asked the boy to flex his biceps while she gripped one of the lad’s arms. She seemed satisfied with the kid’s muscular development. Then she proceeded to ask the boy rather intimate questions.
“Do you masturbate Bobby? Tell the truth, I will know if you are lying.”
“Yes m-maam” the boy said in a dying voice.
“Speak up lad. I can’t hear you!”
“Yes maam, I m-masturbate, maam.”
The boy hung his head and stared at the floor. I was beginning to feel acutely embarrassed that I was being made to witness the boy’s shame.
“How often?” The nurse would not let up.
“Once a day, maam. Sometimes twice a day.”
“My you are a horny little thing aren’t you? Now I will have no hanging of your head. You must keep your head up and maintain eye contact with us. Have you done it yet today?”
“No maam.”
The nurse turned to Beth Norris and asked what would be her pleasure in this matter.
“By all means – I think we all want to know if his stuff works, after all!” Beth responded excitedly.”
The nurse then ordered the boy to masturbate while we observed him. The lad could not bring himself to do this in front of four women.
“It seems the boy is going to need help”, the nurse continued. “Normally I would do this pursuant to my medical license. But I have a problem that the arthritis in my fingers is acting up today. The law allows me to deputize a non-medical person to do this under my general supervision. Do we have a volunteer?” the nurse observed.
For some reason Beth held back from testing her own prospective apprentice and Sally turned to me with a commanding look.
I knew from our earlier discussion and a training session what was expected of me. I knew if I didn’t perform as expected Sally could make me do it anyway by using post-hypnotic commands. Also I found that I had a desire to do what I was about to do, even though I knew it would further humiliate the boy, and the fact I was being compelled to do it served to take away any guilt I might otherwise have felt for my actions.
I reached out and began to finger the boy’s genitals, lifting his penis and then, with my other hand, weighing the boy’s testicles. I could see the boy struggling to suppress his response to this, but the boy began to develop a partial erection. I continue to massage his parts until it became a full erection. I was impressed with the length of the boy’s erect penis on so thin a frame. I thought how pleasant it would be to have it inside me, but I knew that could not be possible under our laws until the boy reached the age of consent, sixteen, and signed on for an extended apprenticeship.
At a nod from Sally I continued the massage until the boy began to jerk his hips and spurt after spurt of his semen was caught in a wad of tissue I held for just that purpose.
“OK lad, you have satisfied me that you are a fully functional male.” Beth Norris acknowledged. “You may clean your penis with the tissue now, and as soon as you can become flaccid again I want you to take a seat so we can begin the interview part of this physical. “
“Couldn’t I put my clothes back on now, Miss Norris?”
“No lad. My experience is that keeping an interview subject fully naked tends to elicit more complete and satisfying responses. There is a feeling of ‘nowhere to hide’ that causes subjects to be more forthcoming. Also your body language will be fully visible to me that way so that I can better detect deception. And if I happen to touch on something that triggers sexual thoughts in you, I will be able to see even the slightest stiffening of your member!”
And so it was. Beth asked a series of questions, some purely routine and some of a more provocative nature. On some of these latter questions we could all see the boy’s penis stiffen slightly and the nurse made note of the question and the boy’s response on her chart. On some questions the boy seemed defensive. We could sense even the slightest degree of defensiveness or evasiveness just by watching the interplay of all the boy’s muscles in response to the questions. Nothing was concealed from us or from the ever-watching video cameras and recorders.
One of the most provocative questions asked of the boy was whether he thought it likely that he would want to extend his apprenticeship after reaching age of consent and enter into a fully sexual relationship with Beth. The boy answered emphatically yes and fully erected again for us as he said this. Beth seemed satisfied that taking this boy on would likely lead to rich compensations for herself in return for her investment of time and money and caring for the lad.
“You have done well on the physical exam, Bobby” Beth concluded. “At this time you may put your briefs back on and don this robe. The nurse will take charge of all your other clothing until the end of your interview day. You should proceed to the gymnasium and take a seat there on the bleachers with the other boys and girls until all of them have had their individual physicals and are ready to be tested for their athletic abilities.”
At this point Sally indicated that Beth would be viewing videotapes of the physicals of several other boys. I was instructed to go to exam room two and join two of my fellow slaves, Harold and Edgar, to witness and perhaps participate in a physical of a girl seeking an office apprenticeship. The apprentice master to whom the girl had applied was George Barkstone. If he agreed to take her on he would teach her the whole range of office skills from greeting visitors to handling phone calls to filing to word processing and data entry. These would be skills that would serve her well with any employer but we were most interested in observing to see if she would work well at Masterson Automotive.
As we entered room two I saw that Harold, the handsome lawyer, and Edgar, the portly economist, were already there, as was the client, Mr. Barkstone, who was considering taking this girl on for office training. A male nurse would nominally supervise the exam, for propriety’s sake, but in accordance with the client’s wishes. I would be the only female present other than the thirteen-year old girl to be examined. Just then Mrs. Withers brought the girl, Sarah, into the room and introduced her to us.
“Sarah, perhaps you recognize Mr. Barkstone from his picture on the website. He is the one to whom you applied for your office apprenticeship. He will be your apprentice master if he decides to accept you. He will want to know as much as possible about you before making his decision. Be sure to follow the instructions of the nurse.”
As soon as Mrs. Withers left and closed the door the nurse advised the girl that she must strip so that Mr. Barkstone could see what he would be getting. The girl showed no hesitation whatever in stripping before four adult males and myself. She was thin like the boy we had just examined and also muscular like him, but unlike him, was very self confident and not at all shy about her body. She impressed me as somewhat of a tomboy and I was not surprised to learn of her participation in gymnastics and some sports usually reserved for boys. Soon she was quite naked and stood at attention, facing us, with hands at her sides. Harold looked mildly interested in what he was seeing while Edgar was tenting his shorts. He discreetly moved his notebook in an attempt to conceal his condition. It occurred to me that perhaps Edgar had never had the opportunity to view a naked thirteen-year old female.
“Are the children always examined by adults of the opposite sex?” I inquired of the nurse.
“That is the case roughly four days out of every five. But one day each week we do gay recruiting – where children known to be gay are matched with masters and mistresses who are also gay.” the nurse replied. “We try to accommodate the gender preference of the child.”
The girl had breasts as well developed as could be expected for one her age. She seemed to be all arms and legs. While I had no lesbian inclinations myself, I could not help but admire the aesthetics of her sleek young body. I could tell that my male comrades found her attractive. Their eyes were on her well-rounded muscular buttocks, her muscular thighs and then on her crotch where she had shaved her vulva but retained a small landing strip just above it. Only her very full outer labia were visible.
“Stand with your legs about three feet apart” the male nurse addressed the girl, “and use your fingers to open yourself so that Mr. Barkstone and I may inspect the details of your anatomy.” The girl complied without hesitation and held the pose for several minutes while she was examined.
“Is she a virgin?” Barkstone wanted to know.
“I believe so, but by all means satisfy yourself on that point” the nurse replied.
Barkstone then cupped her vulva and insinuated his index finger up her vagina until he found what he was searching for. He announced that he was satisfied on this point.
“Would you like for me to masturbate, sir?” Sarah directed her question to Barkstone. “I mean, I know you would want to know that I am not frigid and that everything works down there before entering into a relationship. Am I right sir?”
“Quite right Sarah. It would hardly make sense for me to invest years of my life training a girl who would be incapable of satisfying me even after she came of age and gave her consent. So by all means show me that “everything works down there” as you put it.”
Sarah then began working the fingers of her right hand in earnest on her genitals while caressing her breasts and buttocks with the other hand. Soon we could detect feminine odors, her labia became engorged and her slit began to drip with secretions. I asked if I might be excused but the nurse indicated I was to stay until collected by Sally, my supervisor.
“Congratulations, Sarah. You have passed this part of your qualifications with flying colors!” Barkstone announced magnanimously. “The only other thing I need from you is your best judgment as to whether you will feel ready to extend your apprenticeship when you come of age, and begin a sexual relationship with me at that time?”
“Yes, sir! Absolutely sir!”
“Sarah, you may put your panties back on and don this robe” the nurse advised. “Then go to the gym and wait on the bleachers with your classmates until we can start the next phase of today’s evaluations.”
What followed was a series of 15 or more exams in each of the twelve exam rooms until all 200 students had been processed and sent on to the gymnasium. Sally saw to it that I sat in on as many of these as possible, and that I witnessed questioning by each of the 12 potential masters and mistresses.
Soon we all made our way down the hall to the gymnasium. I think we all sensed these kids were going to blow our socks off with their athleticism.
In the gym we found 100 boys and 100 girls sitting in the bleachers on one side, while on the other side we observers were seated along with the twelve masters and mistresses. The teenagers were a pretty sight as they were all wearing white terrycloth robes that were cut very short and so each of them was making a fine display of his or her legs. Mrs. Withers sent all the girls downstairs to wait their turn in the girl’s locker room, and then proceeded to address the boys.
“At this time we will be requiring all of you boys to demonstrate your physical fitness and skills in various athletic and gymnastic activities. Such demonstrations will be carried out while you are nude so that we can more fully observe the lines of your bodies as you execute each maneuver. I will call you up in groups of 10 at time, and you are required to completely disrobe when called up. Your first challenge will be vaulting horses.”
Names were called, robes removed and stacked on a table, and boys gradually pushed their briefs down, not without some hesitation, and placed these also on the table. Soon we were treated to the sight of ten naked 13-year-old boys all lined up at the start line, each ready to make a fast dash toward his respective vaulting horse. Each would be required to run, place hands down on the horse and vault himself over, somersaulting in mid-air, then landing with precision on both feet and without taking a step forward or back on the landing.
While we were waiting for the starting whistle I had a chance to study the bodies and the differing endowments of the various boys lined up. Some were skinny and long limbed, some were full bodied and had shorter legs, and some were very muscular. Of the last group quite a few had rather shapely buttocks. They varied as much in their genital development as they did in their body types. Some had sparse pubic hair, others dense curly pubic hair and happy trails leading well up their six-pack abs. Some had large balls in low hanging scrotums, others had testicles of more moderate size and some had nuts that were not fully descended. A few had tiny penises while others had tools that I felt sure would fill me.
I found myself experiencing some degree of feminine arousal at so magnificent a sight. I knew that my nipples had hardened and would be visible to the boys through my tee shirt. I was just very glad I had the thong bottom on so the boys wouldn’t see me secreting as well.
At the sound of the starting whistle the boys ran as fast as they could to build their momentum for the vault. I could see that the long-limbed lads had an advantage in running speed and found it easier, therefore, to bound high above the vault and complete their mid-air rotations and stick their landings. Each boy got 2 runs at the vault and was scored on the better of his runs. These boys then returned to the clothing table and collected their underwear and terrycloth robes that they again donned and returned to the bleachers. Another group of ten boys would be called, disrobe and perform the exercise, receive their grades, don robes and return to the bleachers.
Next was the pommel horse exercise, also performed by groups of 10 boys at a time. This was primarily about upper body strength and about coordination. The most muscular lads had the advantage in this one.
The naked lads were also required to do floor tumbling exercises on mats, rings, rope climbing, and running around the gym’s track. I found it rather comic, during the floor exercises, to see all these young penises flopping around as they went through their somersaults, handstands, etc. Finally the tests were complete and fully scored and the boys were sent back to the main assembly area with instructions to claim their street clothes and get fully dressed.
At this time the 100 girls who had been patiently waiting in the girl’s locker room were called up to the gym and put through similar paces. They also were called in groups of ten, completely disrobed and performed a series of exercises. There was as much variation in their body types and genital development as there had been with the boys. Their nude challenges included floor exercises, uneven bars, balance beam, rhythmic gymnastics and running around the track. When their tests were done they were also sent back to the main assembly area to get dressed in their street clothes.
Mrs. Withers announced to all of the students that the one-on-one in depth interviews would take place the next day and sent the entire group of children home. I learned a week later that offers of apprenticeship had been made to 30 of the teenagers and that the children and their parents accepted 28 of these offers. Since Masterson Automotive did not send me back to observe the next day’s interviews, this was the conclusion of my day and of my opportunity to directly observe the apprentice recruitment process.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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Chapter 16. Steelforth Is Challenged
It was a Thursday afternoon when I received a phone call at my agency that was to profoundly change the course of my career as a slaver. It was from a Paul Gregory who identified himself as the company psychologist for Masterson Automotive Group. He said the subject of his call to me was concerning Stephanie Glenn, who of course I well remembered since my own examination of her person and from the time I drove her to the slave training facility. I was, moreover, the person who had done the most to bring about her enslavement. Or so I thought at the time.
“Mr. Steelforth”, the voice said, “I know you are a busy man but I have a concern that a very intelligent and sensitive young woman may have been wrongfully enslaved. I believe your own actions in this matter may have been entirely ethical and well within the law - based on the information that was being fed to you at the time. Nevertheless, the young lady has convinced me that much of that information may have been lies deliberately fabricated in order to wrongfully convict her, and that the fabrication was by a conspiracy of people who stood to profit by her enslavement.”
“That is quite an accusation” I replied. “Do you have evidence to back it up?”
“Unfortunately I do not” he continued, “but she has laid out a plausible case and I was hoping you would be willing to look into the matter to see if any corroborating facts can be found.”
“You are asking me to work to turn up evidence against my own client?” I asked, astonished.
“Maybe not your immediate client, Richmond Slendabond, but against your client’s client.”
“But that would be Masterson Automotive Group - the company you work for!” I blurted out.
“Yes it would, but hopefully not the company as such, but only a small clique within the company” he replied.
“Isn’t it risky for you to be calling for an investigation that could implicate important people in your own firm?”
“Indeed it is. That is why, until we learn just who is involved, this phone call never took place. Is that agreed?”
“I will agree to that and I will look into the matter, but I can’t promise anything yet.”
“Understood. Let us leave it at that for now. Good bye.”
I remembered that night backstage at the ballet where Stephanie had gotten down on her knees and pleaded with me to look into her claim of unjust enslavement. She had pointed out, reasonably enough, that all her business records were now in my custody. I felt moved to investigate her claim, particularly now that there had been some corroboration from a Masterson employee.
That night, upon arriving home I retired to a certain area in the attic of my home where I had stored all of Stephanie’s books, papers, clothing and personal effects. Everything, in fact, that defined who she had been when she was free. Now, of course, she was legally a non-person and could have no right to privacy of any kind. All her most intimate things could have been sold at public auction to the highest bidder. Partly as an act of kindness to the girl, but also because the girl fascinated me, I had called in a favor from Morgan Richmond and arranged to buy all her things for a token sum. I had been intending to spend an evening perusing all these things anyway, if only for my own amusement. After all I did have a fascination with this girl and wished to know all I could learn about her from her personal possessions.
I began by flipping through the pages of her high school yearbook. I saw that she had been captain of the school’s cheerleading squad. These photos showed her to be a perfect physical specimen. She also looked a bit ‘stuck up’ in these pictures. I could well imagine how she might have lorded it over her classmates, snubbing other girls, rudely rejecting the advances of boys she thought were beneath her. Well nobody could be beneath her now, I thought with a wry smile. I had known girls like her in high school and there was a part of me that experienced intense pleasure at the thought of how such a girl could be brought so low. Another part of me knew that if she had been enslaved unjustly, that those of us who cared about the integrity of the system would have to overcome such feelings and see that such an injustice was rectified.
I moved on to a photo scrap album and saw some tantalizing pictures of how she had looked in white tennis shorts at the age of 13. She showed that particular charm of a girl on the verge of young womanhood.
I reached for the box marked ‘clothing’ and proceeded to idly handle all her skirts, blouses, hosiery, bras and panties. There was another box marked ‘unlaundered clothing’ and the scent of her was on these things and I felt myself beginning to get aroused.
I found a little red book called ‘My Diary’ which had a locking mechanism and required a key to open. Fortunately that key had been taken from her when she was arrested and was now conveniently taped to the back of the diary. With a quickening of my pulse I put that key in the diary’s lock and turned. What a world then opened for my enjoyment! There was an entry describing her experiences and emotions the day she first experienced menstruation. There was an entry describing the pleasure she experienced when she first discovered her clitoris. There was quite a long section of many pages describing her infatuation with a high school boy and her feelings when he didn’t invite her to the school’s formal dance. Getting inside a young girl’s head in this way was exhilarating for me. The voyeurism of all this plus the aromas of her clothing caused me to tent my pants.
But then I reminded myself that I had a more pressing purpose.
One of the first things I discovered was that she had kept a ledger where she recorded all of her financial obligations. If she took a loan from anyone or bought anything on credit there was an entry for it in her ledger. How like an accountant to be so methodical. Then I found a file where there were copies of all loan documents and credit card slips that matched up exactly with the ledger entries. Oddly, the grand total of all these obligations did not even reach $4,000, let alone exceed $10,000 as had been alleged in court.
I had brought her court file with me from the office. In it were detailed all the debts which supposedly totaled over $10,000, the statutory minimum for enslaving a person. I began to notice there were quite a few major loans and credit purchases that were not in Stephanie’s ledger. I compared her signature on those items with the signatures for items that Stephanie kept in her file. There appeared to be a difference, even to my untrained eye. If these documents had been forged, who would have done it and how could I prove such a thing?
Finally I finished my explorations into her personal things. It was a warm early evening in the springtime. I was driving home in my chauffer driven limo with the wine bar in the rear seat. I was feeling the beginnings of a stiffening of my penis and a certain tightness in my balls as I thought about the ease with which I had been able to invade Stephanie’s private things and her private thoughts. I needed some relief. So I had my chauffer drive me down one of the streets in lower Manhattan where I knew there would be lots of scantily clad prostitutes working. As my limo turned toward the East River on Fourth Street I saw that there would be abundant young people to choose from and that, in this part of town at least, the working gals and guys were blatantly displaying their bodies and the services that might be had.
Prostitution was entirely legal in Capitallia; in fact the government encouraged it. It was considered good public policy that there should be an abundance of interesting sexual experiences available to match the lusty needs of middle class citizens - both men and women. Turning tricks was one of the most common and lucrative occupations for young men and women who were not citizens. There was no stigma to this work and quite a few of them could save enough money after perhaps ten years to finally make the transition into the citizen class.
Citizens could freely partake of the fleshly delights on offer without having to worry about catching something. This was because the government also considered it good public policy to provide good quality free medical services to all working gals and guys.
Street prostitution was not limited to any particular district of the city but it took different forms in different parts of town. Streetwalkers on Fifth Avenue and Sixth Avenue and much of the Upper East Side were required to be fashionably dressed according to a dress code. Clothing could be form revealing but must be elegant and generally somewhat expensive. The females were required to wear long dresses and high heels, while male prostitutes must wear expensive tailored shirts and slacks. They could not advertise their profession in any overt way, other than by wearing a certain approved design of earrings. The client always must be the one to initiate contact. In other parts of the city working guys and gals could wear more casual attire and discreetly flirt with passersby. The working people in still other areas could dress in a highly provocative manner, exposing nearly all of their bodies to public view, and make very explicit offers of specific sexual services to anyone who showed the slightest interest. It was to this part of town that I had directed my driver.
I kept the tinted windows rolled up at first. I displayed a small symbol on the outside of the car so that the street people could tell it was a male client looking to pick up a female. Several of the women, wearing micro skirts and revealing blouses, approached my car and thrust their hips suggestively in my direction. I could hear their voices. One called out “Fuck me mister, only thirty dollars!” I knew I could have her for less. The going rate for fucking was only twenty. But her legs weren’t very long. I motioned for my driver to move on. Further down the block I saw something very exciting. She was slender as a reed and with well defined legs that just wouldn’t quit. Besides her high heels she wore only a g-string and short blouse exposing a very flat and firm midriff. Her buttocks were entirely visible, well rounded and muscular. She was a natural redhead as I could readily determine from wisps of her pubic hair that escaped her all too brief string bottom.
I rolled my window down and crooked my finger at this redhead. She came at once to my door and introduced herself.
“Hi! My name is Sheila. I fuck real good mister, don’t require you to use a condom and I don’t rush you. I am also a very good cocksucker. What is your pleasure sir?”
“First things first. Let me see your photo ID and scan it through my laptop.”
She handed me her card, as she was required to do by law. I could see the photo on the card was clearly of her. The card said “Sheila Brown, Public Prostitute” and was issued by the State of New York. I swiped it through the scanner. Up popped a summary of her medical history for the last ten years and the date of her most recent medical checkup and most recent vaccinations. She was clear. The name on her card was, of course, a “working name” and not a real name, nor did the computer display her real name or her actual place of residence. I clicked on another item and got a history of any comments and/or complaints noted by previous clients. There were quite a few positive comments on her fucking ability and no complaints. Then I pulled up her price schedule and learned what her standard fees were for fucking, for blowjobs and for other services. Another click and I was presented with a tally screen showing how many tricks she had turned that week so far. She would easily make the quota she needed to keep qualified for free medical services and to qualify for the government’s ten percent matching bonus for the week. I handed her back her card with a nod indicating that I was satisfied.
“Now it is my turn”, she said. “If you don’t mind sir, I would like to run your card through my hand scanner to see if you have any kind of record. It is purely routine and necessary for my protection.”
“No problem”. I handed her my card with my photo and my “pleasure name”, an alias I used only for hiring ladies of the night. Her scanner soon showed her that no other prostitutes had filed complaints against me. Only the disappearance of a working girl or a sworn complaint or affidavit filed in a police station would ever get logged against my card. Routine transactions for sex services were never logged.
I opened my door to her and gestured for her to join me in the back seat of the limo. I rolled up the partition separating my compartment from the driver’s space that we might have some privacy. I rested one hand on her warm slender thigh.
“Business first” she said in a not unpleasant voice, removing my hand from her leg, and told me her price.
So I pulled out my anonymous debit card and slid it through the scanner, entered her price, and clicked on “Purchase Service”. Soon a paper receipt came out of the laptop that I handed her and she seemed satisfied. I put my hand back on her warm and well-defined thigh and this time she did not object.
“Sheila, why don’t you remove your clothing now so I can enjoy you more?” I said as I tripped a hidden switch that locked both doors to the rear compartment from both the inside and the outside. She would not be leaving now until I was quite finished with her.
There was a rustle of clothing and soon we were both quite naked. I laid her back down lengthwise on the seat and mounted her. The pleasure of entering her was simply delicious. She was tight and very pneumatic and lubricated fairly well considering it was a commercial transaction. Her muscular legs wrapped around my legs and produced the most wonderful sensation. My car was moving slowly in heavy traffic. By the time we had traveled three blocks I had spent myself in her. I quickly dressed and bade her do the same. I handed her my business card and told her I could use a girl like her in my office. I suggested she look me up later in the week if she was interested in an office job, then handed her a generous cash tip and opened the door for her exit. The whole episode had taken little more than ten minutes.
I still had her profile up on my laptop. I decided I would give her a good performance review on the fucking and also a generous tip. But there was something about her that was familiar. I clicked on another item to see what her ‘day job’ might be. I learned to my shock that she was an elementary school teacher. Now everything clicked into place. I knew this woman by her real name. She was my nephew’s fourth grade teacher! I had met her at a parent teacher conference when I was substituting for my nephew’s father, my own brother! Had she recognized me? If she had she had kept it to herself. Prostitutes learn to be discreet in such matters.
After a fitful night’s sleep I returned to my office next day. At the time of the enslavement proceeding I was acting as agent for Richmond Slendabond, and it was that firm that had given me all this evidence of her indebtedness to use in court. I needed to track this information back to its source. In view of the delicacy of the situation I thought it best to call on my old and trusted friend and client, Morgan Richmond, who was the founder and CEO of the firm that bore his name. I knew Morgan to be an honorable man who would want to catch the forgers as much as I would. But it would be best if I broached this topic with him one on one. When I called to request a meeting I did not indicate what the nature of the subject would be, only that it would be “a delicate matter”. We agreed to meet for lunch at the Stallions Club.
“Morgan - thank you for accepting my invitation” I said as I greeted him and we were shown to a private dining room I had reserved for this meeting.
“Always a pleasure to dine with you Bill” he replied. “You certainly have gone first class with this!” he replied, noticing that a couple of naked slave girls were manacled to the wall in alcoves of our private room, apparently available for any pleasures we might request. Both were pretty and slender, one Eurasian, the other an American black. Their pubic hair had been trimmed back enough to make their vulvas quite visible.
Our drink orders were taken and when the waiter brought us these drinks he also placed the key to the girls manacles on our table. I instructed him that we would summon him with the call bell when we were ready to order our food and were not to be disturbed until then. After he left us I unlocked the girls handcuffs and released them from their alcoves. I gestured to Morgan to make his choice. He chose the black girl and so I would have the Eurasian. Soon they both crawled under our table and were hidden entirely by the long tablecloth. They began to adjust our clothing and to apply their young mouths to provide us relaxing pleasure to accompany our wine. I decided that we should just get into a more relaxed mindset before proceeding to the business at hand. Such preliminaries were common practice for business lunches in Capitallia. After about twenty minutes of such pleasuring we both reached our climaxes, the girls washed us with warm scented oils and adjusted our clothing back to what it had been before they started. The girls waited under the table for any further requests and, at a gesture from Morgan, I indicated that they should leave us now. He had obviously decided it was time to move things along. Between the girls and the wine we were both sufficiently relaxed now.
“Now what is this ‘delicate matter’ you wanted to discuss?” he said.
“It is about an enslavement I managed for your firm about a year ago, Morgan.” I have lately come across some evidence that I may have unjustly enslaved a young woman on what can only be called ‘fabricated’ debts.”
“And you think my firm may have been involved in this - this ‘fabrication’, as you call it?”
“I am not sure who, exactly, is involved at this point” I replied. “I do know you set high standards for integrity in your firm, and I felt sure you would want to assist me in getting to the bottom of this. You have spent many years building up your business and trying to satisfy the public and the legislature that slavery can be run on an ethical basis. The last thing you need is for a scandal to break out that you could have handled quietly.”
“Quite right, Bill. Quite right,” he sighed. “Who is the young lady in question?”
“Stephanie Glenn,” I replied. She is a young accountant your firm had me acquire so that she could be trained in your facility and later sold to your client, Masterson Automotive.”
“I don’t believe I have heard that name before. I was not personally involved in that deal,” he responded.
“On a tip from an employee of Masterson Automotive,” I continued, “I went through and compared all debts claimed against her in court against her own meticulous records. I also compared signatures. What I found is most disturbing.”
“And who is this whistle blower?” he said with raised eyebrows.
“I have promised to keep him out of this since his own job could be at risk,” I replied.
“Fair enough. If you will furnish me copies of all these alleged debt documents, indicating which ones you find suspicious, I will track this down with my people to find out exactly who fed us this miss-information - if that is what it turns out to be,” he responded. “I can assure you, Bill, that I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do!”
I handed him the file I had prepared for just this purpose. We then called for the waiter, ordered our meals and the conversation turned to lighter topics. After dessert and coffee we shook hands as old friends do, and parted.
Two days later my office phone rang and it was Morgan.
“Bill, I have had one of my key investigators working on the matter we discussed. It turns out first that one Jeff Duncan, the Human Resources Director at Masterson, supplied all of the information to my team about what debts she owed. He was also the one who approached us about enslaving her in the first place. But our second finding was that we had bought up all the debts you questioned from one particular credit card firm. Jeff Duncan and some other Masterson people apparently own that firm. We have not been able to determine as yet if Greg Masterson is involved. Naturally we hope that turns out not to be the case, as it would mean I would have to give up Masterson as a client.”
“How would you suggest I proceed then?” I replied.
“You can’t handle this alone, Bill. You need to bring in that attorney who originally defended Stephanie at trial and see if he can bring to court a ‘Petition to Nullify a Wrongful Enslavement’. If fraud has been committed there may also be a criminal case and I will have our attorneys work on that aspect as we develop further information.”
“Morgan, I am concerned for Stephanie’s safety while all this is going on. If the wrong people at Masterson get wind of our investigation before we have all our ducks in a row, some ugly ‘accident’ could befall her to make any further legal proceedings moot.”
“I think I may be able to cover that, Bill. I am going to have my Training Director, Charlie Witherspoon, contact Masterson and say that, in reviewing Stephanie’s training records, we discovered a significant omission in her conditioning that should be rectified to make her more obedient. We will request that they send her back to us for a month of ‘enhanced training’ to make her a more pleasing sexual slave. I think they will go for that. Then she will be in a safe place while we bring all this to fruition.”
“Excellent plan, Morgan!” With that we concluded our conversation.
My next move was to contact Michael Green who had defended her at trial. His defense had been slip shod in my opinion. Obviously he had not done proper trial preparation. I would have to contain my rage to have any chance of gaining his cooperation now.
When I sat down with Mr. Green in his office I laid out the case so far that Stephanie had been framed. He became highly defensive and kept protesting that I didn’t understand his business - that he had far more clients to defend than there were hours in a day, and that the county only pays so much for each case, and so forth. I told him I had not come to judge him but rather to give him an opportunity to right a great wrong. Finally he stopped with the defensive nonsense and began to address himself to the facts before us.
He indicated that he would investigate all options but that matters would have to be held in abeyance until after his return from a long planned vacation. The man had no sense of urgency. I left him feeling quite frustrated.
It was late in the afternoon and I was headed home when I remembered that I needed some casual laborers to clean up my yard. There had been a storm that had brought down a number of trees so there was a need for some manual labor to pick up all the heavy tree branches and other debris from that storm.
So on the way home I stopped at one of the day-hire centers where cheap labor could easily be obtained on short notice. When I entered the place it was obvious that there were far more would be workers than there were job postings. I could have my pick of the hundreds of workers waiting there hopefully for the chance to hire out for one day at a time. These were non-citizens who had limited options for working since they could not practice a profession or own their own businesses. They were limited to non-skilled jobs. Many had a look of desperation on their faces, knowing if they did not land a day job for tomorrow they might not eat tomorrow night! Or their families might not eat.
It was customary in such labor centers for the prospective workers to be scantily clad, that prospective employers might be enticed by a display of flesh. Each one would have an identifying number on a cord around his or her neck. There was a kind of bidding system where a worker would hear his or her number called, would go up to the stage and say a few words about his or her skills and willingness to work hard. Then there would be bids and the worker would be led away by the highest bidder. Some workers would receive no bids and would have to return to their seats in the hall and wait for another chance to go up and be bid upon in another hour or two.
Although these men and women were not technically slaves, it was extremely rare for any offer of employment to be refused. The workers were not free to pick and choose among offers. They were expected to go with the highest bidder. If they did not they would be disqualified from offering their services in this labor market for the next 7 days.
This whole setup was, of course, very congenial for employers like myself who had jobs to offer. We had our pick among hundreds of eager workers and could select on physical appearance, apparent intelligence and skills. Often the workers were willing to offer employers ‘fringe benefits’ such as sexual services in order to secure an assignment.
It was the class system in Capitallia, enforcing a distinction between citizens and non-citizens, which made it so pleasant and cheap to hire unskilled or semi-skilled workers on the cheap. Many citizens took advantage of this system for lawn work, for babysitters, for getting their cars washed, and so forth. So the citizens loved it.
The citizen class was being continually refreshed by an influx of the ‘best and brightest’ individuals from the lower class. The influx depended, for the most part, on promising non-citizens being sponsored by wealthy citizens who would advance them their first year’s tax. Some non-citizens were also able to make the transition by prostituting themselves for a number of years. At the same time any citizen not paying the citizen tax 2 years in a row or failing the annual citizenship test twice would lose his or her citizenship. Some of the people here available for hire by the day had been citizens a few years back.
I quickly picked out 4 young people in their twenties, two young men and two young women, that appeared physically fit for this rather demanding physical work. The cost to have the four of them work all day tomorrow cleaning up my lawn was minimal. I led them away from the labor exchange and had them climb in the servant section of my mini van.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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Chapter 17. Three Unusual Meetings
I was told that my team would be making a presentation to Masterson’s Board of Directors in two weeks concerning our research into the apprentice system. I was directed to make a study of the published literature regarding the economics of apprentice systems and correlate that theoretical knowledge with my own first hand observations from viewing the apprentice recruiting process.
I asked if I might be issued panties to protect my modesty from passersby as I worked in my glass cubicle. Jenkins said ‘no way’ but he did set a parameter in the computer program so that I could keep my legs together most of the time. I just had to learn to ignore the stares as I worked. Passersby who wished to do so could still open by legs by touching a button that operated a servomechanism. Quite a few availed themselves of this privilege.
I spent a very intense week gathering all this information as well as actual cost data from our accounting department relating to our costs with the present labor system in the circuit board assembly room that we had seen earlier. I made certain projections about how much money I thought the company could save using the apprentice model and prepared graphs to make all this quite visual for the upcoming board meeting.
While much of my research was computer based, quite a bit of it required me to make phone calls. Here I learned that I must operate under a tight set of restrictions. I could not manually dial a phone number, but had to choose from a list of pre-screened numbers that displayed on my computer screen, which could then be auto-dialed. This list of approved numbers did not include any news media, attorneys, or organizations concerned with human rights. It did include the bureau of labor statistics, local reference librarians, and economic think tanks. My employer clearly wanted me to have the tools I needed to do professional work but did not want me campaigning to attract any sort of unwanted attention to my plight as a slave.
But it went further than that. Whenever I would auto-dial an approved phone number, the recipient of that phone call would see a brief message alerting them to the fact that the caller was a slave, along with my slave ID number, and would be asked to press a certain key on their phone to indicate acceptance of the industry standard restrictions on communications with slaves. If they would not so indicate their acceptance of these restrictions the call would not go through. Of course my employer also recorded all calls.
My teammates were also working along similar lines dealing with other aspects of the proposed apprentice system. We compared notes at daily staff meetings.
The big day had arrived for our board presentation. We were to go up the elevator to the top floor where the executive offices and boardroom were located.
I was sure we would be issued some sort of clothing so that we would be decent as we made our presentation to the board. I was wrong about that. We were marched essentially naked to our rendezvous with the board. My female colleague and I wore only our high-heeled shoes, makeup and jewelry. Our male colleagues wore only their bowties and leather boots. We all wore our slave collars and the brands on our buttocks were visible to all.
When we filed into the boardroom the meeting was already in progress. Board members gawked at our nakedness. We were directed to sit on high stools that had been specially constructed to raise each of us so that our entire bodies were above the level of the boardroom table. Apparently the members wished to miss no detail of our anatomies as we made our presentations to them. The man chairing the meeting was Mel Zigler and it was explained to us that he was the chief executive officer of Masterson Automotive.
Jenkins had coached all of us as to “professional deportment” when appearing before the board. I was to act every bit the consummate professional as I delivered my report – as if it were perfectly natural for ten portly cigar chomping businessmen and two businesswomen to be ogling my nipples, my ass, my pubic hair and my vulva. I read my report out loud to them with my recommendations as to how using the apprentice system could save the firm money. My colleagues seconded my recommendations based on their own expertise in law and economics. Board members all stared at my genitals and those of my teammates, and they smirked! At first I carried this off with aplomb. Later I lost it at times and then was able to recover. They made cracks about our bodies and tried to embarrass us all into losing it. Sometimes they succeeded. Once I broke down crying in front of them all. I used my hands to cover my genitals I was so embarrassed. Jenkins walked over and zapped me with his electric cattle prod. I nearly jumped off my stool and everybody guffawed! I was quickly reminded of my station and put my hands behind my neck like an obedient girl. I was given leave to use my hands again only when necessary to point something out on a graph.
Then came the question and answer period. Various board members directed questions at my colleagues and me. Most of the questions were businesslike and most of the board members seemed to be satisfied with our responses. But some board members would also ask one or another of us to display our bodies in a different way, to extend or flex a leg perhaps or to open our thighs more, or to thrust our breasts out, or make our nipples erect. My male colleagues were even required by the two women board members to stroke themselves into erection. The old me, the formerly free me, thought I should have something to say about displaying my body like this. But the new me was quickly learning that such choices belonged to our masters! Sometimes I would refuse to do what they demanded of me. But my labia would always moisten when they would succeed in coercing me to do what at first I had refused! Perhaps I had a subconscious desire to be coerced!
Finally the meeting was over. Mr. Zigler crooked his finger at me and indicated I should follow him into his private office adjoining the boardroom. He closed the door and told his secretary that we were not to be disturbed. He offered me a drink of wine that I declined.
“Miss Glenn, I think you may be able to help my wife and I with a marital problem”, he said at last. “You see we have been trying to conceive a child for two years now and we learned that my wife cannot conceive. I have decided that you will make a baby for us!”
I was dumbfounded. Surely he could not propose to force me into motherhood! My abdominal muscles and uterus involuntarily contracted with nervous tension.
“It is quite simple really. A week ago I had you taken off the anti-pregnancy drug most of our female slaves get. You still got the shot in your buttocks along with the other slaves, but I had them change the drug in the shot to one that would make pregnancy more likely rather than less likely. So you are fertile as of now. I will fuck you today and then fuck you again every few days until the doctors confirm you are pregnant with my child.”
“Do I have anything to say about this?” I asked.
“No, you have no say. You will conceive my child, carry it to term, give birth to it, then you will breastfeed it until it can be weaned from mother’s milk. At that point the child will become the exclusive responsibility of my wife and I and you will not see the child again.”
“NO! NO! NO! I won’t do such a thing! My womb is not for you to use! I won’t let you fuck me!”
He just smirked at me, and then uttered a couple of words I had heard somewhere before, perhaps in my slave training. But I could not recall exactly what these words meant. The next thing I knew I was meekly laying down face up on his sofa and he was undressing and mounting me. I was strangely not resisting him in any way. I wanted to fight him off but my muscles just would not cooperate. I was not paralyzed but it was as if my muscles would only respond to his verbal commands and not to my own will.
He was a large man with a rather athletic build and a very hairy chest. When I saw his genitalia I thought I could never fit that man inside me. But soon I felt his penis begin to enter me. It was even larger in diameter than Jenkins penis so the going was slow at first as my vagina stretched to its absolute limits to accommodate him. But his penis was also longer than Jenkins had been. After an agonizing insertion process I felt the tip of it banging up against my cervix. Soon he began to piston in and out, very slowly at first because there was considerable friction due to his size and only minimal lubrication.
I sensed that he was enjoying the fuck but only in the way that men nearly always enjoy a fuck. There was not any particular cruelty or vindictiveness motivating him, as there had been with Jenkins. It was just that I was an object that could fix his childless marriage and at the same time provide him with some momentary physical pleasure. This was a man who was accustomed to regarding other human beings as just means to his ends.
Finally he grunted and I felt warm sticky fluid discharging deep within me. When he was finished he stood me up, handcuffed my hands behind me and made me sit in his office for an hour while he worked on his papers and made phone calls. No doubt he wanted to be sure I would not go somewhere and douche his sperm from my vagina.
Just before he dismissed me he said some word that was familiar to me from my slave training.
That evening my fellow slaves and I gathered in the lounge of our residential quarters for the hour before dinner. Usually we would watch TV. Tonight we began talking instead over glasses of wine. Until then we really had not gotten to know each other’s background much. That may have been because each day had been so stressful that most of us had just wanted to zone out during that hour. But tonight was different. Our curiosity about each other finally overcame our earlier emotional overload.
“Harold”, Jennifer asked, “how was it that a smart lawyer like yourself came to be enslaved? I think we would all be interested, if you are willing to talk about it?”
“Not a problem Jennifer”, Harold Vick replied. “I am not proud of what I did. I was a partner in a law firm that did a lot of estate and trust work. My partners and I were all making a very good living. But I had a weakness for gambling and had run up a tab with one of the casinos. The casino could have me enslaved if I defaulted on my tab with them. I didn’t find that convenient – so I stole money from two of the trust accounts I was managing for clients. That paid off the gambling debt.”
“Of course I told myself at first that it was only a loan and that I would pay it back eventually. But eventually never came. Instead I was caught by one of my partners who turned the whole matter over to the public prosecutor. The bottom line is I was convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to 7 years of slavery as punishment. I was taken straight from the courtroom to the public auction platform, stripped of my clothing, and sold to the highest bidder, along with all my worldly goods.”
“Did they make you … I mean when you were being auctioned from that platform, did they make you … you know?” Jennifer stammered.
“I guess you have heard the stories”, Harold replied. “It has become standard procedure when a male slave is being auctioned to make him publicly masturbate and ejaculate in front of the bidding audience. It was no different in my case. The bidding goes higher when the prospective buyers can see that the slave is vital.”
“That must be so … well … humiliating” Edgar chimed in. “So what happened next?”
“I was bought by Masterson Automotive, sent to Richmond Slendabond for my slave training, then here to report for work. The rest you know. What about you, Jennifer?”
“I was a dancer with National Ballet of Capitallia – a free employee, not like now”, Jennifer Maisten responded. “But I was barely making ends meet on a dancer’s salary. Only the principal dancers were well paid. I wanted to become a principal dancer which is what led to my downfall.”
“How so, Jennifer?” I asked.
“Well, even though I was a very good dancer, I thought my face wasn’t pretty enough for me to ever get a leading part. I needed plastic surgery – a nose job and higher cheekbones. The cost was way beyond what I could pay on my chorus dancer’s salary. Then I heard they were looking for volunteers to work on the annual fundraising drive, and I began to hatch a plan. Soon, as a volunteer fundraiser, I was finding ways to divert some of the larger donations into my personal account until I had enough money to get my surgery.”
“With my new face I found I was getting more opportunities to audition for leading roles. My career was finally going somewhere – until my embezzlement was detected. The ballet company opted for a private criminal prosecution.”
“You said private criminal prosecution”. I interjected. “I thought criminal cases always had to be brought by a public prosecutor acting for the state.”
“It used to be that way”, Harold said. “In the earliest days of Capitallia there was a feeling that many cases worthy of prosecution were just not being brought forward. In some cases it was just incompetence or inertia by prosecutors, or a backlog of just too many cases. In other cases there was considerable evidence that prosecutors were very deliberately avoiding some controversial prosecutions because of the political fallout they might cause. The result was that justice was not being done – criminals were going free and victims of their crimes had no recourse. So in 2105 an organization called “Citizens for Victim’s Rights” campaigned successfully for a new law called the “Private Prosecution Act” that allowed a private individual to bring a case if they were the alleged victim of a crime.”
“Thank you Harold”, Jennifer responded. “My defense lawyer did explain some of that to me at the time of my trial, but I am sure you explained it much better.”
“The upshot was that I was convicted and then found that the company now owned me for a five-year term and no longer had to pay me a salary. Now they only had to feed me and take care of my medical needs and they could have me dance in as many productions as they wished. But they figured out how to get even more bang for their buck. They sold me to Masterson Automotive with a restriction in the sale agreement that required Masterson to send me over to the Ballet Company for evening and weekend rehearsals and performances. A sentence of five years slavery, like mine, would be a lot easier to bear than five years prison if they would only fix the fucking abuses in the system!”
As I listened to first Harold’s story and then to Jennifer’s I considered my own views on slavery. Before my misfortune I had never really been opposed to slavery as such. I never thought it could happen to me. When it was first introduced in Capitallia I thought it made sense. Why have some criminal rotting away in a prison cell for ten years when they could be doing useful work in the private sector instead? Although I had come to like Harold and Jennifer, I also realized that both of them had committed grand larceny and that the terms of 7 years slavery and 5 years slavery, respectively, were not excessive for the crimes they had committed. I did believe all slaves should have a right to serve their sentences free of inhumane conditions or deliberate torments by their owners, but to tell the truth, I could not in all sincerity argue that they should be released from bondage before serving their allotted sentences.
I wondered if at least one of my fellow slaves had experienced an injustice similar to what I had encountered.
“Edgar”, I asked, “how did it happen in your case?”
“Well, I was working as an economist for one of the smaller banks. I can’t tell you the name of the bank – probably they have wiped that from my memory. I noticed that the bank was cooking its books and made a whistleblower complaint to the banking authorities. The owner of the bank wanted to shut me up and destroy my credibility as a complaining witness.”
“If they could wipe the name of the bank from your memory”, Jennifer asked, “why did they stop with that? Why didn’t they wipe all knowledge of that bank’s conduct from your memory?”
“Good question!” Harold interjected. “I think I may be able to shed some light on that from my knowledge of the law. You see it was a company called “Maxim’s Slaves, Ltd.” that put Edgar through slave conditioning and installed his mind controls. They are reputed to be a highly ethical firm that always obeys the letter and spirit of the law when it comes to what can and cannot be wiped from a slave’s mind. Industry ethical guidelines in this area are that a slave’s mind should not be compromised more than is actually necessary to protect the privacy and/or trade secrets of a previous owner or employer. So it was necessary that Edgar not be able to recall the name of the particular bank, but to deprive him of more knowledge than that was deemed to deprive him of knowledge of his own identity.”
“Thank you Harold”, Edgar continued. So to shut me up and destroy my credibility the bank’s owner made an entirely false charge of embezzlement against me and chose to pursue a private criminal prosecution, which you so well explained just a moment ago in Jennifer’s case.”
“A jury that was heavily stacked with people who had some connection with the bank heard the bank’s case against me. I was wrongly convicted, the sentence was 10 years and I became the bank’s property! The bank had no interest in keeping me long term but they contracted for my slave training and mind wiping and then sold me to Masterson Automotive.”
“That is quite a story Edgar” Jennifer responded. “I had no idea that our slave system could be used to promote such a miscarriage of justice.”
“Then perhaps you should all hear Stephanie’s story”, Harold commented.
I had previously told Harold a few bits and pieces of my tale. I went on to detail the whole chronology of my experience, beginning with my job as a free employee of Masterson, the sexual harassment by my boss Tom Jenkins, my getting fired when I filed a complaint, the fact of my enslavement for 10 years on trumped up debts, and finally, upon my return to Masterson as Jenkins’s slave, his vindictive rape of me. There wasn’t much point going into the other sexual abuses and humiliations because my fellow slaves had all suffered those as well.
At that time I did not seem to recall anything about that horrible afternoon meeting with General Manager Zigler. Perhaps he had wiped my mind so that I could not compromise his marital privacy in my conversations with others.
Everyone was appalled at my story and Edgar’s story. There were several comments about the need for reforms in the slavery system. Just then we were called to dinner.
The next day Zigler summoned me back to his office. At first I had no idea why I was there. Then he said that word familiar to me from my slave training. All the memory came flooding back about that meeting with him yesterday that so outraged me. I felt my adrenalin climbing and my heart pounding.
He closed and locked his office doors and indicated that today would be much like yesterday. But this time he offered me a choice.
“Miss Glenn, if you will just accept that I am your master and agree not to resist my raping of you, I will refrain from disabling your musculature with a post hypnotic command as I did yesterday.”
So that was it I thought. That was why I had been helpless to fight him off. I realized that I was going to be raped no matter what so I might as well not try to fight it. Maybe he was being kind in allowing me to experience some pleasure this way. Later I realized that kindness was no part of it. He simply realized that his own pleasure would be enhanced if my muscles took a more active part in the fucking.
“There is no need to incapacitate me, Mr. Zigler. I won’t fight it.”
“Good girl!” he said as he patted my bottom. “That is certainly a start. But I want more from you! I want your enthusiastic participation in our daily fucks! I want you using the muscles in those long slender legs to wraparound my legs and draw me in.” As he said this he stroked my legs from crotch to calves.
“I want you using the muscles of your belly and ass to buck for me.” With one hand he cupped my left buttock while with the other he caressed my flat and taut abdominal area.
“I want you using the muscles of your vagina to contract for me and milk my penis. Do you think you could do all that?” The hairy hand that had been feeling my abdomen dropped lower and began to caress my vulva.
“After all, the privilege of retaining control of your own muscles should be worth some sort of quid pro quo on your part. Don’t you think?”
After a few days of daily raping by Zigler there was a staff meeting for our working group in which Jenkins broke some rather frightening news. There was to be a team from Slavery Today magazine coming the following day to do a feature story to be titled “Slavery in the Professional Workplace”. The magazine was distributed weekly by electronic means to businesses, government agencies, non-profit organizations and individual subscribers having an interest in novel applications of slavery in contemporary society. The editors had somehow heard about the fact that Masterson Automotive was a pioneer in using slaves for professional work. They thought this would be of great interest to their readers. The team would interview each of us about our work, our feelings about our work and publish each interview with a naked photo of the interviewed slave.
I felt like sinking through the floor. The humiliation I had experienced so far had been bad enough but to think readers all over Capitallia would be reading my intimate story while looking at my naked body was beyond words. Was I to have no dignity as a human being? And who would hire me when my ten years of slavery would eventually be over and I would be free to look for a regular job again?
On the day of the magazine interviews Harold, Edgar, Jennifer and I were assembled for the photo shoot portion. Nudity was a given. The photographer announced that the two males would be photographed in a state of erection, as this would add a bit of spice and boost circulation. He then turned to Jennifer and I and was clearly indicating that it would be our job to act as “fluffers” to get our men to the erect state for the pictures. I had never performed such a personal act in such an impersonal setting before. Jenkins gave us a warning look that let us know we weren’t going to get out of this. Jennifer and I looked at each other to decide non verbally which of us would do which guy. Both of us would have preferred to do Harold since he was an impressive specimen of masculinity, while Edgar was much overweight and his small penis was all but hidden beneath rolls of fat. Yet I didn’t want Edgar to suffer the humiliation of being ignored so I went immediately to him, knelt down, and did what needed doing. With considerable sucking and much massaging of his balls I got his little tool to erect, while Jennifer easily got Harold up. Those shots were soon complete and it was time for us gals to pose. We were made to toy with our nipples until they were erect and the flashes went off.
Then we had the individual interviews with a reporter from the magazine. She was quite persistent in her probing – especially as to our feelings about being enslaved. Then it was all over. We were told this issue of the magazine would be electronically distributed all over the nation within about two weeks.
On my way back to my cubicle Sally Rigers caught up with me.
“Stephanie, you are to report to Jeff Duncan tomorrow morning at 9 am. He didn’t say what it was about.”
A chill went through me as I speculated on what further humiliations were to be visited upon me.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 18. The Entrepreneur
I was not acquainted with Greg Masterson, either at a personal level or through my business dealings as a slaver, but I knew of his activities as a very successful entrepreneur who had built an international business as a supplier of parts and subassemblies to the various automobile companies around the world. He had been a pioneer in the development of the new GPS guided smart cars that could now be seen on most big city streets. These were the ones that could be given a destination and drive themselves, with no grid embedded in pavements, safely avoiding all obstacles. His company was one of only two firms making the guidance and collision avoidance system for these cars. He was widely known as a visionary, advocating that all smart cars eventually be equipped with magnetic levitation capability for use in those cities willing to make the investment in embedding maglev rails in their streets.
Last I heard his corporate empire spanned 4 continents, had more than 7,000 free employees worldwide and perhaps as many as 1,000 slaves located in Capitallia, the only nation where slavery was legal. Many nations were courting his business and encouraging him to set up a plant in their country. Through the grapevine I heard that two African countries, one Arab country in the mid east, and one banana republic in South America had even offered to “look the other way” if he wanted to use slave labor in such a plant. But I had also heard he had declined to do business in such countries - preferring to use slave labor only in countries where it was 100% legal and above board. For the present that meant only in Capitallia. I had no way of knowing if he had rejected those other opportunities out of moral scruples or based on the pragmatic consideration of not wanting to be in a position where he would forever have to bribe local and national officials to continue ‘looking the other way’.
I wanted to see if Masterson would agree to a meeting with me. I hoped the fact that I had been in the news as a proponent of the new legislation to promote the “kinder and gentler slavery”, and was also a well-known slaver in my own right, might be considerations that would intrigue him enough to meet with me. Of course if I got such a meeting with him I would try to turn the conversation to the need to pursue further reforms to prevent unjust enslavements and to prevent inhumane conditions. Maybe then I could lead into Stephanie’s situation and appeal to him for his help in reaching an amicable solution to her problem.
One thing I did know about Greg Masterson was that he was not the typical big corporation executive. He had built his business from nothing - relying mainly on his technical skills as an inventor, hard work and also his entrepreneurial gifts. As his business grew it began to demand professional management skills that were not his forte. Accordingly he had brought in a series of General Manger CEO types to handle that for him, while retaining his own position as majority stockholder and Chairman of the Board. According to news reports some fellow called Mel Zigler was his current CEO. I did not know much about this man.
Mr. Masterson had reportedly been spending most of the last 6 months trying to negotiate for a new plant in one of the South American countries. But I had heard an item in the news just yesterday that he was back in New York City. So I rehearsed my approach and finally made the call. He had indeed heard of me and of my activities and said he would be pleased to have a meeting to discuss the future of slavery in Capitallia.
The meeting was set for a restaurant he favored on the Upper East Side.
I had an hour or so before the meeting and it was a beautiful fall day so I fancied a walk from my West Side office through Central Park to our appointed rendezvous. After a time I was approaching a large open meadow where there was an amphitheater. I could hear the sounds of maybe a few thousand people who had gathered there in the meadow and were listening to some fellow holding forth on the public address system.
“This meeting was called”, the agitated voice continued, “by ‘Residents for a Fair Jobs Policy’ to present our grievances to the Capitallian Federal Congress. We know the bastards are rationing the total number of jobs that will be available for free workers!”
“Here Here!” someone in the audience shouted. “Right on brother!”
I rounded the bend and could see much of the crowd now. Many were carrying signs decrying the shortage of good jobs. Others signs complained of low prevailing wages in many of the trades and crafts. Still other signs decried the poverty and social ills - including child prostitution - that were caused by the job shortage and the low wage levels.
“Two years ago the Congress setup a Federal Labor Board that has the authority to decide on the total number of free employment jobs that we all can have, my good friends! They don’t set a number that would let all of us work. Oh no! They set a number that makes all of us scramble, covet our neighbor’s job and work for next to nothing just to have a job! Are you with me brothers and sisters?”
“When are we going to do something about it?” A man in the third row yelled.
“We voiced our grievance last year and they still haven’t listened!” Another voice in the fifth row cried out.
“What do we want!” the speaker on the podium called out.
“More jobs!” A dozen or so voices responded.
“I can’t hear you!” the speaker called out at the top of his voice. “Again, what do we want?”
“More jobs!” A few hundred loud voices responded this time.
“Again, what do we want?” the speaker repeated.
“More jobs!” This time it was a roar of thousands gathered in the meadow.
“When do we want it?” The speaker intoned.
“Now!” hundreds replied.
“I can’t hear you. When do we want it?”
“Now” Was shouted by thousands.
“OK. I think I have it now. We have asked for a meeting with the Federal Labor Board. So far they have not responded. We need to keep up the pressure. We are exercising one of the privileges in our Original Charter in seeking redress for what has become the greatest grievance of our time. I don’t think they will be able to shut us down!”
“Right on! Keep up the pressure! Fight the good fight!” many yelled. Then the crowd spontaneously broke into an old union solidarity song dating back to the twentieth century. I could see TV cameras from more than one network covering this event. Probably some of it would be shown on the evening news. Everyone was feeling pretty hyped up and I could see sales of beer and pizza were doing very well.
What I had witnessed was the freedom of speech, freedom of assembly and freedom to seek redress of grievances that was guaranteed as a right to citizens of Capitallia and also extended, but more in the nature of a privilege, to the legal residents.
I kept on walking and the sounds of the crowd gradually faded away and I heard new sounds - those of taxicabs and horse drawn carriages on Fifth Avenue. Soon I reached the Upper East Side restaurant for my fateful appointment. When I came in I spotted Masterson at once and he interrupted the animated conversation he was having with the hatcheck girl to greet me warmly.
“Mr. Steelforth”, he said, vigorously shaking my hand “We have heard so much about your efforts to reform labor standards. “
Then he excused himself for just a moment to finish the conversation with this woman he obviously knew well, inquiring about her family and other things in her life. She was a non-citizen of course, and in a fairly low ranking job. I was impressed that he treated her with the same openness and friendliness he might extend to someone more on his own social level.
Soon the maitre d’ was ushering us to Masterson’s favorite table in a rear alcove of the restaurant. As soon as we were seated he began again.
“Let me say that I value the slavery reform work that you have been doing, as do my business partners. We all recognize how important it is to keep the system honest.”
“Thank you sir”, I replied “Actually that is more or less what I wanted to talk about”.
A pretty waitress in an extremely short skirt came to take our drink orders and left. I could not help but admire her long lean legs that any dancer would envy.
“Mr. Masterson”, I began “there are some current …”
“Please! Call me Greg. Let us talk of small things for a while and relax over our drinks for a bit before we get to the real purpose of this meeting. I like to get a feel for where a man is coming from before I talk business. Have you been to South America Bill?”
“I can’t say that I have sir.”
“I just came from Rio. Fascinating country, Brazil! I have been combining a certain amount of sightseeing with negotiations with various partners down there for a new site for a plant.”
“Are the labor and tax conditions favorable there?” I asked.
“Favorable enough, though of course I would prefer to have slave labor there as we do in our Capitallia plants. But I think Brazil will eventually come around to that. Taxes are higher than here but they seem willing to cut us some breaks for the first ten years. Do you smoke Bill?”
As he asked this he was pulling out a couple of expensive cigars.
“Never started sir. But you go right ahead. A little cigar smoke never bothered me.”
Just as he was lighting up the waitress returned with our drinks and proceeded to take our dinner orders. Masterson obviously knew the cuisine here so when he ordered the prime rib I indicated I would have the same. As soon as she left he began again.
“Do you engage in any sports or outdoor activities Bill?”
“Well I do play tennis when I have the time. And I have been known to go on mountain hikes and rock climbing trips in the Adirondacks from time to time.” I replied.
“Great activities. All that fresh air clears the mind wonderfully don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely sir!”
“Please! No more of that ‘sir’ business. My name is Greg.”
“Very well then Greg. I saw quite a protest assembly going on in Central Park as I was walking over here a while ago.”
“How so?”
“My impression”, I continued, “was that there were a couple thousand there protesting the rationing of jobs by the new Labor Board. They say the number of jobs allowed is always set deliberately less than the number of workers so as to cause undue competition among workers and keep wages low.”
“I would say they have a legitimate beef” Masterson replied. “Their wages are being kept somewhat low and the number of jobs arbitrarily limited. As a businessman I don’t care much for this system because I am always opening new plants and I can’t freely hire as many workers as I really need to operate efficiently. What I save on the low wages I lose by not being able to grow and get new plants quickly into production.”
“Then why does our government do this?” I asked.
“Because some of our citizens seem to think the non-citizens need to be kept in their place.” He responded. “Some of them think the non-citizen will get too uppity if he is making too much money.”
“But don’t we always encourage people to try to improve themselves and eventually become citizens through hard work?” I said.
“Our society has always had that as a long run goal, and I think that idea will win out in the end. Those folks you saw in the park will probably have to do an economic boycott of some of our products to keep public attention focused on their cause.”
He indicated by a gesture that he wanted to move on to some other topic.
“I just read a fascinating new book about the life of George Eastman”, he continued. “He was way ahead of his time when he introduced roll film to replace the glass sheets photographers had been using. Vastly speeded up the rate at which multiple pictures could be snapped. The man was quite a philanthropist too. Do you read biographies of the great entrepreneurs Bill?”
“I just finished a new one on the life of Samuel Goldwyn last month. Founded MGM Motion Picture Studio. I have enjoyed others - one on Edison and the founding of the General Electric Company. One on Henry Ford and his relationship both to Edison and the auto industry.”
“Good. Very good. I always find inspiration in stories like that! What was it you wanted to talk about Bill?”
“There are some difficult problems in enslavement law that might interest you Greg. After all, you are one of the major users of slave labor in your industry.”
“Go on Bill.” He leaned forward and looked at me more intensely. I felt I had his interest.”
“First”, I said, “there is the matter of unjust enslavements. I have reason to believe some men and women are being enslaved on trumped up charges or falsified debts. As an ethical businessman I am sure you know that does not help the image of slavery with the public.”
“I have heard some reports of that. What would you suggest as a remedy?”
“Well, Greg, in the case of public criminal prosecutions I think a case could be made that public money be made available on a much more generous basis to assure a competent defense - including not only a good legal team but also money for necessary investigative work the defense lawyers might need to support their efforts. Perhaps even funds for a jury consultant. After all enslaving a human being for a term of many years is a very serious matter.”
“I don’t take any issue with your point, Bill. Is there more?”
“Yes. I think in the case of private enslavements for debt, or in the case of private criminal prosecutions, that the plaintiff should be required to furnish a low income defendant with as much money to defend the case as they are spending to prosecute it - to assure good defense lawyers and all necessary investigative support, as with public prosecutions.”
“I need to think about that one”, he replied. “For private criminal prosecutions I certainly agree. That would help to dissuade frivolous criminal cases. But in the case of debt enslavements I have a concern it might place too heavy a burden on the businessman - which would effectively deny business the remedy the law was intended to provide. Doubling the legal costs could certainly discourage men like myself from pursuing even some of the most flagrant cases of people living beyond their means.”
“Let’s agree to set that one aside for now then”, I rejoined, “and move on to another controversial issue - whether simply owing more than $10,000 and being unable to make an acceptable payment arrangement should be the sole criteria for enslaving someone, as it is now. Many would say, and I agree with them, that something needs to be added to the law that would put a burden on the plaintiff to show that there was either some sort of willful misconduct or reckless disregard on the part of the debtor.”
“What would you call ‘willful misconduct’?”
“Choosing to live beyond one’s means. Entering into a mortgage contract knowing full well that one cannot make the required payments. Or entering into a contract to provide services knowing full well that one cannot provide the services for which one is accepting payment in advance.”
“If I get your drift Bill”, he rejoined “you are saying that the debtor who has become insolvent, for example, as the result of necessary and catastrophic medical expenses, or as the result of losing his job through no fault of his own - that debtor should get a free pass? That the creditor shouldn’t be able to touch him?”
“I would say, Greg, that long term enslavement is too severe a remedy for such a case. Instead let the debtor be required to perform services for the creditor directly for, say, 40 to 50 hours a week while working out of his own home and being allowed to retain his dignity and family life.”
“Have there been some concrete proposals put forward by the reform organizations? Something I could review with my attorneys?”
“I will have something faxed over to your office this afternoon.”
Just then our dinners arrived and we put aside talk of business while enjoying the excellent food. After the dinners were finished and cleared, our coffees were brought and conversation turned to business again.
“When you started talking about controversial issues”, Bill, “I was sure you were going to lecture me about more humane conditions for slaves in the workplace. I do try to provide decent working conditions for the slaves in my plants, but the do-gooders are never satisfied!”
“I was just getting to that! I think we would all agree that while forced sex and some degree of humiliation are often necessary aspects of modern slavery, the idea of the “kinder and gentler slavery” movement is to eliminate not only physical brutality but also all unnecessary or gratuitous psychological traumas. Thus vindictive rape should be outlawed as should deliberately inflicted humiliation for the sake of humiliation.”
“As far as I am concerned, any employer in this city who is allowing his people to vindictively rape a slave should be drawn and quartered!”
“With all due respect sir, that could be you!”
“Explain that Bill, before I lose my cool!”
“Greg, I was personally involved in enslaving a young woman for debt. I did this for one of my old clients, Richmond Slendabond.”
“Oh yes! Morgan Richmond, someone I have relied on for years!”
“Mr. Richmond informed me that this was a special order enslavement requested by your firm, and that she is now owned by you. Her name is Stephanie Glenn.”
“Can’t say I have heard that name before. I was not personally involved. Still you say she was raped vindictively by one of my people?”
“Not only that but there is evidence she was unjustly enslaved based on forged documents!” I added.
“And you know this, how?” He replied.
“I ran into her backstage at the ballet where she was loaned out to work with the lighting director there. She pleaded with me that she had been framed and would I please look into it.”
I was not about to mention the phoned whistleblower tip I had received from the Masterson psychologist. There was no need to mention him and possibly endanger his position with the company.
“So what happened?” he persisted.
“Since I had all her personal and business records I was able to satisfy myself of the truth of her claim. I could plainly see the forgeries.” I replied.
“Could you determine who might have falsified these documents?”
“That is where I called on Morgan Richmond. He was shocked at what I told him about this case. He put his people on it and determined that all the falsified documents had come from one of your employees.”
“Is someone officially representing Ms. Glenn’s interests in all this?”
“Yes, that would be her attorney Michael Green. You will be getting a letter from him shortly. I just thought that maybe if we met informally that some amicable arrangement could be worked out that all of us could live with. We all have a stake in this.”
“Very thoughtful of you Bill. I do want to do the right thing by this young lady. If all you say checks out I will set her free. But I also have a business to run. I did not build my business up to where it is now only to see it ruined by some scandal. The last thing I need now is to have one or more of my employees criminally prosecuted for wrongful enslavement. Surely you can understand that Bill?”
“I can understand it Greg. The question is what will satisfy the young lady.”
“Have her attorney send me a letter outlining his position. I will review this with my management team and my attorneys and give him a quick response.”
“I can’t ask for more than that.”
With that our conversation turned back to small talk, we had our coffees and went our separate ways. I knew that soon enough Michael Green, Morgan and I would be sitting down with Stephanie and explaining to her Mr. Masterson’s position, and her chance to regain her freedom.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 19. Some Who Would Heal
About two weeks after the meeting with Masterson things finally came to a head. I had a meeting scheduled for 3 pm one afternoon at the offices of Richmond Slendabond where I knew I would be conferencing with Morgan Richmond, Stephanie’s attorney and Stephanie herself.
But first I had promised my brother that I would pick up his boy Steven, a fourth-grader whose school would be letting out at 11:30 am today because of parent teacher conferences scheduled all this week. I pulled into the parking lot of Steven’s private elementary school a little before 11:30 and waited for the kids to come out. When it got to be 11:35 and no sign of the kids yet I realized there may have been some mistake about the time. I parked and went into the school. A helpful desk attendant spoke to me.
“Can I help you sir?”
“Yes”, I replied, “I am here to pickup Steven Steelforth. I understood his class would be letting out at 11:30.”
“Actually they will be getting out at 12 noon. Here, let me see … Steven is in Ms. Wilson’s class in Room 104. That is just ahead on the left sir. If you would like you can go in the rear door of that room and quietly observe the class until the bell.”
“Thank you. I think I will do that”, I said and walked up to the rear door of 104. I really didn’t want to meet little Steven’s teacher today since I knew this Ms. Wilson in an entirely different way from only a few weeks ago. Yet there seemed little alternative but to do as the desk attendant had suggested and go to Room 104.
As I entered quietly I heard a softly familiar voice lecturing the students from the blackboard. The beautiful woman up front had satisfied my impulses when I met her as a ‘working girl’ not so long ago. She went by the name Sheila Brown then. I felt embarrassed that I would soon be speaking to someone I had known intimately three weeks ago but now in an entirely different context and in the presence of my nephew. I told myself that she had serviced a lot of customers before and since and probably would not remember me. At least I hoped that would be the case.
Ms. Wilson was explaining the “Intelligentsia Driven Media” system, or IDM system, that Capitallia had enacted into law a few years after it’s founding. She was explaining that, unlike the old USA or the US Remnant of today, radio and TV broadcasting of news, entertainment and the arts in Capitallia was paid for entirely by subscription and not by advertising of beer, soap and other products. Further that only certain people, the “best and the brightest” as she put it, were the paid subscribers for these services, while others got free access to many of the programs. One little girl put her hand up.
“Why do we not have our radio and TV programs for free as they do in USR?” the little blonde in the second row asked.
“I am glad you asked, Emily. It is because our leaders realized that letting beer and soap sales determine what programs would be broadcast led to a general lowering of standards in news reporting, in music and in entertainment programs. Only programs that appealed to the overwhelming masses of people could get any time or space in the airwaves. So the old USA and now the USR wound up with their TV sets dominated by silly game shows, reality shows, sitcoms and news shows that really did not report significant world or national events anymore. All the space on the radio dials came to be taken up with hip-hop and gansta rap music, much of it violent and obscene. There was no room in radio anymore for the best contemporary music let alone the best music of all time.”
My nephew Steven had his hand up.
“So who are these ‘intelligentsia’ people who choose our programs now?” he asked.
“They are folks who show an interest in world history, world affairs and national affairs as well as in cultural things like drama, dance, classical music, ballet and opera. They show they are knowledgeable about these things by passing tests given every two years. They are also people who are successful enough in life that they can afford to buy subscriptions to our TV and radio stations. The programming they express a desire to see is what gets shown on TV and heard on radio stations. Other people get to see some but not all of these programs for free.”
“But what about the others” Steven persisted “the ones who aren’t so smart or don’t know or care anything about world history or culture. Don’t they ever get to see the programs they want to see or hear their kind of music?”
“Good question, Steven. Actually they do have two TV networks and two or three radio stations reserved for them. They have to pay for a subscription to watch those TV stations or listen to their own radio stations, so many of those folks who can’t afford a subscription just listen to the free music on the Intelligentsia Networks. As a result the common people in this country are learning to like better quality music than most of the people in USR today.”
“It is almost time to end today, so let me give you your homework assignment. I want you all to run Internet searches on your home computers on the key words “Intelligentsia Driven Media”. You will find a lot more material on what we covered today. I want each of you to bring in something you found to share with the class tomorrow. Class dismissed.”
I went forward to collect little Steven, hoping she would not notice me. I kept my head down.
“Hello Mr. Steelforth”, she called out brightly. “I assume you are Steven’s uncle.”
I looked in her direction. Something in her voice and facial expression told me that she did remember me from that night three weeks ago. I saw her face coloring just a bit, even as I felt my own face coloring.
“Yes, Ms. Wilson”, I replied. “My brother asked me to pick him up today. It certainly looks like you have an interesting lesson plan for today.”
“I try, Mr. Steelforth, I try. Sometimes a teacher in my position has to put forth a bit of extra effort just to stay ahead of things, if you catch my drift!”
“I can surely appreciate that, Ms. Wilson. I know that teacher salaries haven’t always been as high as they should be.”
Hopefully she and I were communicating on a level that would go well above little Steven’s head. He didn’t seem to be following this exchange too intently. I noticed that by now all the other kids had left the classroom. Just then she raised her voice a bit and looked directly at him.
“Steven, I wonder if you could do me a really big favor?”
“Sure Ms. Wilson. What is it?”
“I have attendance reports for this week that I promised to get to the principal’s office by noon today. Do you think you could take them up to the second floor office and give them to the secretary there?”
She handed him an envelope that he eagerly took and he was on his way. I suspected she had invented this errand for him because she wanted a private word with me. We found ourselves alone and it was an awkward moment at first.
“Mr. Steelforth, what we did three weeks ago … you understand I hope that is another life that I try to keep entirely separate from my work here as an elementary school teacher. No one connected with the school, except you, knows about my ‘other line of work’. I hope you will be discreet since it could jeopardize my position here if my principal knew of that life.
“You have nothing to worry about from me. I can see you are an excellent teacher and I am the very soul of discretion.”
“Thank you. I read the review you posted online about our little sex encounter and I must thank you for that as well! As you can well imagine not all the Johns … I mean clients, take the time to do a review of a paid sex encounter. Now all the guys down on Fourth Street that look me up under my working name will see that you gave ‘Sheila Brown’ a good rating and that I was - how did you put it - ‘very pneumatic’! That should be good for my business down there!”
“I felt I owed that to you after the fine ride you gave me. I didn’t really expect to get so much from a casual street transaction.”
“I get pleasure from giving my clients pleasure, Mr. Steelforth. It isn’t just ‘another day, another dollar’ you know.”
“I believe you Sheila … I mean Ms. Wilson.”
“There is a favor I would like to ask you Bill, if I may call you that. I have applied for a part-time position as a sex surrogate with a sex-surrogate agency. In that job I will be working under the supervision of qualified sex therapists who help men with problems of sexual dysfunction. My job will be to act as a sex partner and sex technique teacher for these men who are practicing new techniques they are learning in therapy. Perhaps you can appreciate that I would find that more satisfying than just turning tricks down on Fourth Street!”
“I can indeed. It would seem an excellent way to combine your natural teaching skills with the sex knowledge you have undoubtedly picked up in your other work. But what was the favor you wanted from me, Ms. Wilson?”
“Call me Sherri please! I need a reference. I need someone who can write a letter for me that will speak to both my teaching ability and my level of sexual skill. You have experienced my sexual skills. After reading that review you wrote about me I think you might be the person ideally qualified to give me the letter of reference I need.”
“Would you want me to do this using my actual name of Bill Steelforth?”
“I would prefer it that way. You don’t have to say that your sex with me was a prostitution transaction. You could speak as just a friend who had a sexual liaison with me and is also familiar with my classroom teaching skills. You are well known in this town for your own profession Bill, so that your endorsement would carry some weight. I know you are not married, so what difference would it make if you admitted, in your letter of reference, to having had sex with me?”
I swallowed hard and hesitated for a moment. Then I thought why not go for it. She was right. What difference did it make since I wasn’t married or in any committed relationship at present?
“I will do this for you Ms. Wilson … I mean Sherri. Just tell me who I am to write to.”
“Here is all the information.” She passed me an envelope just as little Steven returned from his errand to the principal’s office.
She smiled and waved as I escorted him out of the classroom.
On the way to his home he had a question for me.
“Uncle Bill, do you like Ms. Wilson?”
“Yes I do, Steven. Very much.”
“Last week she was teaching us about slavery … I mean how some people are made into slaves to punish them for doing bad things to others. Isn’t that what you do Uncle Bill?”
“That is the work I have been doing for the last 20 years, Steven. Did Ms. Wilson explain why we punish people in that way?”
“Yeah - she said down south in the USR they don’t make people be slaves. They just lock them up in little cages for 10 or 20 years, or sometimes for the rest of their lives. She said what we do in Capitallia is better because it is more humane and also the slaves pay for their own food, housing and medicines by working for others in the community. She said that is better than making the taxpayers pay for all that and treating human beings like animals in cages.”
“She taught you well my little man.”
After I dropped Steven at his home, I found myself driving out to Richmond Slendabond’s offices, on a beautiful fall day, to meet with Morgan Richmond and attorney Green. I was ushered into Morgan’s large walnut paneled office on the top floor. Green was already there and extended his hand in greeting.
“Bill Steelforth, we meet again!”
“I think we all know each other here, so no need for any further introductions”, Morgan said.
A coffee service tray was already there and I helped myself to a cup. Soon thereafter a conservatively dressed secretary ushered in Stephanie. She was wearing a rather short skirt, a top that bared her arms and her midriff, and rather elegant high heels. She just stood there nervously, taking the three of us in with a rather surprised look.
“Hello Ms. Glenn, I hope your journey today was a comfortable one”, Morgan warmly greeted her. “I think you will recognize the other two gentlemen with me.”
She nodded with a confused look. I am sure she wondered what had brought this strange collection of people together on this occasion. She balanced uncertainly putting her weight mostly on one foot, then the other. Then I saw her reaching to undo the zipper at the side of her short skirt. Evidently it was part of her slave training to immediately undress in front of her masters. Morgan walked over to her and gently touched her bare arm.
“That will not be necessary Stephanie. We did not bring you here to treat you like a slave. You are our guest today. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you Mr. Richmond”, she replied.
He waved her to the best chair in the room and inquired if she took cream in her coffee. He proceeded to make the coffee and presented it to her. She was clearly not used to being waited on.
“I am afraid we have brought you here today under somewhat false pretenses” Morgan began. “We told the people at Masterson that we wanted you back here for 3 weeks additional training to make you a better slave. Actually that was a ruse to get you out of their custody and control for a while. Our actual purpose is to see if we can’t win back your freedom! Why don’t you begin Michael?”
“Ms. Glenn, I am afraid I must begin with an apology”, her lawyer said with sadness in his voice I had never heard before. “You depended on me for your defense and I, weighed down with too many other cases, did not do my homework. Bill Steelforth here has uncovered evidence that you were wrongfully enslaved by means of fraudulent documents detailing non-existent debts. Morgan Richmond, whom you have just met, had his people look into those documents and discovered that the phony debts were owed to two dummy corporations called JR Finance Company and DJ Leasing Ltd. Morgan’s people also discovered that these two companies were owned in part by Tom Jenkins and Jeff Duncan, but that each of these companies also had a silent shareholder, owning the majority of shares, whose name could not be determined from the registration records because he always acted anonymously through an attorney. We are going to try to discover who this silent partner may be. We suspect it is either someone over at Masterson Automotive that is higher up than Duncan or Jenkins, or that it is a very well heeled outsider.
“When I learned of the considerable evidence that you were framed”, Mr. Green continued, “I wrote a letter to Greg Masterson.
“Why Greg Masterson?” She asked.
“Because he is the owner of the company that now owns you”, Mr. Green continued. “Both Bill and Morgan tell me they believe he is an honest businessman. I wanted to see if there could be an easy way out of all this. I confronted him in my letter with the fact I had evidence that at least two of his employees had fabricated debts against you for the purpose of having you enslaved. I told him that I was prepared to move forward with a “Wrongful Enslavement Petition” and that I might also prefer charges with the public prosecutor against two Masterson employees. I hinted that perhaps we could come to some more ‘amicable’ arrangement.”
“About a week later I got a response to my letter. In essence he says he had no idea any of his employees were involved in any conspiracy or that they had fabricated any documents. He regrets any injustice that may have happened and is offering to set you free without asking any price for that. He is also offering startup money to get you back on your feet and pay your first year’s citizenship tax.”
“Sounds too good to be true”, she said. “What’s the catch?”
“His only condition was that we agree not to pursue any criminal charges against any of his employees.”
“That is not acceptable”, she struggled to find her voice and stood up. “These men have ruined my life and subjected me to untold humiliations. I want justice!”
“I understand your feelings in the matter”, Green continued, “but speaking as your attorney I would advise you to take the deal. You would be free, living independently, a citizen, and free to practice your profession again.”
“On the other hand if we go to jury trial to win your freedom the outcome is quite uncertain. Jurors are reluctant to damage the reputation of businesses of good repute that are also major employers in the city. Another thing to consider is that, if you win your freedom, you will need someone to sponsor you, advance you startup living expenses, co-sign an apartment lease with you, approve any employment arrangement and generally act as a guarantor of your financial obligations. Greg Masterson is willing to do all that for you. Where else will you find such help?”
“Actually, right here!” The deep voice of Morgan Richmond chimed in. “I feel I have some responsibility for Miss Glenn’s misfortunes since my firm was an unwitting participant in her enslavement and in her slave training. I owe the young lady something. I will advance trial costs, and if she wins I will act as her first year sponsor and advance her startup living expenses.”
I saw Stephanie look to me to see what my attitude would be. I gave her what I hoped was a kind smile and she smiled back indicating that was all she needed to know. I admired her courage and desire to pursue justice and approved of Mr. Richmond’s offer.
“I accept your offer, Mr. Richmond!” Stephanie replied.
“Then I will let Mr. Masterson know his offer is rejected and begin the necessary lawsuit” Green remarked.
“There is something else that is weighing on me”, Stephanie continued. “This is pretty embarrassing but just yesterday, before I was brought over here, I was forced to pose for some pictures with my fellow slaves. A magazine called “Slavery Today” was doing a story on professional slavery in the workplace, and they wanted to spice it up by taking some photos of actual professionals who had been enslaved and were now practicing their professions while in bondage.”
“Why is that such a problem?” Green asked.
“Well these pictures were … well they were of us slaves being made to … you know …perform sex acts on each other”, Stephanie was coloring and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes.
“In some of the photos I was made to suck on the penis of one of the male slaves. They call that being a ‘fluffer’ so the male will be erect when they take his photos.”
“You don’t have to explain, Stephanie”, I said as I placed my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “I think we all know what a fluffer does.”
“They told us these photos will be published along with our personal stories in two weeks time. People all over Capitallia, including my friends and former neighbors, will be reading our intimate interviews and looking at these humiliating photos that were taken of us. Not only that but, if I ever get my freedom back, how am I supposed to face a job interview with an employer who has probably seen me naked in that magazine with my legs spread wide open?”
“Taking photos of naked slaves performing sex acts”, Green jumped in, “and publishing them in a magazine is not illegal. However, under the circumstances, since we will be fling a lawsuit arguing that you were never properly enslaved in the first place, I think it might be possible that I could get a judge to stop that publication for the immediate future with a ‘Temporary Restraining Order’ until we establish whether or not you were falsely enslaved.”
“Please Mr. Green, I will be so grateful if you can stop that publication.”
“I know I probably shouldn’t push my good luck too far. But there is one other thing I hope you gentleman can help with”, she said. “One of my fellow slaves at Masterson was also unjustly enslaved. He is an economist by the name of Edgar Miller.”
Stephanie related quite a remarkable story that this man had told her about how he had been enslaved to discredit him when he tried to be a whistleblower at his former bank. I wasn’t sure what to think. It sounded a bit fantastic.
“At this point you have only his word that he was the victim of anything. And even if he is a victim, what are you suggesting we do about it Ms. Glenn?” Mr. Richmond wanted to know.
“Well, I thought for starters maybe there was some way you could make contact with the people at Maxim’s who did his slave training? They could corroborate his story - that is if they are willing to talk openly about it.”
“Actually I know Roger Maxim pretty well …”. There was a pregnant pause. “He is a competitor, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything for me to give him a call and see what I can find out about this ‘Edgar’ person.
“Mr. Green, if the story checks out, would you be willing to make contact with the attorney who defended Edgar at his trial? Maybe you and he could work together and present a joint wrongful enslavement case with both Edgar and I named as plaintiffs?”
“I would be willing to make a call Stephanie, but the chances we could bring a joint action are pretty remote. After all we don’t really have a common link between your two cases at this point.”
“Surely there would be common legal issues - the fact that both cases involve a miss-application of enslavement law and that new ground might have to be broken by raising novel legal arguments? You two attorneys could share the expense of the research into these things, couldn’t you?”
“It is a long shot, but I will make the call if Morgan finds his story checks out.”
With that the meeting had accomplished its purpose, we all shook hands on it, and went our separate ways. Morgan had indicated that he would keep Stephanie safe until the Court date.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 20. Contest Interrupted
In the aftermath of the meeting at Slendabond, as it turned out, Morgan was able to corroborate much of Edgar Miller’s story about having been a whistleblower at his former bank. Green then contacted Edgar’s former attorney and it was determined that a separate action would be filed by the other attorney seeking Edgar’s freedom. The two attorneys felt that they could share some common research expenses because of the common legal issues in the two cases.
Roger Maxim arranged to have his training director call Masterson Automotive and recall Edgar for more slave training. This was, of course, a ruse such as had been used in Stephanie’s case, but this time to keep Edgar safe until his hearing.
I day or so after this I got a phone call from attorney Green.
“I have some very good news, Bill. An attorney representing a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous has just contacted me. The attorney advises that the anonymous donor had a concern that funds be available for legal research and to hire a private investigator and perhaps a forensic accountant to follow the money trail and find out who, exactly, is behind those two companies that falsified debts against Stephanie. He advised further that funds up to $100,000 would be put into a blind trust account for that purpose.”
“That is really great news!” I responded. I did not want to tip my hand to Green that I already had some knowledge about this “anonymous donor”.
“I have already started the ball rolling. I called Jim Phelps, the attorney representing Edgar Miller, the whistleblower. He and I have jointly hired a 3rd year law student to help us with the legal research. He too had been contacted by that same attorney on behalf of the anonymous donor providing a trust fund of $75,000. Both of us have hired detective agencies to start working our respective cases. We will also use the discovery process to compel production of documents and call in some people to testify before a court reporter.”
About three weeks later I got another call from Green indicating that he had enough facts to go forward with Stephanie’s case and that Phelps was very nearly to the same point on Edgar’s case against the bank. He advised that his detective had found, by following the money trail, that Mel Zigler was the apparent principal in both of the dummy companies that fabricated the phony debts against Stephanie.
Jim Phelps had also called Green to report progress on his defense of Edgar Miller. Phelps’ detective had discovered that Leland Bank and Trust of White Plains, NY had been Edgar’s former employer. The detective had also found that Morris Leland, the bank’s president had acted in concert with one Sally Rigers, a teller there at that time, to falsely accuse Edgar of embezzlement. The embezzlement charge had been a private prosecution resulting in the bank owning Edgar. The bank then sold Edgar to Masterson Automotive and its president had used his influence to land Sally Rigers a job at Masterson where she could keep a close eye on Edgar.
Green filed the necessary “Petition for a Determination of Wrongful Enslavement” to obtain a hearing where he could show that Stephanie had been framed on manufactured evidence. All parties including Greg Masterson were served with copies of the petition and notice of hearing. In connection with that petition Green also filed a “Motion for Temporary Restraining Order Concerning Publication of Photographs”.
A week later Jim Phelps filed a similar petition to show that Edgar Miller had been framed by his employer, the bank, to stop Edgar’s whistle blowing activities. Morris Leland and Sally Rigers were named as witnesses in this action. He also filed a motion for a temporary restraining order concerning the publication of photos by Slavery Today magazine.
When the day of the hearing on Stephanie’s petition came I went with Morgan and Green to court. Stephanie remained safely boarded at Richmond Slendabond pending the outcome. Fortunately Masterson Automotive did not file a petition to repossess Stephanie during the period prior to hearing her petition.
Stephanie’s original judge, Alfred P. Morelock, banged the Court to order, the bailiff called the case and Roger Vandenberg, who had originally prosecuted Stephanie, announced that he was here today representing Masterson Automotive, her present owner and defendant in this case, while Green announced representation for the Petitioner, Stephanie.
Green stated that his case would be based on falsified documents, that Ms. Glenn had never owed the $10,000 amount required for a statutory enslavement and that he was prepared to call handwriting experts to show that documents had been forged. Mr. Green further stated that he would show that some of the witnesses, Masterson employees, knew at the time they were called to authenticate the documents that the documents had been forged. More than that, he continued, he would show that two dummy corporations called JR Finance Company and DJ Leasing Ltd were the alleged creditors on these forged documents and apparently had no other business on their books than the alleged loans to Ms. Green, and that these dummy corporations were owned jointly by three Masterson employees: Mel Zigler, Ted Duncan and Tom Jenkins.
In rebuttal Vandenberg stated that some of the debts charged against Ms. Glenn had indeed not been valid, but that the Masterson employees who testified at the original trial had been unaware of this and had testified in good faith and truthfully as to what they knew at the time. He also argued that there remained substantial debts that were not in question and that stability of the law required that a person once enslaved remain enslaved. He cited the case of State of New York v. Cutler where there had been a finding by the Court that where it could be shown that a master had communicated business trade secrets to petitioner in the good faith belief that she was a slave and had been legally enslaved, that to free her to disseminate such trade secrets outside her master’s business would work an injustice on the master.
Green tried to rebut this precedent by pointing out that it only applied in a very limited set of circumstances and cited another case more favorable to our position. He also directed the Court’s attention to the fact that a master seeking this type of relief must come to Court with completely clean hands. He stated that he would show at trial that Masterson employees did not have clean hands in this matter and that, therefore, the company that employed them could not claim clean hands.
Just then a messenger came in, approached the table where Vandenberg was sitting, and placed some document in front of him. Vandenberg then rose to address the Court.
“Your Honor, if it please the Court, Masterson Automotive would like to drop all opposition to the Petition now before the Court.”
“Counselor?” the judge said with a puzzled look.
“I am acting on instructions of my principal, Greg Masterson, your Honor.”
“Very well then. I will render summary judgment in favor of Ms. Glenn’s petition. Who has custody of Ms. Glenn?” the judge wanted to know. Morgan Richmond rose.
“I have temporary custody, your honor, for training purposes.”
“The Court takes notice of the fact that slaves are commonly subject to some form of mind control and/or post-hypnotic suggestions. Was that done to Ms. Glenn?”
“Yes, your Honor” Morgan replied.
“How much time and expense would be required to undo these mind controls?” the judge pressed.
“My organization can accomplish this in a week or less, and there will be no charge for this work.” Morgan replied. Vandenberg was now on his feet to address the Court.
“I would move, on behalf of my client”, Vandenberg intoned, “that Ms. Glenn’s deprogramming include erasing from her mind any knowledge of trade secrets of Masterson Automotive, and further that her deprogramming remove from her mind any memory of what may have been done to her sexually by Masterson employees or by clients of the firm.”
“Objection, your Honor”. Green was on his feet. “Ms. Green may wish to pursue criminal charges against some of these employees that may have conspired to enslave her for sexual purposes. Depriving her of her memory of how they used her would prevent her from pursuing her legal remedies.”
“Point taken, counselor. I will order that erasure be limited to trade secrets and to any sexual usage by the firm’s clients. None of her interactions with Masterson employees are to be erased at this time, pending further legal actions.”
“I am also issuing a permanent injunction against the publication by the magazine Slavery Today of photographs depicting Ms. Glenn nude and/or performing sexual acts.”
“A newly freed slave has no financial resources by definition”, the judge continued “so the law requires that the freed slave be turned over to the custody of Rehabilitation Services until he or she can find work and become independent again. That is unless there is a sponsor.”
“I have agreed to be that sponsor, your Honor, and have already filled out the appropriate forms that accompany the petition”, Morgan replied.
“This Court will now stand adjourned until one week from today at which time I will direct you, Mr. Richmond, to present Ms. Glenn to the Court for her emancipation.” With that the judge banged his gavel and left the courtroom.
**********************************************************************
A week later Court was banged to order again. Ms. Glenn appeared naked and handcuffed as would be considered proper form for a slave pleading for relief from a Court. Morgan appeared next to her, holding her arm, controlling his charge.
“Has this slave been deprogrammed?” The judge directed his question to Morgan.
“Yes, your honor. All programming and post-hypnotic commands have been removed. Memory erasures have been carried out within the boundaries set out in the Court’s Order”, Morgan replied.
“Then there is the matter of the bio-implant,” the judge continued. “I must have it de-commissioned before I can truly give this lady back her freedom. Bailiff, call the Medical Officer.”
Soon a medical doctor appeared and hooked up a strange looking collar around Stephanie’s neck with a bunch of wires leading from the collar to an elaborate control console he had wheeled in. He pushed a button and we all observed a series of cascading lights on the console. Shortly thereafter he disconnected the collar and prepared to leave.
“Will you state for the record, Doctor, “ the judge required, “That the young lady’s bio-implant device has been rendered non operative for both incoming and outgoing signals?”
“I so state”, the doctor replied. With a wave of his hand the judge dismissed him.
“Ms. Glenn, you have been restored to the condition of personal autonomy and mental privacy in which you were before your enslavement. Fortunately your implant was of a newer two-part type known as a Dalton implant. This means that, while there is a part of the implant that cannot be safely removed, there is a surgical procedure that can safely remove the part that actually allowed your former owner to remotely monitor and control your mental and bodily functions. Part of my order today will be authorization for any surgical facility with the necessary skills to remove that Dalton controller from your neck, and for the costs of the surgery to be chargeable back to your former owner. Such surgery will make permanent what we have already done today. You may consult the Court’s Medical Officer for further details.”
“Ms. Glenn, I now enter the Court’s Order of Emancipation. Bailiff, remove the lady’s handcuffs and furnish her a robe to wear. You are a free woman as and from this moment! I must enjoin you, however, to go with your sponsor, Morgan Richmond, to such place as he shall arrange for your temporary living quarters and to be accountable to him for your comings and goings until such time as you can, with his help, re-establish yourself in independent life.”
With that the judge banged the gavel and left the courtroom.
Stephanie, Morgan and I all went then with Green to his office near the courthouse. I had brought some of Stephanie’s clothing from my attic to Green’s office before the emancipation, anticipating that she might want to wear real clothing again. She excused herself for a few minutes and changed from the robe into these clothes and rejoined us. Green opened his liquor cabinet and we all named our poison.
It was a joyful occasion because we were celebrating Stephanie’s freedom. We had also just gotten word from Edgar Miller’s attorney that Edgar’s freedom had been won in a jury trial and that the permanent injunction had also been granted against publication of Edgar’s nude sex photos. The attorney was considering a possible criminal action against Morris Leland and Sally Rigers.
As we were starting to unwind, I remembered that I had some news for Stephanie.
“Greg Masterson fired both Mel Zigler and Ted Duncan last week, is now acting CEO himself, and brought in a new Human Resources Director. I thought that might please you.” I announced brightly.
“But what about Tom Jenkins?” She shot back at me.
“He is still there, as manager of the accounting department.”
“That is no justice for what those guys did to me. I want to pursue criminal charges against all three of them!”
“But the public prosecutor may very well decline to prosecute”, Green chimed in. “After all, he has to run for re-election next year and a lot of people wouldn’t vote for him if he had damaged a local company like Masterson Automotive that employees so many people. Not only that but I believe he and Greg Masterson belong to some of the same clubs.”
“But we have the option under Capitallia law to bring a private criminal prosecution” I responded.
“That is true, but the public prosecutor has the right of first refusal”, Green replied. “If he declines to prosecute, then the door would be open for us to do so. Bear in mind also that the outcome of such a prosecution is far from certain. It would be necessary to prove the motives and intentions of those two. And Greg Masterson may decide to provide full financial support to the defense. He will want to save his Accounting Manager and a conviction against any of these three men would tend to sully the reputation of his firm. But if you are sure you are up for this, I will request an appointment with the prosecutor in the next few days.”
“Absolutely!” she said, and I gave her a look of approval.
By now we had gotten quite comfortable with our drinks and conversation turned to the wider significance of the legal battles we had been fighting.
“Bill, why do you think abuses like this happen in our system?” Morgan asked.
“One factor is that it is not necessary to prove any willful wrongdoing in order to enslave someone”, I said. “One need only show that the person is insolvent for whatever reason.”
“That’s only the half of it”, Stephanie chimed in. “Add to that the fact that the debtor, once enslaved, loses all her rights of communication with the world outside her master’s premises and the right to seek redress in the courts.”
“I think you two have nailed it”, Morgan replied. “Are you up for doing something to bring about change, Bill?”
“What did you have in mind?” I replied.
“There is a political organization called “Reform Slavery Now” having a meeting tomorrow night”, Morgan continued. “They deal with issues like this. Let us go to their meeting and see if we can move them to take up these particular issues.”
“Count me in!” I said. Stephanie gave me a look of approval.
“Stephanie I have something pleasant planned for you in the near future”, Morgan continued. “I have leased an apartment for you for six months, until you get a job and get on your feet. Bill here has been good enough to arrange for all your furniture, clothing and personal effects to be transferred from his attic to your new apartment. Soon you should find everything you need there for awhile. But they are still painting the place. So for tonight and the next few days you will be staying with me in my Manhattan penthouse. My wife will help you get settled in tonight. I know it has been a long day for you so I think you and I will take our leave now.”
With that Stephanie and Morgan said their goodbyes and Green and I linger a bit longer to plan our next move.
A few days later Stephanie, Morgan, Green and I were in the prosecutor’s office making out a case for criminal prosecution for Zigler, Duncan and Jenkins. The prosecutor agreed to review the material we had submitted and get back to us with his decision.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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Chapter 21Revised. The Politics of Bondage*
The goal of all Capitallian laws is to create the economic
and social conditions under which those who have not
the talent or vision to contribute much to society
will find it necessary to serve those who do have
such talent and vision.
From the Capitallian Declaration of Independence, 2089.
*The author wishes to thank corsair for his contributions to this chapter. This
revision contains changes of style, not substance. Persons who read
earlier version need not re-read the chapter to understand what follows.
The meeting of the “Reform Slavery Now” umbrella organization that had been discussed that day at Green’s office had actually been delayed a week. During that week I spent a few days with Morgan Richmond and his wife and then got settled into my new apartment once the painting was complete and all my old furniture moved in. It was so refreshing to be living independently again and to be living among my own things in a place I could call home.
The very day I moved into my new place I had received an invitation from Bill to accompany him and Morgan Richmond two days hence to the meeting that we had discussed. The day before the meeting I got a call from the Chairman of the umbrella group. She had heard about the tragedy of my personal experience when I ran afoul of the ill-conceived slavery laws. She wanted to know if I would be willing to give a short presentation in front of this meeting recounting the highlights of my experience. While I am not a shy person, the idea of telling such an intimate personal story in front of a crowd was daunting to say the least. My resistance melted when she assured me that what happened to me would help to inspire and mobilize others to fix what was wrong.
The meeting was held in the ballroom of one of New York’s most prestigious hotels. On the way to the meeting Bill gave me a crash course in Capitallian politics. I had known since grade school that there were two major parties – the Civil Rights Party (CRP) and the Economic Freedom Party (EFP). But I had not really understood the differences between them other than that the EFP was reputed to be a pro business party and the CRP stood more for the rights of the individual. Bill told me he had always voted EFP since he believed if our nation were to prosper we must have a robust and untrammeled business world. He did acknowledge that my own recent experiences had caused him to question some of his beliefs.
Before we could enter the ballroom we stopped at a table first where Bill and Morgan identified themselves as members and were given sealed ballots to fill out later. As a non-member I was not given a ballot. There were some very prominent signs cautioning that only persons comfortable with nudity should enter the hall.
As Bill, Morgan and I entered the room the buzz of many animated discussions filled our ears. Approximately five hundred people were there. There were perhaps a dozen or so naked young slaves, male and female, who were offering citizens drinks and, in some cases, apparently soliciting citizens for sex. I looked at Bill for some explanation.
“These people really are slavery enthusiasts”, he responded. “They want to ‘reform’ slavery mainly as a way to make sure that slavery remains acceptable to the public, and to their own consciences. Naturally they are most comfortable when they can be waited upon by their inferiors.”
I saw Paul Gregory in the crowd. He was the company psychologist at Masterson Automotive. He had listened to me when nobody else would. I knew he had helped to set in motion the chain of events that led to my freedom. There were also people here tonight from the Abolish Slavery Party (ASP), a minor party but well respected in this town. As we took our seats Bill saw someone he knew from years ago. He was sitting with a group of people who were carrying signs for the ASP. Bill asked me to come along with him and be introduced.
“Mr. Maxwell!” I heard him say with genuine warmth in his voice.
“Why Bill Steelforth! I am glad to see you at this meeting. Perhaps you are teachable after all!” the old man replied.
“Stephanie, this man was my high school civics teacher. He and I had quite some discussions on the slavery issue back in the day. Mr. Maxwell, this is Stephanie Glenn who has had some unfortunate experiences with our slavery laws of late. Perhaps you have heard something about that?”
“Indeed I have Bill. And I understand that you, young lady, are scheduled to address this meeting. While I express my sympathy for the injustice you endured, I also feel that your decision to address this meeting may indeed help to propel this discussion in the right direction.”
I smiled warmly at this and after he and Bill shook hands we made our way back to our seats, as others also found their seats. I felt butterflies forming in my stomach. There were a lot of obviously wealthy and important people gathering here tonight and I felt somewhat out of my league. Edgar had also arrived and took a seat next to mine. He told me that he too had been invited to speak of his experience as a slave but had declined, feeling it would be too embarrassing to talk about anything that personal in front of a large crowd.
The Chairman, a rather attractive African-American woman who appeared to be in her mid forties, called the meeting to order, encouraged the speakers to each keep their remarks very brief as their would be voting and possible amendments to propositions from the floor to follow. She then introduced the first speaker. He was from the EFP and launched right into a statement of what his party felt should be the guiding principles for this reform effort.
“Madame Chairman, friends, there has been a lot of talk about the need for radical reforms to the institution of bondage that has done so much to help Capitallia compete in world markets. There are those who say that a business that employs slaves must have constant monitoring by the slave advocates, that we must let indentured servants communicate freely with the outside world, and that we must not intrude into their thoughts too much nor wipe out too many of their memories just before we release them. But most slaves would be useless to industry if these things could not be done. We have trade secrets to protect. “
“Come come man!” a heckler in the audience shouted. “Surely even you EFP types see that the present system is corrupt!”
The speaker did his best to pretend that no interruption had occurred and continued.
“We in EFP do recognize that some reforms are long overdue. But we ask that reforms be reasonable and that each proposed reform meet a cost-benefit test. We should all keep in mind too that slavery is supposed to be a punishment. It is important that society express its confidence in the business world by allowing our business people to have appropriate discretion in all of these areas. That is all I have to say.”
The speaker took his seat. There was vigorous applause but it came mostly from one side of the room. I gathered that most of the EFP people were sitting on that side and were applauding one of their own.
The Chairman again took the podium.
“I think this might be an excellent time to introduce a very special person who has agreed to address us tonight. I think many of you may have heard of her story. She was recently set free by a court after having been unjustly sentenced to ten years of indentured servitude for debt, and actually serving the first year of that sentence. Her name is Stephanie Glenn. Please come up to the podium Stephanie.”
At the mention of my name there were gasps of surprise, delighted smiles from some, and a murmur went through the crowd. My story had been reported in the news after the Court set me free. There had been editorials written about my case. Again I felt the butterflies. How could I discuss anything so personal in front of this huge crowd? Edgar smiled at me and squeezed my hand to give me courage. Somehow I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was behind that podium looking out at those faces. I saw kindness in many, but some stern expressions and clenched jaws from others. Evidently some felt threatened by what they assumed I would say. Then there were some men who were smiling at me but not in a very polite or respectful way. I felt they were looking at me as a sex object.
“Good people”, I began, “I appeal to your sense of justice. I know you are all gathered here because you recognize our system is not working as originally intended. I have been persuaded that if you all heard what I went through that it might make a difference.”
There was some coughing and an audible intake of air from some of them. Others were looking very pleased indeed that I was speaking of my experience.
“As a citizen and as a professional, I went to work after graduation for a local firm and was sexually desired by my male supervisor. I have been asked not to name the firm or the supervisor. When I said no to him he falsified debts against me and used the indentured servitude law of our nation to make me his sex slave!”
I blinked back tears at this point and knew that my face had drained of color and I paused, as there were audible reactions all around the room. Some were sympathetic. Others were frankly disbelieving. Still others were smirking. I went through the whole sequence of events in detail from my job interview to the day the CEO informed me that I would be bearing a child for he and his wife and that I had nothing to say about it.
“Finally I was rescued by three brave men. They are all here tonight. One shall remain anonymous, as I would not want to jeopardize his present employment. The other two I will identify. They are Bill Steelforth of the Steelforth Agency, well known to most of you, and Morgan Richmond of Richmond Slendabond, also well known to this audience. With the help of these gentlemen the necessary evidence and lawsuit was formed to bring about my emancipation. I hope my experience may help to shed light on the issues I am sure you will soon be voting on. Thank you.”
I stepped away from the podium. At first there was a stunned silence. Then gradually the audience began to clap rhythmically and the clapping went on for a very long time. I thought I saw new respect even from some of the men that I thought had leered at me on my way up to the podium. As I took my seat, Edgar squeezed my hand again and whispered to me.
“They respect your courage to tell that kind of story. I wish I had that kind of courage.”
The Chairman again took the podium.
“I want to introduce at this time our next speaker,” she began. “He is a man who taught high school civics for many years before his retirement. Some of you may have been in his class. Now, in his senior years, he is pursuing a passion of his that is to work for the abolition of slavery in Capitallia. He has been a regular contributor to Abolition magazine. He is the spokesperson for the Abolish Slavery Party. I know his viewpoint is at odds with what most of you think but let us give him a respectful hearing.”
There were actually a few boos, but mostly polite applause, as old Mr. Maxwell walked with some difficulty toward the stage. As he approached the steps a young naked male slave who had been sitting on the floor in the first row at the feet of his owner suddenly jumped up to assist him in mounting those steps. He graciously thanked the slave who returned to his former position.
“I come not to ‘reform’ the institutions of slavery and indentured servitude, but to urge you to abolish these practices. I would hope that the moving story you have just heard from the young lady would cause you to at least consider that option.”
“Now I have a word for you, young man, who assisted me up these steps. I recognize you as having been, until two years ago, a prominent stockbroker in this town. Your name was well known as one of the up and coming generation. You were, for many years, on the list of the 100 most eligible bachelors. Now I dare you to join me here at the podium for a few minutes? I have a few questions I would like to put to you!”
There was a brief whispered conversation between the slave in question and his owner, a middle aged and somewhat paunchy male who Bill told me was a prominent banker in this city. Then the slave rose to his feet and walked up the steps to stand and face Mr. Maxwell and the audience. The older man was clearly surprised to see the young man had accepted his challenge, apparently with his owner’s permission. There were some intakes of breath around the room, both at the beauty of this slave’s naked physique, his generous masculine endowment, and his apparent audacity in going up on a public stage to respond to a citizen’s challenge.
“What do you want of me sir?” the young slave asked.
“Many of my generation were saddened”, old Mr. Maxwell continued, “when we learned on the news that you had been convicted of insider trading. Now you are both a slave and an involuntary prostitute. Your owner brings you to public meetings such as this one and has you walking around naked, strutting your stuff, and wagging your penis at any man or woman who shows the slightest interest in your body. Now I ask you, young man, is that a just punishment for the crime of which you were convicted?”
“My master has given me permission to respond to you sir. As I see it I have a debt to pay to society for the crime I committed and I am proud that I have been given a way to actually repay that debt by providing pleasure to my betters.”
“Why do you say that these people are your ‘betters’ as you put it?”
“Because, sir, they are all productive members of society and citizens and have committed no crime.”
“But are you not ashamed to be as you are before all these people? Do you not find it degrading, especially after the success you had achieved in life before your conviction?”
“I am not ashamed to be of use to others, even by ‘wagging my penis’ as you put it, at all who find me attractive! I can tell you sir, that I feel much happier serving my sentence by being useful to society and to my master than I would feel locked up in a 6’ x 9’ cell, with nothing to do for the next 15 years!”
“Young man”, old Maxwell responded, “I admire your courage in coming up here to make your statement. I think we all catch your drift even if we all do not agree with you. But you have made your point. Please take your seat now.”
With that this superb specimen of masculinity graciously bowed to Maxwell and climbed back down the steps to take up his place at the feet of his obviously pleased owner.
“You have made the same argument young man”, the old man continued, “that most slavery advocates make when say that without slavery we are back to locking people up in cages for many years. I say that it is better to lock a man up in a cage for twenty years than to take away his dignity by making him the slave of another man.
We are a spin-off from the United States. The founding document of that nation asserted, “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal …”
“For those who delight in inequalities, Jefferson’s words must ring hollow. You are inspired instead by the rank inequality of one person being forced to serve the sexual desires of others, as this young man has been forced. You take comfort perhaps in the words of Aristotle who once endorsed slavery in ancient Greece. But I must remind one and all that we are not living in ancient Greece or ancient Rome. We are living in a modern industrial democracy and our culture is informed by thousands of years of progressive thought.”
“I promised the Chairman to keep my remarks brief.”
With that he slowly walked back to his seat to the sound of polite applause.
The Chairman again took the podium and introduced the final speaker of the evening, the spokesperson for the CRP. She stepped briskly up to the podium amid mild applause.
“Fellow progressives … and future progressives …” There was good natured laughter at this. “I find I must defend our platform from both sides. We have just heard a moving speech from a much revered civics teacher and student of history – telling us to abolish what has become the signature institution of our society. On the other hand we have heard from the EFP that they have a hard time admitting the institution even needs fixing.”
Some boos and hissing were heard.
“I like to think my organization is somewhere in the moderate middle. One of the areas we think is most in need of reform is that of forced sex – of indentured servants being forced to have sex with their masters or being prostituted to the general public.”
The problem arises when the distinction becomes blurred between penal slavery and indentured servitude for debt. In the case of our last speaker, Stephanie Glenn, her sentence was for a ten-year indenture, not slavery, and the judge specified that the sentence was non-punitive. I think it is clear from her story that she was treated much as any penal slave would be treated. “
“A person who has been sentenced to indentured servitude is said to have an obligation to labor for a particular master for certain stipulated hours and to be generally obedient to that master during the stipulated working hours. Outside of working hours that person is entitled to have a private life.”
“In Stephanie’s case arrangements had been made through the court that she would perform professional services as an accountant during her indenture. Her professional services alone would have provided restitution for the relatively small debt she was convicted of. Yet she was also prostituted against her will, in spite of the fact that sexual services were not part of the labor specified in her indenture.”
“What happened to Stephanie illustrates the need for better and more comprehensive monitoring by slave advocates. We are arguing also that all advocates have had the personal experience of having been an indentured person or slave.”
“Another major concern of the CRP is that bio-implants and mind control technology not be abused. The potential is certainly there that an indentured person could have his or her mental and emotional privacy violated or could have memories deleted for possibly illegal or immoral reasons – even to wipe a slave’s memory of knowledge that his or her employer had committed a crime.”
“We in the CRP love and respect the institution of indentured servitude for debt as much as anyone here, but we maintain that if we are to preserve this valuable institution and maintain the public’s trust, we must fix what is wrong. That is all.”
The Chairman walked back to the podium and made the final announcement of the evening.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, if those of you who were given ballots will now open those ballots, I will proceed to read the various propositions we are to vote on tonight. The list of propositions and the results of your voting on them will be delivered to the Select Senate Sub Committee when they go into session next week on the bill to reform indentured servitude.”
She proceeded to plod through the various proposals and then the voting began. We did not learn the results of the voting that night.
Bill turned to me and asked if I would join him for a drink in the hotel’s bar. I accepted. As he made conversation I began to sense that he was interested in a serious relationship with me. Then he invited me to accompany him back to his apartment so that he could show me his “art collection”.
“Bill”, I replied, “I do value your friendship and am grateful for the help you have given me, but I sense that you have an interest in me that I cannot reciprocate”.
He looked crestfallen.
“You are a very attractive man Bill, and you surely have many qualities that I admire. But I have been raped during my year of slavery. Not raped once, but raped repeatedly by my boss, by the General Manager, and by the customers. I don’t know if I can ever feel intimate toward any man after what I have been through.”
“Steph”, he responded, “I think I understand what you have been through – at least as well as any male could. I am a patient man and I can wait until you have had a chance to heal. Please give us a chance.”
“Bill, to be perfectly honest there is another problem. I cannot feel intimate toward a man who is so enthusiastic about this slavery business when I no longer believe in it. I once did believe in it – until I was victimized by the system myself. I can never feel quite the same about it again. I found myself agreeing more with your old high school civics teacher than with any other speaker tonight.”
“Will you not give me a chance to defend my profession?”
“I am not sure that we will ever see eye to eye on that, Bill. And there may not be any point given my other problem. Let us just agree to be friends and let it go at that. I am tired now so, if you don’t mind, I would like to call it a night.”
He walked me out and hailed a cab for me.
My new apartment was off of 42nd Street in a low-rent neighborhood. It was only supposed to be temporary, only until I found something better. The subway stop was over a block away, but the rent was affordable. I had an option to rent for another year if I had to. I got into the cab and my thoughts turned to what the young male slave had said about preferring slavery to being locked up in a cage. He actually had said that he found his punishment as an involuntary prostitute to be a just way for him to atone for his crime. Perhaps he had a point. I would have to think more on this. I was tired and soon fell asleep to the monotonous sounds of traffic.
“Miss, this is your stop. Let me walk you to your door." The cabbies voice had sounded through the intercom.
I looked out at the drizzle and the wet pavement.
"That’s all right," I said. "You may as well stay dry. I'll be okay. You can watch me from inside here and leave when the doorman lets me inside my apartment building. I'll be safe then."
The wind blew rain in my face so I pulled my hood low over my brow and walked from the taxicab to my door. My cloak was calf-length and warm, not like the slave cloak I had to wear out of court, the one that left my butt hanging in the breeze and flashed my pussy at every step. The doorman was named Ralph and he looked like a football player. He was unfailingly polite. I never asked his background because he was entitled to his privacy. Ralph walked me to the elevator. I paused in front of the open door.
"Ralph, do you know of a convenience store nearby?"
"Miss Glenn, I can have someone deliver whatever you need," Ralph said. "It is a miserable night and I'd feel bad if something happened to you."
"I just want to get something for breakfast," I sneezed. Ralph handed me a tissue before I got my purse open. "Thank you. I need to get some cold medicine, too. I won't be long."
"There is a 24-hour shop on the next block," he told me. "It is staffed by three slaves. They live there and somebody is always up. I can call someone to deliver--"
"No, Ralph. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. I have my stun gun and I'm not afraid to use it."
I would regret my words.
"As you wish, Miss Glenn," Ralph said.
"Ralph, it isn't any of my business, so I won't be upset if you don't answer," I blew my nose again. Damned this cold! "Are you a slave?"
"I don't mind, ma'am. I am an indentured servant. This job requires being bonded for insurance purposes. Indentured servants are cheaper to bond. When my indenture is up, my employer will pay my first year's citizenship taxes. I'm attending school, too. I'm training to be a security guard at the Federal Compound, but I need to complete college."
"Thank you for trusting me," I said.
The walk out to the store was uneventful. I was tired, and the night was cold and damp. The slave working at the store was Stacy. Slave labor made the full-service convenience store profitable again. The police called self-service convenience stores Stop-and-Robs because the customers had free run of the store. Full service stores kept the clerks behind bulletproof glass. Stacy was scantily clad, but not naked, not lewd.
"I recognize you, Mistress Stephanie," Stacy said. "I want to thank you for what you're doing. I was enslaved for debt. Jobs are scarce. I lost mine when the store I worked at went to slave labor. Now I'm here for the next 9 years. It isn't so bad and I'll have something left over when I'm free."
Stacy filled my order for one breakfast bar, one WakeupJuice in a self-heating can, a bottle of ColdQwell and a box of Tampax. As I paid with my credit card, I remembered that box of Tampax in my purse that betrayed me in Chicago. I silently gave thanks that I wasn't going to have to streak naked through this cold October drizzle to my apartment like I did in the warmth of a Chicago summer.
My purchases were in a bag in the air lock--a device that prevented the slaves from escaping. In accounting school I learned that the little pass-through was equipped with scanners that detected the contents of the bag and would match it to my receipt. The outer door would only open when the receipt and the contents matched and when the inner door was closed. This system almost eliminated stock shrinkage. Shoplifting was impossible.
"Stacy, could I buy you a candy bar or something?" I asked the counter slave.
"You don't have to, Mistress Stephanie," the slave said.
"I want to. It's no trouble."
A few minutes later I was walking in the rain feeling really good about myself. Stacy had chosen a chocolate bar and she said that she was going to share it with the other slaves that worked there. I pulled my hood lower as the rain whipped into my face. Water beaded against my weatherproof cloak. My feet were wet, but fashion sometimes hurts.
"Miss Stephanie," a child's voice said from behind, "could you spare a dollar?"
Blame the rain. Blame my cold or the drink I had with Bill after the meeting. Feeling smug about bringing a bit of pleasure to some slaves. Normally I would have been more wary. I turned and faced the child, a shivering boy just under my own height. He wasn't dressed for the wet weather and his face was angelic. I reached in my purse for some change when a shadow moved in front of me--and I was grabbed from behind.
Sergeant Major Coxswain’s voice echoed in my imagination across the years: 'AMBUSH!' She had been my training instructor in the New York State Police Reserve. All citizens had to prepare to assist their state, region or the nation in time of national emergency in at least one line of work other than their normal career. I had chosen the Police Reserves.
My reactions were immediate--I dropped my purse and grabbed the hands as they touched me. My right heel stamped on my assailant's foot and he screamed as I jerked his finger backwards. It snapped and I felt it rather than heard it because the boy behind me was screaming in pain. I'm no warrior and I cried for the poor child as I pulled his arm straight up over my head and shoved my shoulder into his armpit, then bent forward at the waist. He flipped right over me and slammed into the sidewalk. I let go because his scream shut off when he hit the hard pavement.
"Erin!" the child in front of me screamed. He whipped out an object and it emitted an electric arc. The child's snarling faced was no longer angelic. "You're going to pay, bitch!"
My own stun gun and cell phone were in my purse where I dropped them. My long strong runner's legs were hobbled by my fashionable skirt and by my all weather cloak and I was tottering on high heels. My police close combat training was mostly legwork for offense--I use a soft martial arts style that uses the attacker's movements against him, but my kicks give me standoff range. I run like a gazelle, too. But I wasn't wearing my martial arts clothes nor was I in running shoes -and as I said, I had dropped my stun gun.
The boy in front of me extended the arcing electrical device and I slapped it away with my right hand, grabbed his wrist with my left, stepped into him and whacked the side of his head with my forearm. He was stunned long enough for me to apply a wristlock and make him drop the device. It broke when it hit the pavement, sizzled and when out. The boy screamed as I applied pressure, pivoting back to my right and twisting his arm the other way as I took him to the ground. I didn't want to hurt the child more than I had to, but I was going to have to do something. I tripped over the other child, Erin, and the first child and I fell to the ground.
"You can use gravity or you can be its victim," Susan Coxwain had told us many years ago. When you get attacked you will be knocked down. Go down on your terms, with gravity as your ally, and the perp will be yours.”
I spun while in the air and fell on top of the child. His breath woofed out as we hit. I put him in a carotid choke-out hold and applied pressure. He struggled a moment, then went limp.
"When a suspect resists arrest, leave nothing to chance." Sergeant Major Coxwain's advice thundered in my head. But they were just children. Street urchins. I didn't want to hurt them. I got to my feet, found my purse and bag, picked them up. I pressed the emergency services button on my cell phone.
"No signal!" the cell phone said. I looked at the display and the screen showed five empty circles and the words 'no signal' in flashing red letters. Then everything went blank.
****************************************************
Much later I awoke. I wasn’t sure how long I had been out. The first thing I became aware of was that I could not move. I found myself restrained on my back on a bench of some sort. There was a wide leather belt securing my waist to the bench. My arms and wrists were pulled way over my head. My legs were spread wide and held by ankle cuffs attached to rods coming out of the foot of the bench. The next thing I experienced was that I was quite naked. As my blurry vision cleared I found a familiar presence standing over me. It was Mel Zigler. The two boys I had fought with on the streets were standing in the background, looking on with glee and lust in their eyes. I figured that I must be in some kind of laboratory since there was a lot of electronic equipment nearby. Zigler suddenly turned from me to the boys.
“Kim, Erin – you guys really blew it! If I hadn’t come along just when I did and fired that stun gun at her she would have gotten away from us!”
The older of the two boys, a slender red headed youth who appeared to be about 16, then pointed an accusing finger at the younger boy who could not have been more than 13.
“Kim”, he shouted, “If you hadn’t been so stupid as to call her ‘Miss Stephanie’ she might have thought we were just panhandlers and fallen for our act!”
I saw a look of resentment cloud the younger boy’s face, the one who had been called ‘Kim’. He was shorter and had a stockier look than Erin.
“That’s enough Erin!” Zigler shouted. “What’s done is done. I have more important things to attend to then watching you two lads point fingers at each other.”
With that Zigler turned back to me.
“OK bitch”, he hissed, “I have you just where I want you. I heard about your visit to the prosecutor’s office. Luckily for me the prosecutor is a friend of mine from college days. He gave me a heads up on what you had in store for me. There won’t be a trial if you are not around to testify. But first I want to know about all the evidence you have against me - witnesses you planned to call and anything else you have up your sleeve! Let’s get you into a more obedient frame of mind then, shall we?”
“I have a little persuader here that should be just about right to pry that information from you!”
With that he reached with his right hand over to a table and picked up a penis shaped probe with an electrical cable attaching it to a generator. With his left hand he reached toward my crotch. I jerked violently when I felt his cold clammy left hand touch my vulva and begin to spread my labia in preparation to insert the probe. Despair began to overcome me as I realized he was going to electrically torture my sex. He touched a control and I was soon writhing with sensations of an approaching orgasm. I fought it. Then he increased the voltage and I felt intense pain in my genitals.
“OK bitch. You will now tell me the names of all the witnesses you were going to call!”
“Fuck you!” I spat.
After five minutes of me writhing in pain he realized this was not working and pulled the electric probe out of my vagina. I saw him pick up a thick steel ring with electrical wires trailing away to a control panel. It appeared to be some sort of magnet. It hinged open and he placed it around my neck and snapped it shut. Then he was fiddling with the nearby control panel. He pushed a button and I heard a loud hum for a few seconds. He released the collar from my neck.
“There”, he said to the boys. “That should re-activate her implant and make her respond to hypnotic suggestions again”.
He obviously did not know my implant transponder had been surgically removed. Maybe I should play along and let him think he had me under his control. He spoke what sounded like a code phrase that meant nothing to me. I pretended to be hypnotized. He gave me a series of commands that I followed without hesitation.
“Well boys, she seems to be responding well to commands now. Let’s put that to the ultimate test. Let’s see if I can get her to orgasm on command.”
With that he picked up the penis shaped object once more and again separated my labia to insert the probe in my vagina. Soon I felt mild electrical stimulation down there. I knew at once they I would need to fake an orgasm to sustain the illusion that he had me under his control.
“Ooh – do that again Master!” I cried out as I began to writhe on the table within the limits of my bonds.
I began to think of the sexiest thoughts I could, willing my nipples to erect, willing myself to juice. I hoped I was creating enough of an illusion to fool Zigler. Just then his cell phone rang and he pulled the probe out of my vagina and laid it back on the table. He walked some distance away from me and I could just barely hear him speaking to someone in hushed tones.
“Then I will meet you at the usual place. Don’t worry man – there will be no loose ends.”
He hung up and turned back to the boys.
“I have to leave for an hour to meet someone. Feel free to have a bit of fun with the bitch if you want. I have re-activated all her slave training. She will do whatever you ask her to do.”
With that he left and I heard the laboratory door slam shut and the faint sound of his climbing some stairs in the distance. I knew from that remark about “no loose ends” that this man would kill me later – after he got the information he wanted. I knew he would very likely kill the boys as well
“What are we waiting for Erin?” the younger boy asked.
“Right on, Kim. Let’s not waste our chance!”
With that the two boys began stripping off their clothing. They both had hairless bodies and had obviously spent quite a bit of time in the gym. Kim, the younger boy, was first to be naked. Between his stocky legs I saw a small flaccid penis, un-descended testicles and but a sparse growth of black pubic hair. He began playing with himself.
Erin was next and his body was a contrast in every respect. He was a slender lad and long of limb. Between his long slim muscular legs was a crowning glory of dense red pubic hair, a happy trail running up his six pack abs, generous and low hanging testicles and a rather long penis that was starting to become erect.
Kim started things by taking a position near my head. He began rubbing his little limp dick all over my face. At first I twisted my head left and right to avoid it.
“Do you like this bitch?” he sneered.
I could see this was turning him on and he became tumescent. When he presented his little half hard dick to my mouth I decided I had better play along so the boys would think I really was under their control. I stuck out the tip of my tongue and teased the tip of his little penis until I could taste a drop of his pre cum. He was getting harder now and began to push his small rod into my mouth. I let him batter at the gates of my teeth for a while to tease him, then opened wide and took him in.
Erin was watching all this and had become fully erect. I had to admit he was a good-looking lad though I had no desire for sex with him. He took up a position between my widely spread legs and began battering at my nether gate. I did not want him inside me but it seemed there would be no way to avoid that, restrained as I was. I also knew that I would have to fake pleasure to sustain the illusion for the boys. I could see drops of pre cum forming at the tip of his long penis and feel the wetness of those drops on the lips of my vulva.
“Let me have it big boy!” I said with what I hoped was a convincingly erotic come hither smile.
He used his hands to open my labia and thrust forward burying himself in me to the hilt.
“Ooh … ah”, I moaned as I began to writhe for the boys.
Erin was now pistoning in and out of me with long deep strokes. Kim was having more difficulty because he did not have my head in the best position for his thrusts. I continued to writhe and forced a smile.
After several minutes of Erin’s thrusting he looked up and spoke to his companion.
“We really do have the bitch under our control – just like Zigler said!”
"Yeah, man," Kim drooled "But before you come in her let’s flip her so you can do her ass and I get a better angle into her mouth!"
They had bought it, I realized! My baby sitters believed that I was under their control. Kim released the clips holding my collar to the table. Erin unfastened my wrists from the point above my head on the bench. A waist strap and cuffs on my ankles kept me immobilized against the bench with my legs spread. They made me sit up and Erin clipped my wrists together behind my back.
My left leg was released and I did nothing. My right leg was next. Then Erin opened the buckle on the waist strap.
"Oh, masters, please hurry," I cooed. I was still trying to act like I was aroused.
Would they buy my submissive slave bitch in heat act just a moment more? I had been writhing in simulated desire restrained by my bonds so that I was as limber as could be under the circumstances. Now if they would only just --
Erin was on my right and Kim was on my left. The bondage bench was in the middle of the room. I had a chance as Erin, hampered by the injuries I had inflicted on him earlier, rolled me in Kim's direction. The splinted fingers of his left hand and his torqued left shoulder gave me enough room to pull back my strong right runner's leg as I fell to the left. I kicked as hard as I could from my awkward position, driving a heel into Erin's solar plexus. My kick propelled me into a much-surprised Kim and I fell on top of him when we both crashed to the floor. Kim reacted more slowly than I did. I rolled off of Kim and to my feet. As Kim tried to rise I snap-kicked Kim in the side of the head. Kim's head struck the bench's support leg with a hollow thud and Kim slumped to the floor.
"Bitch," Erin wheezed as he got to his feet.
I leaped up on the bench, my sculpted leg muscles generating more than enough thrust because of my marathons and because of the humiliating naked exercise programs MAG put me through, and I executed a clumsy flying leap that knocked Erin down. I fell over hard. Pain meant nothing. Anger fueled by hours of torment and by fear allowed me to shrug off the impact and kick Erin again. He grabbed my legs and for a moment I thought I was dead--but Erin moved in between my long strong legs so that I couldn't kick him any more. He realized his mistake when I clamped both legs around his arms and chest and began squeezing. I rolled on the floor, pinning his head against the bench. He coughed and gasped and his face turned purple because my muscular thighs were compressing his chest, were preventing him from drawing breath. Erin convulsed and shuddered. I held on long moments more to make sure than he was out.
It was hard to wiggle out of that clinch, but I managed. I forced my joined wrists over my solid glutes and down my legs, scraping skin--and shifting my cuffed hands in front of me instead of behind me. I got to my feet and looked at the boys. Erin coughed, recovering from lack of oxygen. I was afraid that Kim was moving again.
At that moment I appreciated being in this strange room with my two foes naked except for their bandages. There was an assortment of bondage gear on the walls hanging from hooks set in pegboard. I grabbed several handcuffs and secured Erin's wrists around the leg of the bench. Kim was next. I straddled him, ignoring the stab of pain from my abused crotch as I clipped one cuff around his wrist. Kim snarled and clawed at me and I torqued the cuffed hand and shut the other cuff attached to Kim's wrist to the bench's leg.
"Let me go! I'm going to kill you!" Kim screamed at me. I was shaking violently. He couldn't reach me. "Get back here, cunt!"
Erin groaned.
What time was it? Zigler could be back any minute. I had been very, very lucky that the boys had underestimated my desperation, had overestimated the degree of control that they had over me. I glanced around the room looking for my clothes. They were not inside. I tried the laboratory door--I wasn't going to stay in that room! It was locked. With my hands bound together I hammered at the door in frustrated rage. Behind me Erin began cursing me too.
The remote control fob! I looked for it and it was out of reach of both boys. If either one of them gave me any trouble I was going to hurt them very bad. I skirted Erin and bent over, picking up the remote. Put something on? My hands were cuffed in front of me and the boys were both smaller than me--I wasn't going to be wearing THEIR clothes. I pointed the fob at the door and began pressing buttons. The lights went out, the alarm rang, the lights went back on--and the door slid open. I dashed from the dungeon and used the control fob to shut the door again. A short set of stairs led up. The hallway was chilly and I was naked--but I wasn't going to stay. My life depended on getting out of there. The second door at the top of the stairs swung open after a bit of experimentation.
I found myself in what appeared to be an office. There was a box in plain sight that held my clothing, shoes, purse and cell phone. Quickly I pulled a few things on. The high-heeled shoes would be useless. I ran out into the street barefoot. I wasn’t sure where I was but it looked like somewhere in lower Manhattan. I ran as fast as I could for several blocks until I was able to hail a cab. Only then did I pull out my cell phone and dial a number. Bill Steelforth’s number.
Chapter 22. Steelforth Licks His Sexual Wounds
Damn! After Stephanie’s rejection in that hotel bar, I hurt in parts of me I didn’t even know I had. Sure she had said she would have trouble relating to any man after her experiences being raped. But the part I really heard was when she said she couldn’t relate to me because I was a slaver. That hurt! I had been feeling both lust and something more than that for this woman ever since that day I performed a “Creditor’s Examination” upon her naked person in my office during her enslavement trial. I had wanted to fuck her then, and could have, but something had stayed my penis. I knew, somewhere at the back of my mind, that I wanted much more from her than just a quick fuck, though I had not exactly defined what it was I wanted. Now she was free to reject my advances – in considerable measure because I had worked to achieve her freedom!
Her rejection had somehow sexually aroused me and I was tenting my pants. I had this major case of blue balls and wanted a quick simple uncomplicated release with just about any attractive woman. And although I was not normally a vindictive man, I felt that the quick release I wanted would be even sweeter if I could humiliate someone in the process. After all I had just been humiliated, or so I felt, and it seemed right somehow to be able to turn the tables.
On my way home I passed by a major 24-hour shopping mall and remembered I needed a few drugstore items. I got my hard-on down and made my way inside. There were a surprising number of customers in Pickup-Mart for this time of evening. As I searched for the right aisle I passed the jewelry counter and there was an attractive young red headed woman there looking over some rather expensive looking watches the clerk had placed on the counter top for her inspection. I noticed her because she was fashionably dressed in an exquisite silk blouse with fine accessories and because she was quite slender and her skirt came only to mid thigh, showing off a splendid pair of lightly muscled legs.
She asked the clerk to pull another watch from a case some distance away. As the clerk turned away to retrieve the requested item I saw the young woman slip one of the watches into the waistband of her skirt. I marveled that it did not just fall through to the floor until I realized she must have dropped it inside her panties. Just then she called out to the clerk that she had changed her mind and had no more time for shopping and started to walk away.
She was walking toward the store entrance where I had come in only a minute before. I knew the chief of security at this mall and he had once done a favor for me. I used my mobile device to give him a heads up about this shoplifter. He thanked me abruptly and hung up. Soon there were two security guards – one male and one female – approaching the young shoplifter. The male officer blocked her way to the exit while the female security officer grabbed her firmly by one arm. I couldn’t help but notice the female officer had an appealing figure – slender and long limbed like our shoplifter, but more muscular.
“What is the meaning of this?” the shoplifter cried out with feigned outrage. “I have done nothing wrong. Surely there must be some mistake! Take your hands off me you bitch!”
“You have a stolen watch on your person young lady and as your wristband shows that you are not a citizen, you must come with us to the mall security office!” the male officer informed her.
“I won’t go! You two rent-a-cops can’t make me do anything!” she screamed as she began to struggle with first the female officer and then the male officer.
“We are legally permitted to arrest you under these circumstances ma’am” the female officer interjected. “And as a non-citizen, if you resist us we can legally strip you right here to prove you have stolen merchandise on your person.”
This seemed to give the young shoplifter pause for a moment. She looked scared as she realized this could indeed happen. Then she screamed out a whole string of curses and while the male officer was pulling her hands behind her to handcuff her she was kicking out at the female officer. Apparently she thought if she got other shoppers to notice her someone would come to her rescue. It was not to be. Other shoppers noticed all right but most looked on with either grim satisfaction or glee. Shoplifters were not popular and most people felt they got what they deserved.
Soon she was cuffed but she refused to walk with the officers. A second pair of handcuffs was put on her ankles to prevent her kicking. The male officer picked up her high-heeled shoes that had come off and stuffed them in his back pockets. The two of them then picked her up and carried her still cursing toward the elevator to the security office downstairs. Just before she was picked up the female officer looked in my direction and called out to me.
“Chief asked if you would accompany us sir. He would like to thank you personally for turning her in!”
At that bit of news I saw the young shoplifter look in my direction. She had paid no attention to me before, but now there were daggers in her eyes as she tried to stare me down.
As she was hoisted up her skirt rode up somewhat and I had the opportunity to see even more of her nylon clad legs. I followed these three to the elevators. As we all got in the elevator the officers continued to carry the struggling shoplifter in a horizontal position with her knees higher than her torso. Her skirt had ridden up yet higher and I was in a fairly good position for a look up her skirt. I could see where her nylons ended and that her panties were pulled tight into her crotch. The shape of her cleft of Venus was just discernible in the way the panties clung to her. The two guards could see where I was looking but made no attempt to adjust the handcuffed shoplifter’s skirt for greater modesty.
We entered the suite of security offices in the basement level. Chief Warren Redford greeted me warmly and shook my hand as we entered.
“Bill, we have recently acquired a new toy that I think a man in your line of work might appreciate!” he said with a twinkle of the eye.
“Her bracelet says non-citizen” he continued looking at the guards “but you better scan it to make sure we know who she is” the Chief instructed the security guards.
As soon as they swiped her bracelet a computer screen lit up showing her name as Ms. Rebecca Stinson, non-citizen resident, occupation as receptionist at some law firm I had never heard of, her address, contact information, retina scan, credit history, prior brushes with the law and much else.
“Get a live retina scan on her now”, the Chief directed, “to make sure it matches what is on file for this Rebecca Stinson. We need biometric confirmation that the information on our computer screen represents her real name, identity and other particulars. Some shoplifters use false ID after all.”
This was done and the retina scans matched.
“Take the young lady into our new scanner room” he added, looking at the two guards.
The Chief and I followed the two guards as they continued to carry the struggling shoplifter into a room containing what I immediately recognized as a full body scanner. Evidently she recognized the nature of the machine as well since I noted her intensifying her struggles and attempting to kick out at the guards.
“You can’t do this! I am a free legal resident! I have rights! Get me out of this infernal machine and take the cuffs off me!” she cried.
“Actually we can do this because you are not a citizen and because you have given us ‘probable cause’ for such a scan of your body” the Chief answered her. “In fact Mr. Steelforth here is the one who gave us the probable cause by his willingness to testify against you in court should that become necessary.”
Soon they had her positioned vertically in the machine with her hands cuffed to an attachment point above her head and her ankles secured to the floor and separated by about two feet. Other rods were adjusted to insure that she would maintain the desired position and could not move about very much.
“Bill, I think you are going to be impressed with what this machine can do!” the Chief said proudly. The older machines produced black and white images only, the images were somewhat grainy and did not always show as much detail as one would wish.
The machine began to whir as it took multiple scanning passes. The male security officer had been dismissed and The Chief and I and the female officer stood in front of a large computer monitor where a full body image began to materialize. It showed a full color image of our young shoplifter fully dressed including the colors and textures of her clothing, the sheen of her silk blouse, the texture of her nylon clad legs and so forth.
“So far only a normal photographic image that is useful to document her identity among other things. All the images will be permanently saved on our hard drive for later recall. A sophisticated computer program controls the display of images so that each image will show us what we want to see and nothing we don’t want to see. Next you will see a layered stripping process. Watch!”
Suddenly the outer layer of clothing was gone. What we saw now was the girl wearing a bra, panties and her nylon hose. I was impressed at how well the machine was able to render the skin tones and textures. She had very smooth and nicely tanned skin, a small birthmark just below her clearly delineated collarbone and one could see from tan lines that she often wore a Brazilian style high cut bikini to the beach.
“If you wonder how our machine can strip away outer garments while not stripping away underwear, I can tell you how it is done. The machine takes multiple scanning passes, each pass penetrating a fraction of a millimeter deeper than the previous pass. Depth of penetration is controlled by changing the frequency or wavelength of the x-rays and by subtracting out reflections that come back to the camera from too shallow or too deep a level.”
I nodded my head, pretending I could follow all this tech speak.
Our young shoplifter was looking in our direction with an anxious expression on her face. The monitor was angled so that she could not see the actual images we three were seeing but she could see the amused expression on my face and listen to us talking about her body.
We were also able to observe the details of her navel and a small heart shaped tattoo just below the navel and just above the panty line. Dimly visible through the semi-translucent material of the panties was a dark area on her mons suggestive of pubic hair. Just to one side of that, above her right leg, we saw a slight bulge in the elastic waistband and some object about the size of a watch was dimly visible through the material. The panties were still pulled tight into her crotch so that they perfectly outlined the sweet cleft between her young legs. The gusset of the panties was a reinforced panel so more could not be seen as yet. The image was clearly incriminating so the Chief pressed a button to make sure we had saved the image to the hard drive and printed out a copy as well to attach to her file.
Next we saw the naked image of this shoplifter. The image was everything a voyeur would wish for. Even the female officer seemed quite interested. I could see a certain sexual tension in her the way she was holding her muscles. Perhaps she was lesbian or at least bi-sexual I thought. In addition I was startled to see a couple of stolen items that had been concealed by her underwear now clearly visible. The watch above her right leg could be seen in sufficient detail to read the brand of it and the time of day it displayed. It was strange to see it since it did not appear to be supported by anything now that the elastic waistband was no longer shown. In similar fashion we could see that there was a silk handkerchief of some sort that appeared to be clinging to her left breast.
The breasts were full and firm and about C-cup size I should think. The skin of the breasts was much whiter than other skin – suggesting she seldom made a practice of exposing the breasts when tanning at a public beach or swimming pool. My eyes naturally traveled down to her mons where I saw a very thick mass of curly red pubic hair that she had neatly trimmed into a heart shape. The color matched the color of hair on her head exactly. My eyes dropped still lower and I was treated to one of the most beautiful vulvas I had ever been privileged to see. The detail was incredible. The female security officer did not look bored.
“There used to be this silly legal requirement” the Chief continued, “that the machine must scramble the so-called ‘private areas’. While I can understand the rationale for that it simply isn’t workable in the security business. After all these bitches often use their so-called private parts to conceal stolen merchandise. We have to be able to see everything!”
“You fucking perverts!” the young woman screamed. “Turn your fucking machine off!”
“If you have objections to body scanning, you should have thought of that before you committed the crime and gave us cause to scan you!” the female officer answered her.
Just then I saw the Chief activate something called the “Zoom Feature”. The machine began to display an increasingly detailed close-up image of her vulva. It lingered on her left outer labia for a while and we could see individual pubic hairs filling the whole screen.
“Do you see that!” the Chief suddenly exclaimed. “Count down three pubic hairs from the top of the screen and tell me what you see!”
“It looks like a small scar or birthmark of some sort” I replied.
“Exactly. And that could be very useful for identification by other security officers in other shopping malls if the young lady ever tries to change her name to escape her past.”
“You are going to put images of my private parts in some national database where anyone can look at them?” the young woman cried out hysterically.
“No ma’am. That would never happen unless you are convicted, or if you confessed and then stole again. Even then the images would only be accessible to licensed security officers or police who have you in their custody as a result of some future incident. If you confess to us later tonight and don’t steal again nobody but this department will have access to the images or even knowledge that you were arrested.”
“But what if I don’t confess?” she asked.
“Then you would go to trial and, if convicted, the images will go into a law enforcement
database where any security officer or police could access them,” the Chief replied.
She looked shaken at this revelation.
The Chief moved the Zoom viewer to the center top of the vulva and we were able to just see the tip of the clitoris peeping out from under the clitoral hood. We noted that she had a gold clitoral ring installed through the upper part of the clitoral hood. There was an inscription on the ring and, although he zoomed in close, we couldn’t quite make it out. He was able to read the RFID number off the ring, however. A quick computer lookup revealed that a ring bearing this RFID number had been reported stolen from one of Pickup-Mart’s other stores two weeks earlier. Then he dropped the zoom area a bit lower and we saw a few drops of what was clearly urine.
“Those drops would be indicative of her fear at being arrested and could possibly help us to document her guilty state of mind”, the Chief commented. He then pushed a button to make sure we had a permanent image on the hard drive and a hard copy to attach to her file. We could not see the vaginal opening since the lips of the vulva were pressed close together. Nothing had been done as yet to open up this area.
“Now we go deeper still,” he continued. “We will now look inside her body cavities to see what else we might find.
Now I was seeing images that looked more like traditional medical x-ray images. First he looked inside her ears and nose and found nothing, then inside her throat and stomach and her rectum and still found nothing. Then he moved the focal point of the depth scanner to her vagina and we saw a clear image of a bottle of perfume hidden in there. He adjusted the resolution so that we could even read the label on the bottle through her flesh and verify that it was a very expensive brand of perfume. He was able to read the RFID number off the bottle through her flesh as well and determine that it had not been paid for. I was impressed.
“OK. I think we have seen quite enough in this virtual stripping to justify a literal stripping,” the Chief finally exclaimed. “Release her from the machine now and attach her to the exam table.”
I must confess I was really hard after watching this exciting stripping process. I did my best not to let the Chief or the two officers see me tenting my pants.
They had a portable table setup and proceeded to strap the young shoplifter to that.
The female security officer produced a digital camera and proceeded to take pictures of the young woman in this disheveled state, including close-ups of her face. They dumped the contents of her purse on a side counter and checked to see if she had any other stolen items. Then the table, which was on wheels, was rolled into the Chief’s office with our shoplifter on it.
“You may as well come in here too” the Chief called to me. “You should see how we deal with shoplifters here. Of course had she been a citizen we would follow an entirely different protocol.”
I must admit I was intrigued. If the shoplifter had been some old hag I would probably have been content to let the law take care of itself. But this was not the case. All four of us followed the gurney. I felt my hard-on gently tenting my slacks again and willed it down. In the Chief’s office they began stripping her of her clothing.
“Do these fucking men have to be here!” our pretty shoplifter hissed.
The Chief motioned to the male guard and he, somewhat disappointed left the room.
“What about him?” she asked, indicating me.
“This is Bill Steelforth. If it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t be here now. He observed your theft and will be the star witness against you if this case goes to court. In his line of work he is already licensed to perform, witness or participate in female examinations. We want him to witness your complete exam so that he can testify that we didn’t plant any additional evidence on you.”
They carefully checked that she had not hidden any other stolen items on her person. First to go was her beautiful silk blouse. An RFID scan revealed that it was stolen. As the female security officer removed her C-cup bra the silk handkerchief we had seen in the body scanner fell out. But my interest was much more directed to her newly exposed breasts. They were beautifully shaped and resilient to the officer’s touch and her nipples were erect. It could have been fear or possibly the chilly air in the room, but I really suspected we had someone who was turned on by the eroticism of being forcibly examined in this way by two men and a woman, though I am sure she would never admit it.
Next to go was the skirt, with the officer retrieving the watch from the waistband of her panties and the Chief examined it closely and photographed it as evidence.
“We need to remove her nylons, Bill,” the Chief announced. “We will need to check for any scars, birthmarks or tattoos that might help identify her at a later time. Perhaps you would like to do the honors!”
I needed no persuasion on this point. I began at once to roll down first the nylon on her left leg, then that on her right leg. It was a pleasure and I took advantage of the opportunity to caress those beautiful muscular well-defined limbs in the process. I had examined many young women in my line of work, but this sort of thing was a pleasure of which no red-blooded male could ever tire. The chief then pulled out some extendable rods with ankle cuffs from holsters on the sides of the table and indicated that the female officer and I should use these to secure our shoplifter’s ankles and legs widely apart.
The Chief had probable cause to order the removal of our shoplifter’s panties since we had all seen that she had both a stolen clit ring and an item of stolen merchandise secreted inside her vagina. As the female officer inched her panties down the very curly red pubic hair came into view and we could see that the color of that seen on the body scanner had been very accurate. As the clit ring came into view the officer held it up and read the inscription aloud to us. It said “Rebecca Loves Jeremy”. As the panties came all the way off I could see a small yellow stain in the gusset as they were removed. It was clearly urine and confirmed what we had seen on the body scanner. It was evidence suggestive of her fear and probable guilty state of mind at time of her arrest and would be preserved as evidence.
More pictures were taken. I noted that in this position, with her thighs held wide apart by those extended rods and cuffs, her labia opened up nicely and I got a much better look at her cleft and at the outer opening of her vagina. The female officer donned latex gloves and reached inside our shoplifter’s vagina to retrieve that small bottle of perfume we all knew was hidden in there.
The Chief indicated that we would confiscate the stolen clit ring as well. The female officer at first had difficulty, or perhaps pretended to have difficulty, finding the ring’s release catch and had to manipulate the ring quite a bit searching for it. This caused considerable stimulation of the clitoris and we all noted with amusement that our shoplifter became visibly aroused by all this stimulation. Her labia became engorged and we could observe some sexual secretions as well. Finally she ‘found’ the release catch and soon the clit ring was removed and joined the other items on the table. All the while the young shoplifter was trying her best to buck but the straps allowed her very little movement. She continued to curse and shout insults at all of us. I think I heard the word “perverts” shouted more than once. Finally the Chief stuffed one of the nylon stockings I had taken off her in her mouth to quiet her.
“All right Miss Stinson” the Chief began. “We know who you are from your ID bracelet and I am going to tell you what happens next. At this point you can, if you wish, stand on your rights as a free legal resident of this state and this nation and demand that we turn you over to city police. They will place you under arrest and take you to pre-trial detention tonight. In the morning you will be brought before a judge and charged with shoplifting. If convicted and it is your first offense you will be sentenced to perhaps six months of community servitude. If you have priors, and we know you do, you could get 2 years or more of slavery. There is little doubt you would be convicted since we have you on videotape committing the act and Mr. Steelforth here witnessed your theft and would be willing to testify against you. Nod your head if you understand what I have told you so far.”
We saw her nod her head frantically and make mewing sounds. The Chief pulled the sock out of her mouth so she could communicate with us.
“I will leave the sock out as long as you watch your language and your behavior young lady.”
“Is there … is there another alternative?” she asked. I could see she was scared now and most of the fight had gone out of her.
“Why yes. This mall does not like to ruin people’s lives. It is not good business. But we do need to make an example of shoplifters to deter others. I am sure you understand.”
She nodded glumly.
“So what we offer you Miss Stinson is a chance to confess on videotape, to clear your conscience and allow us to have documented proof of your admission of guilt. Then we ask you to consent to let us punish you in our own way. I can assure you that our punishment will be far easier to take than any a court would pass on you.”
“What would I have to do?” her voice was barely a squeak now.
“When you steal from one of our stores you are really stealing from your fellow customers. The store must charge all our customers higher prices because of thefts by people like you. What we want you to do is compensate our customers for the extra costs that you and others like you have imposed on them.”
“Just tell me how much and I will write out a check.”
“It is not going to be that simple ma’am. That would be far too easy. What we require is for you to give our customers pleasure so they will feel some sense of vindication that something is being done to make them whole for at least some of the extra costs they have had to bear. That way they will continue to prefer shopping in our mall. And we insist that you experience humiliation in the giving of that pleasure so you will not be tempted to steal from us again.”
“Surely you don’t mean, …” she wailed.
“You are an attractive woman Miss Stinson, and you seem reasonably intelligent. Must I spell it all out for you?”
We saw her pained expression as she thought of the implications of this. Then she began uncontrollably sobbing. After several minutes she spoke to us again.
“How many … and for how long?” she gasped.
“Now that is the good news. We only ask you to enter into a five-day sexual indenture. Because it is a legal indenture, once you have agreed to it you will not be able to back out. It is an enforceable contract and we will force you to fulfill it. If you perform well we may free you after one or two days of service.
“During your days of service you may be required to provide sexual pleasure to quite a number of our customers. Usually what that means is that you will be placed in a booth in one of our stores where you will be handcuffed and blindfolded. You will give blowjobs to quite a large number of male customers. Female customers may also demand oral sex from you. As you will be blindfolded you will not know who is using you. But they will know who you are and the crime for which you are being punished. They may or may not be people you know. We are willing to let you serve your days at a store two hours outside New York City if you prefer, to minimize the chance that anyone you know will see you perform this degrading service. The four hour round trip transportation will of course lengthen each day of your service.”
“When will I be providing this sexual service?”
“We will let you go home with a tracking device locked on your ankle tonight. In the morning we will expect you to report at 6:30 am for the two-hour bus ride to our out of town store. You will serve there from 9am when that mall opens until 7pm, then a two-hour bus ride back here. Each day you will report again at 6:30 am. If we are sufficiently impressed with your performance we may set you free without your serving the full five days.”
“Will I be able to refuse certain customers if they are too fat, too ugly or not clean?”
“No ma’am I am afraid not. Your indenture will specify “No Right of Refusal”.
“Will it be only blowjobs, or might other … things be required of me?”
“Usually it is only blowjobs, but there is no guarantee of that” the Chief responded. “It is possible we may let a few of our V.I.P. male customers fuck you.”
“Can I call my lawyer for advice on this?”
“Sure you can. But he will only advise you to take the deal. Our deal is infinitely better than going into the system and having a criminal record. And if your lawyer doesn’t answer your after hours call you still have to make a decision tonight. We can’t let you go home until we have your videotaped confession and a signed contract of indenture, and have placed a locking device on your ankle. Otherwise we would have to turn you over to the police.”
“Well, if you are determined to humiliate me then just get on with it!” she hissed.
The female security officer then released the straps holding her to the table and dressed her in the bra, silk blouse and skirt and walked her over to a chair where she was seated with her hands still cuffed behind her. The Chief turned the video camera on and they recorded her confession. After that they read her the contract of indenture and explained what it meant and had her sign it – all in front of the video camera. She had committed herself irrevocably to being punished by store security for what she had done. Finally an officer clicked the electronic tracking device to her ankle and locked it.
Her stolen silk blouse was confiscated and added to the pile containing her panties, and her nylons. She remained handcuffed.
“Will you take these fucking cuffs off me now and let me go home?”
“I am afraid not just yet ma’am,” the Chief responded. “You see you have managed to sexually arouse Mr. Steelforth, a citizen who has been good enough to assist in your apprehension and thereby possibly save you from a life of crime. We think you should be grateful to him with your body and show him respect and that you are a humble and thankful girl!”
“Fuck that! This guy ratted me out! And he has been getting his jollies for the last hour now at my expense! I am not going to give him any pleasure!’ she screamed.
“Ma’am you are under sexual indenture now so you are in no position to say who you will please or not please!” the Chief reasonably replied.
“Take our young shoplifter into the men’s room so Bill can have some privacy with her behind a locked door,” the Chief directed the female security officer. “Make sure you secure her in a kneeling position with her neck immobilized and a bite block in her mouth. Afterward you can have a bit of fun with her yourself if you are so inclined. Then she can go home.”
I followed as the female officer escorted the still handcuffed shoplifter down the hall and into the men’s room. She still had on her bra and the skirt, but no panties, nylons or shoes.
“Do you want me to remove all her clothes, sir?” the officer asked.
“I think I would prefer that” I responded. Soon the bitch was quite naked with her hands still cuffed behind her.
The officer made her kneel on the tile floor, secured an iron collar around the girl’s neck, then pulled a thick steel rod out from the wall and attached the rod to the girl’s collar. There was also an attachment that braced her head so that she could not even turn it from side to side. This forced the girl to remain kneeling and made it so she could not move her head or neck in the slightest. Then I saw the guard force the girl’s mouth open and insert a steel appliance of some kind. The girl was no longer able to completely close her mouth as the device held her teeth apart by a cock’s width.
“That is to protect your dick sir, in case she takes a notion to bite you” the officer explained. “I will leave you in privacy now sir, unless you would prefer me to remain?”
I was intrigued by her question as it showed a possible sexual interest in what was about to happen. The idea of having her watch seemed kind of kinky.
“I give you permission to stay and watch if I can also stay and watch the girl pleasure you as well.”
The female security guard smiled at this and nodded her assent. I then unzipped my pants, fumbled with my underwear and extracted my long flaccid penis. It didn’t stay flaccid very long as I was really pumped by what I was about to do. I would be raping this shoplifter’s mouth and that was exciting me because I absolutely believed the girl deserved that for her multiple crimes. I could never do a thing like this to an innocent girl. But I believed crimes should be punished and what better way to punish this one?
I approached the restrained girl with my now hard dick. She began to curse me but her curses soon turned to mewing sounds as I began to fill her mouth with my hardened penis. I could see she was trying valiantly to turn her head to first one side and then the other to expel me but her head brace would not allow that. I knew that the other appliance would protect my penis from any injury she might try to inflict. I began to enjoy the velvet smoothness of her tongue and cheeks.
“Close your lips around his dick, bitch!” the female officer yelled. “The bite block only holds your teeth apart, not your lips! Do it!” When she did not the officer got out her electric stun gun and touched it to the girl’s crotch and gave her a painful jolt. Then I felt the divine pleasure of those lips making a tight circle around my cock.
The pleasure was building as I began to piston in and out of her. On my inward strokes I got closer to the back of her throat and she began to gag. I decided to hold my cock all the way in for a while and thereby control my shoplifter’s ability to breathe. She began to squirm wildly when she realized she couldn’t get any air.
“As you show a more obedient attitude, girl, I will let you breathe again.”
I had this feeling of incredible power at that moment. She nodded her head frantically indicating her willingness to submit. I eased my penis back partway and heard her gulp for air. I continued to pleasurably piston in and out of her head as I watched tears form and roll down her face. That was the frosting on my cake and pushed me over the edge. I began to ejaculate into her mouth, spurt after spurt. I saved the last spurt and pulled out using it to decorate her face. I managed to glue shut one of her eyes with my spunk. I noted with satisfaction that one of my pubic hairs had gotten caught in her teeth. I had emptied my balls and had that wonderful sensation of being satisfied physically and, to a large extent, emotionally as well. I had started out this evening’s adventure wanting to humiliate a female and I had fulfilled my ambition.
The female security officer had pulled her camera from its holster and proceeded to take a picture of our naked shoplifter and then a close-up of her face detailed enough even to show the pubic hair caught in her teeth.
“Here you are sir,” she said handing me the two photos. “I wanted to make sure you had a little souvenir for your private collection, sir!”
I thanked her and then realized that to be considerate of the officer I should clean the shoplifter’s face of my ejaculate. So I got a damp paper towel and proceeded to clean her up. The next bit would be interesting too. I was going to get a much better look at the body of the security officer and, with any luck, witness her sexual arousal and release. She was also an attractive young woman and more muscular than our shoplifter.
I watched with great interest as the female security guard removed her uniform. I was impressed with her thin torso, muscular biceps and the long lean look of her legs. When her panties came off I noted her completely bald vulva and that there appeared to be some sexual secretions there. Evidently she had become aroused watching me use the girl and did not mind showing me this fact.
Soon she was pressing her mound in the girl’s face and humping her. I saw the tension in the guard’s legs as she continued to hump. I could see the shoplifter’s mouth becoming wet with cuntal secretions. Then the guard was crying out in her orgasm. Although I had seen many women orgasm in my office as part of a Creditor’s Examination, it was always a pleasure. That the security guard was voluntarily allowing me to witness her pleasure was also a treat. After ten minutes or so the guard had completely spent. I grabbed her camera and took a couple shots so she would have a souvenir of how the shoplifter’s face looked. I asked the guard if I might take a full-length naked picture of her as well for my collection. She gave me this big grin and nodded her assent.
Finally we marched the shoplifter back to the Chief’s office, naked as she was. The Chief released the girl’s handcuffs, removed the bite block, and handed her the bra, skirt, nylons and shoes and an orange jacket to wear home.
“We are confiscating your silk blouse, your clit ring and the other stolen items, and will keep your panties as evidence” he announced.
The girl was beyond fighting or shouting abuse now and simply accepted his announcement and proceeded to get dressed and walked out of there – presumably to the parking lot to get in her car and go home.
It had been a most pleasant evening for me.
As I drove home that evening I realized that although I was physically satisfied, there was another part of me that was still hungry. I was hungry for a female companion who would appreciate me. Someone who would love and value me as a person and the work I did as a slaver, which was an important part of who I was. My thoughts returned to the idea of taking on a young female apprentice – perhaps a girl as young as 13. I knew there were girls that age that dreamed of one day becoming slavers in their own right and would love the chance to study the profession under someone like myself. I knew too that one of these would not judge me as Stephanie had done.
Of course I could not legally have sex with such a girl until she reached the age of consent – 16 in New York State. But I could enjoy her in so many ways short of that and perhaps look forward to the day, some years from now, when she would consent to our relationship becoming a sexual one. The anticipation would be quite as delicious as the reality.
By the time I arrived at home I realized that this was a dream that would need to be deferred. I had too much else on my plate right now to take on the responsibility of developing such a relationship with a young girl.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 23 Revised. Just Deserts
This revision involves some substantive changes for clarity.
In the aftermath of my being attacked and violated Bill became increasingly necessary to my sense of security. When I had called him from the taxi he had immediately given me the address of his town house. He pointed out, sensibly, that it would now be unsafe for me to return to my own apartment. He had also asked me in that call if I had noted the street address of the place where I had been held captive. I assured him that I had.
When I arrived at his place I fell into his arms. I needed so badly to feel safe again. The tigress in me had collapsed by this time and I just wanted someone stronger than me to hold me and tell me that everything would be all right. His powerful arms held me tight for what seemed like a very long time. At last he escorted me to his sofa and offered me a drink I much needed. He called the police for me and they took a brief statement by phone.
“Miss Glenn”, Sergeant Withers began, “Now that you have taken the oath just now and agreed to give your statement under penalty of perjury, I would like to go over the key points.
“After the street assault by the boys”, the officer continued, “you say the last thing you remember was that you had subdued the boys and were walking away?”
“Yes”, I replied, “but then I woke up tied to a bench in what appeared to be a laboratory of some kind. I found that I could not move and that I was naked.”
“And who was the first person you saw there?” the officer asked.
“It was Mel Zigler, the General Manager at the last place I worked.”
“Are you quite sure that it wasn’t just someone who looked like Mel Zigler?”
“It was Mel Zigler!” I replied. “I knew Mr. Zigler well over a period of more than a year when I was illegally enslaved at Masterson Automotive. I knew him more intimately than I ever wished to know him. I would know that face and that voice anywhere! I even recognized his cologne.”
“Who else did you see in that room?”
“The two boys who had assaulted me on the street. One was a tall slender redhead, who I later heard addressed as ‘Erin’. The other, a boy I later heard called ‘Kim” was a shorter and stockier boy.”
“And what happened next?”
I gave him a complete statement of how Zigler had electrically tortured my sex, how he had tried to re-activate my implant, how he had then suddenly left me in the custody of the two boys to attend to some urgent business. I reported that the boys had taken their own clothes off because they planned to rape me. I explained how I was able to take advantage of a moment when they were flipping me over on the table to gain the upper hand, even though handcuffed.
“In your earlier comments, before I swore you in, you said the boys wound up injured and handcuffed. Go over that part again.”
“I used my kickboxing skills”, I explained, “to subdue the boys until one was unconscious and the other barely conscious. Then I found the key to unlock my own handcuffs and put cuffs on both the boys. After that I went upstairs, found my clothes and purse, made my escape out of the building, and hailed a cab.”
There was a very long pause and I wondered if the officer was finding my story too fantastic to be believable. Finally he spoke.
“You are one tough lady. And you caught some lucky breaks. My hat’s off to you. Do you know where this place was where you were held?” the officer wanted to know.
“Yes. As I fled out into the street and hailed a cab, I made a point of writing down the street address.”
I gave the officer the exact address in lower Manhattan.
“Very well, Miss Glenn. I think we have enough to get a search warrant for that place, an arrest warrant for Zigler, and we will get further particulars from him that will help us find and arrest the boys.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Withers”, I replied.
“I must advise you that if you intend to pursue a rape complaint against the boys, you will need to go immediately to a nearby hospital and have a rape kit done to preserve evidence.”
“I think there will be charges enough without the rape charge”, I replied. “And I am exhausted.”
“I can believe that Miss Glenn. In the morning, when you are more rested, we would like you to come down to the station. We will require a fuller statement. And we will have a typed copy of the testimony you just gave me which we will need you to sign.”
With that the police interview ended.
Bill offered to sleep on the couch that night while I enjoyed the comforts of his bedroom. I learned, at a later time in our relationship, just how much he had wanted to fuck me that night.
In the morning we both got up early and Bill took me to a 24-hour emergency medical clinic near his apartment. I didn’t feel there was anything wrong with me other than a few bruises and scratches that would heal on their own. But Bill was insistent that I get checked out.
At the clinic they wanted my most recent blood tests from my last physical.
“Miss Glenn”, the clerk inquired, “are your medical records stored with one of the major medical storage services?”
“Yes”, I replied, naming the service.
“Then if you will just step into one of those computer cubicles over on the left wall, you can insert your medical access card into a terminal, key in your password and download the blood work to our system, along with any other medical records you think might help us today.”
As it turned out I had only minor bruises and cuts but it was good to have that belief confirmed. As I was leaving the clinic the clerk handed me a slip of paper with a case number written on it.
“Miss Glenn, if you wish you may go back into one of those cubicles and key in this case number, and the results of your visit today will be uploaded to your master medical record.”
“That sounds like a good idea”, I replied.
After that we went to the police station. Two detectives interviewed me at some length. We were advised the scene had been dusted for prints and samples of DNA evidence had been taken. The police had been able to match the prints of the two boys against a database they had of juvenile offenders. They had picked up the boys and had me identify them in a lineup. They would be held in a pre-trial detention facility at least until they could be arraigned. A warrant had been issued for Zigler’s arrest, but he had not been found at his home and his present whereabouts were unknown. The police said they would let us know as soon as the prosecutor decided how to proceed with this case.
A few days later we learned the public prosecutor had decided not to pursue this assault on me. He had said the evidence was just too circumstantial and it would be a case of “he said, she said”. So the boys were turned loose and the warrant for Zigler was dropped. I was not completely surprised at this turn of events since Zigler had boasted to me of his friendship with this prosecutor.
We still had to wait out the rest of the month for the prosecutor’s decision on the charges I had requested against Masterson employees for my earlier enslavement. Finally we were informed he would not pursue that case either. The prosecutor’s friendship with Zigler was surely a conflict of interest that the prosecutor should have disclosed by law and the ethical standards for lawyers. Fortunately the option of a private criminal prosecution was still open to me.
My attorney filed the necessary papers with the Court to begin my quest for justice. A week later there was an ex parte hearing to establish our standing to prosecute on both cases and whether there was probable cause for the court to issue arrest warrants. For the wrongful enslavement case my attorney had to show that I was the principal party who had been damaged by the alleged criminal conduct. Then there had to be a prima facie showing of fraud committed by the defendants. This was established first by Bill Steelforth’s testimony under oath as to what he had discovered about the forged documents and the dummy corporation. For the kidnapping case we were fortunate that the police had done their work and we supplemented that by bringing sworn depositions from all three of the slaves from the convenience store as to what they had witnessed of the street assault. We were soon green lighted to proceed with our twin prosecutions.
A charge of “willfully taking the freedom of an innocent citizen” was filed against Jenkins and Duncan, the two men I hated most in this world. There was also a lesser charge of “depraved indifference” against both men. On the more serious of these charges I would be entitled to lifetime enslavement of these two men if we proved my case, or even possibly death penalties. We were entitled, under private prosecutor status, to have arrest warrants issued and to have the county sheriff arrest Jenkins and Duncan and bring them to Court. At this point we did not yet know of Zigler’s full involvement in my enslavement though we suspected it.
Charges for the more recent kidnapping, however, were filed against Zigler and the boys and they too were arrested and brought to court for their arraignments.
These arrests came as a complete surprise to all of the defendants since, by using the ‘ex parte’ hearing, we had not been required to give them any notice before that time that we were bringing private criminal prosecutions. This feature of the law was to avoid the danger that people facing criminal prosecution might flee the jurisdiction. The defendants had all thought they were home free when the public prosecutor declined to prosecute. The defendants all pled innocent and were released on their own recognizance.
Bill advised me that there had to be a fourth person responsible for the miserable way that I had been treated as a slave at Masterson Automotive when I was legally only an indentured servant. That would be the person from the slave advocate agency responsible for monitoring conditions of servitude at Masterson Automotive. By subpoena of Masterson records we learned that this person was a Cheryl Clifford, federally licensed as a slave advocate. Obviously she had not done her job. In fact I had never seen her or heard of her during my time at Masterson. This was, at the very least, gross neglect of duty.
We needed more evidence if we were to file charges of wrongful enslavement against Zigler. The most likely source of such evidence would be testimony by Duncan and Jenkins. I was present with my attorney when they were brought in for questioning in his office pursuant to a subpoena. A Mr. Stafford represented them both.
“Mr. Duncan”, my attorney began, “we wish to know if the actions you took to enslave Ms. Glenn were taken on your own initiative, or were you following orders from one of your superiors.”
“We do not admit”, Stafford replied, “that either of my clients took actions designed to enslave Ms. Glenn. In order to implicate someone higher up they would have to first admit that they did something illegal themselves. My clients both stand on their Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate themselves.”
It was true, of course, that they could not be forced to testify against themselves under the Fifth Amendment to the Capitallian Constitution, which largely paralleled
the Fifth Amendment under laws of the old USA. To get them to waive their privilege we had to engage in a bit of bargaining.
“You have informed your clients, no doubt, that “willfully and unjustly taking the freedom of a citizen” is a capital offense?”
“They have been so informed”, Stafford replied.
“Suppose then, just hypothetically, we were to take the death penalty off the table? Would that motivate your clients to cooperate in this investigation and to make certain other concessions?”
“If we agree not to seek the death penalty, we would want your clients to agree that, in the event they are convicted, that they would waive any objection to swift preliminary punishment while their appeals are pending.”
“What is this ‘preliminary’ punishment?” Jenkins wanted to know.
“It is not that big a deal. It is just to make an example of you by administering an embarrassing bare assed spanking in front of a crowd in Central Park”, his lawyer responded.
“I don’t like the sound of that!” Jenkins responded.
“For God’s sake, man! Even with the death penalty off the table you are looking at possibly being enslaved for up to 20 years. The preliminary punishment is the least of your worries. If a little embarrassment gets the death penalty off the table and still lets you appeal the conviction, then I would strongly recommend you take the deal!” Stafford rebuked.
Upon questioning the two Masterson employees revealed under deposition before a court reporter that Mel Zigler had also been involved, and had full knowledge of the forged documents used against me. In fact he had ordered Duncan to work with Jenkins to create the forged documents and also to begin the legal enslavement action in order to placate Tom Jenkins and retain his loyalty to the company. A deposition was obtained from Duncan against Cheryl Clifford as part of the same plea bargain. We added the necessary charges of “willfully taking the freedom of an innocent citizen” as well as “depraved indifference” against Zigler and against Miss Clifford.
We entered into separate negotiations with Cheryl Clifford’s attorney. We wanted her testimony against Zigler as well. She was clearly very frightened and readily agreed to testify and to waive any objection to preliminary punishment if only we would take the death penalty off the table.
Finally the day for trial came. I was excited. I had learned that if these four defendants were convicted of even the lesser offense, that enslavement to me would be their most likely punishment. While I told myself that I had no particular desire to own them personally on a long-term basis, I knew that I might have some fun at their expense and then have them sold at public auction and realize the proceeds of the sale. I also knew that I would have my vindication since these three men and the woman would find loss of their freedom extremely distressing as well as humiliating. The case had received quite a bit of publicity, so the courtroom was full of spectators, much to the chagrin of the defendants.
Judge Morelock was again presiding. Mr. Green laid out my wrongful enslavement case, chiefly that the men had forged documents purporting to show my debts in excess of $10,000. They had also set up a dummy corporation, owned by the three of them jointly, to which these debts were supposedly owed. A handwriting expert testified that the forged documents were in the handwriting of Jenkins. The dummy corporation appeared to have no other purpose than to generate phony debts against me. Masterson records were produced to show that Miss Clifford had hardly ever visited the facility and never conducted any inspections or interviewed any slaves. Duncan testified under oath that Zigler had heavily bribed her to ‘look the other way’ concerning any abuses she might hear of.
The defense was pathetic. They claimed they had no knowledge of what they were doing at the time. Jenkins said he wrote my signature on some loan notes because Duncan told him to do so. Duncan said he submitted all these documents to an attorney to prosecute me because he relied on the information given to him by Jenkins. And because he had been ordered to do so by Zigler. Zigler claimed he had only told Duncan to do what he could to keep Jenkins happy, but had never told him to do anything illegal. Miss Clifford said she was new to her job and had been assigned too many workplaces to monitor and that “nice Mr. Zigler had agreed to lighten my load” by assigning a Masterson employee to do the required inspections and interviews. All she had to do was sign the inspection and interview reports.
The jury took less than an hour to find Zigler, Jenkins and Duncan guilty of the more serious charge of “willfully taking the freedom of an innocent citizen” and found Cheryl Clifford guilty of the lesser charge of “depraved indifference”. The Court later noted in its opinion that there was neither a federal law nor a New York state law forbidding an employer from compelling a slave to bear a child, but that there were existing laws prohibiting an indentured woman from being so compelled.
The kidnapping case was handled as a separate trial before a different jury. We brought in the three slaves from the convenience store to testify in person and be cross examined as to what they had seen of the street assault and kidnapping. The boys had agreed to testify against Zigler in this case when we agreed to take off the table lifetime enslavement, the most serious penalty that would have been possible for them. As we had done with Duncan and Jenkins we also made it a condition of the bargain with the boys that, if convicted, they would waive, through their attorneys, any legal objection to the swift imposition of preliminary punishment while pursuing any possible appeals. The jury quickly brought in a verdict of guilty against these three defendants.
A separate session of the court was held the next day to hear the judge’s instructions concerning preliminary punishments and sentencing for both cases. In all there were six defendants from the two trials present. Bill escorted me to court that day and I was glad of his company and his support throughout this trial and its aftermath. He explained to me that Capitallian courts, under most state laws, treated the victims of crime far differently than did courts of the old USA where a crime victim had no say in anything and was, at most, only a witness. This had already become clear in that I, as a crime victim, had been allowed to bring a private prosecution against my tormentors. It was to become even clearer as I learned the extent of my role in the sentencing process. The courtroom was packed with spectators as the case had been well publicized. The judge addressed me.
“Under the criminal laws of New York State a crime victim who wins a private criminal conviction is entitled to determine the sentence to be imposed – limited of course to penalties which have been authorized by statute for the severity of crime committed. The three adult male defendants and the two boys have all been convicted on charges that could carry the death penalty, though you have already, during plea bargaining, taken that penalty off the table for all but Mr. Zigler.
“Miss Cheryl Clifford has been convicted on a lesser charge that could carry a maximum penalty of ten years enslavement. My clerk will give you the statutory guidelines on exactly what punishments you may impose.”
I looked at Bill. I could hardly believe the power that had suddenly been conferred upon me. I was starting to feel a bit giddy and was glad that Bill was by my side and was squeezing my hand.
“You should also know, Miss Glenn”, the judge continued, “that our statutes also prescribe some very specific public punishments for persons convicted of these crimes. The rationale for the public punishments is not only to punish but also to punish in a way that will serve as a deterrent to others from committing similar crimes in the future. These punishments then are mandatory and do not depend on any decision left to your discretion.”
The judge then turned to Mel Zigler and ordered him to rise and face me.
“Mr. Zigler”, the judge intoned, “since you have not waived any of your rights the Court may not, at this time, order any preliminary public punishment for you pending the outcome of any appeal you and your attorney may elect to pursue. You are technically still a free man subject to continuation of your bond. I am ordering that the Court Officer affix an electronic tether to your person. Should you fail to appear for any further proceedings I will order you be held without bond.”
We waited a few moments while the tether was affixed to Zigler’s ankle and he was allowed to leave the courtroom.
“A week from today”, the judge continued, “there will be a “Punishment Fair” open to the public in Central Park just off of Fifth Avenue. This display will have been well advertised to the public. If past experience is any guide we may anticipate tens of thousands of interested spectators. The five of you will be the main entertainment for these crowds. You will suffer the punishment known as “virtual crucifixion”. You will be affixed to vertical high tech metal crosses with magnetic restraints in such a manner as will best display your nakedness to the throngs of people who will come to see you. Among them will be your friends and business associates who will all have been contacted individually in advance. You will not die from this punishment, but you may wish you had. It is not only humiliating but it is a stress position and will exhaust you. A medical doctor will be in attendance and your cross will periodically be tilted into a horizontal position to provide stress relief whenever you faint or experience extreme difficulty in breathing.”
“For you, Miss Clifford, the punishment will be for one day from sunup to sundown. For the three adult males and the two boys the punishment will last three days from sunup to sundown. You will be allowed rest each night.”
Just then the attorney for Cheryl Clifford was on his feet seeking recognition from the judge.
“If it please the Court, my client, Miss Clifford, is a single mother with two small children, ages 4 and 7. Pursuant to the Family Impact Law, I would move that she be released at this time on her own recognizance, until the day scheduled for public punishments, so that she may attend to her children.”
“We have no objection, your Honor”, my attorney offered, “so long as she is also fitted with an electronic tether”.
“So ordered”, the judge responded, directing the bailiff to make the necessary arrangements, and instructing Miss Clifford on when she must present herself to a Court officer for the preliminary punishment.
Miss Clifford was then allowed to leave the courtroom.
“If there are no more Family Impact motions I think we may proceed to the next order of business”.
The judge then turned to the remaining four defendants and ordered them to rise and face me.
“It is the Order of this Court that, pending final imposition of your sentences by Miss Glenn, that the four of you are, for now, property of the State of New York. As such you will now be stripped, here in this courtroom, of your clothing, any possessions on or about your persons and your freedom. If you undress quickly there will be no need for the bailiffs to forcibly strip you. Each of you is asked to place your valuables, including wrist watches and jewelry, in an envelope to be provided by the bailiffs. Then you are to neatly fold each item of clothing as you remove it and place it in a basket with your name on it that the bailiff will provide. You will not need clothing again for quite some time.”
Bill was watching me for my reaction. I felt my breathing deepen and my pulse rate speed up. The bailiff placed a basket and an envelope on the defense table in front of each of the defendants. The two men and two boys removed their shoes and socks and placed them in the basket. They emptied their pockets and removed their wristwatches and placed these items in their envelopes. Coats and jackets were next, then shirts, then slacks.
Many of the defendants thought the undressing would now be considered complete. But the bailiff indicated by a gesture that the men’s briefs must also be removed. Just then 16-year-old Erin shouted to the judge.
“No fucking way, you old pervert. Nobody’s making this lad show his dick in public!”
With that outburst the slender youth began to run at top speed for the double doors at the back of the courtroom. As he was clad now only in his briefs, I could admire his long lean legs, his washboard abs and his well tanned skin as he made his very athletic run for the doors. I could not help but notice there was an impressive bulge in his briefs and some stray reddish colored pubic hairs escaped the leg openings on either side. I could see the look of fierce determination in his eyes as he ran.
Two guards near the back doors intercepted him, struggled with him, got his briefs off and frog marched him back to the defense table. The judge ordered that the youth was to receive a whiplash across his now bared buttocks for his act of disobedience and this was done. The boy cried out with the pain and tears ran down his face.
I watched, fascinated, as the other three people reluctantly removed their last vestiges of modesty. If any of them thought of rebelling they had been disabused of that notion by what happened to Erin. I had not seen Duncan without his clothing before. Of course I had seen Jenkins and the two boys naked before because they had all raped me. But it was different seeing them naked in this very public courtroom setting in front of all these spectators. I was not witnessing their sexual aggression under these circumstances. I was witnessing their shame. I was looking at four very red faces and the chill of this drafty courtroom was beginning to affect all of them. They shivered, attempted to conceal their private parts with their hands and their eyes were all looking down at the floor and not at me. The judge addressed them.
“The Court will have no cowering and no false modesty from the prisoners. You are all instructed to stand up straight, keep your hands at your sides, face your victim and make eye contact with her. Remember that she has the power to determine your futures, so it would be prudent of you to show her every respect.”
I never thought I could enjoy another’s suffering before, but I really enjoyed seeing these two adults and two teenagers who had so wronged me, stripped of their clothing and their dignity in that courtroom.
The judge then turned a severe face toward Tom Jenkins.
“There is one more thing, unfortunately for you Mr. Jenkins. Because your offense has been proved to be sexually motivated, the law requires me to impose upon you the punishment of castration. This will be done publicly at the conclusion of your three day ordeal on the cross.”
Jenkins had suddenly turned white. His attorney was suddenly on his feet. I was ecstatic with pleasure that I would finally receive this exquisite vindication!
“Your honor, we object! We waived objection to preliminary punishment earlier but this is hardly a preliminary punishment. My client will never be able to get his balls back in the event we are successful with his appeal!”
“Sit down counselor! I have made my ruling. You can file an emergency stay if you wish. Sometimes the appeals court will grant a preliminary stay within 72 hours and you have a week.”
The judge then turned to me.
“Miss Glenn, it would be the Court’s suggestion that you observe these public punishments first, before deciding on the long term punishment sentences which are within your power. It has been the Court’s experience that crime victims often experience a sense of having been vindicated, at least partially, by the public punishments and are therefore inclined to be more moderate in imposing the long term private punishments. The Court will ask you to take three more days after the public punishments are over to consider your sentencing decisions. Court is adjourned until that time. When we reconvene I will review your sentencing decisions to make sure they are within the range of statutory punishments permitted for these offenses.”
The judge banged his gavel and rose and exited the courtroom.
________________________________________________________
As Bill and I exited the courthouse he broached a new topic with me. He said Greg Masterson, owner of Masterson Automotive Group, would like a private meeting with me.
“Bill I don’t think I am up for that!” I said. “Mr. Masterson may have helped me in the end, but it was, after all, his company that did these terrible things to me! He may not have intended what happened to me, but he surely was negligent in putting that guy Zigler in charge and spending so much time in South America without following up on what Zigler was doing!’
“Greg has already told me how sorry he is for what happened to you, Steph.”
“So now it is ‘Greg’ is it? You are on a first name basis with this guy?”
“I had lunch with him – that is all.” Bill responded. “We reached a certain level of comfort with each other over a meal and some drinks. This was about two months ago. Since then I have spoken to him once or twice. He called me yesterday to say he would like to meet you and apologize in person and that perhaps he would have a business offer for you. “
“Bill – I can’t be sure I wouldn’t blow my top at him!”
“Just meet him Steph, and hear him out. If you don’t like what he has to say you aren’t obligated in any way.”
“If you think it is for the best, I will go. You have guided me well in everything to do with this case, so I will trust your judgment Bill.”
“Let me try his cell. Perhaps I can reach him now.”
With that Bill was dialing.
“Hello Greg? This is Bill Steelforth. Fine. I am with her now. We are just coming out of the courthouse. Your office? Tomorrow morning at ten?”
Bill looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.
“Fine. Ten o’clock it is then.”
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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24. Quid Pro Quo
Bill picked me up at my apartment the morning after my court appearance and soon his limo had brought us to Masterson’s office building. I had no idea what was to be the subject of this unexpected meeting. The elevator whisked us up to the 82nd floor and we stepped into a very tasteful reception area with original oil paintings on the walls. A conservatively dressed receptionist was evidently expecting us. She informed us in a refined British accent that it would be just a few minutes until Mr. Masterson finished his long distance call and inquired if we would like coffees. While we sipped them I noticed a finely detailed statue of a nude ballerina executing a graceful leap. I thought at once of my dancer friend Jennifer Maisten who, as far as I knew, was still a slave at Masterson Automotive. I thought also of my friend Rebecca Sanchez who was indentured at his company and, like myself, had been treated like a slave. Suddenly I was startled from my daydreaming.
“Stephanie Glenn?” I looked up to see a tall and very energetic looking man smiling in my direction. “Greg Masterson. I am so glad to meet you at last! I am glad you and Bill could join me today.”
He led us into his inner sanctum and we were comfortably seated.
“You are, to say the least, an intriguing lady, Miss Glenn. About two months ago I offered to release you from your indenture to my company on condition you not pursue criminal charges against my employees. You turned me down and won your freedom anyway. You have fire and spirit young lady! I admire that!”
“You take no credit for your own role in that sir” I responded. “Bill has informed me that I not so much won my freedom in court as I received it as a surprise gift from you sir! Is it true that you gave the order to drop your company’s legal opposition to my bid for freedom?”
“It is true I gave that order. But freedom would have been yours in any case. It was just a matter of time. Your cause was just and I saw no point protracting the litigation. If life has taught me anything it is to bow out gracefully when a graceful exit is still possible.”
“We are somewhat puzzled as to the purpose of this meeting” Bill interjected.
“I am getting around to that” the man behind the hand carved walnut desk responded. “I noticed in yesterday’s news that three of my top former employees were convicted of felonies that could put them away for life. While I am sure you will understand that I have mixed feelings about that, I must nevertheless congratulate you, Miss Glenn, on your courage and tenacity in pursuing what you thought was a just cause of action.”
“Do you not think these men got what they deserved?” I asked. Bill was gripping my arm trying to get me to cool it. No doubt he thought it best not to aggravate the old man who must be suffering enough already.
“Certainly I do” Masterson replied, “though it makes me uncomfortable to think that I hired Zigler and put him in charge. That reflects on my judgment and it will be a long time before I can forgive myself for that one. Duncan I barely knew. He was someone Zigler hired in my absence.”
“But I also had hired Tom Jenkins over 20 years ago when I was just starting my business. He had been with me a long time and knows my business inside out. I am sad to see him come to such an end. I never knew about his sexual problem until it came out in this court case. I want to get back to Jenkins a bit later but first I have something else I want to present to you.”
I watched the old man get up from his desk and pace over near the window that commanded a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline.
“I have studied the records of your service with my company Miss Glenn. I reviewed the work you did under Tom Jenkins when you were a free employee and also the work you did on the apprenticeship project when you were with us as a slave. The quality of your work was outstanding! I am going to propose something to you and I fear your first reaction will be to say no. But I urge you to at least consider it for a day or two and then give me your decision.”
“I want you back working for us again, Miss Glenn. Only this time it can be entirely on your terms. I have already hired a new manager for the accounting department to replace Tom Jenkins and she is a woman I think you would have no problem getting along with. It may not be easy for you to make the transition back into being a free employee and a citizen again. But I can make that transition easier for you. I am offering you a job, Miss Glenn, at a very handsome salary!”
The old man went back behind his desk and waited for my reaction.
“Mr. Masterson, I don’t think “ I started to say.
“Please call me Greg.”
“Well Greg, I do appreciate your kind offer, but I could never feel comfortable going back to work in that place again after the humiliations I suffered there!”
I struggled not to cry as I said this. Bill put his arm on my shoulder to steady me.
“I am truly sorry for those humiliations, Stephanie. I never authorized practices such as you experienced. You came to my company as an indentured servant and I am afraid my people treated you as they would treat a penal slave. For that I deeply apologize. I am offering you the job, however, not as an apology for what you suffered, but as recognition of the fine abilities you demonstrated. Please at least consider it.”
“My answer must be no, Mr. Masterson.”
“Very well. I was afraid that might be your response. In that case I will try to help you get re-established in another way.”
With that he wrote some lines on a piece of paper and tore it off the pad and handed it to me.
“This is the name of my accountant. He owns a large auditing firm on the other side of town. I discussed your situation with him at lunch yesterday. He said he could use a bright ambitious young accountant like you. Please call his cell number on the slip and let him know that we spoke. I am sure he would like to interview you for a possible position with his firm.”
I was having difficulty believing my good fortune. I was already going to be in a good financial position after I realized the proceeds from selling off Zigler, Duncan, Jenkins, Cheryl Clifford and the two boys. But getting re-established in my profession as an accountant and getting my career back on track had seemed to me quite a challenge. Now Masterson was dropping the solution right into my lap! Why had he extended himself so far to help me?
“Is there any quid pro quo for all this help, Greg?” Bill interjected, anticipating my own question.
“Not really. But there is something I would like to propose to Miss Glenn which would help me very much if she would consider it.”
“Stephanie, if I may call you that, I want you to understand that I had fired Zigler and Duncan two months ago when Bill told me what they had done in my absence. But I also want you to understand that the situation with regard to Tom Jenkins is a bit more complicated. You see, he was my first employee ever when I started Masterson Automotive. He helped me get the company off the ground. He was a man of exceptional business ability. Of course I knew nothing over the years about his sexual problem – his need to sexually dominate and even rape women – which was what drove him to do what he did to you. I cannot condone what he did to you. In fact I would even agree that he deserves to be enslaved for a long time for what he did to you.”
“So what are you asking of me?” I was quite confused about where he was going with all this.
“My problem is that I still need this man to help me run this business. He knows the ins and outs of every department and division of this vast international enterprise. He knows so many things that I feel helpless without him. I think there might be a way for him to receive the punishment he deserves and yet let me still have the benefit of his services. What I am asking of you, Stephanie, is that when he becomes your property, that you consider selling him to me. The price I would pay to own that man would be much higher than you could obtain by selling him at an open public auction. He would then work here at my company as a management consultant, not as a department head, and he would work here as a slave.”
“I think that such a life would be too good for that bastard!” I cried out.
“But Steph”, Bill interjected, “when you specify his punitive sentence that will become part of the court record and will be binding on Greg, or any future owner, as well. So what is the problem? If you order that he be whipped once a week for the next 20 years then Masterson Automotive will be under legal obligation to see that is done even though you no longer own him.”
I realized that Bill was talking sense but I wasn’t emotionally ready for this yet. I had just gained control of this villain and was feeling a desire to keep him under my own power – at least for now.
“Mr. Masterson, I will agree to think about what you have proposed,” I said. “I will give you my answer next week after I have had the pleasure of seeing him and the others publicly humiliated.”
“Ah, Miss Glenn, that brings up another, well, rather sensitive issue. I hope I may speak plainly. The Court has, as you know, sentenced Tom Jenkins to be castrated at the end of the third day of his preliminary public punishment. If that happens I am not sure he would be of any further value to me. I know Tom. I know that would destroy his will to live and he would no longer be motivated to help me run my business.”
“But I don’t see that I have anything to say about this. The judge said this punishment was mandated by law and not part of the punishment that I control.”
“That is not entirely true, Miss Glenn. You could instruct your lawyer to petition the Court to spare Mr. Jenkins this punishment. You could ask it, not on grounds of mercy, but as a plea to preserve his resale value. You could inform the Court that you have had a very generous offer for Mr. Jenkins that is only valid if his testicles are intact. Since you are the sole victim of record, such a petition from you would carry much weight and perhaps cause the judge to reconsider.”
“But if I agree to do what I can to spare Jenkins this sexual form of punishment, how do I know he won’t be driven to commit other sexual crimes against other women?”
“You would be right to think that he should be sexually punished for what he did, but I think we could come up with an alternative that would satisfy you.”
“Please explain.” I was becoming intrigued and also somewhat giddy about my own power to dispose of Jenkins future.
“I have had a talk with Paul Gregory, our company psychologist” Masterson continued.
“Yes, I know the man and trust him very much” I replied.
“Paul is also one of my earliest hires and has known Tom since the first year I was in business. Paul thinks if Tom was here as a slave we could design a compulsory sex treatment program that would straighten him out so that he could have normal relationships with women!”
“Wouldn’t that be sort of like rewarding him for what he did to me?” I asked.
“I would hardly call it that. Tom isn’t going to like the treatment program one bit. It would be very punitive and very coercive I can assure you. Tom would be strapped down to a table much of the time during the early stages with sensitive instruments hooked up to his penis to measure his sexual response to a whole range of stimuli. Paul tells me that if we can measure his sexual responses we can begin to control them. Tom will also be made to endure sexual experiences with other people he will not enjoy. Perhaps I shouldn’t get too graphic – I don’t want to offend your sensibilities Miss Glenn.”
“You needn’t worry about being too graphic”, I responded. “I can handle whatever you want to tell me. Is there anything else I should know about this treatment program?”
“Well, Paul did mention he wants to use a sex surrogate in Tom’s treatment.”
“You mean a prostitute?” I exclaimed, astonished.
“Not exactly. He has in mind a young schoolteacher, a Sherri Wilson, who has recently completed her certification as a sex surrogate to work under the supervision of licensed sex therapists. Paul is certified as a sex therapist.
I was certainly intrigued now, but even less inclined to give up my ownership of Jenkins.
“You have caught my interest, Mr. Masterson. You needn’t worry about being too graphic. I may consider your proposal – but I would want it to be on the basis that I lease Mr. Jenkins to your company rather than sell him outright. If we are going to do this sex therapy thing I want to stay involved and be in a position to monitor his progress and make changes to the treatment program if I feel the program is becoming too pleasant for him.”
“Fair enough Miss Glenn. I will have my attorneys draw up a lease agreement for Tom for your review after you have witnessed his public humiliation. Will that be satisfactory?”
“I can’t promise I will sign it, but I will seriously consider it. In view of what we are probably going to do with Tom I will have my attorney, Mr. Green, draw up a petition to see if we can save his, um, well his balls, dammit!”
“I appreciate that Miss Glenn!”
“Now there is another matter”, he continued, “that I want to bring to your attention. When a slave is freed at the end of his or her service, or by a court order as in your case, there is a financial obligation on the part of the former master to pay for therapy for the former slave in case of post-traumatic-stress-disorder or PTSD. This is not always called for, but in your case, since you were raped repeatedly during your indenture, it would seem more likely than not that you might require such assistance. I do not mean to get personal with you, Ms. Glenn, but this is a resource that is available to you should you need it. In addition to paying for this service, I am also willing to provide you with names of agencies that can provide such therapy.”
“Thanks for the heads up”, I replied. “I may look into this in due course. Now there is a favor I would like to request from you sir. When I was a slave I was a close friend with Jennifer Maisten, a dancer, and with Rebecca Sanchez who supervises your clean room. I care about these two people. Jennifer committed grand larceny and was enslaved for it for five years. I don’t question the justice of her sentence nor do I ask that she be freed. But I do ask you to look into her situation and see if there is any way she could receive more lenient treatment while she remains your slave.”
“The situation with Rebecca is quite different”, I continued. “Rebecca’s only ‘crime’ is defaulting on a mortgage. Normally this would have resulted in at most an indenture, not full enslavement. But because of some strange clause in the mortgage they were able to enslave her for five years. I think they tricked her. I would ask that you look into her situation and see if you couldn’t find it in your heart to convert her enslavement to a simple indenture so that she would be bound to you only during working hours and could be with her family again when off duty.”
“And what if, after looking into these two situations, I decide I don’t want to change the situations of these two friends of yours?”
“Then I am afraid that I will not be able to lease Mr. Jenkins to your firm, or put him into a treatment program. And, under these circumstances, I would not be willing to save his testicles!”
“You drive a hard bargain, Stephanie. I like your chutzpah!”
With that the meeting was concluded.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 25. Slave Trauma Vanquished*
*The author wishes to thank Corsair for his input on PTSD
After the meeting with Stephanie and Greg Masterson I called a taxi for her and walked back to my now deserted office. At my desk I began to think of the therapy Masterson had said would be available to Stephanie at his expense. I wondered if she would act on the information. Perhaps I could do some research for her and find a suitable facility that would best suit her nature. While my motives were partly charitable, I also reasoned that if she could get beyond the obvious traumatic stress caused by the rapes, then perhaps the prospects for our relationship would be brighter.
I picked up the phone and dialed Sherry Wilson. Now that she was a sex surrogate she worked with a number of sex therapists and perhaps she would know somebody who could help Stephanie. She gave me the name of an agency that specialized in helping women who had been raped.
The next morning I called the Henderson Trauma Management Center and said that I was trying to find a suitable therapy provider for a very dear friend. Dr. Henderson’s secretary invited me to come over for an interview and tour that very afternoon.
The facility turned out to be an ivy-covered brownstone on the Upper West Side. I was shown into Dr. Henderson’s office where I received a hearty greeting from the doctor. After some initial pleasantries, and my filling him in a bit about the nature of the trauma my friend had suffered, he proceeded to explain the very heart of the PTSD treatment process he had personally developed.
“Mr. Steelforth”, he began, “there was research being done as far back as the early 21st century that showed a connection between the intensity of a memory and the presence or absence of adrenaline in the subject at the time the memory was formed. Those memories that have the greatest destructive power years later were formed at a time of great stress when the body’s stress hormones were raging. That caused the brain to store the memory in a particular way and to cause the subject to recall the stress emotions and again produce the stress hormones every time the memory was recalled. In that way the painful memory would be continually reinforced and often grew worse with the passage of time.”
“It was also discovered”, the doctor continued, “that there were certain drugs such as propranolol, that could mediate the stress associated with the memory. All that was required was for the subject to recall the painful memory while under the influence of the drug. Memory of what actually had happened in the past would not be impaired, but the emotional feelings and stress reactions to that memory would be very much muted. This would cause the brain to resave the memory in a different way so that it was less stressful the next time recalled. A series of such treatments could take all the sting out of a bad memory.”
“Could this help Stephanie?” I asked.
“From what you have told me of her case I would think the prospects very good. Actually it is fortunate that you came to visit me today, as I have a young couple undergoing rape therapy that is to start in just a few minutes. You can watch the therapy and judge for yourself if it might help your friend.”
“But what about the privacy of the young woman and her husband? Surely, on such a sensitive issue as her rape experience, she wouldn’t want a stranger witnessing her therapy?”
“That really isn’t a problem since she and her husband have waived their privacy rights. They came to us without the means to pay for treatment, yet they were facing the possible breakup of their marriage due to the PTSD symptoms. As you well know, there is no government provided social safety net in Capitallia. The young woman and her husband came to me seeking charity care. I have been known to provide my services on a charitable basis from time to time. But I also believe that fair value should be exchanged when the recipient of treatment has something of value to offer in exchange.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more!” I replied.
“In this case the young couple could offer me a rare opportunity to use their sex therapy for research purposes and for the education of potential paying clients such as yourself. I agreed to treat her with her partner without charge if they both would waive their privacy rights and allow us to use her treatment and his for educational and research purposes. By contrast, if your friend comes to us, she would be a private pay and would be entitled to every consideration for her privacy.”
“Well, in that case, I would very much like to see how one of these treatments is done!”
With that Dr. Henderson picked up a file folder, opened it and handed it to me. Right away my eyes landed on two head and shoulder photos of the young mixed race couple. The woman was black and looked very familiar! At first I could not place where I knew her. The male was white and I did not recognize him. My eyes traveled to the names on the main data sheet. The first line was for “Trauma patient”, the name there was “Tanisha Williamson”, sex was listed as “female” and her occupation was listed as “bank teller”. Now I made the connection. I had been cashing checks at the bank branch near my office for several years now and the teller I usually preferred was this Tanisha! The second line was for “Patient’s Spouse”, the name there was “Leroy Williamson”, sex was listed as “male” and his occupation was listed as “pool maintenance man”.
“Dr. Henderson”, I began, “as much as I would like to see one of these treatments, I think I must inform you that I know Tanisha in another context. I am not sure it would be right for me to invade her privacy. After all she would surely be embarrassed to wait on me at the bank knowing I had been an observer of her sexual difficulties with her husband!”
“Bill, if I may call you that”, he responded, “you are worrying about something that should not even be a problem. Tanisha and her husband have, after all, waived privacy as a way to pay for her treatments. She understands that there is very great educational value to allowing other persons to witness her treatments. You will be meeting her after watching a couple of her sessions and she will know that you watched. She will have to accept that because it is the bargain she made with our clinic. A bargain is a bargain after all!”
“The only thing we would ask Bill”, he continued, “is that since you will be witnessing very intimate activities and you will know the real identities of the patient and her husband, is that you not use that knowledge outside the context of the therapy program. What happens here stays here!”
“Agreed”, I replied.
He led the way down a corridor and ushered me into an observation room overlooking a treatment area. There was one-way glass, so that he and I could see through to the well-lighted treatment studio, while our observation room remained dark and not visible to persons on the other side of the glass. The floor of the observation area was also raised about two feet higher than the floor of the studio. In the treatment area there was a couch, a coffee table, a wet bar, a double bed and a desk where a rather professional looking woman in a business suit was doing some paperwork.
“You see our therapist, Dawn Jacobs, at work preparing her notes for the session. In a moment you will meet Tanisha and Leroy Williams, our couple in therapy. If you look here in the monitor you can see video of Tanisha being prepared for her session. She will be receiving at a certain point in her therapy an infusion of a drug I patented called Traumatholin. This drug is in the same class as propranolol that I was describing to you earlier.
In the monitor I saw the young woman I had known as Teller No.4 sitting in a chair. She was as attractive as I remembered her from the bank. She had just finished removing her blouse and was sitting in a chair wearing a bra and her skirt. My eye was drawn to the dark brown skin of her very flat and well-muscled abdomen. A technician was swabbing her slender left arm with alcohol just above her elbow. I saw her give a start and a small grimace as the technician penetrated her arm with an IV fitting and secured it in place. Then a small vial of a drug was connected to the IV fitting through some kind of valve and the vial and valve were also secured to her arm.
“This is all being done”, the Doctor continued, “ahead of time so that we can remotely administer the Traumatholin drug at the appropriate time without having to interrupt the flow of therapy.”
“When they first came to us Tanisha admitted that she would freeze up with anxiety or anger or both whenever she would sense any signs of sexual arousal in Leroy. He could not make a move toward intimacy without evoking this response in her. They had a satisfactory sex life together until one day when Tanisha was assaulted and raped on her way home from the grocery store. That changed everything.”
Just then I hear a soft chime sound and a naked man entered the treatment area and a moment later, through a different door, a now very naked Tanisha entered the treatment area. They both took seats on the sofa. I noted that they were a very attractive mixed race couple, both very slender, she with perky breasts and he quite well hung.
“Can they see us or hear us?”
“No, they are completely unaware of our presence today, though they were told when they signed their contracts that there might be the occasional observer of a therapy session – for educational reasons.
“Why are they naked?” I asked.
“Because”, he replied, Tanisha needs to get a lot more comfortable with her own body and with her partner’s body. When we first started working with them she could not tolerate being naked or seeing Leroy naked. Now she has become much more comfortable with that, though there are still occasional issues to work through.”
After a few minutes of small talk I saw therapist Dawn touch a button on her desk.
“That will trigger her injection of Traumatholin. The drug will take a few minutes to become effective, so Dawn will use that time for more small talk to allow the couple to become more comfortable.”
We could hear all the banter as they told the therapist how their week had gone. I noticed that Leroy’s rather long penis remained quite flaccid against his thigh while Tanisha’s nipples showed no sign of stiffening as yet.
“I have encouraged the two of you”, the female therapist began, addressing Tanisha and Leroy, “to gradually become accustomed to increasing intimacy in the home setting. Gradualism is necessary when you are not here because Tanisha has not entirely overcome her PTSD yet and does not have the benefit of the trauma drug when at home.”
“But here”, the therapist continued, “because Tanisha does have the trauma drug in her, we can take a bolder approach. I want you, Leroy, to begin to be just somewhat sexually aggressive with Tanisha. Move closer to her so that your legs and hips touch, reach out and caress her neck and shoulders. It is ok if you become visibly aroused as you touch her – in fact I hope you will. Tanisha, be conscious of his penis – reach out and gently hold it with your fingers.”
I noted that Leroy’s penis was now becoming partially erect. Tanisha noticed it too, but it seemed to please her rather than distress her.
“You will have noticed”, Dr. Henderson confided to me, “that Tanisha is not freezing up or experiencing any apparent distress as Leroy makes a move on her and as he shows his excitement to her. It took several weeks of therapy sessions with injected Traumatholin to get her to this point. In the beginning she was quite different. I have a video of their very first session which you are welcome to watch if you have the time.”
“I might take you up on that!” I replied.
“Now Leroy,” the therapist continued, “It is time to take it to the next level. I think Tanisha is ready for that. I want you to play with her breasts, her nipples and her vulva.”
Leroy began to do as he was instructed. As he did so Tanisha’s nipples became stiff and his penis became fully hard in Tanisha’s hand. His penis was a beautiful thing to see when fully erect. Now we could see the beginnings of an anxiety reaction in Tanisha, she began to shake, all her muscles were in play and her face draining of color. His hand had not gone anywhere near her vagina as yet. Finally a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Ok” the female therapist intervened, “that will be enough for today’s session. Tanisha, I want you to verbalize for us just what you were feeling as you sensed saw and felt your partner’s excitement.”
“I was scared”, Tanisha replied. “His erection reminded me so much of the erection of my attacker in that rape last summer.”
“Well you know Tanisha, that the feeling you just described will become less intense every time you experience your partner’s arousal. At our next session in two more days, I am confident we will be able to take it just a bit further! I want the two of you to continue to be naked together at home as often as possible, but don’t try any sexual experiments just yet. For now the sexual experimentation should only be done when Tanisha has the trauma drug. I will see you back here Thursday.”
With that the couple left the room by their respective doors, and the therapist was left at her desk to write up her notes on today’s progress.
“At the rate we are going”, Dr. Henderson remarked to me, “I think we will have them fucking possibly in the next session or the one after that. You are more than welcome to return to watch those sessions. Not only that, but I can arrange for you to have an in person meeting with the couple where you can ask them questions about their satisfaction with the treatment program.”
With that we walked back to his office.
“If Stephanie does come to us for treatment she will need a partner to learn to be comfortable with intimacy. We can supply a male surrogate partner for her, but perhaps she will want you to fill that role. That is something I am sure you two will want to discuss.”
Two days later I returned to the clinic eager to see the proof of the pudding. This time Leroy was able to progress with Tanisha to the point of having actual intercourse with her. From my vantage point and with the excellent lighting, I missed no detail of their coupling. Although I felt like somewhat of a voyeur, I also knew that seeing the two of them fuck was an important milestone in my believing in the clinic’s program. At the conclusion of this therapy session Dr. Henderson asked me if I would like to meet and interview the couple. Of course I nodded my assent. He opened a door I had not noticed before and led me right into the therapy studio while a naked Tanisha and Leroy were still seated on the couch. The therapist excused herself and left the room. Dr. Henderson and I pulled up two chairs and sat facing the couple across the coffee table.
“Tanisha and Leroy” the doctor began, “I want the two of you to meet Bill, an observer who watched Tuesday’s session and today’s session. Bill is considering whether our program would be suitable for treating the PTSD symptoms of his female friend. Bill was impressed with your progress Tanisha and would like to ask you a few questions.”
“You watched us … today?” she asked, looking in my general direction, but averting her eyes. “We had no idea we were being watched.”
“What the fuck!” Leroy said in a very loud voice, tensing the muscles of his upper back and neck as well as the muscles of his arms and legs. He looked about ready to pounce on me.
“Leroy – chill!” Dr. Henderson said firmly. “You both knew you might have an observer at some of your sessions when you signed your contract.”
Leroy was still tense, but obviously weighing his response. After a few uncertain moments we saw his muscles visibly relax. At last he spoke in a more conciliatory voice.
“Yes we did agree to that. I am sorry if I overreacted. You might have let us know, doctor, at the beginning of today’s session that we were not alone.”
“Ah, but then you would not have behaved spontaneously. In all likelihood you would not have achieved successful intercourse today.”
At that last comment Leroy looked beat and no longer wished to meet our gaze.
“In answer to your question, Tanisha”, I replied, “I watched the two of you today because I felt that it could help me decide whether to recommend this program to my friend if I could see actual proof that a woman who had suffered from rape trauma could be cured to the extent necessary to actually allow … well … enthusiastic fucking, if I may put it that way.”
“I think what Bill means is that he saw how you froze up in Tuesday’s session when Leroy got hard. But today he saw you entering into intercourse with abandon.”
“How do you know I entered into intercourse ‘with abandon’ today, as you put it?” Tanisha interjected.
“Forgive me Tanisha if I am being too blunt”, the doctor replied, “but Bill and I could see your nipples erect, the increased blood flow to your breasts and inner thighs, and frankly quite a bit of your juices running down your legs. Also we could infer from the hardness of your partner’s penis as he withdrew that you must have been milking him pretty firmly with your vaginal muscles!”
“Oh! Is there anything you people didn’t see or notice? Any detail that escaped you?” she responded and looked away, embarrassed.
Neither the doctor nor I responded to this outburst, as it was obviously a rhetorical question.
“Will Mr. Steelforth be introduced to the Sergeant Major as well?” Tanisha asked after a long delay and in a somewhat sulky voice.
“That is a definite possibility that I will be discussing with him shortly. Bill may be returning for any or all of your remaining treatment sessions if he chooses. He is my guest here and every courtesy must be shown him.”
With that we said goodbye to the young couple and as Doctor Henderson walked with me down the long hallway he invited me to step back into his office for another private conference.
He signaled me to sit down across the desk from him and I could tell by the look on his face that he had quite a bit more that he needed to say about therapy for Stephanie.
“Bill, you have seen on your previous visit and again today how we handle the specifically sexual trauma that women so often experience after a rape. Hopefully what you have seen and learned so far will be helpful and will enable you to speak to Stephanie with some conviction about our program.”
“I couldn’t agree more!” I replied.
“But there is so much more we need to talk about where your friend is concerned. Curing a woman of sexual frigidity is only one aspect of what we do here.”
“By all means please explain”, I said. “I have the time if you do.”
“In Tanisha’s case”, he continued, “we are dealing with the trauma caused by a single incident of violent stranger rape, though it was on the street in circumstances where she also feared for her life. Tanisha’s rapist was never caught and is at large. Lack of closure is one of the elements in Tanisha's PTSD, along with the brutally indifferent treatment of rape victims. Tanisha is mentally raped every day when men look her way.
Tanisha has had to unlearn the intense fear she experienced around the sexual act and to learn to be capable of intimacy with a male again.”
“In Stephanie’s case, on the other hand, we are dealing with the trauma of multiple non-violent rapes over the period of a year that she was held in defacto slavery. These rapes were qualitatively different because they happened in an office building under an employer’s control, because she was not in fear for her life under these surroundings, and because the rapes happened under color of law. While Stephanie will have some of the same issues Tanisha has, she will have some different issues as well.”
“What, for example?” I asked.
“Stephanie will not only need to learn to be comfortable with sexual intimacy again, she will also need to overcome feelings that she was betrayed by the legal system and by her employer. Right now I would predict she has a deep-seated mistrust of all employers as well as all males. And she probably has a mistrust of YOU – not only because you are a male seeking intimacy with her, but because of the role you played in getting her enslaved in the first place!”
“That sounds rather extreme to me”, I replied. “After all, I played a central role in getting her freed from slavery and I am also showing her how to use the legal system to prosecute criminally those who wronged her. Stephanie and I have discussed these things and she seems to have a pretty good handle on everything.”
“That is where we must distinguish heart from head, Bill. It is one thing to come to terms with one’s traumatic experience at the level of pure logic, and it is quite another thing to get the heart to accept what has happened and be ready to move forward.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I want to get her into group therapy. I am starting a group next month that will include four or five couples. Tanisha and Leroy Williamson have signed up for the group. I would like to have you and Stephanie in the group too. This will be a nude encounter group – designed to foster social intimacy and trust as well as assertiveness among all participants.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that, and I don’t know how Stephanie would feel about that. She was a very modest person before her enslavement and I think the forced nudity she endured while a slave was also very traumatic for her. I wouldn’t want to see her traumatized all over again.”
“It wouldn’t be that way Bill. This is a situation where I would also use our patented Traumatholin drug just prior to the nude group meetings so that the experience of nudity can be re-learned and re-stored in a non-traumatic part of her memory. Also we would do re-enactments of past trauma inducing experiences both with Stephanie and with Tanisha and with each of the other women in the group in turn – while they are under the influence of our trauma drug. They will learn to re-experience all of these dramas without the trauma and save them in a different area of the brain’s memory where the memories can be called up later when not under the drug without triggering the trauma.”
“I will discuss it with Stephanie and she can decide if she is up to your program.”
“There is more, Bill. A woman who has been a slave for a year acquires a certain kind of what I may call ‘learned helplessness’. Slaves learn to submit, to obey. They learn that they are helpless against their masters. Ms. Glenn learned that lesson well. “
"After the implants have been removed and the mental conditioning commands cancelled," Dr. Henderson explained, "there is still learned helplessness to overcome. Most ex-slaves still have that learned helplessness brought on by decades of submissive behavior. Stephanie Glenn is still vulnerable to that--despite her commendable performances when she was attacked and when she escaped her captors after being raped and tortured. And there is a stigma attached to ex-slaves, even those who were manumitted after it was discovered that they had been wrongfully enslaved. I call this stigma 'once a slave, always a slave.'”
“So how would you treat this ‘learned helplessness’?” I asked.
“If Stephanie comes into our treatment program, I would want her to have a very special course in self defense” he responded. “That is what Tanisha was alluding to when she asked me if you would also be seeing the Sergeant Major.”
"What does she need self defense training for?" I asked. "She did better than expected when those two boys attacked her on the street in front of her own apartment. I have a brown belt in Karate and I don't think I would have done any better against those two boys than Stephanie did. She knocked them both out. Then she escaped that dungeon after fighting both boys while Stephanie was naked and had her hands tied behind her back. There is nothing wrong with Stephanie's self-defense skills!"
“Steelforth, I mean no insult, but people buy slaves as sexual playthings because it is less work to fuck their slave than to woo a woman and keep her interested in sex.”
"Easier still to go to a brothel," I replied. "I'm not insulted."
"Brothel sex has been compared to fast food," Dr. Henderson said.
“Your Stephanie”, he continued, “has had the experience of being a sexual plaything for a full year. If you think about it, that has to change a woman – how she thinks of herself, even the level of self-confidence she projects in her posture, attitude and bearing as he walks down a street.”
"A woman who was raped once”, he continued, “is more likely to be raped again than a woman who was never raped.
"Rape used to be more common before legal prostitution," I commented. "Slavery and legal prostitution drove down the rape rates."
"The low rape rate in Capitallia is due to many factors. But my point is that Stephanie Glenn is more at risk of being raped again because she is a rape victim and because she was treated as a slave.”
“Criminal rapists”, he continued, “read any lack of self-confidence in a woman as a free lunch sign. Were you aware that in nature predators attack the very young, the very old, the weak, injured and sick prey animals. A sick white-tail deer cannot run as fast as a healthy one, so a wolf pack will cut the sick doe out of the herd and run her down. It is the same with humans.”
“What would the self defense training consist of?” I inquired.
"I contract out for that part of therapy to a school called the ‘Cold Cox Academy’, owned and operated by Susan Coxwain”, Dr. Henderson told me.
“I have heard that name before!” I exclaimed. “That was the woman who taught Stephanie the defense skills she used to resist the boys’ attack near her apartment.”
"Susan teaches hand to hand fighting to the New York State Police, to the New Jersey State Police, and she even has a contract for the Vermont State Police to train their special operations teams. She gives military combatives classes to commandos from six state militias. The class she gives to rape victims consists of ten modules of three hours each. When they come out of those 30 hours of instruction given over a period of three to six weeks, they are confident almost to the point of arrogance. Coxwain calls it bringing out the inner tigress.”
“Does Stephanie really need 30 hours? With the skills she has already shown, wouldn’t a shorter course suffice?”
“Mr. Steelforth, have you read Machiavelli's 'the Prince?' No? Too bad--the man knew human nature. Machiavelli advised the prince to be both lion and fox. The lion was able to fight the dogs and the fox avoided traps. Susan Coxwain takes her students through a comprehensive course and when they finish, they are as deadly as commandos. She teaches the rape victims to avoid danger. Her students also project danger signals to would-be predators. Often she also gives this course to the spouse or significant other of her rape victims. You might do well to consider it yourself."
“I’ll keep that decision for later. But please go on with your explanation”, I replied.
"Ms. Coxwain's training program reduces the perception that the rape victim is someone rapable," Dr. Henderson explained. "You've been exposed to people who have presence, those who dominate a room. Your livelihood is enslaving people, and slaves learn to become invisible as well as submissive. Rape victims survived being forced to submit to rape. Their animal selves revert to behavior that helped them survive the last rape--except that the behavior 'gave permission' to the rapist.“
“I never thought of it that way Doctor!”
“Every rapist claims”, he continued, “that the victim was 'asking for it' and on a purely jungle animal level that is factual. The victim didn't want to be raped, but learned submissive behavior as a survival tactic. Slave training forces submissive behavior on a slave, and it takes years to unlearn that even though the hypnotic commands have been cancelled and even after bio digital implants have been removed. Ms. Coxwain teaches her students to be wary and to walk with confidence. Her graduates have commando-level fighting skills, so that isn't arrogant vanity.”
“How does Susan Coxwain do it?” I inquired.
“She uses a combination of systems. Feelie booths for mental conditioning and to teach what it feels like to execute a complex sequence of moves with perfect timing—“
"Feelie booths!" I was insulted. "Those are for pimply faced little boys who aren't old enough to use prostitutes!"
“Forgive my use of the slang term ‘feelie booth’. That is actually a generic term that many people use to describe a whole range of machines that give the user a physical experience as well as a visual and auditory one. Not all ‘feelie booths’ are in video game arcades or in sleazy sex shops. The proper term for what Sue uses with her students is ‘virtual fight training machine’ or VFTM. The Capitallian Defense Organization uses these machines to train soldiers," Dr. Henderson said. Have you ever heard that perfect practice makes for perfect performance? The VFTM lets you experience performing hand-to-hand combat moves perfectly and without risk of injury.”
“You mentioned that she uses a combination of systems. What else?”
“Mr. Steelforth, Sue teaches fighting skills that are designed to kill or maim an attacker. These skills cannot be realistically practiced by students against their fellow students. That is why, once a student progresses beyond VFTM training, the student is matched with a Rape-Bot. That is a robot that is commercially designed to sexually attack the student. She gets a lot of seriously damaged robots at the end of each class.
Mr. Steelforth, slavers are required to demonstrate slave control techniques as part of their business license. When was the last time you needed to lay hands on a slave?"
"It has been years," I admitted. "Even then it was just to calm down a panic-stricken slave. Rebelliousness is conditioned right out of the slave today. The residual rebelliousness is deliberately left in only at the owner's request, and a hypnotic command or using the slave's remote control to the implants is a far better method of overcoming resistance."
Since the combatives Ms. Coxwain teaches are based on natural movements and on gross motor skills, once you learn the system your daily activities are like more practice, so you retain the fighting skills longer. You don't need to train as long as you did to earn your brown belt. How long did it take you to earn that belt?"
"Nineteen months," I admitted. "I could have tested for black belt, but I didn't have the time. It takes a commitment to earn a black belt."
"So it would be unfair for me to invite you to spar with me?" Dr. Henderson said. "I took Susan Coxwain's course for rape victims with my wife two years ago, before I awarded her the contract to train rape victims as part of their therapy. I don't work out more than 90 minutes a week--that is everything, my road work, weight machines, and a few drills to keep my fighting skills sharp. Once every 90 days I go to Susan Coxwain's 'Cold Cox Academy' as a demonstrator. Look at me--do I appear to be dangerous?"
"No," I replied. "Not really."
"We put on the protective sparring suits so that nobody gets hurt," Dr. Henderson related. "Then Ms. Coxwain challenges the new class of special police officers to a sparring match. In seven demonstrations with an average of three challenges, I have not been defeated. I have been matched against martial arts black belts in several disciplines. The martial arts taught in schools are about as realistic as shooting a round of skeet is to gun fighting. Don't be insulted, Mr. Steelforth--skeet shooters have good shooting skills. After I best one or two of the police students, Ms. Coxwain issues an ultimatum. We fight with no sparring suits."
"Isn't that dangerous?" I asked. . "Someone could get hurt."
After all, I thought, sparring suits had pads that protected joints, hands, feet, head and neck. There was even protection for female breasts, male testicles and kidney and spine plates. Sensors determined if the student had received concussion or other injuries and informed the instructor so that the match could be halted, so that immediate medical treatment could be given
"That's the problem with modern martial arts," Dr. Henderson said. "You are trained to stop fighting the moment you get hurt. Ms. Coxwain teaches you to stop fighting only after your enemy quits trying to hurt you. The virtual fight training machine helps you develop your own mind conditioning, your own triggers to ignore pain and fear. In the VFTM you learn a controlled rage, a controlled fury. I have beaten a third degree black belt in Ms. Coxwain's class and he had won the New York State Police karate championship three years running. I actually knocked him out. When he came too, he accused me of sucker punching him. He was right."
"You cheated?" I asked.
"It wasn't a karate bout," Dr. Henderson said. "It was a simulation of two men fighting for their lives. He attacked me with a sport that was designed to prevent injuries in training and competition. While he circled me looking for an opening, I stood there relaxed and watching for him to telegraph his attack. When he rushed up from behind, I wasn't there when his flying kick landed. I moved. Then I attacked him. I took him off-balance and I hit him hard enough to knock him out even though my hand was padded and he was wearing protective pads."
"I don't think the man was happy about that," I said. "What did he do?"
"He was complaining about it loudly while I answered Susan’s challenge by getting naked," Dr. Henderson stated. "There I was, standing quietly in the center of the mat wearing my birthday suit while he was ranting. I missed most of his reaction because he wore his helmet, only removing his mouth protector to talk. Ms. Coxwain explained that my martial arts training consisted of boxing, fencing and wrestling in high school and college --and a thirty-hour three-week course in combatives for rape victims. At the time it was a year after I had completed the training. The other guy didn't take off his sparring suit.”
“That is an impressive story Doctor!”
“Nudity is a weapon if you use it”, he continued. “Stephanie Glenn successfully used her nudity and apparent helplessness to get her abductors to lower their guards, and that was after she had beaten two of them senseless with her bare hands."
“OK, you have certainly got my interest in this training program! How do we proceed?”
“I would like you to visit Susan’s training facility, talk with her, watch some of her students go through their exercises and maybe let her put you through an exercise or two yourself. I should warn you her students train in the nude for the most part and you will almost certainly be asked to disrobe yourself.”
“Where is this place?”
“It is actually a converted warehouse in a pretty rough area in the South Bronx. She needed a lot of low rent space for her school and that was the best way. She tells me the local toughs leave her students alone. She thinks it is good experience for them to run the gauntlet, so to speak, as they come and go from her classes. Here is the address. But I would advise you not to take public transportation Bill.”
“I will go tomorrow!” I responded.
With that we shook hands and I left his clinic anxious but also giddy with anticipation.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 26. Cold Cox Academy*
*The author wishes to thank Corsair for his contributions to the fight scenes.
The next day, just after lunch, I stopped in the bank branch near my office and got on the short line to my favorite teller. I had checks from several customers to deposit and needed a cash withdrawal. Tanisha looked pretty and very professional as usual. When she saw me standing at her window I saw a distinct blush suffuse her face.
“What can I do for you today Mr. Steelforth?” she asked.
While her greeting was not unfriendly, I thought she was making an effort to stay more formal and businesslike than in the past and I noted that she avoided making eye contact with me.
“Just the usual, Tanisha”, I said nonchalantly, as though nothing unusual had happened between us the day before.
I felt this was neither the time nor the place to get into any discussion of yesterday’s events. I checked my receipt, counted my cash, gave her a warm smile and left the bank.
That evening I rode in the back of my car while my driver took me toward the South Bronx address Dr. Henderson had given me. By now we were in the blighted area. My driver radioed ahead to let them know we would soon arrive. I saw fires in barrels and homeless hopeless men standing around, bottles in hand. As we approached the old warehouse that was the school I could see that it was battle-scarred with boarded-up windows. There was no parking. When the car approached the warehouse, a garage door opened. Standing in the doorway was a slender, barefoot, white-haired woman wearing only a short sleeved white cotton robe that came down to mid thigh. Any momentary doubt I might have had about the physical fitness of a woman her age was quickly put to rest by the lean muscularity of those arms and legs. She was puffing on a cigar. She waved for us to drive inside. As soon as my car got in, the door closed. I indicated to my driver that he should stay with the car while I got out to speak with the woman.
"Are you William Steelforth?" I nodded. She extended her hand. "I'm Sue Coxwain.
I coughed when I got a whiff of her cigar.
Doctor Henderson said that you are seeking treatment for a rape victim. You have come to the right place. My student’s affectionate nickname for this place is “School of Hard Cox”. May I have the name of your friend, the rape victim?"
"That's private," l protested.
"If you want my help you'll have to trust. I understand that trust doesn't come easy to victims. And when someone close to you gets raped, you are a victim, too. If you want to watch, I'm going to insist that you do so in the raw like everybody else.”
"Besides”, she continued, “you will have to be naked with many of these same couples if you partner with your rape victim in the encounter group. I am sure Dr. Henderson must have explained that part to you" Sue pointed out.
I could feel the blood rushing to my face and hoped she did not sense my embarrassment. I started to object--but guilt stopped me. Stephanie was unable to sleep at night at least in part because of me. She was unable to trust men because the routine enslavement process my agency had participated in resulted in her being wrongfully sentenced to a ten-year indenture for debts that she didn't owe.
"Tonight's session isn't being permanently recorded. We just give out clips to the trainees so that they can learn from their own mistakes. You won't appear on video at all. The girls have to unlearn being helpless."
"They train naked?" I asked. "What good would that do? People wear clothes in public. It's the law."
"I'm glad you brought that up, Mr. Steelforth."
"Please call me Bill."
"Then you'll call me Susan or Sergeant Major, but do NOT call me ma'am. It is insulting!"
"Yes, ma'--" I gulped nervously. Somehow I knew that the little slip of a woman was very dangerous. "Yes, Susan."
"I'm finished with this”, she said putting out the cigar.
“I smoke one to relax me," Sue glared at Bill. "Good. No lecture on how bad bacca is for me. I'm an old woman. This and my boy toy Tomcat and a good brandy are about the only hobbies I have. I lived through the Insurgency. That's why I teach close combat to women and to couples who have had one or both partners raped. Aztlan insurgents were like wolves among the sheep because the US government prohibited self-defense. If an underground group tried that today in New York City, those punks run a risk of having their asses kicked by one of my students. One of my students made the news a while ago--have you heard of Stephanie Glenn? According to the news, she fought off one kidnap attempt and then escaped from a dungeon. She was a student of mine. I never forget a name or face."
I stared at Susan in astonishment.
"Ms. Glenn is the rape victim Dr. Henderson told you about," I said at last. “She was raped while a captive of Zigler and the boys, but more importantly she was raped repeatedly while enslaved.”
"That changes things," Susan mulled it over. "Are you coming inside? The students have had their twenty minutes of warm-up exercises. The core of my teaching method is that my students learn to fight and defeat my Rape-Bots. Perhaps Dr. Henderson explained that part.”
“Yes, he did”, I replied.
“The reason I use sexual attack robots is because I want realism and I want my students to release all inhibitions and fight to kill or maim their attacker. This is obviously not possible if I have students fighting other students. The robots, however, are typically set to one-quarter speed and one-quarter power until I know the student can handle more.”
“Even so, are there not injuries when students fight robots?” I said.
“Injuries are minimized by the students first learning to fight in the virtual machines. What sort of unarmed defense training do you have?"
"The standard stuff given in high school and college," I replied. "Plus I've gotten instruction in controlling unruly slaves."
"When was the last time you trained?" Sue asked. "For that matter, when did you work out last?"
"Well, I've been busy," I said defensively.
"What I teach here is very lethal," Sue said. "I was part of a commando unit. It is simple to learn, simple to retain. We learned to kill with our bare hands. For rape victims I don't water down the course. I had to follow New York Unified Police Forces guidelines for their defensive training, but students like Miss Glenn prove that I'm the best. Stephanie obviously quit when she disabled her two attackers. Police want living suspects to arrest. Commandos can't leave live enemies behind them. If you accept Doctor Henderson's treatment plan, your intensive hand-to-hand combat training will make you far more dangerous to street punks than they are to you."
"Look, I'm no killer commando," I objected, "I'm not an athlete, either."
"The only thing that has to be in shape is your mind," Sue said. When you are threatened, you can trigger a response that will leave your attackers dead, dead, dead. You will be in control of that, but you can turn on your inner tiger. Few humans will be able to harm you when you finish. Now, do you want to come in or are you going to stand here in the cold.
I left my driver with the car and followed Susan in through the thick door from the garage to the gym. The first thing my eyes saw was twenty-four students – six of them in well fitting but rather worn out looking street clothes and the rest all quite naked. Among the six clothed ones at the far end of the gym I noted Tanisha and Leroy.
“How come those six are clothed and everyone else is naked?” I asked.
“Those six have dressed for combat with my Rape-Bots. We try to make these attack situations as realistic as possible by having the students dress as they might be dressed on the street going to work or coming from work. We get this clothing as discards from thrift shops because the clothing often will get torn to shreds! I can assure you they don’t always get to keep their clothing since the Rape-Bots are programmed to strip them if possible.”
Then my eyes were drawn to the six virtual fight training machines – all in a row down the middle of the gym. For the most part they were open frames – each with multiple videocams and each defining an area about 8 ft by 12 ft in size. Sue led me to a row of lockers standing near the VFTMs. There was no privacy in the gym. Even the showers were visible through clear plastic walls. Sue’s boytoy Tomcat was a slender 20-something indentured servant. He looked almost feminine and at the moment he was nude. He was working on repairing a realistic Rape-Bot, an android training device.
"Bill, grab a locker and put your clothes inside," Susan said as she removed her white terrycloth robe revealing she had nothing on underneath. "Nudity is a weapon. We train nude--mostly--because it gives us a tactical advantage. Do you know how many women fall apart when their skirt is ripped from their bodies? How many women will freeze up in terror when their rapist flashes a penis at them? As you can see some of the men and women are dressed in various clothing like they'd wear on the street. They will be assaulted by the Rape-Bot and have their clothing ripped from them. They will be expected to disable their attackers and get away. The final exercise will take place in a simulated bedroom."
I was embarrassed to be undressing in front of all these students. I turned my back to the others as I undressed--it was too much to face the others as I stripped to my skin. Finally, I was naked. Unfortunately I had a partial erection.
"Bill, don't let little things bother you. Come with me," Sue said. "Class, this is Bill. He's here to observe today's training. Do not make fun of him--focus on your objective."
"Yes, Susan," the class replied.
My face and ears were hot with embarrassment. Just then, much to my chagrin, I saw Leroy and Tanisha approaching. To be naked in front of these particular clothed people, after what I had witnessed yesterday, was a rather intense experience. My partial soft erection was turning into a half hard erection as I stood there in front of my favorite bank teller.
"Bill, wasn't it?" Leroy asked. Bill nodded "How does it feel to have the shoe on the other foot? To be the naked one?"
"Leroy," Sue warned.
"Bill and I met before, at the Henderson clinic," Leroy said. "Bill, I mean no impertinence, but if you could make that erection fully hard and maintain it hard for a while, I think it would be helpful for Tanisha’s therapy. Could you humor us?"
"Please," Tanisha pleaded. "I have to learn that an erection is an erection.”
So, for Tanisha’s sake, and because I could hardly help myself anyway, I stroked my penis into full erection and stood there for a couple of minutes for Tanisha to take it all in.
“Stand down, Mr. Steelforth”, I heard at last from Sue, and found myself wilting.
"You are a slaver, right?" I nodded in answer to Sue’s question. "You use nudity to inflict learned helplessness on slaves. Here I use nudity to inoculate my students against crippling embarrassment
"Bill, you want Stephanie to get this training," Sue continued. "This has a very serious purpose. When she completes the training she will have disarmed the nude bomb. Neither her own nakedness nor the nakedness of an attacker will render her helpless. She won't be shocked into immobility when a sexual predator flashes his naughty bits at her. These people took command of their sexuality and nudity is no weapon against them.”
We have six virtual fight training machines. I am continuously taking on new students. I always have my newest batch experience fighting in the VFTMs before I have them fight my Rape-Bots. Even my more advanced students refresh their skills in the VFTMs at some point each evening. Since I have 24 students and only 6 machines I use a rotation system.”
“Can I watch one of these ‘virtual fights’?”
“That is just what I want you to do next. Let’s go over and watch Vicki fight.”
As we walked over I noted that it must be rotation time. Six very exhausted looking naked students, dripping with perspiration, were taking off their virtual helmets and stepping out of the fighting areas defined by the virtual frames. Six other naked students, looking fresh and eager, were donning these helmets. We walked toward one of these students just before she put her helmet on. I stole a quick furtive glance downward to satisfy myself that my penis had completely subsided. Sue introduced me to Vicki, a slender blonde athletic type. I shook hands with her and wished her a successful fight. She smiled and excused herself to begin a sort of warm up dance before starting the fight.
“Before a student can experience a multi-sensory virtual fight”, she continued, “he or she must have had a series of hypnotized sessions during the first week of the course in a simple audio-visual trainer. Vicki has had this hypnotic training so that she will be able to experience certain physical sensations such as impact, loss of balance or pain when certain subliminal coded visual cues are flashed on her retinas.”
“Vicki will find herself sparring with a virtual partner, but Vicki’s own movements will be real and involve the full and conscious use of her own musculature. Vicki will “see” the computer generated opponent through the virtual vision capability of the helmet, “hear” this opponent through the helmet, and actually experience blows from the opponent that she failed to block or sidestep. She will experience the blow both as a force that she must counter-act with her own muscles to maintain balance, and also as a zone of pain on her own body – though there is no actual injury. This computer controlled machine will train her to think fast and keep on fighting through the pain until she can deliver a blow that ends any threat posed by the virtual opponent.”
“But how will the machine know when or if she failed to evade or block a blow?” I asked.
“The machine’s computer at all times knows”, she responded, “the position, attitude and motions of the student’s body by integrating data from multiple video cameras. It compares this data with the data it also has concerning the position, attitude and motions of the virtual opponent it has generated for the student. But perhaps the best way to understand all this is to just watch.”
Vicki pushed the ‘Start’ button on one of the frame’s side posts. Almost immediately we began to sense that there was an invisible ghost like presence in the same fighting area with Vicki. We could see her begin to respond to this presence that only she could ‘see’. All the muscles of her beautiful athletic body began to tense. She assumed a fighting stance. I could feel my penis begin to get partially erect again and hoped that Sue did not notice. No such luck. I could see Sue glance briefly downward at my crotch and I thought for a moment that she was going to say something but then she just smiled and encouraged me by a gesture to keep my focus on the fight.
Vicki began to dance around apparently trying to evade blows we could not see and look for an opening to counter punch. We saw her duck suddenly and apparently avoid a blow that had been aimed at her head. A moment later we saw her spring back and to one side suddenly as though she had taken a blow to her side. At the same time we saw a facial grimace and observed her struggle with the muscles in her long slender legs to maintain her balance. Soon we saw a red swelling appear on her left side just above the left kidney. She appeared not to notice it or allow it to slow her down although it must have been painful.
“Here”, Sue offered, “Why don’t you slip on these virtual goggles?”
I did so and the picture was now complete. I could see Vicki’s computer generated opponent quite clearly now. He appeared male and I could also hear him breathing and occasional utterances. I could judge how effective Vicki was in countering his blows and in finding an opening for counter attack. It was apparent that she was favoring one side of her torso now, no doubt as a result of the painful blow she had sustained. The virtual opponent was trying to get in a second punch in the area already in pain, but Vicki was too quick for him. Sue whispered to me that the pain was only in her student’s mind and that there was no real injury in a virtual fight. Vicki got in one particularly devastating blow to her opponent resulting in a loud bellow and a string of obscene words. After that we noticed her opponent appeared tired and with sluggish reflexes. The fight went on for some time until Vicki landed a knockout punch and the opponent slumped to the floor and remained motionless. Vicki remained standing and we could see she was making a conscious effort to regulate her breathing.
“Vicki is using”, Sue explained, “a calming breathing technique to come down off her adrenal rush. This is critical. There is a backlash effect after combat, an anti-adrenalin effect that serves to bring the body back to normal rapidly. It can get out of hand and stop your heart, but the breath control method teamed up with focus on something is an ancient bio-feedback method that returns one from the hyper condition of fighting back to a normal state without slowing the heart too rapidly. Controlling the breathing can drive the pulse rate up or down and also regulate blood pressure.”
Once Vicki appeared to have returned to normal, Sue walked over and wrapped her arm around the shoulders of her student and praised her for a job well done.
“You have seen a virtual fight, now let me show you a real one. I understand from Dr. Henderson that you already know Tanisha Williamson.”
“Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting her and her husband right after their therapy session yesterday”, I replied.
“Tonight is Tanisha’s graduation exercise in my program. We have created a sort of movie set that simulates a dark deserted street not unlike that in which many women get raped. Tanisha is going to re-enact a situation similar to the one in which she was originally raped. Only this time she is going to react differently and have a different outcome.”
"Tanisha is a bank teller and is on her way home from work”, Sue explained. “The bank requires professional attire from its tellers. That means a business suit with high heels, nylons, blouse, jacket and a tight skirt for the women. The bank doesn't want its employees, other than security staff, armed inside the bank during business hours. To be legal the bank would have to provide its employees a way to check their weapons upon arrival for work, but most banks don’t want to be bothered with that. It is technically against the law for an employer to demand that non-citizen employees leave their weapons at home, but non-citizens usually don't know the law. Besides, they can be fired and there are two more to take their place. So employees like Tanisha find that they must commute to and from work every day unarmed.”
Tanisha walked along the simulated street with confidence. She had much experience with the mild everyday petty harassment that is a woman's lot in life. She was carrying a bag of groceries she had just bought at the market 2 blocks away. I was seeing the situation through Tanisha's eyes, but without her experience. I was thankful that I had been born male!
I noticed that the clothes Tanisha wore simulated smart business attire, but on closer examination I could see the jacket and dress, though a good fit, were threadbare, the hose had a run, and the high-heeled shoes had seen better days.
“I have my student’s dress in clothing donated to my school by thrift shops. It saves a lot of money when clothing is constantly getting ripped and destroyed in fights”, Sue explained.
Tanisha was skilled at walking in her high heels. Even the bag of groceries did not slow her down or cause her to lose the bounce in her step. The tight fitting dress didn't handicap Tanisha to the same degree it might have hobbled a woman not used to such attire.
Soon she encountered a Rape-Bot that had been dressed like one of the street thugs I had seen outside earlier. It shambled towards her bottle in one hand and the other was held out to her palm up. I noticed a big pinkish penis that reminded me of Leroy Williamson's erect member--it was jutting out of the Rape-Bot’s open fly. I could sympathize with Tanisha's aversion to cocks at the moment. The Rape-Bot was operating at reduced speed and power. "Brother," the mechanical thug slurred, "can you spare some change?"
I saw that Tanisha did not miss one of the pre-assault indicators. The thug had glanced up and down the street to make sure he was alone with his intended victim.
“Watch Tanisha handle this situation", Sue whispered to me.
When the Rape-Bot shambled towards Tanisha, she loudly shouted, “Get the fuck away from me!” in such a loud voice I thought the windows might shatter.
“Vocalizations are important”, Sue explained. “Those vocalizations are also the mental triggers. Shouting at the intruder to get lost triggered a killing rage in Tanisha that liberated all of her physical strength. We humans have limiting software, if you will; mental conditioning that prevents us from hurting ourselves. Have you heard of a mother lifting a car off her child?"
I nodded my head, unable to speak.
“The last thing we do”, Sue continued, “is a quick medical examination because when this limiting software is overridden, you can literally rip your muscles free.”
I saw that when Tanisha’s verbalization failed to stop the Rape-Bot’s advance, she hurled the bag of groceries forcefully right at the thug’s face, and while he was momentarily ducking that she sent one of her high heeled shoes flying like a projectile directly toward the thug’s crotch, stepped out of the other shoe and ripped the skirt off, wrapping it around her arm. This left her naked from the waist down but for her nylon stockings. The Rape-Bot hesitated, then tossed his bottle at her forcefully as he charged. Tanisha moved so fast that I had to watch the video replay later to see what she did. Tanisha ducked and side-kicked his knee hard enough to buckle it. She hit him several times with a palm strike and the edge of her hand and an elbow strike, and then she grabbed his arm and yanked it straight. A loud crack was heard and a synthetic roar of pain as the Rape-Bot's elbow dislocated. Tanisha whipped the torn skirt around its neck and slammed it face-first into the floor. An instant later she was choking out the Rape-Bot with her skirt.
I was in awe because she wore nothing other than a suit coat that was flapping open in front--the buttons had torn off in the fight. With a broken arm and broken leg and the damage inflicted by Tanisha's uninhibited all-out assault, the Rape-Bot was no longer able to fight effectively. One of its eyes had been ripped out--I watched the video three times at slow motion before I saw her stab a thumb into its eye socket. The move was part of a sequence of moves and they all blended together.
I saw Sue’s boytoy Tomcat drag the broken robot away to a repair area where it would have necessary parts replaced to restore it to operating condition for another student’s use.
“Was it really necessary”, I asked, “for Tanisha to launch such a brutal pre-emptive attack before the thug even made a move against her?”
“I am so glad you asked that question!” Sue replied. “The only rule in a street fight is SURVIVE! The attack victim will always be at a disadvantage because the attacker will be bigger and stronger and, at least in his own mind, meaner. My students have only a few advantages--the main one being surprise and that they WILL pit their maximum strength against the attacker's weak points and will exploit every opening that the attacker affords. I always stress with my students that this surprise is not to be squandered with gradualism because if the victim doesn't immediately kill or incapacitate her attacker, he may recover and use the superiorities he has. I use Rape-Bots because I want realism and my students could hardly practice such brutal tactics against their fellow students“.
“But not every street assailant is intent on murder or rape”, I protested. Some may only want to relieve their victim of a little money to buy their next bottle of booze. Is it right to kill a man over that?”
“The victim of such an assailant”, Sue continued, “does not have the luxury of waiting to find out just how lethal her assailant might be. She must assume the worst and use the advantages she has to render her assailant dead or unconscious. Only when he is no longer a threat can she stop her assault.”
“Thank you”, I replied. “You have answered my question.”
“Mr. Steelforth, please consider all that I have shown you tonight, discuss it with your female friend, and let Dr. Henderson and I know your decision.”
With that I returned to my locker, put my clothes back on, and found my way back out to the garage where my driver had remained waiting for me with the car.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 27. Masterson’s Proposition
The next morning my secretary advised me Greg Masterson was on the line. When I picked up he greeted me warmly and said he had a business proposition for me and would I be free for lunch that day? I was intrigued and readily agreed, quickly rescheduling another appointment. With Masterson it was best to accommodate to his schedule.
I arrived at his favorite restaurant on the Upper East Side near Central Park. It was the same restaurant where I had my original fateful meeting with him to plead Stephanie’s case. This time I took a GPS guided robo-taxi. It was not lost on me that such a vehicle probably would not have been possible without the sophisticated collision avoidance system pioneered by none other than the man I was meeting for lunch. As I approached the front door of the restaurant I remembered that I had walked to this restaurant for the earlier meeting and had encountered quite a protest demonstration on the way.
This time the maitre d’ recognized me at once.
“Ah, Mr. Steelforth”, he began, “Mr. Masterson has just called to say he is on his way and has asked me to seat you at his favorite table where you might enjoy a glass of wine while you are waiting.”
“That would be fine, I am sure.”
“Before I seat you”, he continued, “I must ask your preference for the sex, race and age of your server. Also you may specify his or her physical type.”
“Physical type?” I queried.
“Yes, Mr. Steelforth. Let me show you our menu of servers currently available and you can select one from the photos.”
He handed me a leather bound folder and inside there were photos and descriptions of the various servers. Each photo with its accompanying description was inserted into a pocket inside the folder. This enabled the maitre d’ to update the folder as different waiters and waitresses came on or off duty. I looked through the folder and was struck by the variety of different physiques on offer – ranging from voluptuous to athletic to thin. My eye was drawn to a very attractive and slender young black twenty something woman who was pictured in a black vest, a modest white blouse and a full-length form fitting black skirt that ended at mid calf. I noted also that she wore black nylons and black high-heeled shoes.
“I would like to be served by that one!” I said, pointing to the photo of the one that struck my fancy.
“Excellent choice, sir! Shawna has been with us for three years now and is one of the most often requested by regular customers. She will be assigned exclusively to yourself and Mr. Masterson for the duration of your dining experience with us. You do have one other choice to make, Mr. Steelforth. It concerns her mode of dress while serving you. We can offer you some limited options in this area consistent with our desire to maintain decorum.”
“What are my choices?”
“You can choose a blouse style that is long sleeved and modest with a high neckline, like the one you saw in her picture, or a sleeveless shoulder baring style, or a short sleeve one with a plunging neckline, or a short sleeve one that is midriff baring. You may also choose the length of her skirt.”
I had always had a thing for seeing the well defined shoulders and collarbone area of a slender woman. Also I was more of a leg man than a breast man. I made my desires known accordingly.
“I would like her to wear the micro skirt together with the vest and the sleeveless shoulder baring blouse.”
“Excellent choice, sir!”
With that he led me back to Greg Masterson’s favorite table in a somewhat secluded rear alcove. A drink waiter shortly appeared. I saw that he was tall and slender and attired in a white ruffled shirt w bowtie, black vest, and full length black slacks that fit him like a second skin – leaving little to the imagination.
“The waitress you selected”, he began, “is now donning the clothing you selected for her sir. In the meantime perhaps you would like to order a drink sir?”
I ordered a glass of Merlot, dismissed him and turned on the small TV monitor in the alcove near the table. I had been enjoying my wine and idly watching the news of the day for perhaps ten minutes when Greg joined me.
“Bill, I apologize for the delay and I am so glad you could meet with me on such short notice.”
“Not a problem Greg.”
Just then our tall drink waiter returned and Greg, following my example, ordered a Merlot.
Our attention was then drawn to a news announcement from one of the local New York City stations.
“Word just in that Robert Dexter, well known to our listeners as the owner of Dexter Pharmaceuticals, has failed his annual citizenship examinations twice. Sources at the Citizenship Bureau advise that he will now forfeit his standing as a citizen of Capitallia and as a citizen of New York State. He is eligible to reapply in two years time, but in the meantime, as a non-citizen, he is no longer able to own the business he founded, nor can he maintain ownership of the 10 million dollar mansion he maintains in the Hamptons. Mr. Dexter’s stock in the corporation and his home will go up for auction a week from next Monday. Dexter Pharmaceuticals has been placed in temporary receivership until such time as a new owner can take over control of the business.”
“In other news today …”
I remembered a much younger Robert Dexter from one of the slavery conferences twenty years ago. He had been a passionate advocate for full chattel slavery and helped to pass the legislation we now operated under.
“They will probably let him continue to manage the business as a salaried CEO”, Masterson remarked. “He can still make a good living as a salaried manager. Maybe one of his friends will buy his home and lease it back to him for the next couple of years. While he can no longer own Dexter Pharmaceuticals, the court appointed receiver must sell his stock at a fair price and award him the proceeds. So he won’t be bankrupted by this. If he uses his time wisely he may be able to ace those exams when he comes up for citizenship review in two more years.”
Our attention was then drawn to other news from the Chinese government.
“They have just announced”, the newscaster intoned, “that they will be the third country in the contemporary world to legalize chattel slavery. The ‘Chinese Capitalist Party’ - what used to be called the ‘Chinese Communist Party’, made the decision. While they have forsaken communism in favor of capitalism, they have not forsaken the autocratic rule that Communism brought in 1949.”
“Does this mean you will be building a plant in China now?” I asked.
“Hardly. The Chinese version of slavery is likely to be very brutal indeed. They will have few of the refinements or safeguards that have evolved in our society of limited franchise democracy. I would not want to be involved, or have my managers operating, in an environment of enslavement of political dissidents and the brutal practices they will follow. Perhaps in another twenty years their system will evolve into something that would be compatible with Western sensibilities. But that is not for now.”
“What then?” I responded. “Are there other parts of the world that might be more promising for expansion of your business interests?”
“Ah yes! That is one of the things I wanted to talk about. The second country in the world to legalize chattel slavery is Brazil. That was just two weeks ago. Perhaps you have heard something of that?”
“Yes indeed”, I replied.
Just then the very leggy black waitress that I had earlier selected approached our table, presented Greg with his drink, and asked about our lunch orders. She was sexier than I could have hoped for with her delicate and well defined shoulders bared and her attractive nylon clad legs on display almost up to her crotch. Masterson indicated he would have the Salmon with the Mornay sauce, steamed asparagus au gratin, and a salad. I indicated I would have the same and Masterson dismissed her. . I did not miss the opportunity to gaze with awe at her long slender legs as she turned away in her high heels.
“Now you might say why Brazil?” he continued. Many countries who have been traditional allies of the U.S. have been watching our Capitallian experiment and looking to see if their economies and their penal systems could be improved by following our example. The problem is that most of these countries are now ‘social democracies’. They have adopted the socialist model with cradle to grave security for all their citizens. They are also very egalitarian.”
“How does this factor into their decisions about slavery?” I asked.
“The overwhelming majority of people in these countries believe in a strong social safety net. They also believe no one person should be allowed to have that much more than what can be guaranteed to all. They have highly confiscatory taxation schemes. So the idea of one person being allowed to actually own another person is not something most of these people can ever accept.”
“So how was it different in Brazil?” I wanted to know.
“Brazil certainly has a stronger democratic tradition than China” he replied. “But it is more of an elitist democracy where there have long been great extremes of wealth and poverty. There is, in effect, a ruling class in Brazil that concentrates governing power more than in the European social democracies. I think this is why the idea of one human being owning another is more acceptable there.”
“Will this affect your business prospects in that country?”
“In time, yes. And I may eventually have need of your services there.”
“Greg, there is another matter I would like to bring up. You recall Stephanie asked you at our meeting if you would look into the possibility of improving the situation of the dancer, Jennifer Maisten. I would like to be able to tell her something.”
“There is a problem with that, though perhaps not an insurmountable one.”
“What is the problem?” I asked.
“Jennifer is a criminal slave” he responded. “She was convicted in a private prosecution by the ballet company for embezzling funds. The ballet company, as the successful private prosecutor, and as the victim of her crime, was given the usual prerogative by the Court of defining her sentence within the statutory guidelines. So even though they subsequently sold her to me, I am still bound by the terms of her original sentence.”
“What does her sentence require?” I pressed.
“Her sentence requires that she be treated under all the usual conditions of penal slavery which specifically includes, in her case, constant nudity, a 60 hour work week, and that she be forced to have non consensual sexual encounters at least twenty times per month on average, that she be subject to humiliating working conditions and so on. The sentence also requires that we send her over to a public whipping service once every six months where she is lightly whipped on her bare buttocks in front of interested spectators. My HR department is tasked with making sure she suffers all these punitive conditions in fulfillment of the sentence. HR also arranges for her to have cutting edge medical treatments after each whipping so she recovers fast and can do her work at the ballet company.”
“Greg, is there nothing that can be done?”
“I do not have it within my personal power to set her free or to modify the harsh terms of her sentence. The only thing I do have the power to do would be to sell her to a new owner and that new owner would also have to fulfill the degrading terms of her sentence.”
“But you gave Stephanie your word you would try to help Jennifer’s situation!” I blurted out.
“And I am a man of my word. There is hope for Jennifer but it will take time and require a process of persuasion. It is the Board of Directors of the National Ballet of Capitallia that has the power to set her free, modify the terms of her sentence, or possibly release her on parole.”
“How are they to be persuaded?” I responded.
“My suggestion is that you, Bill, are in the best position to bring all this about. Use your influence with the ballet company to see what can be done. From what I hear you have been a generous financial contributor to the ballet over the years and I think they may listen to our plea if you are the one to present it. If they agree I will, of course, need to be compensated for the loss of my slave. I did buy her in good faith after all. See what you can do!”
“I will certainly give it my best efforts”, I replied.
“I would like to move on”, he remarked, “to why I called for our meeting today. I have a rather pressing problem. You may recall from our earlier meeting that there was quite a bit of protest in the park over the creation of a Federal Labor Board with authority to limit the total number of jobs available to free persons in this nation. Those protesters organized a boycott of all fresh produce in New York City. Some subsisted on canned goods alone. Others started growing their own fruits and vegetables through cooperatives.”
Just then our waitress brought our lunch orders. The food looked very appetizing indeed.
“When I first heard about that on the news”, I replied, “I thought how much purchasing power could a bunch of unemployed people have? I was in for quite a surprise when I learned it wasn’t just the unemployed. They got as much as a third of the whole number of non-citizens to participate in the boycott. Even those who had jobs realized that their situation was precarious. Tons of produce spoiled causing losses in New York City alone that, for one six month period, approached a billion dollars!”
“That did get the attention of the legislators!” he rejoined. “Not only that but Capitallians for the Constitution mounted a legal challenge to the Federal Labor Board. They said Congress had overstepped its bounds in passing such a law since regulating wages and employment in Capitallia was not one of the enumerated powers granted the Federal Government, hence such a law would be unconstitutional under the Tenth Amendment. The legal challenge had gotten as far as the Federal Appeals Court when Congress decided to reconsider the law that created the Federal Labor Board.
“I remember reading about that about six months ago. “
“By the time Congress decided to reconsider the law establishing the Federal Labor Board it was discovered that law had been spearheaded by a bunch of legislators who may actually have had a hidden agenda to sabotage Capitallia’s economy. These legislators knew that many shortsighted businessmen would think their proposal great because it would hold down labor costs – at least in the short run. So they were able to get many members of the EFP, which generally represents the business community, to go along with this scheme and enact the law. Unfortunately these representatives failed to take into account that the talent pool would eventually dry up because students could not get financing to train for such unrewarding jobs.”
“But why would any group of legislators engage in a conspiracy to sabotage Capitallia?” I asked incredulously.
“Because some of them had a vision for a different kind of society they hoped would take hold once Capitallia fell. Their dream was to create a socialist utopia – the same foolish dream that has caused so much human misery in the twentieth century. Their stated vision was for a society in which all would be equal – not only in opportunities but in actual results as well. From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs. But in such utopias, as George Orwell once pointed out so eloquently, “some are always more equal.”
“How were these legislators with their hidden agenda found out?” I was eager to learn.
“I’m afraid that is where the trail must end for now. There is much about all this that is still highly classified information. We may not know the whole story for another ten or twenty years. I have heard rumors that an ex military man named Hank Dalton played a key role in all this and that the now classified project was code-named “Conspiracy of Dreams”.
“Fascinating” I said. “But how is all of this going to affect your business, Greg?”
“My company, like so many other firms, in compliance with the now repealed law, had gradually reduced the numbers of free employees we had and replaced them with slaves and indentured servants. Now we are faced with a new mandate. Regulation of employment numbers has now passed from the feds to the states.”
“So how is that a new mandate?” I asked. “The state agencies will just continue the old federal policy of limiting jobs won’t they?”
“Quite the opposite, Bill. Most states are interested in expanding job opportunities for citizens and free legal residents, even if it means companies like mine must greatly reduce the number of slaves and indentured people we use.”
“You see Bill, we do most of our business in New York, Massachusetts and California. All three of these states are in the process of setting up what they are pleased to call “Full Employment Agencies”. We will now be under pressure, in all the states where we do business, to increase the proportion of our work force that is called “Class A Labor”. That would be citizens and free legal residents. They have another category called “Class B Labor” that consists of immigrant labor, indentured servants and slaves. We have to reduce the proportion of that kind of labor we use in order to make more Class A jobs. They are expected to give us a transitional period of at least five years to get our labor ratios into line with the new standards.”
“In other words, Bill, we will be pushed in the opposite direction from what we were experiencing under the now extinct Federal Labor Board. If this program succeeds it will reduce unemployment to something close to zero. In theory everyone who wants a job will be able to get one – within the limits of his or her training and abilities.”
“But that will mean higher wage demands won’t it?” I said. “And more bargaining power for employees to negotiate terms and conditions of employment. Doesn’t that concern you?”
“Yes and no. In the short run higher wages are costs I will have to absorb. But if my competitors also have to pay these higher wages then I will not be placed at a disadvantage. And there will be a real long term benefit!”
“What’s that?” I asked, somewhat surprised.
“The higher wages and better working conditions will create an ever expanding pool of high quality labor over the longer run. More students will be willing to undertake the long training required for many of our occupations. And more banks will be willing to lend them tuition money, confident their earnings will be sufficient to repay such loans.”
We had just finished our lunches and our leggy waitress inquired if we wished to order desserts. We decided to just have coffees.
“I see your point”, I said. “But this can’t be good for the slaving business” I sighed. I was more worried than I wanted to let him see.
“Not necessarily” he replied. “There is more than one way to look at these things. There will now be many companies that need to divest their slaves and they will need help marketing those slaves to other firms. In fact, I need such help. That is the purpose of my inviting you here today!”
“Who will buy all the indentured servants you and others will be letting go?” I wondered aloud.
“In many industries the possibilities for using slave or indentured labor has never been fully explored because the price of slaves and servants was too high. Now there will be a general fall in the price of slaves at the same time average wage levels for free employees will be rising. That means many firms that never used slave labor before will now be able to afford to do so. “
“I see your point,” I said, feeling less discouraged than I had a moment before.
“Why don’t you think through what slave marketing services you might be able to provide and shoot over a proposal to me? Then, if we are in accord, we will have a follow-up meeting to finalize an arrangement.”
“Sounds good to me”, I remarked.
With that we finished our coffees, left the restaurant and went our separate ways.
That evening I dropped by Stephanie’s place to update her on all the research I had done concerning the Henderson Trauma Clinic. Because of all the symptoms of post traumatic stress she had experienced, she was ready to consider it. I gave her Dr. Henderson’s phone number and she promised to call him in the morning and arrange for a preliminary interview.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 28. Stephanie’s Law
When I returned to my office after the meeting with Masterson I found an intriguing note from my secretary that a Mr. Roger Medrock, President of a Boston firm called Prostitution Services Unlimited (PSU), had called earlier, wanting to discuss a business proposition. He had indicated that he hoped to hear from me this evening and that I might call up to 9 pm. Soon I had connected with him.
“We have a proposal we would like to put in front of you Mr. Steelforth”, he said “that could double your gross receipts in the coming year! We would like you to come to Boston at our expense to discuss the matter. Could you catch the late mag-lev train tonight and be in our offices tomorrow morning?”
“Of course, I will clear my calendar.” I found myself saying.
I had heard of PSU and knew that they ran one of the largest ‘slave brothel’ operations on the east coast, employing several thousand male and female indentured servants as unpaid prostitutes and perhaps as many as a hundred chattel slaves. If they wanted to use my firm to supply their ongoing needs for indentured servants – well – that could prove quite lucrative for my partner and for me.
By 10 pm I found myself boarding the maglev with a hastily packed overnight bag. It was only a one-hour high-speed train ride from New York City to Boston now. Soon I was enjoying a drink in the club car when I became aware of a news report on the large screen.
Marge and Harry, well known newscasters on the 10 pm segment of this national news network, were having an on-air discussion on a new bill that had just passed the House of Representatives. The new bill was being referred to as ‘Stephanie’s Law’ because Stephanie’s unfortunate experiences had received so much publicity that it became the rallying cry for those who wanted reforms in our indentured servitude laws.
“Apparently,” Marge continued, “the proposed national law, known as ‘Stephanie’s Law’, provides a uniform definition of what is an “indentured servant”. This will replace a patchwork of state court decisions on the meaning of “indentured service”.
“Yes,” Harry replied, “in many places there was little distinction between indentured service and complete chattel slavery – either because the state laws were not clear or because employers took advantage of inadequate enforcement of existing laws.”
I was more or less aware of what the content of the proposed law was to be. What was news to me was that it had actually passed the House – the first step on its way to the Senate and ultimately for the President of Capitallia to sign into law.
“Indentured servitude”, Harry continued, “will now be limited to a 40 hour workweek with the indentured person free to have a private life outside of working hours”
“One of the most interesting features of the new law”, Marge continued, “is that most indentures for simple debt will not require sexual service of the indentured person, unless he or she agrees to that as part of a plea bargain, or unless the court determines that the debt can be worked off in no other manner.”
“Does that mean”, Harry rejoined, “that in the future a young woman like the famous Stephanie, who has an established skill or profession, can only be required to work off her debt by practicing her profession?”
“That is exactly what it means!” Marge responded. “Not only that but a person facing the possibility of being indentured for a term longer than two years is entitled to a complete court appointed defense team at public expense if they cannot afford one otherwise. This would include an attorney, but also, if need be, an investigator, jury consultant, and all expenses incidental to the defense! That should make unjust indentures like Stephanie’s very unlikely in the future. She got convicted because her defense team did not have the resources to properly defend her!”
I began to wonder how I was going to explain all these new requirements to my prospective client in the meeting tomorrow morning.
“Another point our viewers may be interested in”, Harry interjected “is that the Congress has responded to all the protest activity concerning the Federal Labor Board. Our viewers may recall that there were demonstrations last summer and boycotts of fresh produce in major cities. The demonstrators had complained that the Labor Board was rationing jobs in such a way as to create a permanent underclass of unemployed workers. This long term unemployed population, in turn, could not pay their bills and wound up being indentured for debt. This was part of the problem leading up to Stephanie’s indenture. There were demands that the Labor Board be abolished.”
“But these … ‘demonstrators’ as you call them – they were not citizens and so had no vote”, Marge countered. “Did they get their main demand in spite of that?”
“Yes, actually! It was a strange coalition of Civil Rights Party types concerned about worker’s rights combined with a major chunk of the Economic Freedom Party concerned that government was meddling too much in the economy and playing favorites with various industries. One of the provisions of ‘Stephanie’s Law’ is that the Labor Board is abolished and there will be no more rationing of jobs.”
“Does that mean that prevailing wages can now go sky high when the economy is booming and the unemployment rate is very low?” Marge inquired of her co-anchor.
“Not quite”, Harry responded. “Congress has now authorized the Department of Immigration to grant green cards to immigrants who would bring to Capitallia any skills that are in short supply here or grant such cards to would be immigrants who would be willing to enter training indentures to learn those skills and live and work in Capitallia upon completion of their training.”
“So the bottom line”, Marge continued, “is that employers can create more jobs and the economic pressures on the unemployed have been lessened and there are now more procedural safeguards to prevent unjust indentures.”
“Quite so”, Harry responded.
“In other news today it was reported that a Tim O’Malley, owner of a chain of nudie pole dancing bars, lost his citizenship. It seems Mr. O’Malley neglected to pay the annual citizenship tax two years running. Since he is now a non-citizen he can no longer own the O’Malley Nudie Bar chain, nor can he own slaves. His shares of stock in the business as well as the slaves he owned will be put up for auction on the first business day of next month.”
Now this interested me personally. O’Malley owned the ballerina Vivienne Morentzy. She had been one of his pole dancers until I went to see him and persuaded him to lease her to the ballet company. I would have to make a point of attending the auction of his properties. I had fucked Vivienne on several occasions and I sure wouldn’t mind owning her!
Moreover this was yet another example, along with Robert Dexter’s loss of citizenship, that there was no permanent upper caste in Capitallia. Rather the citizen class was constantly being refreshed by the fall of citizens who weren’t living up to their obligations and by the rise of new talent newly admitted to citizenship.
I drifted off to sleep after a while. Soon we were in Boston and I took a cab to my hotel and checked in very tired for a sound night’s sleep.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the morning, promptly at 9 am, I presented myself at the offices of Prostitution Services Unlimited. An attractive young secretary greeted me and informed me that Mr. Medrock would be tied up on a conference call for about half an hour, but had requested his Sales Director, Ben Hardley, to give me a tour. She buzzed for him and soon he was leading me around their facilities.
“First, we cater to both men and women”, Ben began as he led me down the main corridor, “and we offer both male and female prostitutes to meet every taste. We have over 1000 indentured male prostitutes and over 9,000 indentured female prostitutes. They are all in our custody to work off their debts. We provide them the very best in medical care and many fringe benefits, but of course we pay no salary or other cash income to any of them.”
“A client coming to us for pleasure is first interviewed in a private room by an attractive and socially adept hostess”, he continued, leading me into an elevator. “She will try, by skillful questioning, to get a general idea of the type of girl or guy a client desires for a sexual experience. Using a computer display she will show the male or female client video clips of different physical types and different personality types to narrow down his or her general range of preferences. Then she will select, from those currently available and not serving other clients, ten likely candidates. These will be presented to the client as a group for his selection.”
“At this point some clients, the more cerebral types, will prefer to narrow their selection by interviewing the ten candidates until they find one that really turns them on. But we also get clients that prefer a method of selection that is both more physical and more impulsive. For them we provide a lineup of the ten prostitutes, all restrained and ready for immediate oral sex use. Here, let me show you how that works!”
Just then we emerged from the elevator, walked a short way down another hall, and he then led me into a room with plush carpeting, lots of drapery and soft music playing in the background. What startled me was that there was, all along one wall of this room, a row of ten very attractive naked women plus two additional stations where curtains were drawn and from which sucking and other noises could be heard. It was fairly obvious that patrons were taking their pleasure with two of the ladies behind the drawn curtains.
Of the ten not currently engaged there were a variety of physical types ranging from a couple of voluptuous large breasted women to some very muscular ones to some rather delicate thin types. Each of these women was on her knees with her thighs vertical, her ankles secured to floor gives, had her hands cuffed behind her, and had her neck yoked in a stiff leather collar which was at the end of a three foot long steel rod linking the collar to a stanchion on the wall. Several diagonal steel braces stabilized the steel rod so that the collar encircling each woman’s neck was not free to move in any direction. Each woman was held with her neck immobilized three feet out from the wall.
This reminded me of the way the shoplifter had been immobilized the other night for my pleasure. Only that it was being done not to a single woman but to a whole group of women. And, as with the shoplifter, each woman appeared to have some device in her mouth that prevented her from closing her teeth!
“We call this ‘Fellatio Row’ “, he said.
“Are these penal slaves then?” I asked.
“No indeed Mr. Steelforth! They are all women indentured for debt who have committed no crime at all!”
“How is that possible?” I inquired.
“I would prefer to let my boss explain that part to you after we finish the tour.” He slyly responded. “In the meanwhile if you would like some pleasure pick any of these women that might appeal to you and make use of her. You can pull out those red velour curtains on their tracks for privacy while you enjoy her!”
“Sorry but I’m not feeling very randy at the moment, but I am eager to see the rest of what you wanted to show me on this tour!” I responded. I was disturbed by the apparently unethical treatment of these women, but thought it best to respond in a tactful manner until I had a more complete picture of their operations.
“Very well Mr. Steelforth. I understand your reluctance to indulge at the moment. Let us proceed to the next floor up”
Again we boarded the elevator and were soon stepping out into another corridor.
“There are two types of prostitutes that are in highest demand”, Mr. Hardley continued. “One type is ultra submissive and highly obedient and believes that he or she has absolutely no rights of any kind, and even takes delight in the perception of his or her own rightlessness in the face of our demands and the demands of the clients. The legal reality is that our indentured servants do have rights that are enforced by slave advocates but we mind control many of these indentured persons into believing that they have no rights. This makes for a more delicious experience for the client. But sometimes a picture is worth 1000 words!”
So saying he led me into another room. There I saw a naked young man who might have been twenty years old. He was athletic of build and kneeling with his torso upright and with his buttocks resting on his ankles. He was not restrained in any way, but was facing us with his knees wide apart, and his head hanging as if in shame. I observed that his pubic hair was a dark brown like the hair on his head and that his penis was flaccid, his ball sack hanging loosely.
“You may look up now Andy, and greet your visitor!” Hardley commanded the dejected youth.
The one called Andy proceeded to raise his gaze and make eye contact with me, and gave me a smile I thought somewhat curious under the circumstances.
“Tell us, Andy, about all the rights you enjoy here at Prostitution Services Unlimited!”
“You well know Mr. Hardley, that I have no rights here at all! I must do whatever I am commanded to do with any client, no matter if it is dangerous, painful or humiliating!”
“Andy, perhaps you will show us what you mean. My shoes are a bit muddy as I recently came in from the parking lot.”
So saying Mr. Hardley walked toward Andy and took up a position about three feet in front of him.
“Now I would like you to clean my shoes Andy, using only your tongue!”
I watched, amazed, as Andy first prostrated himself on the floor and then brought his tongue into contact with Hardley’s shoes, licking vigorously, frequently looking up at Hardley like a puppy looking for approval. I was impressed with the overall muscularity of this slender youth and, although I have no homosexual desires, could see a certain eroticism in the lad’s well-formed buttocks. Mud would accumulate on the tip of his tongue and he would have to stop frequently, struggle to make saliva, and swallow in order to keep his tongue clean enough to continue the work. After about ten minutes he had finished one shoe.
“That will be enough Andy. You may rise to a sitting position now, as you were before.”
Andy sat up again with his torso vertical and his buttocks resting on his ankles. The muscularity of his shoulders and arms was quite striking as was his flat and toned six pack abdomen. I was astounded to see that his penis was now quite erect and that there was some pre-ejaculate oozing from the tip of it. I examine naked slaves for a living but had seldom seen so attractive a male physique or so attractive a penis.
“I see that you have taken note of the state of Andy’s dick. What you are seeing is testimony to the fact that Andy is sexually excited by being degraded, by being reminded in a very graphic way that he has no rights here.”
If I needed any further confirmation of Andy’s aroused state I could see it in the fact that the lad’s scrotum had pulled his testicles up close to his body.
Mr. Hardley then reached down, briefly lifted the dick, and gathered some of Andy’s secretions on a fingertip, then presented that finger to Andy to clean with his mouth. Andy quickly admitted the finger inside his mouth and began to wash it with his lips and tongue. All the while his penis remained erect. Hardley briefly fondled the lad’s face and chucked him under the chin as one might a dog.
“I think you have seen enough here Mr. Steelforth. Let us proceed to our next station.”
At these words Andy’s cock quickly became flaccid and I saw a tear roll down his face. I had the distinct impression that the youth lived for the approval of his superiors and could hardly bear it when they were not making demands on him.
We stepped out into the corridor again and soon entered another room. Here we found a slender and physically fit young woman who was perhaps as young as 18. She was kneeling erect with her buttocks resting on her ankles, much as the young man had been when we entered his room. She wore a corset of some kind that encased her upper torso. She was naked from the waist down. She faced us with her knees wide apart and her head hanging as if in shame. Her pubic hair was blonde like the hair on her head. I could not see more detail than that between her legs while she remained in that position.
“You may look up now, Barbara, and greet your visitor”, Hardley said to her.
She raised her head and made eye contact with me, giving a sly smile much as Andy had done.
“Tell us, Barbara, about all the rights you enjoy here at Prostitution Services Unlimited.”
“I have none sir, and I wouldn’t have it any other way sir!”
With that Hardley bade me walk over to the corner of the room where there was an old elevator shaft, no longer in use. There were no doors to the shaft, only a waist high railing, and one could look down the shaft by leaning slightly over the rail. It appeared that we were on the tenth floor and that the shaft extended well into the basement of the building.
“Are you highly obedient, Barbara? Would you do anything at all that you are commanded to do?”
“Of course sir! That is what I am for!”
“Show us girl! Run right over to that elevator shaft, climb over the rail and jump to your death!”
She ran over, looked over the edge, and began to shake with fear. I could see all her muscles trembling with the fear of what she had been asked to do. I could see sweat pouring down her back. Her face was white. Then, amazingly, she slowly climbed over the railing and jumped! I could not believe my eyes! I heard her scream and her scream began to sound further and further away as she accelerated in her descent. Surely this was the worst kind of slave abuse!
But after a few seconds her screams didn’t seem to get any farther away. I rushed over to look down the shaft. She appeared suspended about half way down. Just then the cab of the elevator, which had been at the bottom of the shaft began to move up until it could lift her back up to our level. Hardley reached out and pulled her back into the room. She was shaking life a leaf in the wind and immediately collapsed unconscious at our feet.
“What saved her?” I asked.
“That corset you noted earlier is made of magnetic metal. About half way down the shaft is a huge electromagnet whose magnetic field interacts with her corset to provide deceleration and eventually supports her magnetically in midair. That is why she did not fall all the way down to her death. The whole point of this demonstration is to show that she is absolutely obedient, no matter her fear or the danger she faces. Yet I will tell you that she has made that jump quite a few times before!”
“Yet she seemed genuinely afraid for her life!” I objected. “That seems strange. You might think she would have learned from earlier jumps that she is always saved by the magnet!”
“The answer, Mr. Steelforth, is that after each jump we wipe her mind of all knowledge of the jump so we can test her obedience again on another day when she will have the same level of fear all over again!”
At this point he walked over to the prone girl and began to shake her awake. Soon he had her standing somewhat shakily on her feet.
“Thank you sirs for letting me demonstrate my obedience. How is it that I am still alive?”
“Don’t you concern yourself with such details. The important thing is that you obeyed. Soon you will have forgotten all about this”, he replied.
“Let us proceed to our next demonstration”, he continued, leading me out of this room and down the hall to yet another room.
“You mentioned that there were two types of prostitutes in high demand by your clients. What is the second type?” I queried.
“That type would be the unwilling indentured prostitute who won’t submit to a client’s sexual advances without a fight. Each time such a prostitute is raped the memory of the experience is erased from his or her mind so that he or she can experience being raped fresh with each new client. The trauma of the rape is then eased during the interval before the next rape with a drug regimen geared toward minimizing PTSD.
“We prefer persons indentured for debt to work in our facilities, rather than persons who volunteer to be prostitutes.”
“I fully understand”, I replied.
I doubted very much he could ever achieve the level of obedience I had just seen with any volunteer prostitute. How on earth, I thought, was I going to explain to these people how much harder it was about to be to get people indentured for sexual service once ‘Stephanie’s Law’ was passed by the Capitallian Congress?
Hardley then took me back in the elevator to yet another floor of this vast establishment. He paused outside the door of a room.
“I will be taking you”, Hardley continued, “into an observation gallery that overlooks our ‘rape room’. There will be other observers there. They are clients who have expressed a desire to witness what will happen. You will see and hear a young woman who imagines that she is a virgin being raped by Jason, one of our trainers. This young woman is a penal slave so we can take even greater liberties with her than with the indentured servants. I ask you to just observe and hold your comments until later.”
In my career as a slaver I had witnessed many rapes of enslaved or indentured women. I had no real desire to witness yet one more, yet I did not want to be rude to my host. I could at least get an impression of what kind of skill and showmanship would be involved in this demonstration.
I was glad he had told me she was a penal slave. That meant that whatever happened would be perfectly legal so that I need not be concerned about being present at such an event. We quietly entered the room where there were three rows of seats raised on stepped tiers like theatre seats. These seats were all very comfortably upholstered and faced a ‘demonstration area’ that contained a bed surrounded by a frame with various restraint devices.
“In a moment you will see Jason, our trainer, come out and introduce himself”, Hardley commented to me before the show began.
Soon enough the trainer appeared. He was naked but for a g-string that clearly showed the outline of his generous endowments. He had a six-pack abdomen, a bubble butt and a very well defined musculature. He said a few words to us to explain what we were about to see.
“The young lady I will shortly bring out”, Jason began “is named Sherri Bamlitz. She is a penal slave convicted of poisoning her brother in order to inherit his estate. She would sell her own mother. So I hope that none of you gentleman will feel the least bit sorry for her for what she will shortly endure for your pleasure. What we will do to her is perfectly legal and she fully deserves the rape she will shortly experience. Actually she has been raped several times before, but her memory of those rapes has been wiped from her mind so that she will experience today’s rape as if it were the first. In fact we have even brainwashed her into believing that she is a virgin to add to the drama of today’s demonstration. So relax and enjoy what you are about to see!”
Then he left briefly and shortly returned frog marching a fully dressed slender young woman who was fully dressed in a fashionable blouse and skirt, nylons, high heels and jewelry. She was struggling fiercely to break from his grip and was yelling a string of abuse at him.
“I don’t know who you think you are, you fucking idiot, but if you think you are going to have sex with me you are very much mistaken!
Just then she noticed all of the men seated in the viewing gallery. I thought she was looking directly at Hardley and myself. We had not been all that obvious to her at first because the gallery was darkened while the demonstration area was lit up bright as day.
“Who are all these fucking men in those seats? Did they come to watch me get raped? Well they are going to be very much disappointed! I will put on a show for them but not the kind of show they had in mind!”
He had obtained a firm grip with one hand in her long blonde hair and held his other arm under her buttocks and proceeded to pull her head back and down while raising her buttocks until her feet no longer touched the floor. She began to kick wildly and soon had lost one of her high heels. He turned her so that her legs were pointed straight toward the audience and as she continued to kick about she provided, from time to time, an interesting up-skirt view. I found it agreeable to observe her long slender nylon clad legs from this perspective.
Soon he had placed her on the bed and quickly secured her wrists over her head with handcuffs to vertical posts at the head of the bed. A wide leather belt was wrapped around her waist. Her position on the bed left her feet pointing straight toward the audience. She continued to violently thrash her legs about, apparently heedless of the delicious view of nyloned legs she was providing us. He unfastened a zipper at the side of her skirt and soon had pulled the skirt off. For a moment the tail of the blouse obscured our view but he soon had that pulled up and held up by the leather waistband. Then we could see that her panties were very brief and semi-translucent except for the reinforced crotch panel. Her abdomen was flat, firm and well muscled.
Despite her wild kicking, he had managed, in the twinkling of an eye, to grab and firmly restrain her right leg. He did this while standing at her right side, wrapping his large left hand around her pretty knee while firmly grasping her right calf and forcefully drawing her full right leg up to a vertical position and beyond. He fastened a leather cuff on her right ankle and secured the right leg pointing back up toward her head and well to her right side.
He came around to her left side and repeated the process, this time drawing her left leg up beyond the vertical, then pulling it well out to her left side. Her two legs now made a wide ‘V’. The effect was also to raise her buttocks up off the bed by perhaps as much as an inch. The gentlemen around me began to applaud.
“You will shortly see her defiance turning to fear”, Hardley whispered to me.
Indeed this proved accurate as her trainer whipped out a wicked looking knife. He used it to cut off her panties, which he threw out into the audience and some lucky fellow got a souvenir of today’s demonstration. We were now treated to a very complete display of her genital area. I heard some intakes of breath from the men around me. I had experienced such entrancing views many times in the course of my career as a slaver. But I must say in all honesty that this was a sight a man could never grow tired of!
“There is no way you will get away with this!” we heard her scream at the top of her voice. “Where are the fucking police when you need them!”
“I must inform you”, Jason responded, “that police would be of no assistance to you young lady. You are a convicted felon and what is about to happen to you is a punishment fully sanctioned by law for one such as yourself!”
He now had her in a position where he might proceed to rape her. Clearly he meant to leave her with her fashionable and expensive silk blouse and scarf, her necklace, her diamond earrings, and her nylon hose on. That part of her which was important to him was now fully revealed and accessible. He would leave all her other clothing and accessories on just to dramatize that this was no common slut, but a woman who had formerly come from wealth and social standing.
The moment had come. Jason removed his g-string and the audience indicated its approval of his endowments with a sharp intake of breath. To be sure we all got a good view he rotated the bed ninety degrees so that a side view of the bed and its occupant was presented to the audience. He also lowered her left leg, which was nearest the audience, and secured that leg to a ring at the foot of the bed. High intensity lights were focused on the lady’s crotch. He took up his position, lubricated his penis, and slowly introduced that penis into the lady’s vagina until he was buried to the hilt.
Miss Bamlitz, who had been so defiant moments earlier, was now crying. Jason was now pistoning in and out of her with long even strokes. Every member of the audience had a clear view. She alternated between crying and shouting abuse at Jason.
After about ten minutes of this fucking we noticed certain changes in Miss Bamlitz. Her nipples were stiffening, her breasts were flushed, and she appeared to be lubricating copiously. Soon it was apparent that she was having a full orgasm, much to her shame. The trainer then took his time that we might all enjoy her reactions. Then he climbed off her, stood up and took a bow to deafening applause. Following this he unshackled her and carried her off the stage.
“Did you enjoy our little demonstration?” Hardley had turned to ask me as we exited the rape viewing room.
“Certainly”, I replied. “Such things are always entertaining when the woman involved is a felon who deserves such treatment. There is a satisfaction in seeing justice done to one such as she.”
Actually I think Roger should be done with his conference call by now. Let’s see if he is ready to meet with us.”
So saying, he took me up the elevator to the top floor where the executive offices were located. He greeted Medrock’s executive secretary.
“Is he ready for us Doris?”
“Certainly. Go right in Ben.”
I could sense that Roger Medrock was more than ready for us. He offered to have coffee sent in but I declined, protesting that I had already exceeded my caffeine quota for the morning. Actually I would have enjoyed a cup but thought it best not to let things get too casual since I wasn’t sure this was going to be an altogether congenial meeting. We took our seats upon his gesture of invitation. He had his secretary close the inner office door and requested that there be no interruptions for the next hour.
“Well Mr. Steelforth”, Medrock began, “you have seen what kind of operation we run here. What do you think?”
In truth I had little stomach for his kind of operation but I thought for a moment how I might respond truthfully without offending the man. Giving gratuitous offense was never a good idea in the business world.
“I think you know how to please your clients”, I found myself saying, “and turn a tidy profit while, at the same time, punishing penal slaves according to the law for the crimes they have committed!”
“I am so glad you understand our goals and objectives here!” he continued. “Before I go on I must have your word that everything we discuss here will remain confidential. I know you are a man of honor and your spoken word is good enough for me.”
“No problem. I always treat meetings with potential clients as confidential”, I replied.
“We find”, he continued, “that our customer’s demand for non consensual sex experiences far outstrip the number of attractive penal slaves we can acquire. That is where you come in Steelforth – if you are interested.”
“Tell me more”, I replied non committally. I wasn’t sure I liked where this might be going but I resolved to hear him out.
“Ben showed you our ‘Fellatio Row’ did he not?”
“That is correct, Mr. Medrock.” I replied.
“Well that is one of our most popular attractions”, he continued, “and we need hundreds of new prostitutes every month to staff it. On an annual basis we need at least 1000 new prostitutes, year after year.”
“I shouldn’t think it would be a problem to hire that many with so many young women walking the streets because any other kind of job is scarce”, I replied.
“We don’t just want to hire streetwalkers or any other kind of free workers” he responded. “What we really need is unwilling sex workers to please the appetites of our clients. We have always found indentured women to be our best source”.
“But now you are concerned”, I interjected, “that ‘Stephanie’s Law’ may put a crimp on your recruiting – am I right about that?”
“Well, we have some concerns, yes. But I always believe there is a way to do business under any given set of rules. Just tell me what the rules are and I will figure a way to make money!”
“Assuming”, I responded, “that you and I were to come to some agreement, what would be my role?”
“You would do more or less what you have been doing for the last twenty years,” Medrock responded. “Only you would be doing it on a much bigger scale. You would be researching women all over the country that are over their heads in debt and also attractive enough to please our clients. You would recommend suitable candidates to us and we would buy up their debts and you would work actively with our attorneys to prosecute and indenture these young women. For starters we would like you to open a branch office of your firm right here in Boston. And that is only the beginning!”
“Mr. Medrock – you realize that under Stephanie’s law the overwhelming majority of the women I would be able to locate could be indentured for debt but their indentures would be designated ‘non-sexual’ by the courts under the new rules. They would have to be employed in whatever trade or profession they were already skilled in and not used as sex workers!”
“Please! Mr. Steelforth! We would use the plea bargaining exception to the new rules!”
“How so?” I responded.
“Each woman you bring in”, he continued, “will be scared when she is arrested for debt. You will interview her and lead her to believe that she could be indentured for up to 20 years because of her unpaid debts. Make her also believe the deck is stacked against her and that she will almost certainly be convicted. And that the indenture could involve her being shipped off to work in another state where she might not see her family for a very long time!”
“After you have put those fears into her head you then begin to hint that possibly a deal could be worked out where she could voluntarily indenture herself for as little as three years and our corporation would then graciously drop the court case. Point out that under the voluntary indenture you are proposing she would only be obligated to work 40 hours a week and would be home with her family every evening and on weekends. She will begin to breathe easier once you put this less threatening alternative on the table. Then of course you have to let her know there will be one little catch to the voluntary indenture – that it will have to be designated as a ‘sexual indenture’. You will hasten to add that this is just a legal technicality to satisfy our insurance company that has refused to provide liability insurance unless all our indentures are worded that way. Tell her that her real work for us will be along the lines of her established profession.”
I found the muscles of my back tightening up, my pulse rising as I found the words I needed to say.
“This doesn’t sound like a business arrangement that I could be comfortable with, Mr. Medrock!”
“Oh don’t be a fucking boy scout! This is how business is done today. I am offering you a chance to make a lot of money. At least take a few days to think about our proposal Steelforth, before you turn it down out of hand!”
“I won’t need a few days Medrock. The answer is no. Find yourself another slaver.”
“Very well then Steelforth. I would remind you that everything we talked about today is confidential and I will hold you to your pledge to keep it so. Good day.”
With that he rose and escorted me to the door of his office. I found my way down the elevator and out to the street astounded at what passed for business ethics these days. I had sometimes cut a corner or two in my days as a slaver, but never had stooped so low as what he was asking of me.
I checked out of my hotel, boarded a maglev back to New York City. I wondered if Stephanie had heard on the news about the new law that would be named after her. I wondered too what I would tell Stephanie about Greg Masterson’s business proposition, about the proposition I had turned down today and about the remarkable demonstrations of sex therapy and self defense training I had seen in the last several days.
Chapter 29. Day of Reckoning
A few days after my meeting with Masterson I had called the referral he had given me. An interview was quickly scheduled with Ben Silverstein for a possible accounting job with Silverstein and Associates, Public Auditors. The interview had gone very well and a few days later they had called me with an offer. I told them that I wanted to take a week to think it over.
The week since the trial had passed quickly and the day of public punishments for these people had arrived! I was to have my vindication for what these people had done to me! I told myself that I was only going to attend these punishments because the judge expected me to do so. But there was a secret part of me that was going to enjoy this!
Bill had an important business commitment and could not go with me. I did not want to be alone for this so I invited my tennis friend Becky. I had just renewed my friendship with her after a lapse of nearly two years. She had been with me at the tennis courts on that day when I was served the legal process that was to begin my enslavement. After I won my freedom I learned that Becky had tried several times to visit me when I was a slave at Masterson Automotive but was informed that I was allowed no visitors. After I regained my freedom Becky and I spent much time catching up.
On the way with Becky to the crucifixion site I ran into Edgar Miller. He was wearing clothing! He was not wearing a slave collar! I introduced him to Becky and asked him to fill me in about his good fortune.
“Edgar”, I began, “my lawyer had mentioned to me that you were also seeking your freedom. In fact your lawyer and mine shared some of the legal research expenses. Would you mind filling me in on what happened?”
“Sure Steph”, he replied. “I read all about your case on the internet news services. In my case I had to bring an action against Leland Bank & Trust and against Morris Leland personally for getting me convicted of embezzlement on perjured testimony. My attorney succeeded in getting my conviction nullified.”
“So the Court then ordered you freed?” I asked.
“Not quite. There was a complication because Masterson Automotive Group then owned me, they had not been in any way complicit in my false conviction and they had purchased me in good faith. The Court could not legally just take Masterson’s property without just compensation. So the Court had to first call in a licensed slave appraiser who recommended to the Court what would be a fair price for me to be paid to Masterson as just compensation. Leland Bank & Trust was then ordered to pay Masterson that amount and then to set me free.”
“Were there any criminal penalties involved for what was done to you?” Becky asked.
“Yes indeed. That is why I am attending this public punishment today! I actually won criminal convictions against Morris Leland and against Sally Rigers. Leland was the one who plotted to frame me but Ms. Rigers testimony was perjured and was the main evidence used to convict me. After my conviction Rigers came over to Masterson and became my supervisor. I think you may remember how she humiliated me there. Leland and Rigers are to be publicly humiliated today and I am very much looking forward to it!”
Indeed I could remember all too vividly how Sally Rigers would make fun of Edgar’s obesity, flick his penis this way and that with her whip handle, and imply that the ridiculous thing probably wouldn’t even work.
“Will these two be home free after their public punishment?” I asked.
“No way!” he replied. “Today is just the prelim punishment. I am due back in court in another week for sentences to be handed down as to their permanent punishments. The Court is allowing me to determine how many years slavery each of them must endure.”
“Sort of like how the Court is letting Steph determine the permanent punishments for her oppressors!” Becky exclaimed.
“Exactly!” Edgar replied.
We were now coming up on the part of Central Park where the punishments would take happen. The place of humiliation for Jenkins, Duncan, Cheryl Clifford, Morris Leland, Sally Rigers and the two teenage boys named Kim and Erin would be a kind of fairgrounds setup with an elevated exhibition stage at the edge of Central Park. This was considered to have sufficient educational value that public indecency laws with respect to the prisoners were suspended for this event, by the Mayor, in order that any interested persons, including children, might attend. There were tents setup with various vendors selling all manner of food and drink. Excited crowds made their way toward the main exhibition platform where the crosses were placed.
“Wow! This is like a carnival!” Becky exclaimed. “This event must have been heavily advertised!”
“Not only that”, I interjected, “but the Court assigned staff to compile lists of all the friends, enemies and business associates of each of the prisoners, and then to send out special invitations to all these people to attend today’s “Punishment Fair”.
I knew that there was no way of knowing how many in this excited crowd had some such personal relationship to one or more of the prisoners.
We had come to a place near the exhibition stage. I saw that it had a floor, a roof, a back wall, and the means to glass in the front and sides in case of inclement weather. Today was a bright sunny day and the temperature was comfortable so all the glass panels were retracted out of the way in the base of the stage. Guards had, pursuant to the Court’s order, reserved for me a space on the lawn commanding a very good view of all that would happen. Becky and I spread out a blanket we had brought and invited Edgar to join us. We took our seats and passed around a thermos of coffee.
“I was here once last winter”, Becky offered, “when it was quite cold. The crowd huddled on the lawn in their heavy coats to watch the show. The stage was fully enclosed with non reflective glass panels and apparently heated so the prisoners could still be naked.”
“There are a lot of school age kids here!” Edgar noted. “You can get some idea of that just from the number of school busses parked over in that lot!”
“Yes”, Becky responded. “The schools consider this educational. That is what I read on the internet. They believe a field trip to a public punishment will teach the kids about crime and punishment and hopefully the kids will never be tempted into a life of crime after witnessing today’s exhibition. “
I knew that the schools also had the responsibility to teach Capitallian values about the importance of bodily modesty and boundaries between people of all ages. Children needed to understand the real reasons why people did not go about exposing their genitals in public. It wasn’t just a religious taboo and it wasn’t based on people being ashamed of their bodies. Quite the contrary. I thought it important to say a few words about this to my fellow spectators.
“It isn’t just the physical discomforts”, I said. “If the children can begin to appreciate”, I said, “just how punitive it is for these prisoners to be forced to expose their private parts in a public setting perhaps they will then begin to understand Capitallian social values. Sometimes people have to lose something – in this case the right to modesty – in order to appreciate just how precious it is.”
Soon a cheer was heard. Guards were bringing in the seven prisoners. The prisoners were all naked but for loincloths. Each nearly naked prisoner was prepared by firmly banding their wrists, biceps, and feet with firm leather straps containing magnets. Each prisoner was then hoisted up on a high tech metal cross, well above the head level of the crowds, with arms and feet secured by magnetic fasteners.
Each prisoner was positioned with arms spread wide horizontally on the crossbars, secured at both biceps and both wrists, and with legs drawn up on the lower beam so that the feet are magnetically latched to each other and to the vertical beam while the knees fold outward, one to each side, so that the thighs are well spread – making the most complete display of the prisoner. There were no nails driven through any prisoner, or anything that would cause loss of blood. A strong cord was looped around one knee of each person, run behind the vertical beam and secured to the other knee. This was to ensure those knees and thighs would remain wide open.
“My God!” Becky exclaimed. “They are cutting the loincloths off those prisoners!”
Indeed a guard went from one prisoner to the next. Each loincloth was then, after a brief moment of suspense, drawn briskly aside with a flourish and a small bow to the enthusiastically applauding spectators. This guard was quite a showman. Soon we heard hilarious laugher from all the young boys in the crowd.
“It’s Cheryl Clifford they are laughing at”, Edgar observed. “They are laughing because they can see a tampon string descending from her now exposed vulva.”
When Kim lost his modesty there were giggles from some nearby girls that I estimated to be seventh graders from a girl’s academy. They were laughing at his meager package. Kim could see and hear these girls laughing at him and appeared to be dying of mortification. Then we heard this same gaggle of girls cooing and whispering to each other.
“It is Erin who just lost his modesty”, Becky remarked. No doubt those girls are fantasizing what it would be like to have this well-hung lad inside them. I could get into that fantasy myself!”
“Becky! He’s only 16 years old!” I exclaimed.
“It is only a fantasy”, she replied. “There is no harm in a fantasy, right?”
Suddenly we heard raucous laughter and jeering followed by rhythmic clapping.
“Wow!” Edgar exclaimed. That banker Leland just lost his covering and I love it!”
I felt good for Edgar that he could have his vindication against Morris Leland. I suspected many in the crowd had dealt with this banker when they needed a loan or had their home foreclosed. Now they saw him as a pathetic creature with his genitals just barely visible beneath his rolls of fat. They delighted in seeing him humbled in this manner.
When Duncan and Jenkins were bared to the crowd the reaction was more muted because their bodies were in no way exceptional and their private parts were also in no way exceptional. Jenkins was portly and Duncan was a tall middle-aged man. Still I saw some adult single women nearby who were suddenly fanning themselves. When Sally Riger’s cloth was pulled away there was laughter at the tattoo she had on her shaved pubis. It was so incongruous with her present situation because it was the symbol of female supremacy. No doubt she never anticipated that anyone but a submissive lover would ever see it.
“Oh my!” Becky exclaimed a few minutes later. “Now they are all doing ‘the dance of the cross’. I read about this on the internet. It is very difficult for a person suspended in this manner to breathe. As long as the body’s weight is being carried mainly by the arms the diaphragm is stretched in an unnatural position. To breathe a person must relieve that stretch by taking much of their weight on their feet. This requires tensioning the muscles and tendons of the thighs and calves. This becomes painful and can be held only so long before weight must be shifted back to the arms.”
“Not only that”, Edgar contributed. “A prisoner on the cross must fall into a rhythmic flexing and unflexing of the leg muscles that usually has the effect of making those legs more interesting to the spectators.”
Edgar was right of course. After some hours the position becomes extremely fatiguing. The prisoner grows faint as his or her circulatory system has more and more difficulty pumping blood up from the legs. As the prisoner weakens he or she can no longer do the “dance of the cross” as well and breathing becomes more difficult. These factors eventually lead to death if this was a literal crucifixion, but death often takes as long as three to four days.
Jenkins, Duncan and Leland and the boys were sentenced to spend three days mounted on their crosses. But the Court did not want it to be a death sentence, so it was ordered that whenever they fainted the crosses were to be hydraulically tilted back into a horizontal position for an hour-long relief period, or until a doctor certified they could safely be again in a vertical display position. This allowed for just enough relief to their circulatory systems and to their lung and chest muscles. They were also given generous amounts of water. In this way the hurt and the humiliation could be drawn out for as long as three days if need be.
After about an hour of watching the prisoners ‘dance’ a street vendor selling sandwiches and wine came near and the three of us purchased what we needed to keep our strength and spirits up. We settled back in a more reclining position on our blanket to watch this drawn out process with some feeling of satisfaction and vindication for what these men, women and boys had put us through. We had almost drifted off to sleep when we heard loud cries of anguish.
“Wake up guys! Guards are whipping the genitals of the prisoners!” Edgar exclaimed with some excitement.
“I can’t believe it!” Becky shouted. “Some of the males are becoming erect!”
“The Clifford bitch and the Rigers bitch are juicing! And have erect nipples! Edgar announced.
I knew from a pamphlet the court clerk had given me that, in the earlier stages of the process, before the prisoners became too weak, that male erections and female juicing might be evoked by the light whippings. These prisoners were being forced to have public orgasms. When one of the male prisoners would ejaculate in response to the whipping, this would usually evoke some applause from the spectators. It was their way of complimenting the guard on his skill with the whip and thanking him for the entertainment.
After a few more hours, partly as a result of all the water that had been given the prisoners, one after another disgraced themselves. When one of them would start to pee the spectators would take up rhythmic clapping until they finished.
It must have been about an hour after this when there was some commotion up on the stage. Morris Leland’s cross was being hydraulically tilted back into a horizontal position. A doctor was checking his pulse.
“He’s not breathing!” someone shouted.
Then electric paddles were brought out and the prisoner was shocked until his heart started beating again. He was released from his cross and secured to a gurney and carried off the stage.
When sundown finally came the remaining prisoners were released from their magnetic restraints, given new loincloths to replace the ones cut away earlier, and led away by guards, presumably to spend the night resting in their jail cells. Most had to be supported by a guard on either side and led out with their feet barely touching the floor as they were too weak to stand. By the end of this first day I had enough of this spectacle and resolved to return only at the end of the third day for the final coup de grace.
At the end of the third day I appeared, this time accompanied by both Bill and Becky, just in time to see a female doctor attend to Tom Jenkins. I noted that Morris Leland was back on stage sitting naked in a chair facing the crowd while the others were all back on their crucifixion crosses. Evidently the judge, learning of his heart attack on day one, had modified his punishment for the other two days.
The young female doctor had a copy of the Court’s Order for Jenkins’ castration and it was her job to execute this provision. I had my lawyer petition the Court for him to be spared this but now I was convinced the Court had not granted my request. She swabbed his genital area with alcohol, and then gave an anesthetic injection. After waiting a few minutes for the anesthetic to kick in, she affixed and tightened up some small clamps to cut off the flow of blood into Tom’s scrotum. Then she brought out a very sharp looking razor and was ready to cut Jenkins. He gave out a blood-curdling scream of fear. Just then a special messenger from the Court arrived and presented some paper to the doctor. She nodded her head in recognition.
“You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch” she said to Jenkins in a voice loud enough for those close to the platform to hear. The lady you raped has persuaded the Court to spare you this! Go figure!”
“Why did you do that?” Becky wanted to know. “I was so looking forward to seeing my first castration!”
“She spared him for a business reason”, Bill said to Becky and declined to further explain.
With that the doctor began packing up her tools and Jenkins fainted. Then Duncan, Jenkins and the two boys who had violated my rights were cut down, as was Sally Rigers who had violated Edgar. The Banker, Morris Leland was released from the chair where he had been placed naked and handcuffed since his heart attack on day one. They were all too weak to stand, so they were frog marched back to a jail holding cell where, I was told, they would be fed and receive further medical attention. Bill, Becky and I stopped for a drink in a nearby pub and then went our separate ways.
I had my fill of public brutality and just wanted to go home alone.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 30. Private Sentencing
The evening after that brutal public punishment fair I relaxed at home and thought about what sentences I would hand out. I was feeling a good deal less vindictive after watching that cruel exhibition - just as the judge had indicated. What would happen to the prisoners next was up to me the judge had said. I checked my messages and found one from Judge Morelock’s law clerk. She said the judge would like to see me with my attorney and opposing counsel in his chambers the day after next if possible and to call her in the morning to confirm.
On the appointed day I went to the judge’s chambers at 2 pm as arranged. Cheryl Clifford’s lawyer was there, the public defender representing the boys and the attorney representing Zigler, Duncan and Jenkins. The judge’s clerk asked us all to wait until the judge finished a conference with attorneys on a medical malpractice case. Finally we were shown in.
“Miss Glenn”, the judge began, “we are here today because each of the attorneys for the defendants has filed a motion asking the Court to pass sentence on their clients instead of allowing you to do that. Do I have that right gentlemen?”
“Your Honor”, Miss Clifford’s attorney responded”. I think I may speak for all defense counsel here in expressing a concern that any sentences Miss Glenn might pass would likely be colored by her anger and bitterness over the way our clients treated her. Also we would argue that she has a conflict of interest in that she gains financially from enslaving our clients in direct proportion to the severity of sentences she hands down.”
“So you are questioning her objectivity?” the judge queried.
“Yes, and we think that lack of objectivity could result in excessive sentences for our clients” one of the other defense attorneys joined in.
“Well, I have a way of handling this that may satisfy you all. I want each of you to submit a proposed sentence for your client that is within the range specified in the official sentencing guidelines. I will ask Miss Glenn to do the same. Then I will compare her sentences with yours, defendant by defendant. If her sentence for any given defendant seems reasonable and she can support it in oral argument, the Court will use her sentence for that defendant. If not the Court will throw out her sentence and use the sentence proposed by defense counsel. That should motivate her to be moderate in her judgments. It should also motivate you, counselors, to propose realistic sentences - for if the sentences you propose for your clients are much too light I shall almost certainly use hers.”
“How will she be required to support her sentences in oral argument?” the Clifford attorney asked.
“With reference to a standard list of aggravating factors and mitigating factors that we judges have always used to arrive at a fair sentence.
“Will there be a written order to this effect?’ the attorney for Zigler, Duncan and Jenkins asked.
“My clerk should have it ready by noon tomorrow. Mr. Green, as Miss Glenn’s counsel, you will be expected t assist her in applying these factors to arrive at appropriate sentences. If there is nothing further, gentlemen, I have several more conferences to get to this afternoon.”
With that the meeting broke up and we went our separate ways.
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I was due in court the following week to present sentences. Clearly it was now in my best interest to weigh the sentences carefully since, if I got carried away, a defendant might wind up getting sentenced by his own attorney. And that would probably be little more than a slap on the wrist.
I should throw the book at the former Masterson employees, being careful, however, to justify heavy sentences based on an impressive list of aggravating factors. I could talk about the degree to which they premeditated their crime, their lack of concern for the consequences of their actions, the danger they might pose to the community if they were not sufficiently punished, the need to set an example to deter others from committing such crimes, etc. I had to determine the lengths of their slavery sentences, any special punitive conditions that would attach to their slavery and what to do with their financial assets. I had no particular desire to have any of them as my personal slaves. Clearly my best option, after enslaving them would be to sell them and realize some financial gain. Edgar would be at that session with me to present his sentences for the banker Morris Leland and for Sally Rigers and to take possession of them pending probable sale at auction.
Jenkins, however, was a special case. I had spared him the castration only because I had decided to accept Greg Masterson’s offer to lease Jenkins from me and put him through a very humiliating sexual therapy program that I, as his owner, could monitor and make changes to from time to time.
Then I thought about the two boys and wondered if I should be more lenient with them. I remembered some lines from an old Shakespeare Play about the ‘quality of mercy’. First I did an internet lookup, discovered the name of the play, looked for a summary and found this excerpt:
Concerning ‘The Merchant of Venice Act 4, Scene 1, from eNotes.com
“Disguised as a doctor of law, Portia has come to rescue Antonio, the merchant of Venice. Antonio had foolishly signed a bond granting the usurer Shylock a "pound of flesh" [see p.114] if he defaulted on the loan he was forced to seek-ironically, in order to help a friend court Portia. And defaulted Antonio has. After determining the facts of the case, Portia doesn't appeal at first to legal technicalities-which are the only way she will force Shylock to submit-but delivers a Christian moral.
“When Shylock demands to know why he "must" be merciful, Portia replies that compulsion is precisely contrary to the spirit of mercy, which is not "strain'd" (forced). Only because mercy is voluntary-because it mitigates the compulsions of the literal law-is it true mercy … a natural and gracious quality rather than a legal one.”
Then I went to the bookshelves in my library and found the volume containing the Shakespeare play. In the play I found the famous lines I had learned once in school:
From Shakespeare’s play:
Portia:
The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”
I thought then of Erin, the slender redheaded youth of 16, and his shorter stockier 13 year old accomplice Kim. They were only boys after all. They were old enough to know better and should be enslaved of course for what they did to me, but perhaps I could find it in my heart to give them a somewhat shorter term than the others and put them into a kind of slavery that would be only partly punitive but mostly educational - so that they might have an opportunity to eventually reclaim their lives.
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The next morning I awoke screaming and in a cold sweat. I had just experienced a nightmare where I was being forced to breast feed the baby I had been forced to carry for Mel Zigler and his wife. I wanted nothing to do with that baby. I had to remind myself that this was just a nightmare. No such baby existed. Zigler had actually never successfully impregnated me prior to my being set free from slavery.
Over the next week I had occasion to go out several times - sometimes for needed shopping, other times just to get out of my apartment. Always I exchanged pleasantries with Ralph, the doorman of my building. When I had first moved in he had been rather formal with me, perhaps feeling that it was not his place as a doorman to engage in frank conversations with the building tenants. But over the passing weeks we had gotten on a much more informal basis. Ralph had witnessed the street assault by the two boys and I had confided in him about how I was raped as a slave by Jenkins and Zigler.
One night I came home tired after a shopping trip. Ralph quite surprised me as I entered my building.
"Stephanie, I've seen that look before”, he said. “You remind me of other women who were kidnapped and abused. You look like a hunted animal."
His comment startled me at first, but after a moment I realized that he must be right. “
I only said that”, he continued, “because I think you should maybe seek out some sort of treatment. I understand there are programs to help women who have been raped.”
“Thanks Ralph. Perhaps I will look into it. Good night.”
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The next day I began thinking about what I would do with the proceeds of selling Jeff Duncan and Cheryl Clifford. They would be mine to sell even if the judge substituted shorter sentences proposed by defense counsel for the longer ones I would propose. The amount I should realize from the two of them would be very substantial. And this would be in addition to their liquidated financial assets and personal property, the rental income I would receive from leasing Jenkins to Masterson Automotive and the money I would receive from liquidating Jenkins financial assets. I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable to claim such a large windfall just for myself. Maybe there was something else I could do with part of these proceeds.
I remembered Fred Maxwell, Bill’s high school civics teacher who had spoken so eloquently at the “Reform Slavery Now” meeting. Mr. Maxwell had spoken then as an abolitionist, and while I no longer held that view myself, I respected him for his ideals. There had been an item in the news a few months back about how he had co-founded “Slave-No-More”, an organization to help former slaves get back on their feet. It was a charitable foundation that provided help to former slaves regardless of ability to pay. I could certainly support that concept. I phoned and he agreed to meet me later that day. We began by discussing the good works his organization engaged in and eventually got around to the help that I might be able to provide.
“Mr. Maxwell”, I began, “I am impressed with the help your charity provides to former slaves and believe I might be able to make a contribution of $100,000.”
“I can’t tell you how much such a contribution will mean to our organization”, he replied. “There are so many projects that we have had to postpone indefinitely due to a shortage of funds. May I ask how someone as young as yourself, only a few years after being manumitted, could be in position to make a donation on that scale?”
“It is because of the verdicts I won in court over my unjust enslavement”, I responded.
“Please! Miss Glenn, many of my colleagues here at “Slave-No-More” would argue that all enslavements are unjust!”
“Would you argue that sir?”
“No - not in quite the way I once did. But I must ask you first, Miss Glenn, if these judgments you won against those who wronged you are money awards which the defendants will have to pay out of their personal wealth?”
“No sir. The judgments were that the defendants all became my property. I am arranging to sell some of them at public auction just as soon as the judge approves the lengths of sentences I propose. I just felt that I would be receiving so much that I wanted to use part of that money to help a worthwhile organization such as yours!”
“Do I take it then that you plan to sell these criminals as slaves to the highest bidder - regardless of the consequences to the criminals?”
“That is my plan sir.”
“I am sorry Miss Glenn. I know that your offer was well intentioned, but one thing I vowed when we started this charity was that we would never take money that was obtained by selling human beings like commodities. I must refuse your donation. To my co-founder and myself it would be like accepting blood money!”
“Mr. Maxwell! You know that I was unjustly enslaved on trumped up debts. You also know that I was raped while a slave. The men that did this to me are evil! Was I not entitled to seek to have these men punished for the crimes they committed against me?”
“Yes”, he replied. “Punishment for crime is appropriate. You should have fought to have them convicted for their crimes.”
“But sir, you know that Capitallia has abolished imprisonment as a punishment for crime. There are no publicly funded prisons where criminals can simply be warehoused at public expense. The only form of punishment we have in Capitallia is some form of slavery or indentured service.”
“Yes”, Miss Glenn, “I fully realize that. Even if we brought back the prison system it would still be bondage.”
“How so sir?”
“I have been forced to the realization”, he continued, “that, whether I like it or not, punishment of criminals inevitably reduces these human beings to some form of slavery. It cannot be otherwise. It is only a question, then, of who shall be the master of the enslaved felon. Shall it be a prison warden who shall cage the criminal and exercise absolute authority over every aspect of his or her life for the next ten or twenty years? Or shall the criminal’s master be a private individual or organization who shall not cage the criminal but shall instead control him or her in a way that the criminal can produce a valuable commodity or provide a valuable service?”
“The way you present those alternatives it sounds like you favor private ownership of the criminal?”
“My views on slavery have evolved somewhat since my abolitionist speech at the hotel meeting. What I am still passionately opposed to is human beings being treated as mere commodities that may be bought and sold with no regard for their needs or sensibilities.”
“But how”, I asked, “can society allow for private masters of convicted persons without reducing criminals to the status of mere commodities to be bought and sold by the highest bidder?”
“I see you have not entirely kept up with the news in this field Miss Glenn. Even while your “Stephanie’s Law” was going through Congress there was another law quietly passed by the New York State Legislature called the “Custodial Slavery Act”. So far New York is the only state to have this, but other states are watching to see how it plays out. This law is intended to provide an alternative to plain old chattel slavery.”
“How would this be different than chattel slavery?” I asked.
“As you know”, he continued, “only citizens can own slaves and many of these citizens have some feeling that they should, in return, help their slaves to become better people. A very personal relationship often develops between slave and owner and the slave often receives the help he or she needs to return to a productive life after manumission. I am not saying all Capitallian slave owners are this enlightened but the “Custodial Slavery Act” formalizes a commitment of master to slave that has existed informally with many masters as a kind of noblesse oblige!”
“Last week”, I responded, “there was a Tim O’Malley in the news for running a chain of nudie pole dancing bars. Lost his citizenship or something. Do you suppose a fellow like that felt this noblesse oblige you are talking about? Do you suppose a guy like him was doing anything to help his enslaved dancers become ‘better people’ as you put it?”
“Perhaps not Miss Glenn. But I think you might at least agree that Mr. O’Malley is not your typical Capitallian slave owner. Many owners do help their slaves. How much help do convicts get in prison?”
“Very little.”
“Exactly. The new law only provides an option for sentencing criminals. It is not mandatory. Probably the majority of criminals will still be sentenced to plain old chattel slavery for the foreseeable future. The whole point of telling you about the new law is to suggest to you that you sentence your criminals to be custodial slaves rather than chattel slaves.”
“How would that actually work?” I asked.
“If you sentence them to custodial slavery you can still solicit bids for them but you would be committing yourself to not necessarily selling to the highest bidder but to the one you and certain others thought would best serve the slave’s interest as well as his own interest. You would be soliciting not just dollar bids but buyer background information and proposals concerning the rehabilitation services and educational advantages the prospective owner would provide.”
“Who would be these ‘others’ who would have a say in all this?” I wanted to know.
“That would be a slave advocate assigned by the Court and the judge. All three of you would review the proposals submitted by would-be buyers and their background data. You and the slave advocate would each inform the judge of which buyer proposal you favor and your reasons for that choice. The judge would make the final choice.”
“But what about punishment? I was so looking forward to ‘throwing the book’ at these villains. Do I have to forget about getting even with these scoundrels?”
“You can still deal out severe punishments, as long as your punishments do not cripple the slave physically or mentally and prevent his or her future growth. The Custodial Slavery Act recognizes that punishment serves a valuable purpose in educating the criminal that crime does not pay.”
“What about the buyers? If they buy a custodial slave are they making a commitment too?”
“Absolutely. Those who place bids would be making a legal commitment that if their bid is accepted they would manage the slave not only for their benefit as a slave owner, but also for the long run benefit of the slave. In effect they would commit to regarding the slave as their ward and not as mere property. Taking on a slave would be almost like adopting a child!”
“I like what I am hearing! If I sell them under the new law would you reconsider letting me donate part of the proceeds to your charity?”
“I think I would consider it.” He handed me a pamphlet. “Here is some information for structuring punishments under the new law. If you take this to your attorney I am sure he can help you draft the appropriate language for sentencing your criminals.”
“Thank you sir. This has been enlightening and I feel much more comfortable about all this now.”
With that our meeting was concluded.
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The following Monday Bill accompanied me for the trip to court. Before the official opening of Court another meeting had been scheduled in chambers with my attorney and opposing counsel present. I submitted my proposed sentences to the judge, arguing for each sentence with reference to the aggravating or mitigating factors that the law recognized. I stated my intent to sell the criminals under the “Custodial Slave Act”. The judge listened to me with interest, then looked at the sentences that had been suggested by opposing counsel. It did not take him long to rule that my sentences would carry the day in every case. The meeting was concluded and we waited in the courtroom for the official opening of the Court session.
The defendants, except Zigler, were sitting, in bright orange jail uniforms, at the defense table with their attorneys.
“This session of the Court is for purposes of sentencing. The Court takes notice of the fact that convicted felon Zigler is not in attendance and a warrant has been issued for his arrest. I have reviewed the sentences prepared by the plaintiff-victims, Ms. Stephanie Glenn and Mr. Edgar Miller, and find their sentences all in conformance with the requirements of the law and within the guidelines for the offenses for which each of you has been convicted. In fact I find their sentences to be more lenient to most of you than I would have been if they had left sentencing to the Court.
“I order all defendants who are present to stand at this time to hear their sentences. Ms. Glenn, if you will read out your sentences at this time, including Mr. Zigler’s, who will be sentenced in absentia.”
I rose, confident in what I was about to do. This was my time for justice.
“First”, I began, “there is the matter of your financial assets and personal property. The law requires me to take custody of all such assets and property. The Court has already given me a Writ of Execution so that I may do so. By law I may sell your financial and other assets with two qualifications. One is that your books, records, correspondence, photos, computer hard drives and any property that is of primarily informational or sentimental value are exempt from sale. I am required to arrange to store all such items in a secure storage vault until the time of your manumission from slavery, when such items will be returned to you.
“The other qualification is that any financial assets any of you have that are in excess of $500,000 must be placed in a trust where it will be invested at interest and returned to you upon manumission. Each of you will undergo a financial examination in the next few days to see if you have assets in that amount. Any assets you have that do not exceed $500,000 will be forfeit to me. Upon your manumission I am required by law to provide each of you with a modest manumission fee which should help you get back on your feet as free men and women again.”
The law set this $500,000 ceiling on confiscation of assets to ensure that there would not be incentives in the system for very wealthy people to be targeted by private prosecutors simply in order to acquire vast riches.
“You are all sentenced”, I continued, “under the new “Custodial Slavery Act”. In order to ensure the enslavements will be appropriately punitive in nature, they will all involve either hard labor or involuntary sexual service to the public. For Miss Clifford 8 years, Mr. Duncan 10 years, and for Mr. Zigler 20 years. I will deal with the boys a little later. The three of you are to be put up for bids as custodial slaves at a public auction venue. What that means is that I will be evaluating proposals for your service from prospective buyers as well as the prices they are bidding and will make a decision as to who should have custody of each of you. For you, Miss Clifford and you, Mr. Duncan your time on the public auction platform will be in two weeks time. Mr. Zigler will be auctioned within two weeks of the day we have him back in custody.”
Ted Duncan stood rigidly and with ashen face. Cheryl Clifford began to cry. The attorney representing Miss Clifford was on his feet.
“Your honor”, he began, “I would bring to the Court’s attention that my client is a single mother and sole source of support for two small children, ages 8 and 11. If she is sold into slavery who will care for these kids?”
“Miss Glenn”, the judge responded, “have you done the required Family Impact Study?”
“Yes, your honor, my attorney prepared this study and determined that Miss Clifford is indeed a single parent but that there are also two godparents for these children as was required by law in order for Miss Clifford to have legally given birth to them.”
“You understand, Miss Glenn”, Judge Morelock continued, “that to comply with the recently passed “Children Of Slaves” (COS) law, any sentence that you impose must not deny a slave’s children the love and comfort of being with their mother, nor deny them a stable home life, the opportunity to have an education at least through the 8th grade, to socialize with other children to participate in extra-curricular school activities and to have access to apprenticeship programs.”
“I understand your honor and with assistance of counsel have drafted special conditions for her sentence that will keep it in compliance with COS.”
“Go ahead then”, the judge replied and settled back into his chair.
“Miss Clifford, your punishment, like the others, will be sexual in nature. But there will be a special condition attached to your sale that specifies that your owner must house you, with your children, only in a licensed residential facility in full compliance with the COS law. Fortunately we have many such facilities here in New York State so there should be no shortage of potential buyers. The costs of all services provided to your children shall be charged to their godparents.”
“Other special conditions on your sale are that you be worked neither more nor less than 40 hours per week, that you be kept naked during all your working hours except when doing so would conflict with public decency laws. At least 20 hours per week you are to be engaged in providing sexual services to your owner or to the public, but may provide professional services or receive professional training during the balance of your work week. You must be provided decent clothing whenever you are in your residential quarters or otherwise in the presence of your own children or the children of your fellow slaves outside of working hours. You will be spared any whippings.”
“We object, Your Honor!” the attorney for Cheryl Clifford loudly proclaimed.
“Your objection is noted for the record counselor. Now let’s move on” the judge replied.
“Special conditions for you Mr. Duncan, are that you be kept naked at all times except when doing so would conflict with public decency laws. Whoever buys you shall employ you for a total of not less than 50 hours per week nor more than 60 hours, and that at least 30 hours of every work week you be engaged either as a prostitute or engaged in hard manual labor or both. During the balance of every week your owner may use you for professional, technical or skilled work if desired. In addition, your owner must bring you to the public whip master for a public whipping at least once in every calendar quarter.”
Ted Duncan continued to stand stoically and his attorney made no move to object.
“Special conditions for Mr. Zigler are the same as those for Mr. Duncan.”
“In your case Erin and your case Kim, the enslavement sentences are to be six years, but I will retain ownership of you during that time, provide you with rehabilitation services and place you in an apprenticeship program where you will be taught a trade which will enable you to get on your feet and earn an honest living at the end of your enslavements.”
I saw Erin tugging at the sleeve of the public defender who was representing him and Kim. The public defender rose to address the Court.
“My client is concerned about his modesty, Your Honor. Will Miss Glenn permit him decent clothing during his six years of apprenticeship?”
“You know better than to ask that, counselor!” the judge responded. “Since Miss Glenn is retaining ownership she will be free to decide such questions when the time comes. She is not required to commit to any answer right now.”
“I prefer to give my answer now, Your Honor” I interjected. “During his apprenticeship he will learn and work naked at all times except where that would conflict with public decency laws. Erin needs to learn that modesty is the right of free persons who have broken no laws. It is not the prerogative of slaves. Also Erin will be receiving some therapy for his sexual hang-ups. Perhaps that will make the constant nudity at work more bearable for him.”
“I have left you last Mr. Jenkins. Your enslavement will be for 20 years with the possibility of an earlier release date for good conduct shown. But you had a sexual motive for enslaving me. Therefore your punishment will be particularly sexual in nature. I spared you the usual punishment of castration given out to sexual offenders. You are fortunate that your employer, Greg Masterson, put in a word for you. He wants very much to have your professional services and has offered to buy you or lease you from me. I have agreed to the latter, but only on condition that you are put through a compulsory sex treatment program to cure you of your desire to rape innocent women.”
“I will retain ownership of you during the 20-year term of your enslavement so that I can monitor your progress with the sex treatment and make changes in your treatment regimen from time to time. During your enslavement, in addition to sex treatment, which will be provided through the clinic at Masterson Automotive, you will also work full time for Masterson Automotive in whatever capacity Greg Masterson may choose. It is possible that, if I am satisfied that you are cured of your evil desires, I may free you from slavery long before the conclusion of your 20-year sentence. But that will be up to how well you do in treatment.”
I indicated that I was done with my sentences and took my seat. Judge Morelock then called on Edgar to announce his sentences for the banker Morris Leland and for Ms. Sally Rigers.
“First”, Edgar began, “your financial assets and personal property will be seized in accordance with the law as previously explained by Miss Glenn. Next you are both sentenced to enslavements under the chattel slavery law - for you Mr. Leland 20 years, and for you Ms. Riggers 10 years. Mr. Leland is to be sold at public auction. A condition of his sentence which any future owner will have to meet is that he be taken to a public whip master once each month for a public whipping. Ms. Riggers is to remain my property for the duration of her sentence or until I decide to sell her.”
When I heard Edgar say that I knew he must have been planning sexual vengeance against her for all she had done to him, including her sexual abuse.
When Edgar took his seat Judge Morelock made this announcement:
“You have all been sentenced in accordance with the law and the Court will now proceed with the ceremony of the enslavements. The defendants will all remove their jail uniforms at this time and place such clothing in the baskets provided. Bailiff please bring in the equipment at this time.”
With that he banged his gavel. This time they all complied promptly with the judge’s order to remove their clothing. Even Erin didn’t dare make a run for it this time after the whiplash to his boyish buttocks he had earned at the earlier hearing. But I could sense from his muscular tensions the seething anger he felt at this humiliation.
Edgar and I were asked to take up positions near the east sidewall and they were all commanded to kneel facing us with their thighs vertical and well separated. I had seen them all naked before but it was still a pleasure to see them exposed in this way once more in a public courtroom in front of spectators. Morris Leland was hanging his head. I think he was embarrassed about the small size of his penis and the gray color of his pubic hair that so obviously did not match the color of the hair on his head. Cheryl Clifford bore her embarrassment stoically. Sally Rigers looked like she was going to get even with somebody for putting her through this. She looked straight at Edgar as if to say he better watch his back.
Six identical restraint fixtures were wheeled into the courtroom and placed behind the prisoners that confined their six necks in side-by-side yokes. Then six instruments were rolled into place behind them all and they were all ordered to look straight ahead. Now they were all shaking with fear. Erin lost control of his bladder and soiled his slender thighs. Giant hypodermic needles were positioned at the backs of their necks. Then a sound as loud as a gunshot was heard while the six needles simultaneously penetrated those 6 necks installing bio-implant slave control devices in each of them. Exactly what had been done to me six months earlier.
Jenkins and Duncan were crying now. I wished Zigler had been there as well. When they were released from the yokes they were barely able to stand or walk. Their knees were buckling. They were frog marched out of the courtroom and into a waiting van that would take them to a private prison where I had made arrangements to board them until I could make further arrangements.
I decided to let Duncan and Cheryl Clifford have two weeks to recuperate from last week’s virtual crucifixions so they would appear healthy and vital when I auctioned them off. The boys and Jenkins I was not putting up for sale but I needed time to make arrangements for them.
Judge Morelock banged his gavel indicating that today’s proceedings were complete.
Chapter 31. Marketing my Charges
I felt exhilarated by the morning’s court proceedings. Bill indicated that he had a couple of things to discuss with me so he and I adjourned to a cozy little bar not far from the courthouse. As soon as we had received our drinks and were getting comfortable he began.
“Steph, I must say that I think the sentences you handed down this morning were fair. More than fair! In some cases even kind considering what these terrible people had put you through.”
“Thank you Bill. I appreciate that vote of confidence. But I am very much disappointed that Zigler wasn’t there to hear his sentence and may well escape punishment. I gave him the harshest sentence of all because I consider that he has no remorse for his actions. He lives by no moral code whatsoever. Other people are just things he can use for his convenience and then discard. Like toilet paper. In Jenkins case I talked to many people who knew him in a purely business context and they all said he was honorable in his business dealings. With him at least I felt that this was a man who had some kind of moral code but his sexual sickness caused him to betray his own code.”
“I hear you Steph”, Bill responded. “What you have laid out is essentially the difference between an ‘amoral’ person and an ‘immoral’ person. And I think you have pretty well nailed the difference between these two men.”
“What I don’t understand”, I replied, “is how Zigler is able to just be a no show. Will they find him soon Bill?”
“Well you heard the judge say a warrant will issue for his arrest. That means an ‘All Points Bulletin’ will go out to police officers in every state containing his citizen ID number, his driver license photos and the license numbers of any vehicles registered in his name.”
“What does that actually do?” I inquired.
“Steph, there are cameras at all major traffic intersections in nearly all the states. These cameras capture the license plate numbers of every car passing through these crossings. They are also able in most cases to capture a photo of the driver’s face.”
“Bill, do you mean there is some huge database where information about everyone’s travel is accumulated?”
“Not at all. You see there is a law establishing the “Matching Image Capture System” (MICS) which mandates these cameras can only transmit a license plate or a photo of a driver to a central computer if the camera’s software first detects a match between that plate number and one sought in a court issued search warrant. Otherwise all images are automatically scrubbed at the source within seconds of the photos being taken. This law is designed to protect the privacy of all Capitallia’s free residents.”
“What if he is riding in a car not registered to him and someone else is the driver?”
“Then he will not be apprehended by the intersection cameras. But if he is pulled over for any traffic offense he will have to show his citizen ID and the officer will see on his computer that he is to be arrested on the outstanding warrant. Also if he has to present his citizen ID for any official purpose – such as obtaining a passport – he will likely be arrested.”
“But will any police officers be actually out looking for him, following his trail?”
“No. In Capitallia, where the APB is for an adult who is fleeing a civil action or a private criminal prosecution, such a search must be initiated and paid for by the private plaintiff. That means you, Stephanie. You are the one who stands to profit if he is apprehended.”
“I want him found Bill. This could well be the most evil man I will ever encounter in my lifetime. I will call my attorney and authorize him to hire a private detective. Now let me hear about your life.”
“Well, I went to Boston on Tuesday to see about a business possibility. An outfit called Prostitution Services Unlimited invited me to come up to their headquarters and tour the place. Then they put this proposal in front of me that could have enabled my agency to grow and make a lot of money in the process”.
“Are you going to take the deal?” I asked.
“No”, he replied.
“Why not?”
“They wanted me to bring debt proceedings against only young attractive women, then frighten them under the guise of ‘plea bargaining’ into signing away their rights. Most of these women, if they went to trial, would probably draw non-sexual indentures of five years or less. Some might even be acquitted. But I was to tell them they would surely draw twenty-year sentences and be transported hundreds of miles away from their homes, husbands and children. All this would be to make them ‘volunteer’ for a three-year sexual indenture.”
“I am proud of you for turning them down Bill! Will this be a hardship for your business?”
“Probably not. I am in process of working out another deal with Greg Masterson. The new law you inspired will make it necessary for him to divest his business of quite a few indentured servants and hire free employees to do those jobs instead. He has asked for my help to market all those he has to let go to other employers. I will be sending him a proposal soon.”
It wasn’t lost on me that the law, about to be passed, bearing my name, was going to have a very large impact on the practices surrounding indentured persons. I felt a certain satisfaction that so many would be spared rape and sexual humiliation by my unfortunate experience. All was not lost.
“Steph, I am really worried about all the signs of post traumatic stress I have been noticing in you lately. Sometimes I catch you with that million miles away look – like nothing mattered to you anymore. When Masterson told us in that meeting that he was legally liable to pay for therapy for you I breathed a sigh of relief. I was afraid you might not get around to researching the available therapies so I did a bit of research for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“What did you find out?” I replied.
“I checked out Henderson Trauma Clinic on a tip from a professional therapist. I had a chance to interview the Director there and actually meet one of the couples he is currently working with. When I told him what you had been through, he recommended supervised one on one therapy with a partner, encounter group therapy and a six week self defense course taught by someone already well known to you – Susan Coxwain.”
“Susan!” I shouted. “I have often wondered what became of her after she retired from the New York State Police force.”
“Steph, I think you really should go over and have a talk with Dr. Henderson and see if his program might work for you.”
I thought of what Ralph the doorman had said to me about how I, like other raped women, “looked like a hunted animal”. Perhaps this Henderson Clinic was something I really should look into. I promised Bill I would at least consider it and kissed him goodnight.
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When the day of the auction finally rolled around I decided I didn’t want to miss that either. I made my way into the fenced in auction area near the courthouse where my lawyer had taken me prior to my own trial. I noted they were checking ages of very young people and not admitting those under 18 unless accompanied by a parent. The nudity and sexual humiliations that so often happened here were thought not suitable for children, notwithstanding the exception that had been made for punishment day.
As I got inside I saw that there were reserved seats up close to the auction platform for the sellers and the serious buyers. Behind this roped off area was a more general seating area mostly filled by gawkers and voyeurs. These were, for the most part, people who had not the means to buy a slave but enjoyed coming here as spectators to enjoy the sexual humiliation of other people as they were vended from the platform.
I had a word with the auctioneer beforehand to make sure the sale would be humiliating for Duncan and Ms. Clifford. Both would be auctioned naked, as was the custom. When it was Duncan’s turn I had him lightly whipped on his buttocks to arouse him so that he would erect and ejaculate before the crowd. There were many hoots and hollers from the voyeur section. The crowd could see that he was vital and bidding was brisk. I had a mobile electronic device that enabled me to keep track of the bids and to know the nature of the business each bidder nominally represented.
The seller informs us that Mr. Duncan is being sold under the provisions of the new “Custodial Slavery Act”. That means any who bid will be expected to submit background information and proposals for the type of work the slave would be doing for them and concerning any rehabilitation and education they are committing to provide the slave. The seller will evaluate your bids on all these factors and not on bid price alone.”
Reactions from the crowd were mixed. Some applauded while there were mostly groans from the voyeur section. They found auctions more exciting when the whole process played out in front of them and they could see whose bid won.
“Now do I have some bids on this handsome ejaculator?” the auctioneer called out, manipulating Duncan’s genitals with his long pointer stick.
Someone signaled $50,000, then someone else said $70,000.
“I will bid $95,000”, said a female agent that I recognized as the rep for Cunilingus Bars of New York.
The vindictive part of me would love to award Duncan to this bidder. This company was famous for providing overweight middle-aged women an oral sex experience where they could remain anonymous. If I awarded Duncan to them he would be getting a face full of sticky juices several times a night for the next twenty years. He would never see the faces nor learn the identity of any woman he would be forced to service though they would surely see his face and learn all they cared to know of his past. But of course I had to consider the merits of all the bids before deciding.
There were no more bids. The three who had bid entered their bid prices and personal information into their laptop computers for transmittal to the auction house computer.
“Next up we have a very attractive young family. A young woman is being auctioned – also under the “Custodial Slavery Act”, but she comes with two young daughters ages 8 and 11. The lucky bidder for the woman must assume responsibility for housing the woman with her children, who will remain free, in a licensed residential facility that is in compliance with the new “Children Of Slaves” (COS) law. The financial costs for the children’s board and room, their medical care and their education through the 8th grade will be borne by the godparents of these children. In a moment you will all meet this attractive young woman and her daughters. Out of respect for the sensibilities of these innocent girls I must insist there be no jeering or hooting or rude remarks of any kind while the children are present. Would the Clifford family come on the platform at this time!”
I saw a modestly attired Cheryl Clifford climb the steps to the platform holding on to two thin preteen waifs who were also modestly attired. She was directed to come to the front and center and face the audience. She looked scared and her two children seemed shy and nervous. Her crime was detailed and information was presented about the two children. The auctioneer entertained questions from the audience for perhaps ten minutes, then the two young girls were escorted off the platform and disappeared from sight.
“Time for modesty is now over”, the auctioneer yelled at Miss Clifford. “Every article of clothing must be removed. Now!” He punctuated his demand by cracking the whip against the floorboards.
She very timidly stripped until she was quite naked. Then her hands were cuffed behind her. I had instructed the auctioneer ahead of time to lightly whip her ass. He was to do this until her nipples erected and juices ran down her inner thighs. She tried to hide her face but the auctioneer made her stand up straight and make eye contact with bidders in the crowd.
“Now this young lady as you can see is in fine physical condition. I understand she works out regularly. Surely there is someone in this crowd who could put her to use dancing for customers in a strip bar!”
There were guffaws at this. Then a couple of bids, one for $90,000 and one for $135,000.
“I will bid $165,000 for her!” said a male agent I recognized as the rep for Fantasy Showgirls.”
There were no more bids and the bidders again entered their bids in their laptop computers for transmittal to the auction house computer. The high bid for Cheryl was almost twice as much as for Duncan even though her sentence was shorter and the buyer had to assume certain responsibilities for her children.
In the days that followed the would-be buyers submitted all the required information and proposals electronically.
For Ted Duncan I had three bid proposals:
For Cheryl Clifford I had three bid proposals:
I had another meeting with Judge Morelock who introduced me to a Miss Bixby, the slave advocate he had assigned to also participate in evaluating these proposals. She and I discussed all the above bids. She readily agreed with me that the escort jobs offered Duncan and Cheryl were too good for them and would hardly constitute punishment. While I had been initially tempted to give him to the chain of cunnilingus bars which would have been degrading and also gave me the highest price, I realized that this work would be pointlessly degrading and a total waste of his talent and experience. So, in the end, we had little difficulty reaching agreement that, for Ted Duncan, the most appropriate placement would be with the manufacturing firm that wanted to use his Human Resources experience. The work would be humiliating and punitive, yet it would use his abilities and allow him to stay current in this field so that he might obtain employment as a free man after his time was served.
In the case of Cheryl Clifford we had to agree to disagree. Miss Bixby wanted to place Cheryl in the public brothel because she thought that would be less degrading work than sexually suggestive pole dancing plus going upstairs and providing sex to customers. She kept talking about how ‘obscene’ pole dancing was. I thought obscenity was in the mind of the beholder. At least with the brothel job, Miss Bixby maintained, Cheryl’s children could be kept innocent of any knowledge of how their mother was being punished. I wanted to give Cheryl to “Fantasy Showgirls” because I thought it would be less humiliating than the brothel job. At least she could take pride in her skills as a dancer and performer. Also because I believed her kids should not be kept in the dark about their mother’s punishment. In this job they would talk to children of other showgirls and would inevitably learn what their mother had to do every day. Probably they would pester their godparents for permission to watch their mother dance for the customers. They would see a highly erotic performance by a self-confident dancer and quite possibly develop an itch to do that type of dancing themselves. I honestly believed that the apprenticeships that would be offered Cheryl’s girls could be a good break for them. Also, of course, their bid was the highest. I was allowed to consider that as well.
Miss Bixby and I submitted our disagreement to Judge Morelock who backed our joint recommendation for Ted Duncan and my choice for Cheryl.
A few days later I received a call from a Sarah Westham, who owned a chain of auto repair facilities in New York State. These were repair shops that specialized in the high tech cars, built by Masterson Automotive, which could drive themselves in cities where a grid had been installed. Mrs. Westham was offering my two boys an apprenticeship to train for positions as future journeymen mechanics with her firm. These would be well paying jobs the boys could hold after they were freed. It was an excellent opportunity for them. Part of the arrangement was that Mrs. Westham had the hots for Erin and would be using him sexually during his apprenticeship. He was sixteen now so that would not be a legal problem.
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In the weeks that followed Edgar sold the banker as a simple chattel slave, realizing a substantial sale price. He used that money to send Sally Rigers to Richmond Slendabond for slave breaking. After their program he knew he could control her and so had her transferred to his own home where he knew he could incapacitate her musculature whenever he wished with a post-hypnotic command. His plan was to vindictively rape her daily for a month or until the thrill was gone. He found that he thoroughly enjoyed these rapes and that the thrill never really did wear off. He decided to keep her more or less permanently as his personal sex slave.
I sent my five newly acquired slaves to Richmond Slendabond to be broken into their new status in life. In the case of Jenkins, the manufacturing company had specified in their bid that I deliver to them a trained slave. In the case of Cheryl Clifford, “Fantasy Showgirls” had similarly specified in their bid that I supply a trained girl. And the others I also needed to train even though I was retaining ownership. Naturally I was curious as to how they would be trained and how far they had progressed in the few days since their arrival at the facility. The facility was a two hour drive up into the Catskills from New York City. I did not want to drive up there alone so Bill agreed to go with me.
The ride took us through beautiful scenery. I could not help but think back to the first time I had made this trip with Bill only a year ago. That had not been a happy trip since Bill was then delivering me to the place where I would be broken. He had been driving then too and his partner Virginia had been riding in the back seat. I had been acutely aware of what loss of freedom felt like since I had not wanted to go on that trip at all and my hands were cuffed behind me the whole trip. My wishes had meant nothing then. I had been scared stiff about what they would do to me once I was delivered to the training facility. I had also been acutely conscious of how immodestly attired I was, wearing only a short cape that barely covered my crotch and left my long legs entirely bare. I had noticed Bill admiring my legs many times on the trip but he had been a gentleman.
Now it was just Bill and myself in the car. The circumstances were very different. I was going not as a slave, but as a slave owner. And I was modestly attired in a business suit and high heels. We eventually were traveling in farmland and about two hours out of New York we arrived at the old estate that had been converted into a training facility. We saw the long stone walls and then were at the gatehouse. Soon we were pulling into a parking spot near the main visitor entrance. How different from last time when I had been delivered to the loading dock.
We entered and approached the receptionist. Bill announced to her that we were here to see the training director, Charlie Witherspoon. I well knew this man, of course, from my earlier experience as a slave undergoing training. Mr. Witherspoon had been the one who had personally trained me, against my will, to be a skilled fellatrix. When Bill had told me that he would be our host for this tour I was shaken. I did not know if I could face this man again. It might bring back all the old fears. The day before I had a discussion with Dr. Henderson about my misgivings and he told me just how important it was that I face this man and establish a new kind of relationship with him to replace the old subservient one.
When Witherspoon came into the lobby and greeted us he was most gracious. He treated me like a lady and not like the naked slave he had, at one time, forced to lick his penis. I made a point of being assertive with him, since I was now his customer and not his trainee.
“Mr. Witherspoon, I understand that you will show us today how my five slaves are being trained and answer my questions about the training methods.”
“Please, Miss Glenn, call me Charlie. I work for you now. You owe me no formality. Let’s begin our tour by taking the elevator down to what we call the “Cylinder Room” in the sub basement.”
Bill had told me about this room. He had written about it in some detail in his own memoirs a year ago. I knew that this is where all the brainwashing began. As the elevator made its way downward, Charlie began to explain what I was about to see.
“You should realize Stephanie, it is crucial that we have the ability to impose our mind control techniques on even the most resistant subjects. Bill has seen all this before but it may be a revelation to you. The ability of subjects to resist mind control will depend on their remaining oriented to the reality around them. That awareness is what we take from them with the help of sensory deprivation and the bio-implants. Let us see some of our subjects undergoing sensory deprivation.”
We emerged on a large open floor with a ceiling that was perhaps 14 foot high. My eyes were immediately drawn to a row of twenty vertical cylinders made of clear glass, each about eight feet tall and three feet in diameter. What was striking about these was that each cylinder contained a naked human being, apparently suspended in some clear liquid medium that came up a foot or so higher than head level. These suspended humans had various wires attached to them and tubes coming out of them. Next to each cylinder there was some sort of control console with all sorts of monitoring instruments. The room had a surreal look because overall lighting was dim but with the cylinders, their naked occupants and the control consoles brilliantly lit up by contrast.
The first two cylinders contained young women. Charlie led us a bit farther down the row to where there were some cylinders containing naked young men. These men were slender and well muscled with rock hard abdomens. They had impressive endowments between their legs. In all the cylinders the nude occupants had their hands cuffed in front and wore ankle shackles. In all of them the occupants were hooked up to breathing tubes and I could observe the level of liquid in the cylinders subtly rising and falling in time with their respirations. Fortunately these breathing tubes hid little of their faces from view. Their eyelids were taped shut. My impression was that the two men in front of us must have been having sexual thoughts because each man’s penis was partially erect. Each wore a Texas catheter fitted around the end of the penis with a tube leading to a clear external cylinder that appeared to be about half full of urine. Charlie carefully studied my facial expressions for a while to judge my responses to all this, then began to offer me an explanation.
“Why the Texas catheter? Why not a Foley?” I asked.
“Because the Foley goes up inside the penis all the way to the bladder, while the Texas catheter, as you can see, is fitted around the outside of the penis. The men often become aroused during their time in the cylinder and we want them to be able to masturbate and ejaculate – which they can do with this type of catheter.”
“I see”, I said.
“But why don’t we move down to the other end and have a look at your properties”, Charlie offered.
We came to the other end of the row of glass cylinders. I could see that the last 5 cylinders, all in a row, were filled with my slaves. What a thrilling sight that was! There was Tom Jenkins, Ted Duncan, Cheryl Clifford, Erin and Kim! All the people who had violated my rights. Now they were all being stripped of their dignity and their free will in these cylinders because I had ordered it! Wasn’t I the powerful one?
“Bill, this man”, I said pointing to Duncan, “is the man who interviewed me for the job at Masterson Automotive”. Also he was the man who refused to investigate my sex harassment claim and the man who fired me and turned my life into a nightmare. For the longest time I was afraid of this man. Now as I look at him hanging naked and restrained in a glass cylinder, he just doesn’t look so scary anymore. He looks pathetic!”
“This woman”, I said pointing to Cheryl Clifford, “is the former slave advocate who was supposed to have protected me from the abuses I suffered while a slave. But I never saw her during my time as a slave. She had more important things to attend to then interviewing slaves and investigating their work conditions. Now that I see her like this, hanging naked and restrained and with a small catheter coming out of her vulva to a urine jar, I see that she is pathetic too!”
“Stephanie”, Bill responded, “you too once hung naked, restrained and blindfolded in one of these tanks! It is part of the training all slaves go through here.”
“Is that really true Mr. Witherspoon?” I needed to know. I could hardly bear the thought of my hanging there like Cheryl with a tube coming out of my twat.
“It’s true, Miss Glenn. You were in the same cylinder that Cheryl hangs in now. I was the one who put you in the tank.”
I wanted to cry at this news, but I knew I had to steel myself and be the tough new take charge individual I wanted to be. I couldn’t let Charlie and Bill see me turn to jelly at this revelation.
“I’m sure you would like to see Erin”, Charlie offered after a long pause, eager to change the subject, and led us down to the last cylinder.
There was Erin hanging there blindfolded, his beautifully muscled slender 16 year old body, and his head of brilliant red hair matched by the red color of his pubic hair. My eyes lingered on his genitals – those parts of him that had seemed loathsome when he was raping me during my kidnapping. Now they did not seem loathsome because he was now powerless. Now I could see those parts of him as beautiful. Poor Erin with his intense hang-ups about modesty!
Just then I noticed Erin’s penis beginning to stiffen a little. Soon his hands were starting to play with his parts. The penis became still harder. After much more self fondling Erin began to jerk forward and back with his hips and pretty soon we saw the previously clear golden liquid in the tube from catheter become filled with a milky white substance. A greatly pleased and relaxed look came over Erin’s face. I didn’t need a program to know what had just happened.
“Doesn’t Erin have any modesty any more?” I wanted to know.
“Sure he does”, Miss Glenn. “It’s just that he thinks he is in the privacy of his own bedroom and not being observed by three people! He can’t see us or even have a tactile experience of being in a tank. We control his perceptions of where he is through his bio-implant device. That is why he thought he was masturbating in private.”
“But why did he do this just now – while we were standing here?”
“We stimulated him through that control console over there”, Charlie replied. “We wanted to put on a little show for you! Thought you might enjoy it!”
“Well I suppose I did, dammit!” I stammered. “How humiliating that will be for him when he finds out about this later!” I said.
“Most slaves never find out about their time in the tank” Charlie remarked.
“Did I masturbate when you had me in this tank?” I needed to know but was afraid of the answer.”
“Yes, you did”, Miss Glenn. “And I don’t think I ever witnessed such a pretty masturbation! We even have a video clip of it – and I will be happy to surrender our only copy of that video to you when you leave today.”
“I would certainly appreciate your doing that Mr. Witherspoon!”
I indicated to Charlie that I had seen enough of the ‘cylinder room’. He led us back to the elevator and up to the floor where his office was. There we began a discussion on the finer points of slave training.
“The first aim of slave training, of course, is obedience. The slave is of little use to his or her owner if he or she cannot be controlled. But beyond that there are a lot of variables in slave training having to do with the desired attitude that an owner wishes the slave to exhibit.”
“How would this concern my slaves?” I asked.
“We have some specific suggestions for them”, Charlie continued. “Take Ted Duncan, for example. We think since you will be selling him to a manufacturing firm where he will be an enslaved Human Resources Manager, that his attitude should be one of genial self-confidence. He must be capable of projecting an appearance of authority even while being absolutely obedient to his corporate superiors.”
“Or take Cheryl Clifford. We understand you will sell her to “Fantasy Showgirls” where she will be a stripper, pole dancer and prostitute. We think when she is entertaining on stage she should be a femme fatale. She should project a willingness to entertain, even pleasure in entertaining, along with an aura of mystery. But when she has to go upstairs with a customer for sex, it might be best if her attitude could be variable – whatever would turn a particular customer on. Some may want a willing prostitute who is eager to please. Others may want a prostitute who is coyly reluctant or even one who is rebellious so they can feel they are essentially forcing her to have sex.”
“What about Tom Jenkins?” I wanted to know.
“For Jenkins we think an attitude of extreme humility, even self effacement, might work best. That would be consistent with the type of humiliating sex therapy you plan for him.”
“I think for the two boys I would like it best if they retain that cute modesty thing, and that they also remain somewhat rebellious”, I said.
“Consider it done!”
With that we concluded our meeting. Charlie quietly handed me the videotape of my own masturbation that he had earlier promised. Bill and I took the two hour drive back to Manhattan.
On the drive back I asked Bill if he had watched me masturbate when I was in the tank. He assured me that he had not.
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In recent weeks I had come to realize that my views on slavery had come full circle. Now I was starting to ask myself whether my new views, together with a possibly successful sex therapy, shouldn’t be reasons enough to take a fresh look at the possibility of a romantic relationship with Bill. The nearly twenty year difference in our ages was a source of concern, yet I enjoyed the maturity I found in him which I usually did not find in men my own age. When I had something to express he was always willing to listen and give feedback. More than that I felt visible when I was with Bill. I had a sense that he perceived me much as I perceived myself.
I had, based on the information Bill had given me earlier, contacted the Henderson Trauma Clinic and begun a program of individual sex therapy for myself. It was designed to cure me of my fear of intimacy with a male that my multiple rapes had caused. I knew I would need to begin working with a male partner soon. They had offered me a male surrogate partner, but I had been thinking that perhaps I could persuade Bill to work with me in therapy as my sex partner. I knew that, in my present traumatized state, I could only offer him sex under the supervision of a therapist and with the benefit of the anti-trauma drug. I knew also that he was hot for me, but would he be comfortable having sex with me in that clinical setting?
It was in this context that I answered the doorbell of my apartment one day and was surprised to find Bill standing there.
“Am I interrupting anything?” he said. “If you have no special plans I would like to talk.”
I agreed that I had nothing special planned for that afternoon and invited him to stay awhile. After offering him coffee and exchanging the usual pleasantries Bill came straight to the point of his visit.
“I feel that you and I have an affinity for each other, and I would like to know you better. Much better.”
I liked his directness.
“Bill”, I began, “ As you know, I have been having sex talk therapy for some weeks now with a therapist at the Henderson Trauma Clinic where I verbalize my traumatic experiences under the influence of their patented anti-trauma drug.”
“How is that going?” Bill interjected.
“So far so good“, I replied. “Bill, this is awkward, but you did say you wanted to know me much better. I am reaching a point in my therapy where I need to work with a male partner on my comfort levels with ever increasing intimacy. They have offered me a male surrogate partner, but I would really like it if you would be my partner in therapy!”
There. I had said it. Now I waited in tense suspense to see what would be his answer.
“I would be delighted to be your partner in therapy!”
We both breathed a sigh of relief and resolved to make the arrangements the following day.
“Steph”, he continued, “you once told me that you held strong anti-slavery views and that my profession therefore would get in the way of our having a more intimate relationship. Do you still feel that way?”
“Had strong anti-slavery views”, I responded. “The operative word is ‘had’. I now understand better than I ever did before just how important the systems of slavery and indentured service are in this country. I have also come to understand that, notwithstanding my own bitter experience, that there are a lot of people involved in maintaining these systems, yourself included Bill, that are good and decent people.”
“Thank you for that”, Bill responded. “But there is another matter. I have often wondered lately if you ever forgave me for that rather intimate “Creditor’s Examination” I did on you before the trial?”
“Bill, what can I say? It was one of the most humiliating times in my life! Yet I recognize that, at the time, you were doing your duty to your client under the law as it existed at that time. Hopefully the law named after me, when or if it goes into effect, will ensure that few young women are examined in that way in the future. I know that you were not seeking to make it any more humiliating than it needed to be to satisfy the legal requirements of the time. “
“I appreciate your attitude Steph”, Bill responded. I am not sure I would be so forgiving if it were the other way around. I will take it then that you and I do have a chance for a long term relationship?”
I responded with no words but gave him an affectionate hug and a kiss and we said goodnight.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 32. The Fate of A Dancer
Greg Masterson had asked me to use whatever influence I had with the ballet company to help the dancer, Jennifer Maisten. I also knew this would please Stephanie who had put Masterson up to this in the first place.
I knew that Jennifer was a criminal who had embezzled money from the company. When the public prosecutor had declined to prosecute her, the company had launched a successful private prosecution. The company then was empowered to pass sentence on Jennifer within the statutory guidelines. They had used this power with a vengeance, as there were many directors furious with her at the time.
I knew that sometimes the passage of time causes angers to fade. Sometimes an organization might be willing to take a second look at something - especially if they liked the person making the request. I went way back with the company, knew most of the Directors, and was known by them in turn as a heavy financial contributor. I thought therefore I had a chance to sell them on some leniency for Jennifer.
First I wanted to convince myself that Jennifer deserved leniency. Even if she were released on parole there could still be some stiff conditions for her to fulfill - including sexual conditions.
I decided to drop by the theatre one evening when I knew she would be rehearsing. As I entered the rehearsal room with the mirrored walls and the wall mounted barre that all the dancers used, I noticed that while most of the dancers wore normal rehearsal attire of leotards and tights, there were also a few, including Jennifer, who were nude except for their ballet shoes and leg warmers and, in Jennifer’s case a short classical tutu skirt extending stiffly and horizontally out from her waist. She wore neither the customary bodice with it nor the underwear and the skirt itself left none of her charms to the imagination.
Jennifer was acting as a stand-in for one of the principal dancers in the rehearsal of the famous dance from “The Sleeping Beauty” known throughout the world as the “Rose Adagio”*. As such she danced the role of the princess Aurora, dancing in turn with each of four fully clothed suitors. Each suitor in turn would provide her a point of balance and stability while she twirled en pointe on one slender leg and with the opposite leg raised skyward - nearly 180 degrees from the supporting leg. The view of her private parts this provided was breathtaking. I knew that, while they were willing to let Jennifer do this dance in rehearsal as a stand-in, that they had no plans to let her perform the Aurora role before the public, with or without clothes.
The Artistic Director Leonard Morrison warmly greeted me. He had recently been promoted to that position upon the retirement of the previous Director. While he now had responsibility to supervise other choreographers, he continued to actively create new works himself. I asked him if he could spare Jennifer for a brief interview and he readily assented. He told me Jennifer and the four suitors were due for a break anyway and to limit the interview to thirty minutes. He instructed Jennifer to remove the tutu so that it would not become wrinkled. Soon I found myself alone with Jennifer in a small office nearby. I locked the door against any interruption, took a seat behind the desk and kept Jennifer standing there for a long moment while I looked up and down her beautiful body, naked but for her ballet slippers. This was the same girl I had seen masturbate unconsciously when she was in the sensory deprivation cylinder for her slave training.
She stood erect, her feet shoulder width apart, and kept her arms hanging at her sides as any well-trained slave would. The office seemed quite a bit cooler than the rehearsal room. She seemed a bit unsteady, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. It was a pleasure to watch the alternating muscular tensions in those gorgeous legs. It was a pleasure to gaze upon the perfectly flat and well toned abdominal area of her body, her cute navel, and to drop my gaze still lower to take in her well trimmed pubic area.
“You are probably wondering”, I began, “why I summoned you here.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Steelforth, I was wondering that, sir.”
I continued to enjoy the sight of her standing there in all her nakedness. I was going to savor this interview, not rush it. I wanted her to be quite conscious that I was enjoying the sight of her body, and that the interview would proceed according to my timetable, not hers.
“I want to know you Jennifer, and for a reason I cannot yet disclose. Suffice to say I am here as a representative of your owner. It is very important that you open up to me. Hold nothing back. Let me see the real you!”
“The real me sir? I am not sure what that means.”
“It means I want to know what goes on inside that pretty head of yours!”
By now I was noticing her starting to shiver from the coolness of this room. I saw there was a folded blanket on the credenza.
“I know how important it is to you dancers”, I remarked, “to keep warm when not exercising so your muscles don’t cramp. Here, I give you permission to wrap yourself in this and take a seat”, I said handing her the blanket.
“Thank you sir!”
The girl wrapped herself in the blanket that was only large enough to cover her from just above her breasts to just below her crotch. This left her delicate shoulders and collarbone bare as well as her slender and quite muscular thighs. Still it would be enough to preserve her body heat and yet still leave me with a tantalizing view. I had often noted how typical it was for a dancer to have strong muscular legs in combination with an upper body that seemed almost fragile in its thinness.
“I want you to take me back nearly two years now to when you were embezzling money from this ballet company. I want to know what your thoughts and feelings were then toward the company. Be honest.”
“I was resentful. I thought they were always passing me over when there were good roles. They were passing me over for others who couldn’t dance as well as I because they were prettier. It seemed unfair. I would never get one of the principal roles. The only way I could have a chance at these roles would be if I could get plastic surgery for my face. But I had no way to pay for that on the salary of a low level company dancer.”
“So you embezzled.”
“Yes sir.”
“I assume that you did actually get the plastic surgery since your face is as pretty as any I have ever seen in this building.”
“Yes I did sir. And thank you for the compliment!”
“Are they still passing you over for principal dancer roles?”
“Yes sir. But now it is not because I am not pretty enough. It is because they wish to punish me further for my crime by stunting my dance career.”
“Do you think your sentence was fair?”
“I knew by the end of my trial”, she responded, “that what I had done was wrong. I knew I had to make restitution for it. I also knew there was no way I was ever going to be able to repay the company such a large amount out of my meager salary. I also knew that restitution alone would not be enough. I had to be punished severely for my actions to deter others from committing similar crimes.”
“So you accepted your sentence of slavery as fair?”
“Well…yes. Yes sir I mean. Indenturing me would not have been enough for what I had done. I accepted that I needed to be enslaved to satisfy the punishment requirement as well as the restitution requirement. I accepted that I needed to lose all my freedom and all my rights for some years in order that the ballet company and the public would be satisfied that I had been suitably punished for my crime. Anything less would not have been fair to the company.”
“But I hear in your voice that you have reservations about your sentence?”
“May a slave speak freely sir?”
“Yes, Jennifer. That is what I am giving you permission to do.”
“I don’t object, Mr. Steelforth, to the parts of my sentence that provide real money value to my owners, even though many of these things are humiliating. Making me dance nude for the ballet company is a fair punishment. Or making me work 60 hours/week between two jobs. Or even forcing me to provide sexual services to many of the managers and clients over at Masterson Automotive.”
“I think I hear a ‘but’ coming”, I said, trying to reassure her that it was ok to continue.
I saw a tear begin to form and trickle down one of her well tanned cheeks. Since her enslavement there had been few if any opportunities for her to express her feelings about all this to anyone.
“What I object to is the pointless sexual humiliation I must constantly endure - like working nude in my cubicle over at Masterson with all the well dressed clients smirking at me, attending staff meetings in the nude, rehearsing nude here every night, being fucked every day by some stranger - not to earn money for my owner but just to satisfy a requirement in my sentence that I be fucked daily by strangers.”
I was impressed with her attitude so far but felt I needed to press her further.
“But what you are saying Jennifer”, “is that you accept the need to make restitution but don’t think you should experience punishment just for the sake of punishment.”
“I don’t mean I shouldn’t be punished. I just mean that the punishment part of my sentence seems excessive. I am genuinely repentant for the crime I committed. I was sentenced to five years of sexual humiliation and monthly public whippings. I have endured this for a year and a half already. When is enough enough sir?
“That is a good question Jennifer. I like your attitude and I want to help you!”
As I said this I placed my right hand affectionately on one of her luscious slender thighs and felt in my palm the warmth of her being. I felt the beginnings of stiffness in my penis as I did so.
“I am going to try to see if something can be done to alleviate your situation. Greg Masterson cannot relax any of the terms of your sentence. Only the ballet company can change your sentence. Do you know Frank Matters, the lighting designer?”
“Oh sure. Frank is a great guy - always so courteous to the dancers. And he is kind of cute too!”
“I have heard that Frank is looking for a new lighting operator and gopher since Stephanie won her freedom. I know he has the hots for you. The job would almost certainly involve having sex with him. How does that sound? “
“With Frank it would hardly be punishment sir!”
“But that’s just it Jennifer. If we are to succeed you need to convince a lot of people around here that the sexual aspect of that job is abhorrent to you - that you would hate having sex with Frank!”
“I don’t understand sir.”
“I want to get them to accept the job with Frank as satisfying the non consensual sex part of your punishment!”
I saw a light of understanding in her eyes now.
“And I will also see what can be done about some of the other humiliating parts of your sentence.”
“Thank you sir. I will be ever so grateful to you!”
“Stand now Jennifer, fold the blanket neatly and put it back on the credenza.”
The girl quickly complied with my order. As she did so I admired her nakedness yet once more, particularly her muscular buttocks as she was bending over to put the blanket back. I could not resist the temptation to caress her buttocks gently. I unlocked the office door and indicated by gesture that our interview was over and that she might return to her rehearsal warm-ups.
As I walked back through the rehearsal room I got the attention of Leonard Morrison. He was obviously too busy creating a new dance routine to really talk now but I arranged to return the next day for an interview with him.
My next stop was to visit Frank Matters. My plan partly involved politicking various members of the ballet company staff - so that they would support my request when I put it before the Board of Directors. I strongly suspected that the prospect of having Jennifer as his lighting operator and sex toy would help persuade Frank to join with other staff members in arguing for leniency for her. He invited me into his office.
“It’s been quite a while Bill”, he began. Ever since that night - was it 6 months ago - when you came into this office and talked to my then assistant Stephanie. How is she doing now that she has been freed?”
“Very well last I heard. Thank you for your interest. That sort of leads right into what I wanted to see you about Frank. I heard that you went through a number of different girls as temporary lighting operators and none of them really worked out for you. Did I hear that right?”
“That is fairly accurate”, he replied. Another problem is that these temp women they send me aren’t all that attractive or all that young - if you know what I mean!”
“I know very well what you mean you old pervert!” I said with a broad grin and slapped him on the back.
“I may actually have a solution”, I continued, “to both your problems. Do you know the dancer, Jennifer Maisten?”
“Hell yes. I tried a couple of times to see if I could get her as my assistant. What a hottie! The Artistic Director said that was not possible since she was already dividing her time between two jobs.”
“That could change - I am trying to arrange things so that she works full time here in the theatre - say thirty hours a week as a dancer and maybe ten to 15 hours a week as your assistant. “
“I’m listening!”
It all depends”, I continued, “on whether I can get her criminal sentence modified, and that would be up to the company’s Board of Directors. Might you be willing to work with me on this?”
“Tell me more.”
“Jennifer’s sentence calls for her to endure, as punishment, non consensual sex at least twenty times per month. She has endured this punishment, along with whippings every six months, for a year and a half now. I don’t know how much more she can take. I am afraid if I go to the Board for sentence modification and just ask for this punishment to be cancelled, they may well turn me down. There are some on that board that were furious with her for the theft two years ago and argued strenuously for the sexual punishments to be part of her sentence.”
“So you propose what then?” he replied.
“I am going to propose that they ‘force’ her to be your assistant and have regular sex with you!”
“But Jennifer likes me”, he responded, “and I feel that she would willingly have sex with me.”
“But it must not appear so”, I said. “You and I and Jennifer are all going to have to be good actors. We will stage some sort of incident where others see you being rough with her and that you slapped her face. When they tell her she is going to be your new lighting operator and comfort girl, she will protest that she would rather die than “have sex with that man!”
“I guess I am not above playing a game with you Bill, but what would all this accomplish?”
“I can then go before the Board”, I continued, “with a proposed sentence modification that says that her non consensual sex punishment can be fully satisfied by being assigned as a sex slave to you for the remaining three and one half years of her term. This will relieve her of the awful business of having to fuck twenty different strangers every month.”
“Do you think the Board will go for it? Will they really think being assigned to me would be a true punishment?”
“Actually Frank, it may not matter if all of them believe it as long as some do. The directors who see through this little charade may well vote our way anyway - because we will have given them a face saving way to justify changing her sentence without appearing to be canceling the sex punishment part.”
“Don’t sentences have to be changed with the judge’s approval?”
“Yes, but that is usually only a formality once the original plaintiff has agreed to the change.”
“I’m onboard. What will I need to do?” he asked.
“Just wait for further instructions for now”, I replied.
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That evening I felt very lonely. Although I had hopes my relationship with Stephanie would eventually work out after her therapy was finished, I was feeling an immediate need for some things that Stephanie could not yet give me. I called the schoolteacher and sex therapist Sherry Wilson. She had become my best friend, and this was a “friendship with benefits”. She wasn’t busy that evening and invited me over. We got comfortable over a couple glasses of wine and I began to unburden my soul. I told her about today’s events and what my strategy was for improving Jennifer’s situation. She approved. She filled me in on what had been going on with Tom Jenkins therapy. I told her about how Stephanie had entered sex therapy and how I would be partnering with her in that. Then I got into what was really occupying most of my waking moments.
“Sherry, I think I can tell you this as a friend. I have both physical and emotional needs that Stephanie may not be able to satisfy for months or perhaps years.”
“So you come to me, Bill, to fill those needs now?”
With that she stroked my thigh gently and I began to feel aroused. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.
“Are you jealous of Stephanie?”
“No, I have known from the beginning that you and I would only be friends and not romantic partners. And I have enjoyed you on that basis and enjoyed the sex and hope it can continue a while longer. She is the one who is romantically a match for you Bill.”
“Why do you say that?” I replied.
“Because you have told me”, she continued, “how you and she interact. I know you make her feel visible. And more to the point she makes you feel visible - in ways that go beyond what you and I have. Don’t take this the wrong way, Bill, but I think the age difference between the two of you may be an important factor. You take almost a fatherly interest in her, which she has not experienced with men her own age. You are somebody she can look up to and admire for all the fine qualities that make you who you are.”
“But don’t you see the same things in me she does?” I replied.
“I like you Bill and am certainly aware of some of your better traits, but I don’t think I see the total package the way she does. And I, perhaps, cannot look at you or any man with quite the innocent eyes that she can. It may be that the work I did as a prostitute for many years has colored my perception of men, made me more cynical I expect. As a result I don’t expect as much from a relationship with a man as she does. And probably I cannot give back as much as she can. I am not a romantic, but you are Bill!”
“Are you suggesting that I should marry her?” I replied.
“Yes! Go to her Bill. Tell her you love her and want her to be your wife. You will need to be patient, as her therapy will take time. I tell you this as your friend. Someday, when I have lost you, I may regret having been so candid.”
The arousal I had felt earlier had faded by now. But I still felt very affectionate toward Sherry and gave her a big hug. I had much to think about, so I made my excuses about having to get up early tomorrow and went home without the physical release I had planned.
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The next day I felt it was time to put my little ruse into action. I called Frank Matters and encouraged him to go ahead and stage an incident that would convince everyone that he and Jennifer were bitter enemies. By mid morning he had sexually harassed Jennifer in front of witnesses, insisting that she come to his office and fuck him. When she resisted his demand he slapped her around for several minutes and finally stormed off to his office calling her all sorts of names.
Later that morning I had my meeting with Leonard Morrison, the Artistic Director. He was pleased to see me.
“Congratulations”, I began, “on your recent promotion. I came to talk about Jennifer. I come as a representative of her current owner, Masterson Automotive Group.”
I would like, if you don’t mind, to gain some insight as to what her prospects might be here as a dancer.
“I am always more than willing to discuss any of our dancers with you Bill. You should know that after all the years you have supported us in our fund raising campaigns.”
“Before I go into her prospects”, Leonard continued, “I think you might find it instructive to see just how good a dancer she really is!”
“I saw her just yesterday”, I responded, “as a rehearsal stand in for Aurora in the Rose Adagio. I could not have been more impressed!”
“Yes, but I think I can show her to you in another way. The company has recently acquired a ‘Virtual Dance Simulator Machine’ (VDSM). This is a computer controlled machine programmed to train dancers to perfectly emulate a model dancer image that they see through virtual reality goggles.”
“I think I have a general idea”, I replied, “what you are talking about. I recently visited a self-defense training school where they used ‘Virtual Fight Training Machines’. This must be something quite similar. Right?”
“I have heard something of how those work. Our machine has some similarities but also is quite different. Jennifer is just about to start a practice session in one of these machines. Have you the time and interest to see her practice?”
“Of course!” I replied eagerly.
He led me to a large adjoining room off the main rehearsal room. There was Jennifer in the process of removing her tutu. She was then entirely naked but for her ballet shoes. She smiled to acknowledge my presence and Leonard’s presence and then put on a pair of virtual reality goggles and an earphone headset.
“Complete nudity”, he said, “is a requirement for any dancer using this machine. The machine needs all the information that the naked body can provide as to the positioning and tensioning of all the muscle groups.”
The machine bore some striking resemblances to the ‘Virtual Fight Training Machine’. Like that machine it consisted of an open three-dimensional framework that defined an action area. In this case, however, the action area was 24 feet by 36 feet - much larger than the 8 ft by 12 ft area of the fighting machines. Attached to the framework at many points were video cameras.
“Before a dance student can experience a multi-sensory training session”, he continued, “he or she must have had a series of hypnotized sessions in a simple audio-visual trainer. Jennifer has had this hypnotic training so that she will be able to experience certain physical sensations that will help her adjust her muscles to match those of the virtual dancer. These sensations will be produced by coded subliminal visual cues flashed on her retinas.”
“Jennifer will find herself mimicking the attitudes and movements of a model dancer. She will ‘see’ the model dancer’s bodily positions through the virtual vision capability of the goggles and “hear” the dance music through the headset. This computer controlled machine will train her to think fast and keep on dancing through any discomforts until she can perfectly imitate the movements of the virtual dancer. The machine will cause her to feel a certain discomfort in any muscle group that is not perfectly emulating the model. She will discover that there is a ‘sweet spot’ for each and every one of her muscles where that muscle will feel just right and that only happens when that particular muscle is doing exactly what the corresponding muscle on the model dancer is doing.”
“But how will the machine know if each of her muscles is doing the right thing?” I asked.
“The machine’s computer at all times knows”, she responded, “the position, attitude and motions of the student dancer’s body by integrating data from multiple video cameras. It compares this data with the data it also has concerning the position, attitude and motions of the model dancer it has generated for the student. But perhaps the best way to understand all this is to just watch.”
Leonard flipped a switch so that the dance music would be heard over speakers and not just in Jennifer’s headset.
There were two buttons on one of the frame’s side posts. Jennifer pushed the one labeled “Model”, and took up a position near the center of the action area. From time to time she would turn this way or that, and assume various postures.
“At this point the computer is measuring all parts of Jennifer’s body in order to create a virtual model for her that will be anatomically identical to Jennifer. This will make it much more possible for her to mimic the movements if the model’s body works the same way as her own. For example Jennifer is very slender, has long limbs, a torso of only average length and small breasts. So the computer creates a slender long limbed average torso small breasted model to demonstrate the movements for her.”
A light flashed indicating that the model customization process was complete.
Jennifer pushed the ‘Start’ button on one of the frame’s side posts. Almost immediately we began to sense that there was an invisible ghost like presence in the same dance area with Jennifer. We could see her begin to respond to this presence that only she could ‘see’. All the muscles of her beautiful dancer’s body began to tense and then execute beautiful sequences of moves. I could feel my penis begin to get partially erect inside my slacks and hoped that Leonard did not notice. No such luck. I could see him glance briefly downward at my crotch and I thought for a moment that he was going to say something but then he just smiled and encouraged me by a gesture to keep my focus on the dance.
“Here”, Leonard offered, “Why don’t you slip on these virtual goggles?”
I did so and the picture was now complete. I could see the computer generated ‘model dancer’ that Jennifer was emulating quite clearly now. The model was long limbed like Jennifer and I was amazed to see that the model was even anatomically correct in all details. It was also apparent why a much larger action area was needed for this than for the fight training machines. The model dancer and Jennifer were doing long runs and leaps that required considerable space.
As we watched we saw Jennifer very imperfectly matching the model dancer at first. We saw grimaces on her face from time to time when the machine corrected her by causing a discomfort in the relevant muscle. As the exercise progressed Jennifer’s dance began to match the model dancer to a remarkable degree and we saw a look of ease on her face. Evidently she had learned to find all the sweet spots in her muscles that the machine had taught her.
Finally the exercise was over. Jennifer was dripping with perspiration but I went over and hugged her anyway. I never minded the odor of girl sweat on a healthy, athletic and pretty girl. I caressed her face and told her I was very impressed with her performance. Leonard also gave her a few words of encouragement. Then we withdrew to Leonard’s office for our further discussion of Jennifer.
“What I want to know”, I continued, “is how talented is she? Is it possible that she is being, well, held back from leading roles she would be qualified to dance?’
“I will be very frank with you Bill since we go way back and I know I can trust your discretion. Jennifer is one of my top four dancers. You saw her standing in at rehearsal for the role of Aurora in the Rose Adagio. That speaks volumes as to her talent. If it weren’t for her criminal conviction she would have been given a number of important roles by now. As it is I am holding her back because important people on the Board want me to. They say it doesn’t make any sense to reward her and advance her career while we are at the same time punishing her for stealing from us two years ago.”
“If the Board could be persuaded to soften their stance on that, do you think you could use her for bigger roles?”
“Hell yes!”
“Leonard, I am trying to work out a change in her criminal sentence which I will soon submit to a vote of the Board. The sentence change, if it goes through, will eliminate all the gratuitous sex humiliation, the whippings every six months, and will also limit the non consensual sex part of her sentence to servicing perhaps only one or two individuals.”
“How many has she been servicing so far?”
“About twenty per month - which is the minimum that her sentence now requires. Masterson Automotive has no choice but to carry out the terms of the sentence so
they have been using her as a kind of fringe benefit for their key managers and also to entertain VIP customers of the firm.”
“If the Board changes her sentence”, he inquired, “would that mean she would no longer have to service all those managers and VIPs at Masterson Auto?”
“The change would have to be approved by the Court”, I responded, “and the Court would not approve the change unless Masterson Automotive were appropriately compensated. After all she was rightly convicted and they did buy her in good faith.
“Do you mean Bill, that if Masterson can no longer use her as a company prostitute they would have been cheated of a big part of what they thought they were getting when they bid on her.”
“That’s it in a nutshell”, I replied. So part of my proposal to the Board is that the ballet company offer to repurchase Jennifer at a fair price based on what she was worth before the change in her sentence. She would have a lot more value here as a top notch dancer than she would have at Masterson doing some sort of clerical work where her skills are probably mediocre.”
“Well yeah … I suppose that’s true. But your dreaming Bill if you think this organization has any money in the budget to buy another slave dancer this year.”
“I think I can see my way clear”, I replied, “to subsidize her repurchase by making a special donation to the company. Part of my idea is that she would then spend all of her time here. You would have a better rested and more available dancer to work with.”
“You would do that? What is this girl to you Bill?”
“It is not what she is to me personally, but what she is to the woman I love!”
“I’ll probe no more. I would be happy to support your proposal with the Board, but there are no guarantees they will go for it. I don’t begin to understand all the politics that goes on there!”
I thanked him for listening and headed for the office of Jay Worthington, the President of the Board. His secretary informed me that I was in luck since his fund raising activities for the company normally kept him away from the office most of the time. Soon I was sitting in his office sipping the coffee the secretary brought us.
“It has been too long since we talked Bill”, he began. “What brings you our way today?”
“A problem about a dancer”, I said. “I’m sure the name Jennifer Maisten is all too familiar to you. I know you were involved in formulating her sentence after her criminal trial.”
“To some extent yes, along with several other Board members.”
“The girl has served a year and a half of her five year sentence. She has endured unspeakable degradations. I am thinking perhaps she has been punished quite a bit already and that maybe the company could consider lightening her burden somewhat.”
“And why should we do this? The whole idea was to make an example of her to deter others from committing similar crimes.”
“I think you have had that deterrent effect already Jay. More to the point Leonard informs me she is one of his top four dancers but he can’t give her a major role because attitudes are so hardened against her on the Board. I think it would be a tragedy if a dancer of her talents were held back another three and a half years. After all a dancer’s whole career is probably not much longer than 15-18 years! My proposal could help the company develop a top talent that would surely increase box office over time!”
“Now you are talking my language Bill! I will be frank and let you know that your real problem selling this will not be with me but with our Treasurer, Hank Weinstein. I would go see him if I were you. If you can get this by him the others will fall in line!”
“Why does he have such a hardass attitude toward her, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well you have tangled with him before, Bill when you attended past board meetings. You know he is an old curmudgeon about everything, but there is more. Jennifer worked in his department when she embezzled and he was the one who was most furious of all when she was found out. Probably he felt humiliated that her getting away with this crime was a reflection on his lax supervision. He became quite vindictive. He was the one who pushed to include all the sexual humiliation in her sentence. I think he would have had her drawn and quartered if that were within the sentencing guidelines!”
“Is there a softer side to this man? A chink in his armor perhaps?”
Worthington just laughed out loud.
“If there is”, he replied, “none of us has discovered it in recent years! Here is his business card. Call him at his accounting firm. I do wish you luck. You will need it!”
With that he rose and extended his hand, indicating that our interview was over, and I left the building.
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I called Hank Weinstein from my car. When his secretary put him on I began my pitch.
“Hank, its Bill Steelforth. You remember me I think. We met at the board meeting two months ago.”
“Steelforth you say? Aren’t you the one who is always twisting our arms about some radical new proposal?” he said with what could pass for a good-natured laugh.
“Well I may have another radical idea to put to you.”
“Speak up man! I can hardly hear you.” He replied.
“I said I have another radical idea”, I continued, “and wondered if I could drop by this afternoon to discuss it?”
“We have some reports that have to be sent by courier to an important client by 5 pm. But I think if you dropped by around 5:30 I could give you some time.”
I knew of course the only reason he was making time for me at all was because I have been a generous contributor to the ballet. At 5:30 I arrived and was ushered into his office.
“I usually take a glass of sherry this time of day. Will you join me young man?”
“Of course!”
He opened his liquor cabinet and poured us both a glass. After some small talk he indicated we might get around to what I had come for.
“So what is this ‘radical idea’ Steelforth?”
“I want to talk to you”, I replied, “about lightening the sentence of Jennifer Maisten.”
He was in mid swallow when I said this and I thought he was going to cough up sherry all over his desk and papers when he heard this. His face turned beet red.
“Do you know what that bitch did to me?” he managed to say finally in a voice still fighting for air.
“Jay did brief me a bit on that.”
“Did he tell you the bitch utterly betrayed me and made me look like a fool in front of the board?”
“Not exactly. But he did say she had been working for you and that when her embezzlement was discovered you were more angry than any of the others!”
“Did he tell you that she caused me so much emotional distress back then that it affected my marriage and my wife nearly divorced me?”
“No, he didn’t mention that at all.”
“Now why on earth would I want to ‘lighten her sentence’ as you put it?”
I knew from my conversation with Jay that he would probably not be susceptible to any argument based on mercy for Jennifer. I had to find another way.
“I am asking you to consider it only because it is in the best interest of the company. The Artistic Director has informed me she is one of the four best dancers he has, but he hasn’t been able to give her any leading roles because of her status here. I would like to upgrade her status so she can be given these roles. That, in turn, will help box office.”
He looked at me quizzically.
“Her sexual punishment would continue of course”, I replied. “No one should escape just punishment after committing so serious a crime!”
There was a long period of silence. Finally he spoke.
“Could you spell out what you have in mind?”
“Sure Hank. I propose the board recommend to the Court that Jennifer be paroled from slave status to indentured servant status for the remaining three and one half years of her original five-year sentence. It would be a sexual indenture of course and her punishment would be having to have sex with a man she hates - Frank Matters. She would become his assistant and his sex toy!”
“But it would hardly be punishment if she liked Frank now would it?”
“Perhaps you haven’t heard about the fracas this morning when Frank tried to force her back into his office for sex? Several stagehands witnessed that incident. I am sure you could get confirmation that making her work for Frank would indeed be punishment.”
“Well maybe you have got something then young man. Still, you are asking me to swallow a lot in the way of improved status for a woman who betrayed me!”
“Hank, you are a religious man I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you are familiar with the Book of Ecclesiastes?” I pushed on.
“Indeed I am”, he replied.
“There are some lines there”, I continued, “that speak of the need for us to constantly adapt to changing seasons and changing circumstances - lines that were adapted as the basis for a popular song **:
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
…
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together.
“I will have to think on this”, he replied slowly after a long pause. Now I have to turn my attention back to my practice. Good day!”
He stood, indicating the interview was over.
About two weeks later a meeting of the board was scheduled. I had persuaded Jay to put me on the agenda to speak to the directors. After the reading of the minutes and some discussion of old business, Jay announced that the subject of Jennifer Maisten would, at my request, be the first item of new business. All the directors were now looking in my direction - somewhat confused as to why her name was coming up again a year and a half after her embezzlement trial. I heard some whispering and a groan or two. He nodded to me to begin my pitch.
“Gentlemen”, I began “and Mrs. Moore, I ask your indulgence for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes while I put a proposition in front of you that may, if you accept it, contribute much to the long run success and reputation of this ballet company.”
I began to sense a change in the room. I had gotten their attention, or at least their curiosity, for the moment.
“A year and a half ago we prosecuted Jennifer for the crime of embezzlement. We were able to secure a conviction and get Jennifer sentenced to five years of sexual slavery as punishment for her crime, and as a deterrent to any other would be criminals who might think of committing a similar crime. I know that many of you were furious with her for her betrayal of trust - particularly for the betrayal of Hank Weinstein’s trust, since he was the one who had trained her for a responsible position handling our funds.”
“Yes, yes we know all that. Get to the point Steelforth!” one of the directors yelled at me.
“There are actually two points”, I continued, “that I want to make. The first is that Jennifer has indeed been punished for the last year and a half. She has been forced to have sex with twenty strangers every week over at Masterson Automotive, she has been made to work two jobs for a sixty hour work week, and she has been taken to the public whip master and publicly whipped several times during her sentence. I am going to ask you in a moment to consider if she has not suffered enough already for her crime.”
I heard some coughing and somebody said under their breath “like hell she has”. I chose to ignore this and forged ahead.
“My second point is that Jennifer, in spite of the hardships laid upon her, has applied herself with great discipline to becoming a top notch ballet dancer. Her talent in that regard is so great that when I visited a rehearsal recently I saw that she was being used as a stand in for Princess Aurora to train the four male suitors in their roles. Yet the Artistic Director informs me that he cannot give any leading role to Jennifer because of her status with this board.”
“You would have us reward a thief with a leading role?” one of the directors called out to me. There was beginning to be nervous coughing and shuffling of feet and whispers.
“I would ask this board to reward a very hard working dancer who has experienced complete remorse and been punished many times over for her crime.”
“But why should we even consider it?” another called out.
“Because not to do it”, a new voice chime in, “would be to hold back this company from being all it can be!” The voice was that of Leonard Morrison, Artistic Director.
At that comment, from so credible a source, the room fell quiet.
“I want to make it clear”, I continued, “that I am not proposing that Jennifer’s punishment come to an end. What I am proposing is that we buy Jennifer back from Masterson Automotive so that she would be full time with us, and recommend to the Court that Jennifer be paroled from her slavery to the status of a sexually indentured servant for the remaining three and one half years of her sentence.”
“But we have no money in our budget to buy Jennifer back”, Mrs. Moore protested. “And who would be her parole officer for the next three and one half years?”
“I am willing to make a special donation to the ‘Special Acquisitions” fund to cover the cost of buying Jennifer back. I am also willing to serve as her parole officer.”
Hank Weinstein slowly rose to his feet. All eyes were on him because he had been Jennifer’s manager when she stole the money.
“I had a visit from Bill this afternoon”, he began slowly, “and I found Bill’s arguments persuasive. I was an embittered man when we sentenced Jennifer. I gave full vent to the vindictive part of my nature. But I see that there is a “time for tearing down, and a time for building up” to paraphrase the famous song. As long as there is a punitive component to her indenture, I will waive any objection I might otherwise have made to this proposal.”
“So what is the punitive component?” someone asked.
“Just this”, I replied. “Jennifer hates Frank Masters and swore she would never have sex with that man. There was a nasty quarrel between the two of them last week. A few of you may have heard something about that. Frank needs a lighting operator, gopher, and frankly a sex toy.”
There was a ripple of laughter at this.
“So what I am proposing is that Jennifer be sexually indentured to Frank for the remainder of her sentence. That should be punishment enough!”
More laughter and guffaws.
“My proposal is that Jennifer’s hours would be reduced from a sixty hour week to a forty-five hour week, with thirty hours devoted to dance and fifteen hours to being Frank’s assistant. As an indentured person Jennifer would have some personal autonomy and dignity and would be able to go home every night and be with her loved ones.”
Jay pounded his gavel and said “without objection then I will ask Bill to submit his detailed proposal in writing at our meeting next month and we will vote on it then. Now moving on to the next order of business …”
With that my part in the meeting was concluded and I nodded to the directors and excused myself.
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In the weeks that followed I had to meet again with Greg Masterson, negotiate a buy back price for Jennifer and put together a detailed written proposal for the board. At the following month’s meeting my proposal was accepted by acclamation. The board instructed its attorney to submit a petition to the Court to modify Jennifer’s sentence. The Court agreed since the petition came from the original plaintiff and victim of Jennifer’s crime.
The last step was for Jennifer and I to attend a ritual manumission ceremony at the courthouse. Jennifer appeared naked as all slaves do. Jennifer’s slave collar was removed and replaced with a wristband identifying her as a sexually indentured servant of the ballet company, and identifying me as her parole officer.
Being sexually indentured meant that she would be required to service one or two individuals designated by her employer on an ongoing basis. There would be no more prostituting her to random strangers. Her bio-implant was de-activated with a promise that it would be totally removed upon completion of her probation. She was permitted to put on clothing that I had brought for her to wear and informed that, with rare exceptions, she would be permitted to wear normal dance clothing such as leotards and tights on the job during rehearsals and performances.
The Court informed her that she would be under control of her employer only during working hours and that she might arrange to have a home and a personal life. She was also admonished that, as her parole officer, I would have the power to violate her parole at any time if I felt, in my sole discretion, that she was not fulfilling the terms of her indenture. In that case she would appear back in court and her status would revert to slave for the remainder of her original sentence. With that the Judge banged his gavel and Court was dismissed.
That evening I explained to Stephanie all that I had been able to do to improve Jennifer’s situation. She was ecstatic at how much of an improvement I had been able to bring about.
* Readers unfamiliar with classical ballet or with the Rose Adagio in particular can find several versions of this classic from “The Sleeping Beauty” on YouTube from companies such as the Paris Opera Ballet or the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden.
** Words-adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes, Music-Pete Seeger.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 33. The Fate of Jenkins
After several weeks I received a call from Slendabond that Jenkins’ obedience training was complete and that he was ready for the next stage of his new life. I arranged with the Rogers Secure Transport Company to have Jenkins picked up and brought to Masterson Automotive. He was docile enough now that I really didn’t need to use armed guards. I could have picked him up myself but felt uncomfortable about being alone with him in my own car. I had specified that he be transported naked and with his hands cuffed behind him. I was there to meet him when the Rogers van pulled into the parking garage in the Masterson Building,
“OK guys, I think I can handle him from this point.” I brightly announced to the two uniformed Rogers guards. “I have a stun gun if he gives me any trouble!”
“Very well Miss. Here are the keys to his handcuffs.”
There was a gleaming steel collar about his neck that was engraved with the words “Property of Stephanie Glenn”. Part of my arrangement with Greg Masterson was that Jenkins would have to wear this collar, and nothing else, the whole time he worked at Masterson. I reached into my purse and extracted a leather leash that I snapped onto his collar.
“I would like to suggest what we call a ‘persuader’ Miss – just as a backup”, one of the Rogers guards said handing me a curious ring with two hinged halves and a second much lighter weight leash.
“What you do is snap this ring closed over the end of his penis – just behind the glans. Then you attach this second leash to the locked penis ring. Believe me ma’am they do come along promptly when they feel their genitals being pulled!”
I liked this idea. I probably didn’t need it to control Jenkins, but it would add to his humiliation as he was brought back to his old domain.
“Do you want me to put the ring on him for you ma’am?” the guard offered helpfully, sensing my hesitation.
“No, I think I can do it”, I replied, trying to project a confident and authoritative manner.
With my left hand I reached down and gingerly grasped Jenkins’ ‘little man’ between my thumb and index finger. I lifted it up to a horizontal position. This felt a bit strange since I once feared this penis that was the symbol of male authority over me when I had been a slave. But I told myself there was no reason to feel apprehensive now about handling something that was my property. It could not harm me now. Tom’s dick felt like a warm sausage between my index finger and thumb – except that I could feel his pulse in it. While holding the penis steady with my left hand I used my right hand to snap the two halves of the ring together around the end of Tom’s cock and just behind the glans as the guard had said. I heard a click as the ring became locked in position.
“There is a key to open the penis ring on the same ring with his handcuff keys”, the guard said. “And you may want to use one of these”, he said, “handing me a moist towelette.”
I thanked the two guards for their help and I led him toward the elevators. He now had absolutely no choice but to follow where I led him.
Soon we were emerging on the floor where the Accounting Department, his former empire, was located. He hung his head in shame as I led him down the main hallway past all the cubicles where his former subordinates worked on their journals and reports. They all stared in amazement at their former boss, at how far he had fallen.
I sensed that he would like to have covered his privates with his hands but this was not possible, as his hands had been cuffed behind his back. Some of his former employees stared openly at his flabby buttocks or at his exposed genitals and remarked to one another within his hearing that he was not hung nearly as well as they once imagined. We passed by the “fishbowl” conference room and cubicles and saw that nobody was working in that area today.
I had taken him by a circuitous route on a full tour of his former domain. Finally we hopped on the elevator again up to the executive suite where Greg Masterson’s office was located.
We had to stand for a while in front of the desk of Masterson’s Executive Secretary, waiting for her to get off the phone. Finally she gave us her full attention. She and Jenkins had been very well acquainted for many years with Jenkins having been, until quite recently, one of her corporate superiors.
Although she was accustomed to seeing naked slaves in her office, I noticed that she did not look at any part of Jenkins’ body lower than his shoulders. Perhaps this was out of respect for what he had once been to her,
“Sorry to see you in such fallen circumstances, Tom”, she said softly and with an expression of wistful sadness on her face. “Perhaps you will find some satisfaction in doing the kind of work you love again here at Masterson, even though it will be under, very, well, different circumstances.”
Jenkins just stood before her with his head bowed. He had been trained not to speak unless someone asked him a direct question.
Soon we were ushered into Greg’s office. Vicki Watson, who had once been the Assistant Manager of Accounting under Jenkins had been seated but rose to meet us. Jenkins had fired her within the first few weeks after I had originally come to work at Masterson as a free employee. She averted her gaze as soon as she realized Jenkins was naked.
“Good to see you again Tom”, Greg began, “even though under circumstances neither of us would have ever imagined!”
Jenkins just stood there with head bowed, as this was a statement and not a question and he had not been given permission to speak
“I decided if you were going to be a slave for twenty years”, Greg continued, “you might as well serve out your slavery right here in the company you helped me to build! We can use your talents here, Tom. You have permission to speak now. Do you think you can find your situation bearable and do good professional work for me again Tom?”
“Is all this necessary? I mean my being here naked with a leash on my collar and another leash on my penis?”
I do have to honor the terms of your enslavement, so that I won’t be able to make you as comfortable as you and I might both prefer.”
“I am sure you remember your former assistant, Miss Watson.”
Jenkins just stared at her.
“Miss Watson is now the head of the department you once headed. You will now be here as a slave-consultant. Miss Watson will be your boss. Do you think Ms. Glenn, that we might, for purposes of this meeting, let him out of his handcuffs and leash?”
“I am OK with that Greg”, I said as I unclipped the collar leash and used my key to remove Jenkins handcuffs. I also detached the penis leash but left the penis ring locked on Tom.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Jenkins”. I said as I extracted a small paddle from my purse and gave him a swat across his buttocks.
I was pleased to see him erecting in response to this stimulus. I had instructed Richmond Slendabond to make that part of his slave conditioning. I wanted to make sure I could make him erect under circumstances, such as now, where it might be particularly humiliating for him.
“Greg, I mean sir, and you too Miss Watson”, Jenkins began. “I apologize for this,” he said looking down at his erect penis and hanging his head. “I don’t know what made me do this. Just embarrassment I guess.”
“Down little Jenkins!” I ordered and Jenkins erection promptly began to subside.
I had, by my command to Jenkins, triggered one of hundreds of post-hypnotic suggestions that had been trained into him during his time at Richmond Slendabond.
“Don’t worry about it Tom!” Masterson replied. “There will doubtless be many times you are seen around this building with a stiff dick in the years to come. We will all learn to just deal with it. And you will have to learn to deal with it as well.”
“Yes sir. I understand sir.” Jenkins responded in a dying voice.
“Actually I think your sexual impulses may help to motivate you to perform your duties for me with more enthusiasm than otherwise. That is why I persuaded Ms. Glenn to let you keep your testicles!”
Jenkins looked at me and just nodded his head in thanks. He had heard this information earlier at the time of his sentencing, but it still had an effect on him.
“I didn’t let you keep your balls just so you could have a good time!” I rejoined. “My purpose in doing so was partly to motivate you to work hard for Greg, but also I wanted to be sure you were capable of sexual responses so we could train you to have a normal response and a proper respect for females.”
“How do you plan to train him?” Miss Watson asked, obviously interested in what would happen to her new subordinate.
“He will be undergoing an involuntary sex-training regime”, I responded, “under the supervision of the company psychologist and a sex surrogate partner. He will learn to experience sexual pleasure only when he interacts with females on a basis of equality, mutual respect, and mutual desire! If the treatment is successful he will have no more desire to rape anyone.”
Miss Watson nodded her head and gave us a smug smile.
“I have just one question for you Jenkins”, I continued. “On my first day of slavery here, when you raped me for the first time, you told me you just had to have me and that you went to Greg Masterson who listened to your desire and started the ball rolling for my enslavement. That was a lie wasn’t it?”
“Yes Ms. Glenn, it was a lie. I actually went to Mel Zigler and persuaded him to start the ball rolling”, Jenkins replied, hanging his head.
“Why would you lie about a thing like that?” I demanded.
“Because I wanted you to think the fix was in from the very top. I wanted you to think that it would be useless to go to Masterson and protest that you had been framed. I wanted you to think he was in on it.”
Masterson gave Jenkins a cold stare.
“So, after all the years you and I have worked together, you were willing to slander me?” Masterson demanded of his former employee.
“Yes sir, and I ask your forgiveness”, Jenkins said in a dying voice.
There was a very long time when you could have heard a pin drop. I wasn’t sure whether Masterson was about to change his mind about Jenkins. At long last he broke the silence.
“In light of the slander you have just confessed to, I would ask Ms. Glenn to expand your treatment program to deal with your lying problem.”
“No problem Greg”, I responded. “I will discuss with Paul how we might best treat him for that.”
“Greg”, I continued, “according to the terms of our lease agreement concerning Tom, he must earn any privileges he is given here. He starts out at level one – zero privileges. This means that at any time he needs to travel from his office to a meeting here in the building, a uniformed female security guard will escort him. She will escort him naked everywhere, handcuffed and on a leash. She will carry a stun gun. He is only to be given the use of his hands at times and places where he actually needs his hands.”
“Yes, I will see that these terms are followed as per our agreement, Stephanie” Greg responded.
“In fact”, I continued, “I have discovered that I really like the penis leash concept. So I am going to require that the female security guard always attach the penis leash when escorting him anywhere!”
“Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Masterson asked.
“I am his owner and it is what I want – for now. I will consider giving him more privileges later on – but only when he has earned them”, I replied.
Greg seemed eager to change the subject to something more pleasant.
“Tom, Ms. Glenn has indicated to me that if she is satisfied with your progress in treatment she may consider setting you free long before the 20 year sentence is up.”
“Does that mean I could be a free employee here again with a salary?” Tom asked.
“That would depend. If I am also satisfied with both your sex treatment and your professional work product that outcome might be possible. That should give you some incentive to work hard in your treatment program as well as in your job.”
“Miss Watson will now take you to the ‘Fishbowl’ conference room where she will brief you on your new duties. Then she will assign you to one of the cubicles in the Fishbowl where you will do most of your work, shackled and on constant display as you once required Ms. Glenn to work! I would like you to stay Ms. Glenn as you and I have some other business.”
“Miss Watson”, I interjected, “here in this folder are all the post-hypnotic suggestions that you may need to control him. You should now handcuff him again and attach both the collar leash and the penis leash before leading him back into the accounting department. Once the female security guard has been assigned for Tom she can take over these duties.”
As soon as she led Jenkins out by his dual leashes Greg Masterson turned to me.
“Stephanie, when we discussed Jenkins many weeks ago you made it a condition of your cooperation that I look into the situations of Rebecca Sanchez, our clean room supervisor, and also that of your dancer friend, Jennifer Maisten.”
“As you now know, Bill and I have resolved Jennifer’s status. She is now an indentured servant, not a slave, works only a standard work week instead of 24/7, and may be in line to receive full freedom in far less time than her original sentence called for. I trust you will grant that I have fulfilled my word in her case?”
“Indeed you have”, I replied.
“Let us move on to Rebecca Sanchez then. Her case was easier because she was only a debtor and not under criminal sentence. She is only an indentured servant and since I hold her indenture, I have some flexibility in her case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps you would like to briefly renew your acquaintance with her. Let’s visit the clean room.”
I nodded and with that he led the way to the elevator and another part of the building I had seen a few times before. It was the circuit board assembly area. Because it was a clean room environment we had to take our shoes off before entering and don clean suits.
As we entered I saw row after row of girls with nimble fingers putting components on circuit boards. Each row consisted of 20 teenage girls and a supervisor just as I had experienced a year ago. The girls were still as naked as ever and still appeared to be quite thin. I noted that the supervisors at the end of each row wore minimal attire such as short shorts and a halter top.
“Our supervisors are all indentured servants”, Masterson explained, “and they all work for us only 8 hours/day and are free to go home to their families at the end of each workday and on weekends. They are required to be obedient during working hours but they are also treated with dignity.”
“I see that these supervisors at least are permitted to dress modestly”, I remarked.
“On the job”, he replied, “they are permitted to wear as much clothing as they wish, though most dress in very brief attire as you see since the temperature and humidity of the room are set high to keep all the naked girls comfortable.”
“Mr. Masterson, why are all those girls still naked? I thought the new reform law named after me would put an end to indentured servants being worked naked? Surely they are not all under sexual indenture are they?”
“No, if you are referring to court ordered indentures. But these girls have voluntarily indentured themselves for terms of 3 to 6 years. They do this as part of an apprenticeship contract where they are promised in return that they will be trained and have a marketable skill at the end of their service.”
“But why was the switch made from free labor to indentured labor?” I asked.
“Stephanie, when you last worked for us you were working on a project to study the feasibility of our converting from free labor to apprentice labor. “
“I was?” I said, astonished that I had no memory of ever working on such a project.
“You don’t remember anything about the project because Jeff Duncan instructed Richmond Slendabond to wipe out all your memory on that subject at the conclusion of the project. He was acting pursuant to a policy that I established years ago.”
“But why?” I asked.
“I regret that we had to do that, Stephanie, but it was a necessary step to make sure that proprietary information that we had paid for would not fall into the hands of our competitors.”
“OK I get that. But I still think that if I had worked on something like that I would have recommended the company stick with free labor!”
“Not necessarily. I read your report Stephanie. But I was more interested in all the facts and data you had assembled than I was interested in your conclusions.”
“Do these girls all know they will be working naked before they sign up for indentured service?” I wanted to know.
“The terms”, he continued, “are all laid out for them before they make the commitment. When we interview a girl for an apprenticeship job in this part of our plant we explain to her that if she accepts she will be working nude.”
“So why do they accept such a condition?” I wanted to know.
“It happens that there are a lot more teenagers who want jobs than there are jobs – so it is an employer’s market. I find nudity to be a great convenience in my clean room, both for dust control reasons and because of the frequent exercise breaks we give the girls.”
“Forgive my bluntness sir, but are those the only reasons for their nudity?”
“I won’t deny I also enjoy the aesthetics of having a roomful of naked teenage girls in my plant. I think my customers also enjoy the sight when we bring them through on tours. The girls are not kept naked for purposes of humiliating them.”
“OK” I said. I knew when I had lost an argument. “But where is my friend Rebecca?”
“Right this way”, he replied.
He led me up a small flight of stairs to a glassed in office area that commanded a birds eye view of the assembly floor. I was ever so much more comfortable once we entered this air-conditioned space. The air was dry here and perhaps 15 or 20 degrees cooler than the assembly floor. There were several women and a couple of men working in this area, entering data into computers and so on. All were fully dressed in appropriate business attire. The women wore long dresses, hosiery and high heels.
We proceeded to a small private office in the corner of this larger room. On the door was a sign that said “Manager”. Masterson knocked. After a brief delay a woman I well knew opened the door and gave us a most warm and gracious smile. It was Rebecca. We hugged. It was the first time I had ever seen her wearing clothes.
“As you can see by the sign on the door”, she explained, “I am now the manager of this whole department.”
“But I see by your wristband that you are still indentured!” I blurted out.
“My indenture was for 5 years. I have worked only one year of that so far. It is important to my self-respect to work off my debt. I don’t mind doing that as long as I am treated with dignity and allowed to have a life after hours with my family.”
“And what of your future? Have you thought about that?” I replied.
“Mr. Masterson has indicated that if I keep up the productivity of this department at the present rate, that he might release me from the indenture in one more year!”
“That’s right, and I might let her continue to manage this department as a free employee if I wish and at a generous salary.”
Just then Rebecca’s phone rang and, after a brief conversation she made her excuses.
“Maybe we can catch up later, Steph. Right now I have an emergency on the floor I have to deal with.”
With that she was off. Masterson and I found our way back to the entry area and took off our clean suits and reclaimed our shoes. As we made our way back to the elevators I expressed my thanks.
“I know you did not have to do this for Rebecca.” After all the law that bears my name would not be retroactive to indentured servants already in service prior to the new law.
“I did it to keep my word to you. And because I thought it would prove to be a good business decision. I am getting more productivity from Rebecca now than I ever did when we treated her like a slave.”
When we came back to his office he asked me to step inside for a moment.
“Stephanie, have you heard the news about Zigler?”
“I have been informed”, I replied, “about some things by the detective agency my attorney retained.”
“How much do you already know?”
“That somehow the guy managed”, I said, “to elude the arrest warrant that was out for him here”, I continued. “Then that arrogant son of a bitch decided to set up a new plant in China to take advantage of the new labor conditions there.”
“That’s right”, Greg replied. “He wanted to operate in an environment where anything goes – where slaves have no rights and there are no slave advocates.”
“Did you hear how he managed to establish a large plant in that country?”
“He had raised quite a bit of capital from some shadowy persons here in Capitallia. He then bribed Chinese officials”, I continued, “to get all the licenses he needed to setup a new plant and staff it with Chinese criminal slaves. He quickly began making money hand over fist.”
“When you learned all that I bet you were fit to be tied!” Masterson replied.
“I was furious. I had my attorney draft an appeal to Capitallia’s State Department to request their assistance in getting him extradited back to face justice for his criminal conviction in my case. The State Department did draft an official letter demanding extradition in compliance with the treaty between our two countries. But we have heard nothing of substance from the Chinese.”
“I may be able to fill you in on the rest of the story” Masterson replied. Just yesterday the Chinese government announced they had arrested him for bribery of their officials. They have nationalized his factory. He will get a trial on the bribery charges. If convicted he will face the death penalty under Chinese law.”
“But what about me? I was already awarded ownership of Mel Zigler. If I am not going to get him back I should be entitled to financial compensation!”
“I agree” was Masterson’s response. “If you got him back perhaps you would give me the opportunity to ask him a question or two about the way he mismanaged my business while I was in South America. Plus I would like to see the son-of-a-bitch suffer the twenty years slavery you sentenced him to! Execution is too easy an out for this guy!”
“Is there anything we could do?” I wanted to know.
“I do know a couple of Senators whose elections I helped to finance. They owe me a favor or two. They can’t throw money or projects in my direction under our strict constitutional form of government. But, sure as hell, they can make a couple of phone calls to help our case. I think those fellows at State will try a little harder if they get calls from Senators.”
“Sounds worth trying” I replied. With that we adjourned our meeting.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few days later I got a call from the company’s psychologist, Paul Gregory. I probably owed my freedom in no small measure to that man’s intervention. He wanted me to know that Jenkins sex training had begun. He invited me over to see a demonstration. At first he filled me in a bit on the treatment protocol while we sipped our coffees.
Shortly a Sherry Wilson, the sex surrogate Masterson had told me about, joined us. I found her very personable as she explained what her role would be.
“My role”, she began, “will be minimal at first, since the initial treatment consists of aversive conditioning. Mr. Gregory and the lab technician will be monitoring all his sexual visualizations and his sexual responses to various stimuli. When he has inappropriate sexual ideas – like the desire to rape innocent women – he will be punished by passing painful electric currents through his genitals. Gradually he will learn that such thoughts and desires are not permissible. Mr. Jenkins will be restrained during this phase.”
“But you are talking”, I said, “as if you will be able to read his mind! You talk as if you will always know if he is having good sexual thoughts or bad sexual thoughts – so you can reward or punish him accordingly. How is that possible?”
“Actually we can read his mind”, Paul interjected, “at least when it comes to his sexual desires and impulses. Here I think a picture would be worth 1000 words. In just a moment we will go into the training lab and see how we do that.”
“OK. I get the aversive conditioning part. But then what is your role in his treatment Sherry?” I asked.
“Later in the program”, she responded, “I will be brought in as a surrogate sex partner for Mr. Jenkins. At first he will continue to be restrained and I will simply provide him with sexual pleasure through manual stimulation of his genitals whenever we detect that he is having appropriate sexual fantasies and desires. It is important to reward as well as punish him to bring about change.”
“Is that the whole program Sherry?”
“Not quite. Later we will remove his restraints and allow him to interact in a more normal way with me. As long as he is respectful and considerate toward me I will reward him sexually – with my fingers, with my mouth, and ultimately with my vagina.”
“It’s time to see how all this works!” Paul announced.
He then spoke briefly on the intercom to a technician in the lab that we were on our way. The three of us went down a corridor to a door marked “Restricted Entry” where Paul used his passkey to admit us all into the lab.
In the lab we saw a mostly naked Tom Jenkins lying face up on a bench, with a wide leather belt holding his waist to the bench and his wrists and ankles restrained to the bench with Velcro straps. There was a small ‘modesty drape’ about the size of a washcloth covering his genitals. Tom was still portly but it seemed to me that the trainers at Richmond Slendabond had managed to get his weight down a bit and develop his muscle tone.
Next to him there was a very attractive female technician.
“How is it going Denise?” Paul queried of the technician.
She wore a white starched uniform, consisting of jacket and miniskirt, white nylons and white high heels. She could not have been more than 19 years old. She was fiddling with some controls on bedside instruments.
“Super Mr. Gregory. This equipment is awesome! When I tell the other girls I hang with about this job they will be like - amazed and I will be like - so excited!”
“Just keep it very general. Don’t go into any details about our procedures or reveal any names of our subjects. Now fill us in a bit about the progress you are making.”
“Tom tried to like - fool me at first. He wouldn’t – you know – react to the visual stuff I fed him through his goggles. But I was able to catch his attempts at faking and like, you know, punish him!”
“That is just great Denise. Denise is a high school senior. I picked her because she is so bright and so interested in the work we do here! Denise, I’d like to introduce you to Stephanie Glenn, Tom’s owner.”
“Serious?” Denise exclaimed excitedly. “I read about you in the news. And you actually own Mr. Jenkins now? Geez – it’s like – awesome to meet you!”
“Denise, I don’t think we need a modesty drape when Tom is being shown to his owner!”
“Oh gee Mr. Gregory! I’m sorry. I was just going by what you said yesterday about covering him when visitors tour the lab.”
With that she whisked away the small drape exposing Tom fully. What was particularly striking was that there was a tight form-fitting sleeve surrounding Jenkins’ penis from which a plastic tube ran up to an instrument panel. The sleeve was of clear plastic and only slightly larger in diameter than his penis, which could be clearly seen through the sleeve and was flaccid.
“I knew when I first interviewed you, Denise, that you would be right for this job. You have the enthusiasm we need, good observational skills, and good judgment when it comes to administering punishments.”
“Gee thanks, Mr. Gregory!”
“The device you see attached to Tom’s penis”, Paul addressed me, “is called a penile plethysmograph. It measures the degree to which the subject’s penis is engorged with his blood. In effect it measures the degree of his sexual arousal. It is sensitive to the slightest change in degree of arousal that is then plotted on a graph our technician is calibrating now. We use this device to understand what sexual fantasies are most arousing to Tom.”
“But how do you really know”, I responded, “what Tom is fantasizing about when his penis erects?”
“That’s simple actually”, Denise, the young technician, replied. “We like - put all kinds of sexual images and thoughts and stuff into his brain with this awesome equipment.
“Denise is referring to our subliminal image projector and also to the subliminal sounds pumped through his earphones”, Paul clarified.
“But can’t he just shut out the images and the sounds?” I queried.
“Actually No”, Paul responded. “He cannot close his eyes to the images since his eyes are taped open. He cannot shutout the subliminal messages and suggestions coming through his earphones. He is never consciously aware of what images he is seeing because they only flash for a tiny fraction of a second. Since he is not consciously aware of the images or the sounds he cannot make a conscious effort to deceive us.”
“Would you like me to show Miss Glenn?” Denise eagerly asked.
“I think that would be most appropriate under the circumstances”, Paul responded.
We watched with interest as Denise pushed some buttons and turned some dials on her control console. Her excitement was evident in her flushed face and the tension in her body. In a matter of a few minutes we watched amazed as Tom’s penis grew from the 4 inches it had been in the flaccid state to a rock hard erection a good 9 inches long. At the same time we saw Tom’s scrotum tighten up drawing his testicles closer to his body.
“I think you should show Miss Glenn”, Sherry interjected, “what kinds of sexual fantasies you were projecting onto Tom’s sub conscious mind that produced these interesting results.”
“Yes, I would like to see that”, I commented.
Denise turned on a video monitor that was not in line of sight for Tom to see. She did not turn on the sound. We all gathered around the monitor and watched an instant replay of what had aroused Tom. The images were of a young attractive woman being violently attacked, stripped and raped in an alley by two teenage boys.
“When Denise shows Tom images of this sort”, Sherry continued, “and she observes his penis stiffen and his scrotum tighten during the projection, she can then conclude that he is sexually aroused by the idea of a woman being illegally raped and presumably identifies with the rapist.”
“Yeah” Denise added. “When that happens I record what I, you know, see in a notebook for Paul and Sherry to check later. Mr. Gregory, do you think I could – you know – show them his, um, complete response?” she said with a hopeful expression.
“Not right now Denise, because I don’t want you to ever let him orgasm when he has been watching rape video. I have said you can give him relief with your hands once a week, if you feel like it, when he is not watching video. Besides I want you to show Miss Glenn the other demo”, Paul directed.
I thought I saw a slight pout on Denise’s face. But she then pushed some different buttons on the control console. Within a few minutes we saw Tom’s penis wilt away until it was only 4 inches long and flaccid as before. His ball sack also drooped back to original position.
She then showed us an instant replay of what had been projected onto Tom’s subconscious mind to produce this result. The images were of an attractive married couple having consensual sex in an atmosphere of love and respect.
“Obviously, sex in an atmosphere of love and respect is not stimulating for Tom”, Sherry commented.
“If Denise had seen Tom become erect or remain erect for these last images”, Paul rejoined, “she could then have concluded that he is sexually aroused in an entirely appropriate way and probably identifies with the loving husband. In that case she would have recorded these detailed observations as well along with her conclusion that ‘subject shows normal sexual ideation’. “
“How reliable is this technique?” I asked.
“Very reliable when used on slaves!” Paul responded. Free men are often able to fake their responses, but a slave who has a bio-implant device and has been trained to obedience by post hypnotic commands cannot fake his responses. The machine detects all attempts at faking and ultimately sees all secrets of the slave.”
“There is one more thing to see”, Sherry commented. “Paul, why don’t you have Denise stimulate Tom while he is watching the married couple having consensual sex?”
“Oh, can I Mr. Gregory?” Denise piped in.
We saw her lubricate Tom’s penis and testicles with mineral oil, then restart the last video. Soon she was actively masturbating him with one hand sliding up and down his penis and the other hand playing with his balls. He was showing some arousal. She kept it up until he was quite hard and still she kept going until he ejaculated. His semen was all over his belly and matted in his pubic hairs.
“This is another way we train Tom! We force him to associate pleasure, as provided by Denise’s hand job, with normal sexual images being projected onto his subconscious!”
When the odor of Tom’s semen began to fill the room, Paul asked me to follow him back to his office.
As we walked along the hallway Paul made a comment.
“Stephanie, as you can see I hired a bright but immature high school girl just as you requested - to be the one controlling Tom.”
“Yes Paul. For now I want him humiliated in every way possible, and putting that young girl in charge of him may be just the ticket!”
“Stephanie, I have someone waiting in my office who would like to meet you!” He said this with a mischievous smile, so I thought it best to just let him surprise me.
When we entered Paul’s office there was a slender young man in a very dapper business suit there who rose to greet me in a most respectful way. I was puzzled. He looked sort of familiar but I couldn’t quite place where I had met him before. Paul introduced him as Jason Miller, which did not help me in the least to remember who he was. The young man saw my confusion.
“You probably don’t recognize me with my clothes on!” he said. “The last time you saw me I was the naked waiter in the ‘Garden Club’ who served lunch to you and two of your co-workers. I was a slave with a steel collar around my neck. My genitals were on display for your amusement. Your friends fondled me intimately but you declined to follow their example.”
“Yes. That is the way it happened. I declined, not because I wouldn’t have enjoyed doing that to such a hunk as you! I declined because it would have been coercive to do so to a slave and I wanted to respect your dignity.”
“No other patron of that ‘Garden Club’ ever showed such respect for me as a person. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart!”
“I don’t know quite what to say”, I replied. “I did what I thought was right at the time. That is all.”
“At that time”, Jason continued, “I was pretty down on myself. I felt I was a nobody who could be toyed with by each and every customer. But because of your gracious action”, he continued, “I got a momentary glimpse of the wonderful world of decent people out there that I might be part of if I kept my spirits up and worked hard to better my situation.“
“I think you should know”, Paul jumped in, “that I am familiar with Jason’s situation because he often came to me for counseling back when he was a slave here at Masterson Automotive.”
“I was a student”, Jason continued his story, and “studying restaurant management when I lost the part time job that was paying my school expenses and was indentured for debt by the bank that had loaned me my tuition money. That is when you found me working as a naked waiter.”
“His indenture”, Paul interjected, “was only for two years, and when he completed it and was set free, he found a job as a free waiter in a restaurant, then got promoted to assistant manager and worked 60-70 hours a week while living frugally, just so he could save enough money to become a citizen. He passed his citizenship tests, made his national defense commitment, and paid his first year’s citizenship tax. The restaurant then promoted him to manager.”
“Now I am still working long hours with a goal of eventually starting my own restaurant!”
I extended my arms and hugged him warmly, tears running down my face. He reciprocated and after a few moments he excused himself and left us.
“Now that we are alone, please have a seat Stephanie”, Paul stated. “I want to discuss with you a possible career you might consider.”
“Go on”, I replied.
“I feel that I know you pretty well”, he continued. “I have seen a kindness in your disposition – for example in the light sentences you handed out to those two boys who molested you, and the way you even provided for their rehabilitation. That whole incident with Jason in the ‘Garden Club’ also makes my point. You were the object of some derision by your coworkers for that! I see both a certain kindness and certain toughness in your decision to allow Tom Jenkins to return to work here and enter sex therapy.”
“How so?” I replied.
“Although you have designed a humiliating regime for him you actually seem more concerned that he get an opportunity to straighten out his life than you are concerned with seeking revenge as an end in itself.”
“What are you getting at Mr. Gregory?” I responded.
“It is just that there is a profession that I think might fit your temperament even more than being an accountant. I am talking about a career in slave advocacy.”
“That’s one profession I have thought about but never thought I could qualify for”, I said.
“After Cheryl Clifford’s conviction for neglect of duty as an advocate, the Court concluded that her agency failed to properly supervise her and monitor her work. The Court has assigned a new agency to work with our company to monitor the working conditions of slaves and indentured persons.”
“How does this affect me?” I wanted to know.
“I had a conversation”, Paul responded, “with the head of this agency a few days ago and saw an opportunity to discuss with him the possibility that they might be able to use someone like you.”
“But my training is in accounting, not social work!” I protested.
“They need many kinds of people over there. Generally they like to hire persons who have actually experienced slavery or indentured servitude at some point in their lives. Above all they need people whose heart is in the work.”
“But having the heart for the work is surely not enough is it?” I questioned.
“Don’t sell yourself short Stephanie”, he responded, “They need people with your temperament, your sense of justice and the empathy derived from having been where the agency’s clients are now.”
“How is the pay for this kind of work?” I wanted to know.
“Not great. But if you do well as an advocate you may be considered for promotion to a management position. Then your accounting training could be a real plus on top of your field experience. Are you willing to consider it?”
“Well, this is a rather unexpected development. I suppose I could think about it. I actually have an offer for an accounting job but I still have several days before I have to give them an answer.”
“Then take this information”, he said handing me a slip of paper. “Bud Williamson is the man I would want you to see. He is the founder of Williamson Advocates. If you call him and mention our conversation, I am sure he will see you.”
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 34. Taking Back My Power
The author wishes to thank Corsair for his contributions to Rachel’s story.
Soon after the conversation in which the Masterson psychologist, Paul Gregory had suggested to me a career in advocacy, I interviewed with Bud Williamson at the Williamson agency.
“Miss Glenn, I have heard much about your innate abilities and your empathy for those who are indentured or enslaved. And you did very well on the battery of tests we gave you this morning. I just need to satisfy myself on a few points, OK?”
“Go ahead sir.”
“Stephanie, if I may call you that, do you believe that the reform law, named after you, now making its way through Congress will significantly ease the situation of persons enslaved for crime?”
“Not at all sir”, I replied. “That was not the intent of the new legislation. It is only to insure that people who are indentured for debt are not treated like penal slaves.”
“Then you have no objection to penal slavery as such, I take it?”
“Not at all sir. Crime must be punished. I only want to make the system more humane and function more justly”, I replied.
“Good answer. I want you to know that I never hire abolitionists. I want all my people committed to making the system work, not to sabotaging the system.”
“Do you have a problem”, he continued, “with corporal punishment?
“That would depend sir. I don’t think slaves should be punished in anger, but I am not opposed to whippings or other corporal punishments if they are proportioned according to the severity of the original crime and administered publicly by licensed professionals.”
“Why publicly?”
“Because one person’s suffering should be an example to deter others from committing similar crimes. Also the administering of physical punishments in an open public setting acts as a check and balance on excessive punishment.”
“Stephanie, I must also ask you if you have qualms about all the non-consensual sex that so often takes place between masters and slaves?”
“No sir – as long as it only involves people who were justly enslaved”, I was quick to answer. “Non consensual sex is, after all, a very effective way to punish criminals without resorting to corporal punishment or brutality, or locking them up in cages, and is also effective in deterring others from committing crimes.”
“Another good answer. I can’t have my advocates being squeamish about non-consensual sex. In a slave culture it is quite normal for many men and women in positions of power or wealth to desire to have sexual experiences with certain people who would never have consented if they were free to choose. We do not bemoan the fact that some must lose their freedom of choice in sexual matters because of past misdeeds. Rather we celebrate and cherish the fact that so many diverse sexual opportunities are thereby opened up for the more successful members of our society. Fortunately a system of penal slavery provides an abundance of such experiences without violating anyone’s rights.”
“I am going to offer you an internship as a junior slave advocate”, he finally stated. The pay is much less than what you probably could make as an accountant. But if you love the work, as most of my advocates do, you may find a rewarding career with us.”
“I accept, Mr. Williamson!” I stated without hesitation.
The pay was only about half what I had been offered at the accounting firm that interviewed me on Greg Masterson’s recommendation. But this work held my interest so much more than any accounting position could. I learned that I could ‘make a difference’ in the world of slavery and that made it easier to come to terms with Bill’s passion for slavery.
“You understand, of course, that you will not be able to do advocacy at Masterson Automotive. In view of your complicated past there, giving you assignments there would be a conflict of interest.”
“I fully understand, Mr. Williamson.”
The interview was complete. I was assigned to work as a trainee under an experienced advocate. At first the greater part of my working hours was spent attending training sessions and witnessing the debriefing of experienced advocates by staff supervisors. Then I went on a few field inspections at various firms and a few domestic estates.
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My first real advocacy experience began one Monday morning. I was summoned to Mr. Williamson’s office along with Jeremy, one of the more experienced advocates.
“Stephanie” Mr. Williamson began, “I’m going to give you your first crack at a real advocacy assignment. I got an unusual phone call from Dr. William Deevers, the principal at Wickmore High School. He had called us because we are the agency of record permanently assigned by the local courts to protect any students at that school who run afoul of the law. He was concerned, he stated, because one of his students, a 16-year-old girl named Rachel Green, needed to make a decision soon on how she was going to respond to charges filed against her.”
“But we don’t normally get involved with a client until he or she has been enslaved or indentured do we?” I asked.
“Normally that is true. But this case is unusual in that Rachel is an ‘emancipated youth’, which means she is an adult in the eyes of the law. It is also an unusual case in that Rachel is a registered public prostitute under the working name of “Rita”, or “skinny Rita” as she is known on the street.
“I still don’t see why we would get involved as the public Advocate at this early stage when she is still free and has been convicted of nothing yet”, I persisted.
“Your point is well taken. The real reason I want to intervene at this stage is because the girl is being offered a choice between school discipline and public prosecution. She has a potentially life changing decision to make yet there are neither parents nor a lawyer to advise her until after she makes that choice. Jeremy has done some background research on this case, though he has not met the client. That will be where you start. Why don’t you take a few minutes to brief Stephanie on your work so far?”
“I had a phone conversation with the principal”, Jeremy began. It seems our girl had sex for money with one of her fellow high school students, a boy her own age named Bart.”
“How is that a problem?” I responded. “After all prostitution is perfectly legal throughout Capitallia.”
“It is a problem because it is against the regulations of this private school for any enrolled student to prostitute herself or himself with another student of the school. It is considered not conducive to good order and discipline or to maintaining the desired learning environment. There is also a state law declaring schools to be prostitution free zones.”
“So I take it the girl may face suspension or loss of privileges?” I asked.
“It is worse than that. Normally such a matter would be referred to the School Magistrate’s Court (SMC) where a tribunal would decide what punishment to impose. Because of Rachel’s adult status the principal is offering her the opportunity to opt out of school punishment and have the matter referred to the public prosecutor instead. That is the choice the girl is faced with and the reason Bud even considered our getting involved at such an early stage.”
“I would think this choice would be a no-brainer. Surely school punishment would be a lot easier on the girl than running her through the criminal justice system, wouldn’t it?” I queried.
“Not necessarily. The principal advised me that SMC has often meted out punishments that might be considered severe”, Jeremy replied.
“What might they do to Rachel?”
“They could expel her from the school”, Jeremy continued, “and ban her from re-enrolling for a period of four years! Not only that but upon re-enrolling she would have to start over again as a freshman with no credit for any high school courses previously completed. Her chances of being accepted at any other high school within that four year disciplinary period would not be good. Even with expulsion they could add other punishments designed to make an example of her.”
“For instance?” I said.
“They could strip her naked and paddle her bare ass before an all school assembly!”
“They can do that?” I asked.
“Yes, its all in the contract that all adult students and the parents of all minor students sign in order to be admitted to the school”, Jeremy answered. “Not only that but there is a state law that says the physical punishments ordered by a school judicial system, within the scope of the contract, can be enforced even on a student who has been expelled!”
“What if they don’t expel her”, I asked. “Are there … other … punishments?”
“Indeed there are”, he replied. “They can make her attend all her classes naked for ninety days. That type of naked punishment also means that she would have to honor ‘any reasonable request’ by a student wishing to closely examine or touch her naked body!”
“Stephanie”, Mr. Williamson interjected, “The immediate issue where we can help this girl is in choosing between school discipline v. public prosecution. Either choice has its risks. I want this case to be your baby. You will go to the school and interview Dr. Deevers and the girl. You may take Jeremy with you to advise as this is your first real assignment.
After the meeting I called for an appointment and the next morning Jeremy and I were driving into the school parking lot. We found the office bearing the sign “Dr. William Deevers, Principal”. There his secretary greeted us.
“Dr. Deevers is expecting you”, she said. Go right in!”
We were ushered into a very large office where there was only a simple but elegant desk facing the wall at one end and a large oblong glass conference table surrounded by eight comfortable chairs taking up most of the rest of the space. I surmised that the room had been designed so that the Principal might hold board and committee meetings here. The wall behind the desk was filled with framed diplomas, certifications and commendations. There was tasteful art on the other walls. A tall middle-aged man with graying hair had been seated at the desk and rose and turned to greet us with hand outstretched.
“Dr. Deevers”, my associate began, “I am Jeremy Withers with whom you spoke on the phone and I would like to introduce you to my colleague Stephanie Glenn who will be taking the lead in this assignment.”
After an enthusiastic shaking of hands all around Deevers indicated we should sit in two of the guest chairs around the conference table and when we were seated took one of the other chairs opposite us. I noticed that the top of the glass conference table was only about a foot above the carpeted floor. This made for great visibility of the other participants but an awkward reach for anyone wanting to take extensive notes. Dr. Deevers must have noticed my perplexity.
“The conference table is on a hydraulic pedestal and can be easily raised or lowered by this remote control. I bring it up to standard desk height when I am holding the kind of meeting where people are going to be taking extensive notes. At other times I find it more pleasant to have the table low so it does not obstruct us from fully seeing one another.”
“That makes perfect sense”, I said agreeably.
“As I explained to Jeremy on the phone”, Deevers continued, “I had contacted your agency and asked for an early intervention”, Deevers began, “because I have a bright young straight-A student whose entire future is very much at risk because of recent events here. It is my hope that you will guide her in the serious choices she has to make right now. She will be joining us in a little while, but I thought we should have some discussion first to make sure we are all on the same page.”
“I have briefed Stephanie on the basics that you presented to me over the phone”, Jeremy stated. “What are the latest developments?”
“I had a meeting yesterday with Rachel”, Deevers responded, “in which I explained to her the evidence we have that she violated school regulations and state law. I outlined the basics of our School Magistrate Court (SMC) to her and what punishments they had handed down in a couple of similar situations that happened some years back.”
“How did she take that?” I asked.
“She was shocked when I told her about the possibility of corporal punishment. Her concern was the intense embarrassment she would suffer with a naked punishment in front of the whole school. My concern, on the other hand, was more with the possible worst case scenario that the SMC might order her expelled. That could ruin her life more than any naked corporal punishment.
“Finally I told her that, because she was an emancipated youth, I could offer her a choice between school punishment and a public prosecution. There were risks in this approach, I pointed out, in that sometimes a court would hand down a more severe sentence than any school punishment but in all likelihood the punishment would not interfere with her school studies here. I explained that she might get assigned to part time community servitude or there might be a physical punishment but that the court would probably allow for this to be done in a more private setting then would likely be ordered here at the school.
“I would like to see her have legal counsel before making this choice but Rachel cannot afford a private lawyer and no court will assign a public defender until after she has been charged with something. That is part of the reason I wanted you folks to talk to her at this stage.”
“We are glad that we can help out in a situation like this”, Jeremy responded.
“Frankly”, Deevers continued, “I feel it might be safer, all things considered, for her to try her luck with the prosecutor. Our SMC has been quite severe in its sentences the last few years. Please don’t quote me on that!”
“I think we are at the point”, I said, “where we need to hear Rachel’s story before we can make any informed suggestion on that point.”
He spoke in the intercom to his secretary to ‘send Rachel and her friend in now’.
A slip of a black girl entered the office wearing a sleeveless tank top with a modest neckline but short enough to bare her midriff. Her outfit was completed by blue jeans that fit her like a second skin. She had a white boy about her own age in tow. The girl was quite thin but had a healthy glow about her and a certain gentle athleticism. Probably the healthy biceps I could see in her bare arms, the firm and flat abdominal area and the way she carried herself fostered this impression. She had that gangly quality that is often seen in girls who have not yet rounded out into full womanhood. Her posture and bearing reminded me of very young dancers I had known. The boy was thin too but looked more nerdy than athletic.
Despite her elegant posture it was clear this was one scared and embarrassed girl. She looked very troubled and at first she would not make eye contact with us. She remained standing at first, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The boy also seemed nervous.
“Dr. Deevers”, Rachel began, “I brought my classmate and friend Don Nelson with me because he has been someone I have confided in and I would like his support in making this decision.”
“That’s fine Rachel”, Deevers began, “Why don’t you and your friend each take a seat around the conference table. I would like you to meet some people who may be able to offer you wise counsel in the choice you need to make today. They are Miss Stephanie Glenn and Mr. Jeremy Withers of the Williamson Agency. The Williamson Agency is a non profit organization that is well known for its efforts to advocate for people who can’t always speak for themselves.”
“You mean they are like lawyers?” Rachel replied, risking a tentative glance in our direction.
“No”, he responded. A lawyer is to help you with issues of law. If you are charged with a crime the Court will appoint a lawyer known as a Public Defender. It is his job to present evidence and legal arguments in court to convince a judge that you should not be convicted. A public Advocate has a different role. They normally begin their job after someone has been convicted and sentenced to a punishment. I persuaded them to come in a little early because I thought they could help you understand the choice you will be making today.”
“I understand sir”, Rachel replied.
“Dr. Deevers told me a lot about you Rachel”, I began. “He explained that you are a straight-A student and have never been in any trouble with the school or the law. He explained also that, since you are estranged from your parents, the only way you can afford the tuition here is to prostitute yourself off campus. He does not judge you for that nor do we.”
“Thank you Miss Glenn. I am glad somebody understands.” Rachel replied.
I could clearly see from her body language across the very low conference table that she had begun to relax somewhat after this last exchange. There was even the beginning of a smile from her.
I would like to hear directly from you an account of what happened to bring you to this point. Can you fill me in please?”
“I have always tried”, Rachel began, “to keep my prostitution off campus and completely separated from my life here at the school. It was very important for me to have a normal social life here so naturally I did not want students here knowing about my other life.”
“That is certainly understandable”, I replied.
“Things were going pretty well for me until a student here the kids call Bart the brat cornered me one day in the school cafeteria.”
“Does this Bart have a last name?” I asked.
“Yeah, his name is Bart Jackson. Well anyway he confronted me with the fact he knew all about my other life and he wanted to fuck me for money. He waved a $10 bill in my face. I told him to put his money away, that I did not turn tricks on school grounds or with fellow students at the school. He wouldn’t take no. He said if I didn’t do a trick with him he would let the whole school know I was a whore. I was scared he would really do this so I eventually agreed to trick with him.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“He was waiting for me after school that day and insisted I follow him down a deserted hallway to the art department. It was closed for the weekend but somehow he had a key and let us in. In one of the rooms used for posing live subjects for students to draw there is a bed. He makes a point of whipping out his wallet and pulls out a $10 bill again. I tell him my usual fee is $40 but he says ‘Take this bitch. It’s all your whoring ass is worth’. Then he makes me take off all my clothes and he undresses as well. He lays me down on that bed and fucks me.”
“So how did it come to the attention of the school that this had happened?” I wanted to know.
Rachel’s nerdy friend Don spoke up at this point.
“Let me tell this part Rach” he said. “It turns out that this real immature freshman had overheard part of the conversation in the cafeteria where Rach had finally agreed to trick with Bart. He had also followed them after school long enough to see them go into the locked art department. He turned them in. I think he just thought it would be fun to watch both of them getting their asses paddled in front of the school. Unfortunately he had not heard the first part of the conversation where Bart blackmailed Rach.”
“I should jump in at this point”, Deevers said. “When the kid reported what he thought happened I needed some way to verify his story. It turned out we have audio-video surveillance of those modeling rooms in the art department.”
“Yeah. Would you believe everything that happened between Bart the brat and me was recorded on tape – including his paying $10 for it? I was like shocked when Dr. Deevers told me it was all on tape. He explained that there would have to be consequences for me as I had broken a school regulation and a state law. So I asked him ‘what about Bart? Shouldn’t there be consequences for him too? He said no.”
“Let me explain that”, Deevers interjected. “School regulations don’t prohibit any student from trying to buy sex on campus. They only prohibit a student from actually taking money in exchange for a sex act. Responsibility is placed entirely on the prostitute, never on her customer. The state law naming schools as prostitution free zones also places all of the responsibility on the prostitute. Maybe it would be more fair if responsibility were on both parties but that is not how it is at present.”
We saw Deevers scribbling something in his calendar book for tomorrow. He then turned and looked pointedly at Rachel’s friend Don.
“I’m just making myself a note to take possession of that tape from the security tape room tomorrow and get it into my safe. After all it’s evidence … and if that tape were to turn up missing the school would be in a world of trouble because we wouldn’t be able to prove anything ever happened!”
I thought he might be dropping a hint to Don on how he could help his friend but I couldn’t be sure. Men didn’t get to his level without being clever enough to cover their tracks and preserve deniability.
“Rachel, it doesn’t sound to me like you are in all that much trouble” I said. “After all you were blackmailed into doing this. Surely that would be a good defense wouldn’t it Dr. Deevers?”
“The problem”, Deevers responded, “is that we have the sex and the exchange of money on tape, plus the statement of that freshman about conversation he overheard in the cafeteria. Since the freshman didn’t hear the beginning of that conversation we have no corroboration that any blackmail threat was ever made, and Brad denies that part. So the evidence is that school regulations and state law were broken and Rachel can’t really prove any extenuating circumstances that would let anyone cut her a break.”
“Don’t you believe her?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe”, Deevers responded, “since I will not be the one rendering judgment. Rachel, have you thought about the choice I laid out for you yesterday?” Deevers said.
“I decided that a naked paddling in front of the school would be more humiliation than I could bear. Plus you said there is the possibility I could be expelled from school. I couldn’t bear losing all those credits and having to start over four years from now. So I have decided it would be best if you turned my case over to the public prosecutor. I will take my chances with him.”
“I am inclined to agree”, I responded, “that this may be the best option for you Rachel. The prosecutor and the judge will take into account your youth and the fact that you come before the Court with a clean record. I can’t imagine the punishment would be too severe.”
“But keep in mind Rachel”, Deevers interjected, “that if you are convicted of something you will be helpless to protect yourself until your sentence is completed. During your time of helplessness you will need an Advocate - someone like these folks here to protect you!”
“Protect me from what?” Rachel asked.
“From the person or organization that will then have complete control of you. That could be whoever submitted the winning bid for the right to have your services, if you receive a ‘Community Servitude Indenture’. If that happens all your freedom and rights will be taken away for the time of your indenture.”
“Can they do that to me?” Rachel responded incredulously.
I saw her slender frame trembling with the thought of this. She kept nervously flexing her long fingers and the low conference table made me very conscious of her constantly crossing and uncrossing her long legs. Apparently she had not given too much thought before now as to just how helpless she would be when enduring a court ordered punishment.
“The Court can do that Rachel, but it is not likely. It is much more likely that you may receive only a “Punishment Indenture”. That means only the Public Whip Master will have complete control of you and only for a few days so that he may carry out your whipping and aftercare.”
The girl’s face fell.
“How …will these people be able to protect me if I am to be publicly whipped?”
“It sometimes happens Rachel”, I responded, “that a Public Whip Master gets carried away and begins to impose a punishment that is more severe than what the law allows.
In such a case your Advocate has legal authority to stop the punishment on the spot and ask the Court to provide a more permanent protection for you.”
“Why would the Whip Master get ‘carried away’ as you put it?” the girl wanted to know.
“Because he is running a business and he makes money if he makes the punishment an entertaining show for his audience!”
“You mean people I don’t even know will come and pay money just to be ‘entertained’ by my suffering.”
“They would say that is the pleasure of seeing justice done”, Jeremy responded. “But the answer to your question is yes!”
But I don’t want to be punished in public”, Rachel started to scream, “so that just anybody – including kids from school here – could come and watch me scream!”
The girl was starting to get hysterical now. She was no longer in her chair and was waving her arms around wildly.
“Calm down Rachel”, I said. “It may not come to that. I am sure the judge will give some weight to your youth and to the fact you have no prior convictions or prior school offenses. He may order a ‘Private Punishment’ where only a small select audience will witness the punishment. The law does require witnesses however. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“What choice do I have?” Rachel replied. “You are telling me I will likely have a painful and humiliating punishment before witnesses whichever choice I make. At least with the public whipping my ordeal will not be witnessed by my schoolmates and I won’t face the possibility of being expelled from school and having to start all over four years from now. I will stick with my decision. Dr. Deevers please go ahead and refer this matter to the public prosecutor.”
With that the meeting was over. We all shook hands and went our separate ways. On the way back to the office Jeremy congratulated me on how I had handled the assignment so far.
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While I was getting started at Williamson Agency Bill was transforming his business. The abolition of the Federal Labor Board had changed everything in his line of work. Many employers who had for many years used more slave labor than free labor were finding they needed to divest themselves of many of their slaves in order to make more jobs for free workers. This caused there to be more slaves than people who wanted to buy them at the old prices. So the price of slaves came down until they reached a level where many companies who previously had not considered slave labor found they could afford to snap up these bargains.
More and more Bill’s work involved finding new owners for slaves castoff by employers who had traditionally made heavy use of slave labor. It started with the Masterson contract, but soon Bill found he was providing similar services for many other companies.
Soon after I started on my new job the bill moving through Congress known as “Stephanie’s Law” passed and was signed into law by the President. This new law on indentured servants, named after me, had made it much harder to sexually indenture someone for debt. Generally a court would only order an indenture to be sexual if the debtor had a work history of working only in the sex industry before they became insolvent, or if they had no work history or marketable skills. But the demand for sexual indentures was brisk in Capitallia, so Bill was always trying to figure out honest ways to persuade debtors to volunteer for a sexual indenture in return for a shorter sentence.
While working hard to get ahead at Williamson Agency I also had to move forward on the commitment I had made toward becoming a full-fledged citizen of Capitallia. Citizenship was not held cheaply in this country and every person who chose to become a citizen undertook an obligation to come to the aid of the republic in one way or another in time of crisis.
During my junior year in college, while pursuing a degree in accounting, I had made an appointment with a Mr. Burdick, a counselor with the local office of the Capitallian Office of Citizen Preparedness. I wanted to understand how I might fulfill the obligation of a citizen.
“Ms. Glenn”, he began, “you do understand that, while Capitallia has a voluntary professional military and there is no draft in the common meaning of that term, persons, such as yourself, who seek to become Citizens of Capitallia and of the state where they reside, must take on a certain obligation.”
“Yes sir”, I replied. “That is why I wanted to meet with you – to understand better what my obligation will be if I decide to pursue citizenship.”
“You are 21 Ms. Glenn. You cannot become a full-fledged citizen with the right to vote until you are 25. But at your present age you have become eligible for proto-citizenship. This will give you most of the privileges of citizenship, other than voting, for the next four years. But to become a proto-citizen you must take and pass the same set of examinations that citizens take annually. You must be versed in Capitallian history, world history, basic economic theory, political theory and have a basic understanding of the Capitallian Constitution.”
“But what about the national defense obligation?”
“I was coming to that”, he continued. “The Capitallian Constitution provides certain obligations for those who would become citizens. Persons, such as yourself, choosing to become citizens, take an oath, as follows:
“In case of insurrection or of grave and immediate homeland peril “I will assume a
civil defense role for which I will have trained and prepared during peacetime.”
“Does this mean I must prepare for possible military service?”
“Not necessarily. “
“For some”, he continued, “this could indeed mean emergency military service. Such service might be required to defend against an invasion of the homeland or to put down an insurrection. But fighting foreign wars would not be a basis for a general call up of the citizenry. Well paid professional soldiers fight foreign wars – when they must be fought. The numbers of soldiers needed for far flung military operations is far less than it once was due to the high tech nature of modern warfare.”
“For other citizens”, he further elaborated, “there would be other emergency roles of a civil defense nature to fill - jobs for mechanics, programmers, medical technicians, communications people, police reserves, multi-taskers and for people with negotiating skills. There are even roles in which pacifists may be able to contribute without violating their philosophical or religious beliefs and thereby earn their citizenship. The kind of ‘grave and immediate homeland peril’ that would call for a general citizen mobilization would generally be something like a nuclear, chemical or biological attack. Other kinds of catastrophes such as fires, floods, hurricanes and oil spills would be the business of either government civil servants or specialized contractors hired for that type of emergency.”
The role I chose was to train for and, if a direct threat to the homeland required my call up, report for duty in the New York State Police Reserves (NYPR). There was an anticipated need for a rapid increase in normal police levels in the event of a nuclear, chemical or biological attack and to provide security for all the temporary medical facilities and temporary infrastructure facilities that would be needed. The choice seemed practical as I was in very good physical condition from my tennis playing and from being a runner, and the training I would receive might well help me in personal self defense situations. And so it turned out. I had completed the first part of my training prior to being indentured. Now it was time to proceed with the next phase. There was a special school for persons training for police reserve work in my state. As a proto-citizen I was expected to pay my own tuition to this school. I was helped in this by not having to pay the annual citizenship tax while attending such training. Also there were educational loans available if needed.
Training required school two nights a week plus every other weekend for three years. Plus there were two weeks of full time training once a year for the three years. The training was rigorous and involved not only classroom instruction but practical role playing exercises and ‘war game’ scenarios carried out under mock conditions of civil unrest and a mock pandemic.
Another facet of my life that year was the matter of my own post traumatic stress therapy. Bill had agreed to partner with me in the therapy at the Henderson Trauma Management Center. I am a very private person, so when I heard Bill describe actually witnessing, through a one-way glass, another couple having therapeutic sex, my first concern was to seek assurance from Dr. Henderson that my sessions with Bill would be private. I was told there would be no videotaping, no spectators and no one-way mirror, but that Dr. Henderson himself would be supervising our interactions and would be in the room with us taking notes and encouraging us during our sexual encounters. I wasn’t totally comfortable with this but I accepted it as I knew that only in this way could I make progress toward full intimacy with a man.
The week after I witnessed Tom Jenkins’ first sex therapy it was time for the first session of my own kind of therapy. Dr. Henderson began by just having the two of us talk with our clothes on. After a few minutes he was ready for us to take the next step.
“Stephanie, I would like you to undress completely now while Bill watches you.”
As I removed my blouse, bra and skirt I worried that Bill might not find my breasts to his liking, or that he would think me too muscular in the thighs and buttocks. As I slipped my panties down and stepped out of them I wondered if Bill would think my vulva attractive. I found myself sitting rather self-consciously with my legs held close together in a rather pointless gesture of modesty. All this was silly of course since Bill had already seen all my charms during the creditor exam a year and a half ago.
“Now you Bill”, the good doctor announced.
I watched as Bill removed his shoes, socks, shirt, and slacks. Bill had quite an athletic body with well-developed shoulder and pectoral muscles and washboard abs. Finally he lowered his briefs. I had never been much interested in men’s genitals before, except as a trigger to my own fears of male aggression. Until now. Bill’s penis looked beautiful to me – not because it was especially long or especially thick but because it was part of a man I had learned to love and respect. That made it beautiful. That made me long to admire it close-up and to touch it and to kiss it. Bill’s scrotum and testicles looked beautiful to me – again because they were a part of Bill. I longed to cup them in the palm of my hand. Even as I was conscious of these desires I also felt a kind of growing anxiety in myself – no doubt triggered by feelings of my own vulnerability to male sexual aggression.
“Stephanie, I want you to just relax and get comfortable with Bill’s nudity and with your own nudity in Bill’s presence. Make small talk for a while.”
After a while the good doctor had another challenge for me.
“Stephanie, I am going to ask now that you open your legs and assume a posture that better displays your intimacies to Bill. You need to get comfortable with feelings of vulnerability.”
I did so with some hesitation, while remaining seated, separating my legs until my knees were about 18 inches apart. Bill was directly across from me. I had what is sometimes called ‘a neat slit’, in that my outer labia were fairly prominent and fairly well concealed my inner labia as long as I did not open my legs too much. I was hoping 18 inches of separation would be enough so that I might retain some little modesty. But it was not to be.
“Stephanie, it is important that you have the experience of displaying yourself completely to Bill. I want you to place your hands on the arms of that chair for support and lift your pelvis up at least a foot above the chair and spread your legs as widely as they will go.”
I knew that my outer labia would open up like the petals of a flower in this position, showing Bill and the good doctor all the details of my intimate anatomy. I hoped Bill would like my clitoral hood that ran nearly half the length of my vulva. I was becoming aroused in this display position and could sense my clitoris becoming quite prominent and my vulva moistening. I was sure that Bill and the doctor could see this too. Bill smiled in a way that told me he very much enjoyed the display I was providing.
The doctor eventually picked up a syringe loaded with Traumatholin and injected me. More small talk.
“Bill”, the doctor continued, “I want you to move closer to her now and let your naked hip touch her naked hip. Then I want you to begin to fondle and stroke Stephanie.”
I experienced some anxiety but not with the intensity I would have felt without the drug. That was as far as it went during our first session. Afterward I could clearly recall everything that had happened in that session but somehow it did not seem as scary as I thought it might.
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Then there was the nude group therapy. I learned to be comfortable with being naked in the context of a group of people I could trust. We did this therapy with Tanisha and Leroy Williamson and four other couples. At one point Dr. Henderson made a point - of teaching me some of the things I could do in such a group that would not be safe for me to do in most other situations.
“Stephanie”, he began, “I want you now to gaze directly at Leroy’s penis for a few minutes. I will let you know when to stop.”
A few minutes passed in that way.
“Now I want you to gaze at Roger’s penis for a minute, then Brad’s penis for a minute, then “Larry’s, then Bob’s, and finally Bill’s.”
I needed to learn that a penis was just a penis – not something to be afraid of. Dr. Henderson required each of the other women in the group to do the same exercise.
“Now guys, I want Stephanie to get comfortable with looking at erections. I will ask each of you guys to now please masturbate until you are hard for Stephanie’s benefit.”
Soon every guy in the group was hard. I was encouraged to first look at and then reach out and touch all the erections in the group. I needed to learn, in a safe environment, that an erection was just an erection. The other women in the group were also required to look at and touch all of the erections.
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At my second individual session, with just Bill and Dr. Henderson, the idea of being naked with Bill and letting him grope me did not seem scary at all. So we proceeded to more intimate petting this time, again with me under the influence of the trauma drug. By the third such session, after we got naked and relaxed with small talk, Dr. Henderson felt we were ready for the next step.
“I believe you two are ready for guided intercourse now. Stephanie I want you to take Bill’s penis in your hand and stimulate it until it becomes hard.”
This was soon accomplished, as Bill was more than ready for this. I was mildly anxious, even with the drug, when I saw Bill become erect. There were echoes in my mind of the various rape experiences. Yet Bill’s erection did not seem as threatening as it probably would have without the trauma drug.
“Stephanie I want you to just lay back and open your thighs. Bill, I want you to mount and enter her.”
He did not have to ask Bill twice. There was some scariness once I felt Bill inside me, but also much pleasure. I felt myself lubricate freely, but something was keeping me from letting go. Dr. Henderson congratulated me on my progress. But he also said Bill and I should have intercourse quite a few more times with the drug and under his supervision before trying it at home.
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My unfortunate journey through slavery had begun when I graduated from accounting school and applied for my first job. I had believed then, as most Capitallian citizens did, that slavery was the natural order of things. It made sense to enslave criminals, not incarcerate them. But my experiences had taken me on a struggle between head and heart. I had seen up close and personal the evil that men and women can do to other men and women under slave laws.
Slavery had become repugnant to me because of these very personal and intimate experiences. Even sex, or at least sex with a man, had become repugnant because, as a slave I had been repeatedly raped. I had become mistrustful of males and of the society I lived in. I had become bitter
But along the way I had also come to understand that there were some very good persons in the slave trade as well as the evil ones. Sometimes the good people came to my aid when I least expected it.
Then too as my adventure further unfolded, I found that there was justice in the world. I got my chance to have vindication against those who had wronged me. I enjoyed, even more than I thought I would, the supreme pleasure of turning the tables on my oppressors. I began, at least, the process of not thinking like a helpless victim and started to experience what it felt like to be powerful and in control of my life again. From this I began to feel the return of my sexuality and my interest in having a relationship with a male.
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One day after Bill and I had intercourse under Dr. Henderson’s supervision, we went out for coffee afterwards. I explained to Bill how I felt I was no longer thinking like a victim. He wanted me to take all this further.
“Stephanie”, he began, “I think you need to take back your power. Your experience as a slave caused you to feel powerless when you learned that men could rape you at will. But the same slave system that caused you to feel so powerless could also be turned around to make you feel powerful in relation to men.”
“How would that work?” I replied.
“I would like you to have the experience of being in a position of complete authority in relation to a naked male slave”, he responded. “Tomorrow afternoon I have a male reporting to my office for his creditor’s examination. I want you to conduct that examination!”
“But I don’t know anything about examining naked slaves!” I protested.
“You do remember how I examined you, don’t you?”
“Oh, do I ever!”
“Well, my partner, Virginia Johnson, can give you instruction and a practice session in the morning so that you can be authoritative with the male subject coming in for his exam.”
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And so the day of the examination came. I had agreed to be the examiner. I was curious what it would feel like. The male subject, Rupert Brown, was a 19-year-old college student who had run up debts for tuition and living expenses that he could not repay. His creditors had brought suit to indenture him for his debts. He had reached a sort of plea agreement with Bill that would allow for a creditor’s exam and for the indenture to be a sexual one. He conceded to all this in return for Bill agreeing not to seek the maximum indenture of ten years. Instead he might serve as little as three years. But first the Steelforth agency needed to determine if he was sexually attractive enough and sexually responsive enough that a mere three years under sexual indenture would be worth as much to the client as ten years of non-sexual indenture. That would justify the lighter sentence. That would be my job. A nervous Mr. Brown was escorted into the conference room accompanied by his lawyer. I could see that he was quite slender since he was wearing jeans that fitted him like a glove. I addressed him in the most authoritative manner I could muster.
“Mr. Brown, do you know why you are here?” I began in what I hoped was a firm voice.
“Yes ma’am, I think I do”, he replied in a quivering voice.
“I want to hear you say it young man!”
“I am here to take my clothes off for you!” he said in a faltering voice.
“Is this something you want to do?” I shot back.
“No ma’am. “
“Then why are you here?” I persisted.
“Because if I don’t do this you may make me serve a full ten years for my debts. I don’t think I could stand such a long term!”
“You understand that I will be evaluating your potential as a male prostitute today?”
“Yeah, my lawyer explained that.”
“You and your attorney have agreed to a naked examination of your person and to practical tests of both your physical fitness and your sexual capacity – all as part of the plea agreement. Do you understand that is all part of the agreement?”
“Yes ma’am”, he said dejectedly.
“Then lets not waste any more of my time”, I said, feigning more arrogance than I really felt. “Lose the clothing young man. Neatly fold each item as you remove it and make a pile there on the conference table.”
He began by removing the mid calf leather boots, then the shirt, and then peeled the tight fitting jeans down his slender legs. He stood there for a moment in only his briefs and I could see he filled them out nicely. I gestured impatiently for the briefs to be removed also. As he did so he used one hand to cover his private parts.
“Let’s have none of that boy! Hands at your sides and stand up straight!” I said with false bravado.
Reluctantly he did as I ordered and my eyes swept up and down his naked person, admiring the well developed shoulders, the flat washboard abs, the dense growth of black pubic hair, a rather long and well shaped penis and a low hanging scrotum containing two generous walnuts. He was a handsome lad. I picked up a digital camera and took a couple of shots of him as he stood there. A couple of the shots were for the official file, a couple of them were for the client, and a few others were for my personal scrapbook. I made a circular motion with my finger for him to slowly turn around so that I could admire his muscular bubble butt from all angles.
“I will need you to show me ten chin-ups on that overhead bar now boy.”
He complied with my order and I could see that he was a superb physical specimen. I snapped another picture of him in mid chin-up. Then I had him stand before me again at attention.
“Do you masturbate son?” I said it firmly as though it was the most natural question in the world, but inwardly I felt uncomfortable talking to the boy this way.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I will need you to show me now how you do it. I will need you to get hard for me. Only if you get hard can I recommend you for a short sentence as a male prostitute.”
I saw his face turn beet red, and then slowly and reluctantly his hands went to work and shortly produced a magnificent erection. I took a few more pictures of him masturbating and sporting this impressive hard penis.
“OK son. You can put your clothes back on now and go home. We will be in touch.”
With that he left and I began to shake. I had dominated this boy totally, which was the experience Bill wanted me to have, but this dominance did not come easily to my nature. Still it was an important step in my learning to not feel helpless and vulnerable.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note: If you are enjoying this story author would appreciate feedback to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 35 – The Punished and Rachel’s Trial
While learning my new job as a slave advocate and completing my civil defense training, I also made a point of checking up on Erin and Kim from time to time. They remained my property and therefore my responsibility. I had apprenticed both of them as slaves for a three-year term with Westham Automotive Services. If I was satisfied with their progress at the end of three years I could re-apprentice them for a second three-year term. They would be learning how to repair the new robot cars and performing real work while learning.
Sarah Westham greeted me upon my arrival and took me on a tour.
“We work the apprentices hard all day, but have them in classes to learn their future trade in the evenings”, she stated.
“I would like to see what they are working at right now”, I replied.
Ms. Westham led me into a car wash area where I found Erin and Kim washing and waxing luxury cars along with six other boys and two girls.
“As you see Ms. Glenn, most of our teenagers are wearing minimal clothing as would be appropriate since they are indentured apprentices but not slaves. I rather like how they look in their short shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Erin and Kim, on the other hand, are being kept naked as you directed in their sentences.”
I noted that my two boys were wearing steel collars by means of which they were tethered to their workstations. Their slave numbers, as I had directed, were tattooed into their muscular thighs.
“Since they are chained to their workstations, how would they go to the bathroom?” I asked.
“They would have to ask permission for the bathroom and then be unchained by a supervisor” she replied. “You may also notice that I have had the penis rings installed piercing their frenulums, as you directed.”
I had requested these rings be installed on the boys in this particular manner since I knew that the frenulum is the most sensitive part of the penis on the underside just behind the glans.
“By attaching light chains to these rings”, she continued enthusiastically, “any person having authority over the boys could pull them along. The chains attach to their rings with a locking device that requires a key to disengage the chain from the ring. The slightest tug on their penis chains will tend to cause rapid arousal because of the extremely sensitive flesh to which these rings are attached.”
“What are those lightweight gold chains about their waists”, I wanted to know.
“These are for both safety and comfort”, she explained. “Naturally I was concerned that I not injure your property with an accidental yank on their penis chains. So I conceived the idea of having those chains normally pulled gently back between their legs and gracefully draped up to a point of attachment at the back of their waist chains. I didn’t want these chains to be too tight under normal circumstances because I like the aesthetics of having their penises hanging down at a natural angle.”
“But only under ‘normal circumstances’ you say?”
“Yes. If a supervisor should be displeased with one of the boys, however, his penis chain could be tightened to the point where it pulls through his ass crack and is tightened to the point the boy’s penis is drawn forcefully back, causing painful stress on the frenulum, gently compressing the testicles and immobilizing the boy’s scrotum. This form of discipline is usually combined with a post hypnotic command that effectively denies the boy the use of his hands to make any adjustments to the chain.”
I was informed that sometimes the owners of the luxury cars the boys and girls were washing and waxing would come by to watch the teenagers work and would take a fancy to one of them. If the customer asked for Erin and was either a male of any age or a fat elderly female, Erin would have to have sex with that customer. Erin was not permitted to ever have sexual experiences with the more attractive female customers even when they asked for him. Erin was homophobic so servicing the males would be real punishment for him. I had made forced sex one of the penal conditions for him. I could have made it a requirement for Kim as well – even at the tender age of 13 – but I felt more comfortable deferring it until he attained the age of 16.
Although Jeff Duncan was no longer my property his slavery was nonetheless being served under the terms of the sentence I had laid down for him. I was, moreover, the person who had directed Richmond Slendabond in the type of slave conditioning which he would experience. For both of these reasons I felt some responsibility to follow up and check out his present employment.
He had indeed been installed as “Human Resources Manager” at a manufacturing plant called Vixter Enterprises in Brooklyn. Miss Vixter, owner of the plant, greeted me warmly when I called for an appointment and indicated she would be happy to show me Mr. Duncan and discuss his situation if I would drop by the plant tomorrow morning. And so I did.
My visit began with Miss Vixter giving me a brief tour of the plant, which made high tech on board computers for the new self-driving vehicles. The first factory room we entered contained over 100 naked men and women. That they were slaves was quite obvious since each one had a steel collar around his or her neck to which a chain was affixed securing the individual to his or her workstation. Each one also had a visible slave number, in some cases branded on the buttocks and in other cases tattooed on the individual’s thigh. I noted the air was a comfortable temperature in the low 70s.
“Nudity saves me a lot of money on laundry bills”, Miss Vixter explained, “and helps to establish a more deferential work force. One of my core beliefs is that a naked worker is an obedient worker. They tend to feel more vulnerable to authority that way.
“Don’t all these naked people get chilled without any clothing at this temperature?” I asked.
“The temperature”, Miss Vixter responded, “is set for the comfort of managers and supervisors and engineering staff that must also often work in this room. We prevent chilling of our naked workers by having an infrared light at each workstation. Many of our workers are just a tad warmer than they might choose as you can see from all the glistening skins in this room. I rather enjoy glistening skins. It gives them all a kind of glow!”
“What about dehydration from so much perspiration and so much skin being exposed for long periods?” I persisted.
“We limit that by keeping the relative humidity between 50% and 60%. Also we insist each worker drink large quantities of water to replace that lost through evaporation. This also increases their urine output. But we are not bothered with having these workers constantly running to the bathroom!”
Just then we had arrived at the station of one of the workers.
“Kneel erect Sandra!”
The female worker promptly ceased working, got off her chair, and immediately dropped to an erect kneeling position before her owner, with her hands locked behind her neck and her head bowed low, not meeting our glance. Her pubic hair was dense and matched the hair on her head. Miss Vixter idly traced her collarbone and then patted her on the head as one might pat a dog. Then, apparently wanting the girl to make eye contact with us, she simply grasped the girl’s face between both her hands and forced her head up until she was meeting our gaze.
“Sandra, open your mouth so that I can have a look inside.”
Sandra did not immediately comply. Perhaps it was because she found such a demand demeaning. Miss Vixter then pinched her nostrils shut and held them shut. I noted the girl’s hands remained locked behind her neck. I guessed that the ‘kneel erect’ command was, in part, a post-hypnotic suggestion that effectively denied the girl the possibility of using her hands in self defense. Soon the girl had to open her mouth to breathe.
“That’s a good girl Sandra!” my host cooed as she shone a light inside the girl’s mouth with one hand while caressing her face with the other.
She invited me to also look inside Sandra’s mouth. Then she unfastened a couple of clips that were holding Sandra’s hair up so that her hair spilled freely all around her.
“Sandra, open your legs so I can show our guest something”, my host commanded of the worker.
Sandra seemed appropriately humble but opened her legs with some apparent hesitation. Not quickly enough to satisfy her owner. Miss Vixter gave her a hard slap to her face with her bare hand that caused a red mark to appear. The girl cried out from the sting to her pride but promptly opened her legs. What I then saw was that the young woman had a clear plastic tube about a quarter inch in diameter inserted between the lips of her vulva. The tube was apparently full of a yellow liquid that I took to be Sandra’s urine.
“Every worker in this room has one of these urinary catheters installed in their vulva or penis, as the case might be”, she excitedly announced. “It greatly increases productivity by eliminating all the lost time with never ending bathroom trips.”
“I take it their bladders are constantly draining then?”
“No. I could do it that way but I choose to maintain a greater degree of control. Keeping slaves vulnerable and dependant is a good slave management practice. Every catheter has a remotely controlled valve. Supervisors walk around the room periodically and feel the stomachs of each gal or guy. This is a rather intimate practice as you can well imagine. If a stomach seems distended by a too full bladder the supervisor will press a button on their hand held remote control to urinate that particular individual. Usually there are sighs of relief and expressions of gratitude as the urine runs out and the bladder deflates. If the individual does not seem appropriately humble and grateful, the supervisor will make a note to let that person’s bladder fill to a painful degree the next time before allowing release.”
“What about ‘number two’” I asked.
When a worker needs to move his or her bowels the worker presses a button that causes a red light to blink repeatedly over their workstation. Any passing supervisor can then stop the blinker, unhook the worker’ catheter and unhook the collar chain from the individual’s workstation and lead him or her to the communal unisex toilet room where there are rows of toilets with no privacy partitions. The toilet room is separated from the main workroom by only a floor to ceiling clear glass wall. Modesty is not encouraged. The supervisor stays and watches the act to make sure there is no malingering and no masturbation taking place.
It was becoming clear to me that Miss Vixter like to control her ‘human resources’ and she also liked to humiliate,
We walked through a seemingly endless series of factory rooms. Each of the rooms contained 100 or more obviously enslaved workers. In some rooms we saw fine detail work going on that obviously required great manual dexterity. These rooms tended to be populated mainly by female slaves with long graceful hands and fingers that normally meant in most cases that they would have thin physiques and long limbs. In other rooms assembly or packaging work was going on that required more gross motor skills and much physical energy. Workers in these rooms tended to have more muscular and athletic bodies.
“How do you keep all your slaves so physically fit?” I wanted to know.
“I have setup a compulsory program”, she responded, “of exercises for strength, endurance and flexibility. Each slave participates in group exercises designed to tone his or her body and also gets some one on one attention from my trainers. I love well-defined and physically fit bodies. I get more work out of my slaves that way and they are also more appealing to my clients that way – in case I want one of them to provide sexual entertainment.”
“I see that you use only slaves in your production processes!” I remarked.
“With the abolition of the Federal Labor Board and the new push by New York State for full employment I have been under economic pressures to replace half the slaves with nominally free workers. I very much did not want to make this change. The reason is that much that goes on in these factory rooms involves proprietary processes and techniques that cannot be protected by patents. Free employees can quit their jobs and go down the street and work for my competitors, taking my proprietary secrets with them. That is why I have always run this plant with slave labor. A slave can have all his or her knowledge of my secret processes wiped from his or her memory prior to being set free at the end of their service.”
This answer was no surprise to me. The ability to memory wipe was one of the main features of slavery that made it attractive to industrial employers with secrets to protect.
“But how do you satisfy the requirements of the new full employment law?” I wanted to know.
“Simple. I buy slave permits from other employers who prefer not to use slave labor. It works something like carbon credits. An employer can use amounts of slave labor above the legal ratio if other employers use less than the legal ratio. The only requirement is that, for the economy as a whole, fifty percent of all jobs must be filled by free persons.”
I was then taken to Jeff Duncan’s office. It was a small and sparsely furnished private office – suitable for interviewing job applicants and employees with acoustic privacy. There were no windows to the outside world but there was a floor to ceiling glass wall separating this office from the main corridor of the office building, which was heavily trafficked. I noted that there were no curtains or blinds that he could close for visual privacy.
“Ted’s desk is placed on the wall behind him”, she explained, “so that when he must turn around to face a visitor, employee or job applicant for an interview there will be nothing between him and his visitor.”
Duncan turned around from his desk and then stood at attention when Miss Vixter and I entered his office. Ted was quite naked. He was tall and his body was much better defined than when I had seen him naked before. Evidently Miss Vixter had been controlling his diet and subjecting him to a rigorous exercise program. His pectoral muscles were well developed and his abdomen was flat and hard. His pubic hair matched the hair on his head. There was a steel collar around his neck with rings. One of these rings was chained to a large wall mounted ring just above his desk – allowing him movement around this small office but not permitting him to leave the office. The collar was engraved with some words.
“His collar boldly announces to the world that he is “Property of Vixter Enterprises”, my host proclaimed with a mischievous smile lighting up her features.
I noted that he, like the boy slaves I had seen recently, had a penis ring piercing his frenulum but with no leash attached. Apparently Miss Vixter and I had similar ideas about humiliating slaves. Just then I saw her unclip a light chain that had been attached to her belt, walk over to Duncan, grasp his penis with her left hand and attach the lightweight penis chain with her right hand. She then gave a gentle tug several times in succession. Because the flesh at point of attachment was so sensitive, he immediately erected. We both had a good laugh at this!
Having completed her demonstration, she then unclipped the penis chain and re-attached it to her own belt.
“Isn’t it awkward for a job applicant to be interviewed for a job by a naked Human Resources Manager?” I asked.
“When applicants here fill out their forms they are advised that, if they proceed, they will be interviewed by a naked H.R.M. It is the applicant’s choice. If they feel they cannot deal with this they are free to seek work elsewhere. We have no shortage of applicants these days. We find most applicants accept the idea once they get past the initial shock.”
“But isn’t it stressful for the applicant?” I persisted. “I mean how does a young female applicant keep her composure when she is staring right at the genitals of her male interviewer?”
“That isn’t the only stress”, Miss Vixter continued. “If Ted finds her attractive he is very likely to develop at least a partial erection during the interview. Since he has no clothing and no desk to hide behind he has no way to conceal such arousal from the candidate. Actually I find that stress on the candidate to be an advantage in the selection process. If a young woman can keep her aplomb under such circumstances I have a pretty good idea she will be able to handle any stressful situation with her subordinates, her bosses or with our clients. It is a good test of her self-confidence.”
“Doesn’t Ted sometimes have to travel to attend professional conferences?” I asked.
“Yes, he does. In such situations we inform the conference organizers that Ted can only attend their event in the nude. If they accept that condition then Ted can attend. Otherwise not. Since professional slaves became fairly common in Capitallia most conference organizers have found the need to accommodate the many requests they get for nude attendees.”
“Does he get any sexual relief?” I wanted to know.
“He is permitted no sexual relationship and masturbation is forbidden most of the time. Jeff is under total video surveillance 24/7. Even in the one bathroom he is required to use. At night he sleeps restrained in an observation pod. So he never really has any private time.”
“Doesn’t that lead to him being so frustrated he cannot concentrate on his work?”
“Good question. We permit him masturbation once per week only. And he has to perform that right here in his office during the noon hour on Mondays so that many people passing by will be able to observe him. At first he couldn’t bring himself to do that but after a couple of weeks his need became so intense that he had to set aside all thoughts of modesty or personal dignity and just take his relief at the appointed times.”
“I don’t see any whip marks on his ass. That was a condition of his sentence – that he be whipped periodically.”
“Well it hasn’t been quite 3 months yet. He is due for his first trip to the public whip master next week.”
“And is he being prostituted?” I asked. “That too was one of my sentence conditions.”
“He only works 30 hours a week here in his professional capacity. I made arrangements with that lady who runs “Cunnilingus Bars of New York” to use him the other 30 hours a week! As you know they have mostly an older clientele!”
“Excellent!” I said. I sure didn’t want Ted getting pleasure out of his forced prostitution.
With that we concluded our interview and I left the plant.
Late that afternoon I got a call at the office from Principal Deevers. He wanted me to know that Rachel had been arrested. Two uniformed officers had come to the school looking for her. She had left early because her last class was cancelled. So the officers had gone looking for her in a part of town where they had seen her working as a prostitute before. They had found her on the street, taken her into custody and she had used one of the two phone calls allowed her to notify Deevers of her arrest.
I put in a call to the prosecutor’s office, identified myself as a Public Advocate and learned that Rachel, a non-citizen, was to be arraigned in two days time before the Administrative Court of New York State, Division 32 of midtown Manhattan. Upon her arrest Rachel had the presence of mind to insist on speaking to a lawyer. Arrangements were already in process for a court appointed public defender for her.
On the day of arraignment I went to the Administrative Court for her hearing. Non-citizens usually had their cases heard in one of these administrative courts, where cases were decided either by a single judge or by a three-judge tribunal. There was no right to jury trial and trials could not be put off by lengthy pre-trial motions or by discovery. If a case involved charges serious enough that the penalty would be enslavement for more than two years, then the non-citizen defendant was entitled to have his or her case ‘kicked up’ to one of the ‘regular’ judicial branch courts normally reserved for citizens. If such a transfer request were granted then the non-citizen defendant would have all the rights any citizen would have including trial by jury.
I heard the bailiff call the court to order and Administrative Judge Marsha Beemis took the bench. There were only a scattered few people in the courtroom that morning, mainly lawyers I assumed and a few clients who were not in custody. The clerk called a case that was quickly disposed of. Then the clerk called Rachel’s case.
“State of New York v. Rachel Green, your honor. Emancipated 16-year old defendant charged with committing an act of prostitution in a ‘prostitution free school zone’ as defined in the statute. Also charged with ‘statutory rape’ and ‘corrupting the morals of a minor’ as these terms are defined in the statute. Also charged with inappropriate hooker attire in an upscale area of the city.”
Two men I took to be attorneys walked up to the podium. At the same time two guards brought in a frightened Rachel with her hands cuffed in front of her and had her stand next to her one of the men at the podium. Her hands were then uncuffed. It was an interesting contrast to see a black girl clad in bright orange jail attire consisting of a sleeveless t-shirt, short shorts and open toed orange sandals. Her bare legs looked lean and athletic and suggested a person who took good care of herself. This couldn’t hurt with the judge. I had the impression Rachel was probably meeting her court appointed attorney for the first time.
“For the record your honor, Morris Whitman of the public prosecutor’s office.”
“James Brown, public defender, for the defense your honor. Waive reading of the charges.”
“And who are you young lady?” the judge was addressing me as I had risen to stand near the people at the podium
“Stephanie Glenn, Public Advocate, your honor.”
“I take it your interest in this case is unofficial at this point, since you have not yet been assigned by the Court?”
“That is correct your honor.”
“How does defendant plead?” the judge inquired.
“Not guilty on all charges your honor.”
“Do the people wish to be heard on bail?” the judge continued.
“The people will be satisfied for the defendant to be released on her own recognizance, but with an electronic ankle bracelet”, Mr. Whitman stated.
“Defense has no objection.” Mr. Brown replied.
“So ordered. Are there any other motions at this time?” the judge inquired.
“Since the charges could carry a penalty in excess of two years enslavement, defense moves at this time for the case to be transferred to a judicial branch court where defendant shall be entitled to trial by jury, your honor.”
“The people object your honor. Defendant is a common prostitute and she has confessed. We hardly think the case merits a jury trial!”
“I will defer my ruling on the transfer motion at this time”, the judge announced. “What needs to happen first is some good faith plea negotiation! It seems to me you fine officers of the court ought to be able to reach some settlement that would save the State of New York a full blown jury trial! I ask that you use Conference Room A and come back before me by end of day. Defendant may participate in conference. Public Advocate may participate if permission granted by defense counsel. Next case.”
The prosecutor did not look too happy at this. In effect the judge had chided him for over charging the case. At the same time the judge was signaling he might rule in favor of defense motion for transfer to a ‘regular court’ unless the parties could reach agreement. That would mean giving up some of the charges. As the clerk was calling out the next case the two attorneys and I made all made our way out the back of the courtroom and the two guards followed with the defendant. This time only one of Rachel’s hands was cuffed to one of the guards. As soon as we all reached the public hallway Rachel spoke up.
“Mr. Brown, thank you for representing me. I would like you to meet Stephanie Glenn, someone who has already been helpful to me in this matter. I would ask that she be allowed to sit in on the conference.”
“That will be fine Rachel, as long as it is understood that I am the only one doing the talking for the defense.”
“Agreed”, I said.
“Mr. Brown”, I continued since we were not yet in the conference with opposing counsel, “isn’t there some way that new law passed in my name could help Rachel?”
“Afraid not Miss Glenn. Stephanie’s Law was written to protect persons being indentured for debt. This is a criminal situation so it wouldn’t apply here. The kinds of punishments we are faced with are those defined in the criminal law.”
“Oh”, I said as my hopes for Rachel began to fade.
Soon we were at Conference Room A and were all comfortably seated.
“From what I hear your golf game hasn’t improved a bit Morris!” attorney Brown chided.
“No, perhaps I was too busy winning the ‘Lawyer of the Year’ award last year to really devote enough time to my game!”
“Cut the crap Morris” Brown retorted. You know why we are here. You have over charged my client. She is a 16-year old girl who screwed a 16-year old boy. Since when is that ‘statutory rape’?”
“When the 16-year old girl has gotten herself estranged from her parents and recognized by a court as legally an adult”, Whitman responded. What we have is an adult, in the eyes of the law, who has had sex with a minor for money.”
“What is your actual evidence that a sex act took place in exchange for money?” Brown asked.
“First we have the boy’s sworn statement, then a sworn statement from the freshman boy who overheard the deal being negotiated, and finally a signed confession by the girl.”
“The freshman boy didn’t see anything actually happen and I have a good chance to get the girl’s confession thrown out because you questioned her after she asked for a lawyer. So you are left with only the statement of this Brad Jackson, a notorious bully, whose credibility I could easily undercut on the witness stand.”
“But we have something else. Principal Deevers sent over the videotape taken by the school’s surveillance cameras showing both the exchange of money and the actual sex act. I have seen the tape and know that it proves our case absolutely. If you get the girl’s confession thrown out I will have to play that tape in open court. That may not be in your client’s best interest!”
“We would argue blackmail and entrapment by the boy”, Brown answered.
“From what I can see”, Whitman responded, “you have no evidence to support either of those claims. The schoolboy who witnessed the conversation heard only an agreement to trade sex for money and a plan to meet after school. There is nothing on the videotape to suggest blackmail. Then there is also the matter of her being arrested for wearing garish hooker attire on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. We have a gentleman who pressed charges for that because he says he was aggrieved to have his ten year old daughter see something like that on her way home from school.”
“Look Morris – drop all but the prostitution on school grounds charge and the inappropriate attire charge. My client will plead guilty with your recommendation that punishment be limited to six months of part time community servitude that will allow her to continue in school.”
“Can I say something?” Rachel tried to get a word in edgewise.
“Wait Rachel”, her attorney cautioned.
“Your dreaming Jim. The mood of the public right now is to clamp down hard on sex between adults and minors – especially on school grounds. The public wants to see examples made of people who do not observe these moral rules.”
“Do you have a counter-offer Morris?”
“Yes. Your client pleads guilty to all four charges and I will recommend a Public Whipping and Humiliation to be followed by four years of part time community servitude while she finishes high school and continues on to a job or college. Her community service will be by auction to the highest bidder.”
“No. You drop the ‘statutory rape’ charge. My client pleads guilty to the other three charges with a recommendation for a Private Whipping, not a public one, and one year of community servitude by auction.”
“Done”, said the prosecutor. “That is if you can sell it to your client. I will leave the room for now while you explain the facts of life to her. I will be down at the attorney’s lounge when you are ready for me. If she accepts we are ready to go back before the judge.”
With that the prosecutor left.
“How can you sell me out like this?” Rachel was crying now. “I am innocent of any wrong doing and you want to plead me guilty?”
“Rachel”, I jumped in. “Your attorney is not ‘selling you out’ as you put it. He is being realistic about what your options are and trying to get you the best deal he can.”
“That is exactly right!” her attorney jumped in. “And thank you Miss Glenn for your vote of confidence!”
“Rachel”, he continued in a more gentle tone, “you may be innocent in your own heart and in the minds of those who know you best, but right now we are concerned with whether you can persuade a judge or a jury of your innocence, given the facts we have to work with.”
“But don’t you believe me that I was blackmailed by Bart?”
“Actually I do believe you Rachel. But the real question is whether the judges on the tribunal or a jury will believe you. You have no witnesses that can back up your version. I think the chances you can persuade them just on your say so are not good. If you fail to prove the blackmail then they have to confine their attention to the facts that are proven – that you traded sex for money on a school campus!”
“What happens if I say no to this deal?” Rachel asked.
In that case I will have to insist this judge move your case to a judicial branch court and there get you a jury trial. Everything would depend on whether you could persuade a jury of 12 citizens of the truth of your claim based on your word versus the word of this Bart who would likely testify that he never made any such threats to you.”
“Isn’t there a chance a jury would find me more believable than that Bart?”
“It would be a real crapshoot at best. And you could easily lose, get convicted on all counts and wind up enslaved for as much as five years. That would be full time slavery and forget about finishing high school. And your prospects for getting a good job after you complete your slavery would not be good. Ex slaves who have not finished either high school or an apprenticeship are not exactly in demand by employers.”
Rachel was crying softly now. I wrapped my arm around her slender shoulders and felt that her whole body was trembling. After what seemed like ten minutes Rachel stopped crying and finally spoke.
“Tell him I will take the deal then”, she said with more resolve than most girls her age would have had. Now there was firmness in her voice and in her face.
Her attorney asked us to wait in the conference room while he chased down the prosecutor. In a little while he came back.
“It’s all set”, he said. “We can go back before the judge now.”
When we entered the courtroom the judge was finishing up another case. Soon Rachel’s case was called again.
“Have the parties reached a bargain?” the judge asked.
“We have your honor” said first the prosecutor and then defense counsel.
“Before taking your plea, Rachel Green, I must advise you that while this Court normally imposes a sentence close to that which has been agreed upon between the parties, I cannot guarantee that this will be so in all cases or in your case. The Court reserves the right to impose a sentence that may be more severe in some respects than what the attorneys have discussed if the Court feels that justice would not be served otherwise.”
“I understand your honor”, Rachel responded.
“Will counsel please state for the record the agreement that was discussed and presented to defendant?”
“Your honor, the people have agreed to drop the ‘statutory rape’ charge and defendant has agreed to plead guilty to the other three charges. The people are recommending that defendant receive a Private Whipping not a Public Whipping in view of her youth, and that she be spared the usual sexual humiliation that would accompany the whipping. The people are recommending that she be sentenced to part time community servitude, on a schedule compatible with her finishing high school, not to exceed one year with her services to be auctioned to the highest bidder.”
“Is this all acceptable to the defense?” the judge asked.
“We are in agreement, your honor.”
“Rachel Green, do you give your oath now that you will tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth in response to the questions I must now ask you?”
“I do, your honor.”
“Rachel Green, do you, of your own free will, admit that on March 5th of this year, you entered into a verbal agreement with one Bart Jackson, a 16-year old high school student, to have sexual intercourse with him in exchange for money?”
“I do.”
“Do you also of your own free will admit that later that same day you did meet this Bart Jackson and go with him to an art department studio where you did accept a payment of ten dollars for your services and then have sexual intercourse with this boy?”
“I do.”
“Do you also of your own free will admit that you were aware at the time that state law designates a school campus as a ‘prostitution free zone’ and that it would be a violation of state law for you to engage in such a transaction on school grounds?”
“I do.”
“Do you also of your own free will admit that you were aware at the time that it would be a crime under state law for anyone recognized by the law as an adult to have sex with anyone recognized by the law as a minor?”
“I do.”
“Has anyone coerced you into making any of the above statements or promised you anything in return for making this statement?”
“No your honor.”
“Do you then plead guilty to the felony of ‘corrupting a minor’ and to the misdemeanor of ‘prostituting yourself in a prostitution free school zone’?”
“I do your honor.”
“Do you also of your own free will admit that on March 12th of this year you were soliciting customers on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a restricted zone, wearing a micro skirt, fishnet stockings and a pink wig?”
“I do your honor.”
“The Court accepts your guilty plea on all three counts”, the judge intoned. “Before I can set the sentence I will need the results of the required Family Impact Study. Counselor, do you have that for me?”
The prosecutor handed a report to the judge with a copy for defense counsel. The judge took a few moments to quickly thumb through the report.
“I see that Rachel was being sexually molested by her father two years ago, that her mother was an alcoholic who totally neglected her and that these were the reasons she sought emancipation from a court. She has no relationship to either parent at this time. I also see that Rachel has no children and no siblings or extended family that are dependant on her for their care and that she has no serious medical problems.”
Does defense counsel disagree with these findings or wish to add anything?”
“Defense agrees with the family impact study your honor”, Mr. Brown stated. “We would only like to bring up a couple of matters by way of mitigation of sentence. First I would ask that defendant be sworn in that she might put her own account of why she did what she did on the record.”
“I will allow it but only for mitigation of sentence. Proceed.”
Rachel took the witness stand and stated that she had been blackmailed into having sex with Bart, quoting the exact conversation that had transpired in the cafeteria between herself and Bart. She also stated that it had always been her policy not to bring her prostitution activities on school grounds or to have other students as her customers. Then she stepped down.
“That is a pretty speech Miss Green”, the prosecutor responded, “but we have only your word for it. On the other hand I have a sworn affidavit from Bart Jackson that no such blackmail threat was ever made which I would ask be made part of the record.”
“So ordered”
“I would add”, defense counsel continued, “that defendant is a straight-A student at Wickmore High School where she is studying biology and hoping to go on to major in biology in college. She has nobody to support her and is dependant entirely on her earnings from prostitution to pay her tuition and all her living and medical expenses. Defense would ask the Court to consider these circumstances and avoid imposing a sentence that is so harsh as to ruin the girl’s life prospects.”
“Your point is noted counselor. I will review the sentence recommendations and announce my sentence in one hour. Court is adjourned until then.”
The judge banged her gavel and retired from the courtroom.
We all went down to the attorney’s lounge and had coffee to quell our nerves while awaiting the judge’s decision. Conversation turned to some further developments at the school.
Rachel told us how her affection for her friend Don was growing. It seemed he had taken a hint from something Principal Deevers said in our last meeting. He had actually broken into the school’s security office tape room in the wee hours of the morning. He found what he thought was the tape of the sex between Rachel and Bart and removed the tape, bringing it to Rachel for safekeeping without viewing the tape. He thought he had thereby destroyed the evidence of her ‘crime’. Unfortunately, when Rachel played the tape she discovered that he had stolen the wrong tape! But she loved Don for his valiant effort to save her.
After about an hour the bailiff came to call us back into the courtroom. We rose when the judge came back in and took our seats when she motioned us to sit.
“I have carefully reviewed the sentence recommendations. I think on the whole they are too lenient for a crime of this sort. An example must be made that will discourage others from corrupting our youth and contaminating an institution of learning with such sordid business transactions. It is clear from the sentencing recommendations approved by the legislature that a more severe sentence is warranted than what the parties have agreed to in their discussions.”
Rachel looked frantically at her lawyer and tugged at his sleeve. He ignored her for the moment.
“The Court has no problem going along with the whipping being a private rather than a public one in view of the defendant’s age. But in all sexually based offenses it is customary for the convicted person to receive a sexual humiliation as well as a whipping. That is what the guidelines call for and I cannot ignore that. The Public Whip Master will be directed to schedule a Private Whipping to which a selected audience of no more than 100 persons may be invited, drawn from the regular customer list of that facility. This is to be a ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’ as defined in the statute.”
Attorney Brown was on his feet to address the Court at this point.
“Sit down counselor until I am finished with the sentence!” the judge snapped at him.
“The Public Whip Master”, the judge continued, “will be further directed that he shall, as part of the Public Whipping event, hold an auction concerning the right to inflict the legally required sexual humiliation upon defendant. Only persons who are at least 18 years old and sign an affidavit before the auction affirming that they are not friends or relatives of the defendant shall be allowed to bid in such auction. The sexual humiliation may be either rape or such other sex act as the Whip Master shall choose in his sole discretion.”
“The Public Whip Master will also be directed to schedule a Private Auction to determine who shall have control of defendant and benefit from her services during her time of servitude. Again, only persons who are at least 18 years old and sign an affidavit before the auction affirming that they are not friends or relatives of the defendant shall be allowed to bid in such auction. In view of defendant’s youth, there is to be no public advertisement of either the whipping event or the auction event. These two events may be scheduled back to back on the same day or scheduled on separate days. While audio-video recording of these events is allowed, there is to be no public or private sale of such recordings unless authorized at a future date by this Court.”
“The Court has no problem going along with part time community servitude rather than full time slavery. The Court recognizes the importance of allowing defendant to finish her high school education and also to have enough free time to continue earning money as a prostitute in order to be able to pay for her high school education. Therefore the Community Servitude Indenture shall be limited to 8 hours per week. The buyer shall have the option however to convert this to a 20 hour per week indenture provided that he or she is willing to assume financial responsibility for providing room, board and clothing, and paying Rachel’s tuition and medical expenses.”
“I am sentencing defendant to two full years of such servitude and, since the offenses were sexual in nature, the Court is specifying that the servitude will be and must be sexual in nature. It will be the indenture buyer’s legal responsibility to insure that defendant is kept naked at nearly all times during her indenture and that she is required to perform a certain number and variety of sexual acts each and every week with customers not of her own choosing.”
“Now you may be heard counselor”, the judge said, turning to defense counsel.
“Your honor, with all due respect, defense must protest the severity of a Level Two Enhanced Whipping for one so young and whose only offense was having sex with a boy her own age! Defense requests a hearing for reconsideration of sentence be scheduled, at which time we will present testimonials to her good character. Defense also requests that the execution of sentence be stayed until after such reconsideration.”
”Your objection is noted for the record, but I will not schedule a reconsideration hearing and I will not stay my order. My formal order, spelling out all the details of this, will be available as of tomorrow noon. Court is adjourned.”
With that she banged the gavel and left the courtroom. Rachel was tugging on her attorney’s sleeve.
“What does ‘enhanced punishment’ mean?” she said, her body trembling, fear in her voice.
“Let me worry about that for now Rachel. I will explain it later. Right now you need to go with the guards to collect your things and receive your ankle bracelet.”
“So what does it mean?” I asked as soon as Rachel was gone and we were out in the hall.
“It means that all the unpleasant emotions associated with a whipping will be multiplied through a combination of drugs and hypnosis. The prisoner will be made to experience far more than the usual amount of humiliation, of fear and of pain. The goal of these procedures is to ‘break’ the prisoner – to make the punishment so severe the prisoner becomes disoriented as to time and place and loses control of her vocal utterances and her behavior for the duration of the punishment!”
“That sounds horrible”, I said. “Is there nothing that can be done to stop this from happening?”
“It is horrible and I can only put it down to the fact that Marsha Beemis has an attitude toward prostitutes not shared by most of the public. There is something that I can do but it is a long shot. I will file an ‘Appeal of Sentence’ with the administrative tribunal. They would be very reluctant to overturn the sentence of the trial Court, moreover even if they did their ruling would probably not come in time to save Rachel.”
The guards escorted Rachel back to jail and the defense attorney and I wandered out into the street dazed by what had happened.
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Cheryl Clifford was also no longer my property, but she was serving her slavery at “Fantasy Showgirls” under a sentence that I had devised for her. I wanted to follow up in her case to make sure she was being used not only as a pole dancer but also as a prostitute to take customers who enjoyed her dancing ‘upstairs’ afterwards. Also I felt a need to be sure her two little girls, ages 8 and 11, were being properly looked after in a licensed ‘COS compliant’ residential facility for children of slaves.
I went to the residential facility first in the late afternoon. The matron who ran the place was more than willing to give me a tour. We saw that the sleeping accommodations were mostly barracks style but that there were some private sleeping rooms for the slaves who had children living with them. We saw some women sleeping in their bunks but saw few children in the sleeping rooms. Then she took us down the hall to a playroom where we saw lots of children playing with toys and computers.
“We care here for the children of slaves”, the matron explained. “Many of the mothers are working in the sex trades – as dancers or as prostitutes. Those two kids over there are the children of Cheryl Clifford. The other kids they are playing with are the children of other dancers who work at “Fantasy Showgirls” or other similar places.”
“Do you think I might speak to Cheryl’s kids?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not”, she replied.
With that she went over and collected the two girls and brought them to me.
“This is Denise”, she said pointing to the 11 year old. “And this is Shirley”, she said pointing to the 8 year old. “Girls I want you to meet Miss Stephanie Glenn. She knows your mother.”
The two just looked at me puzzled as to who I was and why I was there. Denise was tall for her age, pretty and thin. Shirley was a bit chubbier and cute as a button.
“Are they giving you enough to eat?” I asked.
“Oh yes, Miss Stephanie! The food is great!”
“I see that you skinned your knee Shirley. Did someone give you first aid for that?”
“Oh yes, they have a doctor here and a nurse!” the child replied enthusiastically.
“Every day your mother has to leave you for some hours so she can go to work. Do you know what kind of work she does?” I directed my question to Denise, the older of the two.
“She is a dancer!” Denise replied proudly.
“What does that mean?” I asked innocently.
“Well it’s like when Shirley and I took ballet lessons – only Mom does it so much better that people pay just to see her dance!”
“Are you keeping up with your ballet lessons?” I asked.
“Well not since we moved here. Mom said she couldn’t afford the lessons anymore”, the girl said with a pout.
“I will speak to the man your mom works for and see if something can’t be worked out so you can continue your lessons”, I said.
With that I had seen all I really needed to see on this tour and made my exit.
For my evening visit to the club Bill agreed to go with me as my escort. We entered the club about 10 o’clock when the club was quite busy. The music was loud. We generously tipped the bouncer in order to get a booth that also had a good view of the runway stage where the pole dancers worked.
One dancer was up there gyrating away all around the pole. She was full figured with large firm breasts, entirely naked but for hose and high heels and thrusting her crotch provocatively at the bar patrons who were almost entirely male. She had a large bush of black pubic hair that matched the hair on her head and was well trimmed so that it hid nothing the male patrons would want to see. I noticed that her nipples were erect, that her crotch was damp with secretions and that her clitoris was just visible.
She finished her dance to thunderous applause. We saw her put her g-string back on and one of the bar patrons assisted her in climbing back down from the stage. He copped a feel as he did so. Then we saw him whisper something in her ear. She nodded and he followed her to a counter in the rear of the bar area where there was a counter with computer terminals, scanners and attendants. He produced what looked like a debit card and one of the register attendants swiped it. After a momentary delay the attendant turned to the dancer and mouthed the words “He’s OK”, then handed the man what appeared to be tokens of some sort. From there the man and the dancer began climbing an open circular staircase leading upstairs. The two of them disappeared from sight.
There had been a lull in the music. Just then our attention was drawn back to the runway stage by the voice of an announcer over the P.A. system.
“Our next dancer is new to our stage. She is a mother with two little girls. As you know many of our dancers are free employees, others work under indentures, but this one is a full penal slave. She is a modest woman who would probably never have volunteered for this kind of work but we have her because she is serving a criminal sentence.
“For what?” somebody in the crowd shouted.
“It seems she failed to protect slaves that were under her care as a slave advocate. So she lost her freedom. But her loss is our gain, right gentlemen?”
There was a roar of approval at this.
“But this is her first appearance on our stage and she is nervous. Let’s give her a warm welcome to Fantasy Showgirls’! Come on guys! The new dancers need encouragement! And don’t forget to tip the dancers and the barmaids. Now let’s give it up for “Sugar”!
With that the loud music started up again and I saw a young woman I well knew as Cheryl Clifford climbing the steps to the elevated runway stage. Her long slender legs were clad in white nylons and sitting pretty atop white high-heeled shoes. He skirt was a micro mini, her midriff bare. I couldn’t help but admire the very flat muscular abdomen she had. The abbreviated top molded to her chest so the general shape of her breasts could be seen. A steel collar with some inscription could be seen about her neck, so that the customers not lose track of the fact that she was a slave.
I saw Cheryl execute a series of flying leaps and other moves only a ballerina or a gymnast could pull off. Then it was the second song and she was taking all her clothes off, except for the nylons, high heels and her g-string. The latter was just translucent enough that her pubic pelt could be seen through them and pulled tight enough to neatly show her camel toe. She began writhing about the central pole in a manner designed to be sexually suggestive. After a few minutes of this the announcer’s voice could be heard over the P.A.
“Remember what you were taught Sugar. The customers want to see it all
With some hesitation and obvious reluctance her fingers went to the g-string, unfastened the clips and drew it away from herself dropping it on the floor. I thought I saw her suppress a tear that started to form at the corner of one eye.
She began again to writhe about the pole in that sexually suggestive manner, to thrust her pelvis toward the audience and to draw attention to her now uncovered genitals. Male bar patrons were slapping five-dollar bills on the edge of the stage. Cheryl would come to first one and then another giving each a ‘private show’ of her ‘private parts’. She would then use her cunt muscles to pick up the five-dollar bill and deposit it in a basket she had brought up on the stage.
“That’s a girl Sugar! Just like we taught you!” the announcer’s voice boomed.
Soon her performance was finished, there was vigorous applause and hooting as she put back on her g-string and micro skirt, but not her top and a bar patron extended a hand to help her down the stairs. Of course he also had to cop a feel as he did so. Cheryl came over to where Bill and I were sitting and humbly asked if we enjoyed her act and to thank me for making such good arrangements for her daughters. I had her bend over our table because I wanted to read the inscription on her steel collar. It said “Property of Fantasy Showgirls”. Just then a patron quickly approached her and whispered something and the two of them headed for the computer terminals in the back. This man’s debit card was also scanned and they too headed up the open spiral staircase.
About then the manager of the place noticed us and came over and sat down at our booth. I knew him of course since he was the one to whom I had turned over custody of Cheryl.
“Bill, this is Bud Harris”, I said. “He runs this place.”
“She’s doing real well for a new girl”, Harris allowed. “In two years her 11 year old girl will be 13 and I think we can work something out so as to create a mother/daughter dance team!”
“That should be an exciting act to see!” Bill interjected.
“We have certain days of the week”, the manager commented, “when our dance acts are not as lewd as what you are seeing tonight. If we use a 13 year old girl in an act I can assure you the dancing would be more artistic and less sexually explicit than tonight’s performance. Still it would be an erotic dance for sure!”
“If you really want that act to be spectacular, I have a suggestion!” I said.
“Really – let’s have it!”
“Cheryl’s two girls had been taking ballet lessons. Those were stopped a few months back because Cheryl had no way to pay for the lessons. I think if you pay for the girls to continue those lessons you will have new showgirls in the pipeline with superb skills!”
“I appreciate the idea. I may just do that!”
With that we had seen enough and made our exit.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note to readers, writers and would be writers: If you are enjoying this story or would even like to contribute a story to the Capitallia universe, author would appreciate hearing from you. Femdom or maledom stories welcome. Coaching available for new writers. Drop an email to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 36 – The Public Whip Master
One Friday morning I was again summoned with Jeremy to Bud Williamson’s office for a conference about Rachel Green. I knew that our agency had the previous week received the official assignment from the Court to protect Rachel.
“Stephanie”, Bud began, “yesterday Rachel turned herself in at the courthouse as directed for her whipping. By this evening she will have been transported to ‘Morrison Whip Masters Ltd’, where there is to be a large well advertised public whipping of several slaves followed by Rachel’s punishment and an auction of her servitude before a smaller select audience. As I understand it they may even be auctioning the right to rape Rachel before this select audience. Naturally I want you to be there to make sure that everything that is done to Rachel stays within the bounds of the law and that she receives proper aftercare. Since you are new at this, take Jeremy with you.”
“The reason there is such an entity as a Public Whip Master”, Bud explained, “is that slave owners in Capitallia are not permitted to privately subject their slaves to corporal punishment. This is one of the provisions of the federal ‘Kinder and Gentler’ slave law. The concern was that abuses might occur because a slave owner applying such punishments in private might be acting out of anger and might get carried away and impose physical punishments that would cause permanent injury to the slave.”
“But such punishments may be imposed in public?” I asked.
“Yes, if done by a contractor licensed to do such work by the city, county or state. The idea was to make corporal punishment a profession subject to appropriate standards, controls and supervision. The second reason, of course, is that by imposing such punishments in a public setting the humiliation of the slave is increased and there is added deterrent value in having members of the general public see what can happen to those who commit crimes.”
“But what if a slave is disobedient?” I said. “If a slave owner cannot corporally punish wouldn’t that put a serious limit on his ability to secure the desired obedience?”
“Not really”, Bud replied. “The slave owner has so many other tools available to him for securing obedience in our high tech era. There are the bio-implants, drugs, mind control technology and post-hypnotic suggestions, just to name a few. A master who cannot control his slave with all those tools should probably not even be allowed to own a slave. The tools allow the modern slave owner to strip his slave of free will – so that it then makes no sense to punish a slave for disobedience. Any failure of the slave to obey is really a failure of the slave owner to properly use the available technology.”
“A slave may be whipped”, Bud continued, “only to punish the original crime for which he or she was enslaved in the first place. Even then the punishments can only be as specified in the criminal sentencing phase.”
“What about indentured servants?” I asked.
“Where the indenture is for two years or less it may not be economic for an owner to bear the costs of high tech obedience control. In that situation the owner may instead elect to control disobedience with the threat of mild public whippings or public humiliation. In this case the punishment would be for an act of disobedience or for substandard performance on the job, and not for the original offense that got the person indentured.”
That evening Jeremy and I drove over to the facility of “Morrison Whip Masters”. We had come to the facility one half hour early because we needed to spend some time in the part of the building where Rachel would be prepared for her punishment. I saw many limos drive up to the main entrance, drop off their occupants and continue to a parking lot to wait for their customers at the end of the evening.
“Many who enjoy corporal punishments”, Jeremy explained, “would just as soon not be seen or identified as devotees of this form of cruelty. Limos help provide anonymity. Others, such as politicians and law enforcement officers, often feel that being seen at these events could actually help their reputations as upholders of the law!”
At the main entrance I saw that attendants were handing out black masks that they passed through the windows of the limos. Most people emerging from these vehicles were already wearing the masks though a few were not. We had driven an agency car and Jeremy declined the masks as a valet parked our car.
“The masks”, Jeremy informed me, “add a certain mystique to the occasion and provide some degree of anonymity – or at least the illusion of anonymity. Also the video cameras the house uses to record the events on stage sometimes catch audience members on tape as well. The tapes are then automatically computer edited to completely bleep out the face of any person wearing a mask.”
As we entered the building we came to where they were taking tickets. As Advocates we were just waived through. The program I was handed showed that three people were to be whipped tonight – Jeff Duncan, Tom Jenkins and Sally Rigers. It would have been a conflict of interest for me to serve as advocate for any of these three. I had sentenced the first two and my good friend Edgar owned the third. Since I was here to protect Rachel I was puzzled that her name was not on the program, but I saw a small note about a Board of Directors meeting in Room B101 at the end of the evening. I wondered if that was code for the discreet private whipping she would receive before a select audience.
We went to the office and announced ourselves. A staff member then escorted us to the preparation area on the floor below. There were a series of curtained off cubicles. We walked past one where a naked Sally Rigers lay strapped to a hospital type bed, then two more where the two men who were to be punished tonight also lay naked and restrained on similar beds. As we approached the last cubicle we saw the back of a beautiful black girl who was standing, naked, in front of a man in a white coat who was checking her pulse and listening to her heart. Her beauty was evident in her posture, her well-defined shoulders, the delicate tracery of her spinal column, the muscular fullness of her buttocks, and in her long slender and muscular legs. That she was a girl and not yet a woman was evident in that her hips had not fully widened or filled out, and her breasts were just beginning to develop. She turned upon hearing us approach and I saw that it was Rachel. She acknowledged us with a weak smile.
A tall man in a business suit was standing nearby looking at Rachel and the doctor. Apparently we were just in time to witness Rachel receiving a quick medical exam to see whether she could stand the punishment and the drugs they planned to give her. The man in the suit turned just then, noticing us, and gave my companion a big smile and slapped him on the back.
“Jeremy, my old nemesis! What are you doing here tonight? You are not going to spoil my show tonight I hope! And who is this lovely lady?”
“Ted, this is Stephanie Glenn, one of our newest advocates. Your prisoner Rachel Green is actually Stephanie’s assignment. I am just here to guide her since this is one of her first jobs.”
“Steph, this is Ted Morrison, owner of this establishment. I have been tangling with him off an on for better than ten years now.”
Just then a nurse came in carrying a report of some kind that she handed to the doctor.
“These blood results look very good”, the doctor announced, looking at Mr. Morrison. “I think you have a very fit specimen here Ted, and there should be no problems with her tonight. Shall I go ahead and inject her?”
“Excuse me Mr. Morrison, but before you inject her with any of your ‘enhancement drugs’ I want to know if you have received any court papers modifying the type of punishment she is to receive?”
“I haven’t seen anything like that cross my desk” Morrison said with some surprise. “Why – was there an appeal pending on her case?”
“Yes. We appealed the ‘Level Two Enhanced’ part of her whipping sentence. We had some faint hope the Tribunal might have issued a ruling in time to save Rachel.”
“Afraid not. Are you ordering me to not give her the drugs?”
“Can I do that Jeremy?”
“You could issue such an order and they would have to do her whipping without drugs. But this would be a very bad move for you as a new advocate Steph. In fact it could open our agency up to a lawsuit for damages.”
“What damages?”
“I’m sure Mr. Morrison here has emailed invitations to the select audience of 100 people promising them a Level Two entertainment tonight. Probably half of them wouldn’t have come if they thought it was going to be just a standard whipping. If we spoil the entertainment with our ruling Mr. Morrison might have to refund these people their admission. And his reputation would suffer.”
“Very well Mr. Morrison”, I said. “Since the Court has not seen fit to modify the original sentence I guess you are entitled to proceed to prepare her with the drugs in accordance with the sentence of Judge Beemis.”
“Thank you Miss Glenn. It’s going to be a pleasure working with you”, He said with a gracious smile.
He then turned to the doctor and two nurses who were awaiting his instructions, and spoke to them in a louder and more commanding tone.
“All right folks. Let’s get her strapped to the bed and start her IV!” Morrison said turning to the doctor and the nurse.
I thought I might be sick at this moment. I had gone into advocacy hoping to be the protector of vulnerable people like Rachel. And now I found that I could not protect her. All because of some bigoted judge and an appeals court that was backlogged with too many cases. Soon they had Rachel strapped down and were starting her IV. I did the only thing I could at that moment to help her. I held her other hand tightly and told her my thoughts would be with her.
“Will it be really bad Miss Glenn?” Rachel wanted to know.
“Honey I won’t lie to you”, I said. “It’s going to be a very rough evening but I know you are a girl with a lot of spirit and you will pull through this!”
I gave her hand an extra firm squeeze then caressed her forehead with my other hand. I then turned to Mr. Morrison.
“Can you not find some way to lessen this girl’s punishment?” I asked him.
“I’m not a monster, Miss Glenn”, Morrison had turned back to converse with me in a low voice. “I only carry out the sentences handed down by the courts. If I didn’t do the punishments they would get somebody else to do them. The legislature and the courts want these punishments to be administered before the public. So if I sell tickets and inject a bit of showmanship does that make me a bad person?”
I had no answer to that so I promised Rachel that we would return after her punishment and made my excuses.
As we returned from our visit to the preparation area we again found ourselves in the main lobby. By now many more people had arrived and I marveled at the numbers.
“Why are these public whippings so well attended?” I asked him.
“They are very well advertised for one thing”, Jeremy replied. “The Office of the Public Whip Master is a for profit business which charges admission to the general public so they have every incentive to promote these events and try to get as many people to attend as they possibly can.”
“You mean people who don’t even know the victims just come because they delight in watching total strangers get hurt?”
“That is true for many of them”, Jeremy replied. “But you should also know that the Whip Master will have sent out engraved invitations to everyone who had any personal or business relationship to any of the victims. He is required to do this by law and it is surely in his interest as a businessman to do so. There is a likelihood that each person scheduled for whipping today will have offended certain people in his or her life so these people are even more likely to experience delight on seeing their enemy whipped than would some random citizen.”
We entered the auditorium. I estimated it would hold about 1000 spectators. Once inside we found that a special section of six comfortable front row seats had been reserved for Advocates. Besides Jeremy and myself two other advocates were already seated. They recognized Jeremy right away and stood to greet us. Jeremy was quick to make introductions.
“Stephanie, this is Barbara Fox of the Fox Agency”, he said as I held out my hand, “and Roger Stinson of Stinson Associates. I would like you two to meet Stephanie Glenn, the one Stephanie’s Law was named after!”
They looked duly impressed to meet someone so famous, though I certainly did not feel like any celebrity. I figured they must represent agencies much smaller than the one I worked for since their names matched their agency’s names. They were quick to complete the introductions.
“I’m here as Advocate for Ms. Sally Rigers”, Mr. Stinson said, “while Barb Fox is here as Advocate for the two men on the program. Say those names sound familiar – Tom Jenkins and Jeff Duncan. I read something about them in the news awhile back, just can’t remember what. “
I decided not to enlighten him or Ms. Fox about my own connection to those two men, as I did not want to influence either of them in any way. They both had a job to do this evening and I would not interfere.
We took our seats. I noticed that a couple of scantily attired waitresses were threading their way through the rows of seats taking orders for beer and wine from other patrons, though they did not approach us. There was a buzz of excitement in the air. Looking around, I noted that there were almost as many female audience members as there were males. Just then an assistant manager of the facility came to us and showed us how to use the built in microphones in our armrests should we feel a need to stop the proceedings if we believed there was a violation of a subject’s rights. He also inquired if he might bring any of us drinks. We declined.
I saw that there were a dozen or so female prostitutes and a few male prostitutes soliciting in the audience. It was a well known fact that men often became sexually excited watching these public punishments and would, of course, need sexual relief. What was not so well known was that some of the women watching these punishments would also need relief. There was a tier of glassed in private booths at the mezzanine level, comparable to sky booths at a stadium, where male and female prostitutes would take their customers to perform oral sex while the customer could continue to watch the show. Another detail I noticed was that every seat in the auditorium was equipped with a video monitor.
“What are these for?” I asked Jeremy.
“Oh, sometimes close-ups of certain things are displayed on the monitors”, he replied.
Just then an announcer’s voice boomed over the public address system.
“We are about to get underway if you public spirited citizens will all take your seats.”
There was good natured laughter at this since everyone knew that probably nobody in attendance had come just to be ‘public spirited’. Soon everyone was seated and the hall became quiet with anticipation. The announcer’s voice continued.
“Jason, our official Whip Master of the day, is about to bring all our victims front and center now so that you can all appreciate just who is on the menu today! Let’s give Jason a warm welcome!”
At this point Jason came on stage. He made a striking impression – being a tall, slender and muscular fellow clad in a short black leather vest that bared his hard flat abdomen, black boots that came up to mid thigh, and a black spandex codpiece that molded his genitals, leaving little to the imagination. His muscular buttocks were quite bare. He made a flamboyant gesture and took a bow. The audience went wild with applause.
When the applause died down he blew a whistle and three female assistants, wearing black midriff baring vests, black tights and black high heels, frog marched the three victims on stage and lined them up front and center, for audience inspection. There was an adult female and two adult males just as the program had indicated. Each of the three victims wore a white T-shirt and tight fitting blue jeans. Each of these was barefoot. Jason picked up a waiting microphone and began to address the audience.
“These people”, he began, “were once salaried professionals until they were convicted of felonies and enslaved.”
What the audience saw was two males – Duncan and Jenkins – who looked very ashamed to be on this stage and tried to cover their faces. They saw a female – Sally Rigers - who looked angry and hostile. Her shoulders were tensed, her arms were held in a somewhat raised position with fists clenched, and she was looking somewhere up high on the back wall of the auditorium, well above the heads of the audience. The Whip Master spoke sharply to the males and cracked a whip loudly on the stage floor. They dropped their hands and stood at attention now.
“And you Ms. Rigers”, Jason announced, pointing his finger at the female, “better lose your fucking attitude if you hope to get out of here with your ass intact! For starters unclench those fists and let your arms hang naturally while standing erect and making eye contact with these public spirited folks who have come to see you punished!”
She complied for the most part though she retained a somewhat rebellious facial expression and her shoulders remained tense.
Again there was enthusiastic applause.
“You folks are in for a real treat tonight”, Jason continued. “First you will see the two males punished in ways that are sexually humiliating beyond anything you have seen on this stage before! Then, we have saved the best for last. You will see this attractive and hostile young woman, a convicted perjurer, receive, in addition to sexual humiliation, what is known in the law as a ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’. We have never done one of these in public before. The purpose of such a punishment is to totally ‘break’ the individual – by causing pain and fear beyond what any human being can bear. The individual loses all awareness of place and time and loses all control of her vocalizations and her behavior on stage. You will not only see Miss Rigers lose her attitude but you may well see her age regress to a childlike state. “
Of course there were about 100 people among this audience of 900 or so who knew that they would see yet another ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’ of a sixteen year old schoolgirl-prostitute in the much smaller auditorium after most of the other guests had gone home for the night.
“Before we proceed to the main event”, Jason continued, “I should point out that we make every effort to stay in compliance with the law as we administer these court ordered punishments. Also I must notify you that we have slave advocates with us today to insure that we remain in compliance with law. They have authority to stop our proceedings at any time if they feel we are going too far.”
There was much audible groaning at this announcement and shouts of ‘Go home! Leave us to our enjoyments!’
“I would ask that you show proper respect to our advocates. After all, if it weren’t for them, it would be illegal for us to do what we do here. They make it possible by assuring the checks and balances the law requires. Would you folks please stand for a minute so the audience can see who you are?”
The four of us stood with some reluctance, as we were not eager to be identified as possible targets for retribution in the event we did wind up putting the damper on any part of this evening’s entertainment.
“Let me introduce Barbara Fox of the Fox Agency, Roger Stinson of Stinson Associates, Miss Stephanie Glenn and Jeremy Withers of The Williamson Agency. Mr. Stinson has been assigned by the Court to protect the rights of the female subject, while Ms. Fox has been assigned to protect the two male subjects. The two representatives of the Williamson Agency are just here to observe.”
“I want to caution any member of this audience”, the Whip Master continued, “who may not be totally familiar with what happens at a public whipping. These victims are here today to be hurt and to be humiliated. They are enslaved felons. All of them will be stripped – forcibly if need be. If anyone in the audience is not comfortable with viewing the naked bodies of today’s victims, now would be a very good time to leave. I will pause now in case anyone is having second thoughts.”
There was some laughter and guffaws at this announcement since everyone here obviously wanted to see the victims stripped naked. Jason waited a few minutes and when nobody made a move to leave he continued.
“Not one of these individuals”, Jason continued at last, “will leave this stage today until he or she has experienced extreme pain and, in most cases, extreme humiliation. You may expect to hear screams and pleas for mercy. For some of you this may be pleasurable to observe and to hear. These will be the sights and sounds of justice being administered to convicted criminals. There is a great satisfaction for many of us in seeing such justice exacted. But for some tender hearted folks who may be in the audience today this may prove distressing. I would encourage anyone who thinks they might not enjoy today’s performance to leave at this time.”
This time there was silence. Many people looked around to see if anyone else was leaving. Only two or three out of the over 900 people in attendance actually left. He continued his address to the audience.
“Good. That means those of you who are still with us are prepared to be entertained! Turn down the house lights and up the stage lights please!”
At this point the stage became brilliantly lit and I became aware that there were several still cameras and video cameras pointing at the stage.
“First I should mention”, Jason continued, “that our proceedings today are being recorded, and that anyone wishing to do so may order still photos and video footage of today’s punishments after the show. Contact one of our agents in the lobby or go online at Morrison Whip Masters at the web address in your programs. The second thing I must mention is that most of the whipping will be done with an electric whip. We use the electric whip because, while it is extremely painful, it leaves no marks and no injuries requiring medical attention. The pain is caused by powerful involuntary muscular contractions induced throughout the victim from head to toe. We use high amperage current from our portable generator. Each victim will totally lose control of his or her own muscles and will end with muscles so cramped that he or she usually will not be able to walk off the stage.”
“What about bladder and bowels?” some fellow in the second row shouted. “Do they lose control of those too?”
“I am glad you asked! The answer is we prevent bowel accidents by giving each of them a colonic irrigation just an hour earlier and then by inserting a locking plug in each of their rectums. Bladder accidents, on the other hand, are inevitable and very much a part of the show!”
Another round of applause. The Whip Master motioned his assistants to move the line of victims upstage.
“We have a tradition that we like to follow here at Morrison Whip Masters. Before we begin the full whipping of each victim we like to call on a member of the audience to, as we say, ‘initiate the punishment’ of that victim. This involves pulling the victim’s pants down and administering a vigorous paddle swat to the victim’s naked buttocks. It is a ceremonial act that begins the punishment. “
There were murmurs of approval in the audience.
“Assistants, bring forward our first victim.”
They brought forward Duncan, the man who had hired me for my first job at Masterson Automotive, and one of the three who had later conspired to enslave me. Two female assistants had secured his arms high up behind his back and were frog marching him up to the front of the stage and he was resisting as much as he could. He looked both scared and angry. The assistants held him in a vertical standing position facing the audience.
“Our first entertainment will be Jeff Duncan, a man who was for some time the Human Resources Manager at Masterson Automotive and is currently the enslaved Human Resources Manager at Vixter Enterprises.
“Mr. Duncan was convicted of “Willfully and Unjustly Taking the Freedom of a Citizen”, a capital offense, but for which he received a sentence of only ten years slavery and regular whippings every three months. We have Ms. Stephanie Glenn to thank for this part of our show, since she was the one who won the criminal case against him and handed down a sentence that included regular public whippings. Take a bow Stephanie!”
I stood and briefly waved to the crowd and tried to manage a smile. They acknowledged me with a round of applause. Perhaps now they would see me as not just someone who had come to potentially spoil their fun but as someone who had contributed to the evening.
“We have learned that Mr. Duncan is homophobic folks!”
Cheers greeted this announcement as the audience could plainly see where this was going. I wasn’t at all sure that I liked where this was going.
“Mr. Duncan has both an extreme aversion to homosexual contact and a fear of such contacts. One of his persistent nightmares is of another man penetrating his back passage. “
More hoots and hollers and obscene comments were shouted.
“For this reason folks”, Jason continued, “we may be able to offer a rather special humiliation today. Mr. Duncan’s owner, Miss Vixter of Vixter Enterprises, has given her approval for the special punishment you are about to see.
I turned to Jeremy and asked the question that was on my mind.
“Is this legal? Can they do this to him?”
“Certainly Steph. Sexual humiliation is very much an accepted part of what is done by Public Whip Masters. It is part of every whipping sentence by default – that is unless the person passing sentence specifically excludes it from being a part of the prescribed punishment. The way to look at it is that the more a prisoner is humiliated the more people will want to come and witness the punishments. Sexual humiliation sells tickets! The more people attend the whippings the more word of the wages of crime will filter back into all the communities. An ever greater number of people will become aware that crime surely does not pay!”
“Do we have a male volunteer for Mr. Duncan’s anal rape?”
At first there was dead silence. Everyone was looking around to see if anyone would rise to the occasion. Then a somewhat short but athletic man who had been sitting in the ninth row made his way forward and climbed the steps to the stage. Like most others today he was wearing a mask. The audience cheered him on.
At that moment I wanted to leave the show. I had no desire to watch a man being anally raped – even if the victim was someone who had victimized me. But I knew that watching tonight’s punishments was part of my training for my own advocacy work. I knew too that I had promised Bud Williamson in my job interview that I would be ok with all this.
Jason turned to the volunteer who had come up on stage with a smile and pushed a microphone near him.
“I won’t ask your name sir, but I wonder if you have some special relationship to our victim?”
“Indeed I do. I went to college with Mr. Duncan twenty years ago and lusted after him then but was utterly rejected in my desires.”
“Well today you are going to get lucky!” You may begin Duncan’s punishment whenever you are ready sir!”
With that our mystery guest strode up to Jeff Duncan, who was struggling in the grasp of the assistants. Duncan gave him a dirty look – evidently recognizing his old college classmate. He began by unbuckling Duncan’s belt and unzipping his jeans. Soon he was lowering the jeans to mid thigh and pulling down Duncan’s underwear. A flaccid penis of impressive dimensions came into view along with two sizeable balls in a loose low hanging scrotum. Those in the first few rows could clearly see this by looking directly at the stage. Other spectators could see all this in close-up on their in seat monitors.
I looked away from my monitor. I did not need to see a close-up of Duncan’s genitals. I would much rather be looking at the genitals of a man I liked and admired – a man like Bill Steelforth.
Everyone could also see in his or her monitors that Duncan had a penis ring piercing his frenulum. There was laughter at this because they all knew such rings were used for the humiliating practice of forcing erections and for leading a slave around by his penis.
Jason handed the volunteer an oak paddle about 7 inches wide and two feet long such as is used for fraternity initiations – one which had holes drilled through it to reduce wind resistance. The volunteer took the paddle and took a couple of practice swats at a nearby padded post provided for that purpose. He then stepped behind and to one side of Duncan, while the two female assistants continued to hold Duncan’s upper body, and let fly with as forceful a swat to Duncan’s buttocks as he could manage. The whistling of the paddle through the air could be heard followed by a loud splat when it connected and a cry of pain from Duncan. Duncan’s penis became partially erect in response. More audience laughter.
“Now get him fully stripped, then lead him with this leash”, Jason instructed, “to that apparatus over there. I think you will figure out what to do with him once you get him there.”
Our mystery guest pulled the jeans all the way off while the assistants held his upper body, then took a pocketknife and cut off Duncan’s underwear and his t-shirt. He tossed the remains of Duncan’ briefs out into the audience where some lucky lady grabbed them as a souvenir of today’s show. He then took the lightweight leash and clipped it to Duncan’s penis ring, using the leash to pull Duncan across to the other side of the stage where there was a stocks like apparatus. The volunteer forced Duncan to his knees, bent him forward so that his torso was horizontal and his face toward the audience. Then he secured various straps to hold Duncan in that position and added a neck brace to insure that Duncan would not be able to drop his head or look anywhere but at his audience.
The volunteer then grabbed hold of the handle of the anus plug in Duncan, gave a twist to unlock it, and slowly eased it out. A video camera aimed at Duncan’s anus provided a closeup view of this procedure that every person could, if they chose, watch on his or her individual seat monitor. I found you had to push a button to see this on your screen and I chose not to.
A cart was wheeled out on the stage containing a large generator and control panel. The Whip Master pulled an evil looking whip off the cart that had a dangling long electrical cord that he plugged into the generator. Then he flipped some switches on the control panel and we could all hear the whir of the generator starting up.
“As I think you will soon see good people, our volunteer is not a shy man when it comes to pursuing a goal he has had in mind for twenty years!”
With that our mystery guest pulled down his own pants and underwear and began stroking his penis to erection. He did this openly in full view of the crowd which again began clapping rhythmically He pulled a tube of lubricant out of his pocket and generously greased his stiffening member.
“You will be standing on a block of rubber”, Jason announced, “and, as you will not be grounded, will not feel any of the electric jolts we will be administering to him while you take your pleasure in his back passage. You may begin doing as you will with him!”
The volunteer took up a position directly behind Duncan and began poking at Duncan’s anus. I could only directly see that part of him that rose above Duncan’s horizontal back, but I suspected that many who had turned their monitors on were seeing close-ups of all this.
“Don’t use your muscles to deny him entry!” Jason shouted at Duncan.
“Get away from me you fagot!” Duncan screamed.
“You are a slave here to be punished Mr. Duncan!” Jason responded. “You are hardly in a position to tell others what they may or may not do with your body!”
“Fuck off!” Duncan replied.
“I think it is time we gave Mr. Duncan a little ‘attitude adjustment’ don’t you sir. Please step aside for a moment while I adjust him”
The volunteer stepped aside and let Jason get directly behind Duncan. Jason reached down and grabbed something. I had little doubt it was Duncan’s testicles and judging by Duncan’s scream I knew that he was applying painful pressure.
“Stop! I can’t stand such pain! I will do anything you say if only you stop crushing my balls!”
The audience laughed. Jason maintained his grip.
“Mr. Duncan, I need you to relax the muscles around your anus so that our guest will be able to get his penis inside you!”
The audience could plainly see on Duncan’s face that his will to resist had dissolved. His anal sphincter had, I assumed, been enlarged by having a series of butt plugs in it to prepare him for this anal rape. Were this not the case Miss Fox would have objected. Jason stepped aside and motioned the volunteer to again take up his position and his efforts.
After battering at the gate a few more times the guest was able to effect entry. This was evident by the smile on his face and the expression of agony on Duncan’s face. The volunteer began pistoning in and out of the victim. Duncan began screaming incoherent things and then drooling. He lost his urine. His facial expressions became those of a crazed man. He slumped unconscious. I became aware that Advocate Barbara Fox, who was seated next to me, had risen and picked up a microphone.
“I think Mr. Duncan has had about enough – at least for now”, Miss Fox announced over the P.A. system. Reach your climax in the next couple of minutes if you can mystery guest. For then I must call a halt whether you have climaxed or not and get this man some medical attention.”
The volunteer pulled out, still hard, and obviously disappointed that he had not been able to bring matters to full fruition. The assistants unstrapped Mr. Duncan and led him offstage. As the guest pulled his clothes back on Barbara Fox had one last comment for the disappointed man.
“Perhaps, sir”, she remarked, “Jason will let you finish enjoying Mr. Duncan backstage if the doctor gives a green light.”
The audience cheered its approval. Jason quickly stepped up to the microphone to keep the show moving along.
“Our next attraction, ladies and gentlemen, is going to be Tom Jenkins, an illegal rapist.
At this announcement there were boos and hisses from the audience.
“Mr. Jenkins was, for over twenty years, manager of accounting at Masterson Automotive Group. I know that many of you in the audience today knew him in his professional capacity or worked under his supervision over the years. Let me have a quick show of hands as to how many of you knew Jenkins, either personally or professionally?”
I looked around at this question and saw somewhere between 15 and 20 hands go up.
He was convicted earlier this year of “Willfully Taking the Freedom of a Citizen” and also of “Illegal Rape of a Woman Not Legally Enslaved”. Ms. Stephanie Glenn was his victim on both counts, so we again have Stephanie to thank for his conviction and whipping sentence and for the entertainment he is going to provide us today!”
The audience gave me another round of excited applause.
“Now Mr. Jenkins has been undergoing a rather unique form of coercive sex therapy which I think many of you will find quite interesting. Basically it consists of subliminally stimulating his visual cortex with all sorts of different kinds of sexual images and fantasies and then measuring his penile response with a device called a penile plethysmograph. We thought this process interesting enough that you would all like to see it today. Special arrangements have been made with the psych lab at Masterson Automotive and we have with us today a Mr. Paul Gregory, Masterson psychologist, and his assistant Denise Benson, a high school senior. Mr. Gregory will be explaining today’s procedure. Let us welcome our guests!”
There was a short round of applause as Paul and Denise walked out on stage and bowed to audience. Paul wore a business suit. Denise wore the clothes I had seen her wear in the lab - a white starched uniform, consisting of jacket and miniskirt, white nylons and white high heels. She looked particularly excited at the role she was about to play before all these voyeurs.
“Normally”, Paul began, “we do Mr. Jenkins’ therapy with him strapped down on a horizontal table. When the plethysmograph shows he is erecting to fantasies we consider unhealthy, Denise normally gives him a painful electric shock to his genitals to recondition his sexual ideation along more healthy channels. However since this is a whipping center and we are putting on a public performance, we will have Mr. Jenkins positioned differently today and we will punish his inappropriate sexual responses with lashes from the electric whip, causing him painful muscular contractions which you will all be able to see.”
At this Jason signaled his female assistants who brought Tom Jenkins to the front of the stage where they secured his ankles to floor gyves about three feet apart and manacled his wrists above his head to steel cables dropped down from above the stage. Tom was still wearing the t-shirt and jeans.
“At this time”, Jason announced, “we would like a volunteer to initiate Mr. Jenkins punishment just as we did with the others. May I have a volunteer please?”
After a brief pause a young woman I recognized as Lacy, a former coworker at Masterson, made her way down an aisle and climbed up on the stage. I wondered if she had a boob job as her breasts looked firmer than I remembered. I think she had been working out because her legs looked pretty good in the short shorts she was wearing.
“Would you tell us young lady”, Jason queried, “if there is some special reason why you wanted to do this to Mr. Jenkins?”
“Yes sir. I worked at Masterson Automotive and this man was my supervisor for several years. During that time he raped me several times! So this is about payback!”
“Then don’t let me delay you a moment longer!” Jason responded.
She lost no time unbuckling Jenkins’ belt, unzipping his zipper and shucking his jeans down to mid thigh. She rolled his t-shirt up well above his waist and then whipped out a pair of scissors and cut his briefs off. Jenkins private parts were now exposed to the audience. His penis was flaccid and his balls were hanging low in his scrotum. There was some hooting and jeering from a few but, on the whole, the audience did not show a lot of reaction, as his parts were not all that exceptional. Lacy grabbed his balls and squeezed until he gave out a yelp. This brought some shouts of “you go girl!” from some spectators.
Jason presented her with the ceremonial paddle and suggested she take a few practice swings and then make the real swing count. Soon we heard the paddle whistling through the air, a loud crack when it landed on Jenkins’ buttocks, and a cry of pain from him. Lacy took a bow and returned to her seat. Another round of applause.
While this had been going on Denise had gone backstage and now came back on wheeling an instrumentation cart that she parked a few feet away from the subject. She picked up the device that I recognized and showed it to the audience.
“What Denise is holding up for you all to see”, Paul Gregory announced, “is a clear plastic sleeve with built in pressure sensors. She will now place the sleeve over our subject’s penis and adjust it for proper fit.”
Denise had the sense of showmanship to stand to one side of Jenkins as she did this so all could see what she was doing. Then we saw her tape Jenkins’ eyelids wide open and slip on the virtual reality goggles and the earphones.
“The goggles which the subject now wears”, Paul continued, “are virtual reality goggles that will allow us to project visual images subliminally into the subject’s brain. He will not be able to block out these images. You will be able to watch his penis erect on your close-up monitors. There is also a huge digital display over the stage which will allow you all to see any degree of increased turgidity of his penis which may happen in numerical terms.”
Everyone looked up and saw huge digital numbers that, at the moment, showed the number zero. Monitors that had been turned off were turning on all around me. Every monitor showed a close-up of Jenkins flaccid penis and his testicles. I turned my monitor on for this also as I wanted to see what everyone else was seeing. At this point Jason turned to the same generator cart that had been used on Duncan and once more we heard the whir of the generator starting up. Jason was ready to apply discipline at the appropriate moment.
“I want everyone to know”, Paul continued, “that Denise is very skilled at this work, despite being only a high school senior. She has brought a lot of enthusiasm and creativity to helping me develop the protocols for Mr. Jenkins!”
“Gee thanks Mr. Gregory”, she said. I even thought I saw her blush.
“Let us know when you are ready to start Denise”, Paul remarked.
“Can I um – use the rape sequence, Mr. Gregory?”
“I think that should be most satisfactory”, Paul answered.
I noticed that Public Advocate Barbara Fox was again on her feet and holding her microphone.
“Hold on just a moment Jason. As I understand it you are going to force Mr. Jenkins to watch a rape scene in which he sees himself as the rapist, and you are going to cause a sexual response in him to that?”
“That is correct Miss Fox”, Jason replied.
“My concern is not so much with any punitive stress he may experience now, but with the possibility that you will be setting him up for post-traumatic stress syndrome long after today’s punishment. I cannot allow that!’
“Miss Fox I am glad you raised this issue. Be assured that Mr. Jenkins has been given an injection of Traumatholin which will assure that the stressful events of today will not be stored in the part of his brain’s memory where recall of these events later will cause the stress to be experienced all over again. He will be able to remember everything we did to him today, but the memories of today’s events will be only mildly stressful when they are recalled.”
“In that case you may proceed” Miss Fox announced over the P.A. system.
Everyone watched with interest as Denise pushed some buttons and turned some dials on her control console. Her excitement was evident in her flushed face and the tension in her body. The first thing we all noticed – even before we could see any change in the appearance of his dick - was that the digital display numbers started to climb.
“Those numbers climbing shows the blood rushing into his penis”, Denise announced in her high-pitched girlish voice.
Soon after that the audience watched amazed as Tom’s penis grew from the 4 inches it had been in the flaccid state to a rock hard erection a good 9 inches long. At the same time we all saw on our monitors Tom’s scrotum tighten up drawing his testicles closer to his body. There were some murmurs of astonishment since nobody had directly stimulated Jenkins in any way.
“Audience please note that the erection you are seeing was brought about entirely through visual stimuli and not through any direct stimulation of the body or the penis of the subject. If you will all look at the big monitors located around the room”, Paul announced, “you will see the images Denise has chosen to project onto Jenkins’ visual cortex to cause the erection you are seeing.”
What everyone saw on these monitors were scenes of rape with the image of Jenkins himself as the rapist. I found this hard to watch as it triggered memories of my own rape by Jenkins when I was a slave.
“Mr. Gregory, since this is a show, do you think I could – you know – show them his, um, complete response?” Denise said with a hopeful expression.
“Normally I don’t like to permit him complete sexual satisfaction when he is fantasizing about rape. But since this is a show and we can punish him for that response with the electric whip, it will be ok to do it today.”
“Gee thanks, Mr. Gregory”.
With that Denise began punching more buttons and turning more dials. Soon Jenkins began to thrust his hips forward and back in a fucking motion. The audience broke into rhythmic clapping. After a few minutes of this Jenkins was shooting out spurts of semen. Denise caught most of it in a paper cup but some of it went all over the stage floor.
“Jenkins surely needs to be punished for that climax” Paul announced. “If you would do the honors Jason.”
Up until now Jenkins had only been bared from waist to mid thigh. Jason now stepped forward and cut off all remaining clothing so that Jenkins was naked from head to foot. Then he picked up the electric whip and lashed out at Jenkins’ chest, then his arms and shoulders, then his thighs, then his calves. Everyone could see blue sparks jumping from the whip to Jenkins and the severe rippling and contractions of Jenkins’ musculature from head to toe. Then he was spun around so that his back was to the audience and Jason lashed him unmercifully first on his back then repeatedly on his buttocks causing severe contractions and rippling visible to the audience. Jenkins cried out again and again with the pain.
“I promise to never erect on a rape scene again – if only you will stop the whipping!” Jenkins cried out. This brought howls of laughter because, of course, everyone knew that his erections were not under his volitional control. The whipping ran its course.
“I think our rapist has had enough. Assistants please carry him away.”
They cut him down and his legs would not support him. He had to be carried off on a stretcher.
“At this point we are going to have a 15-minute intermission before proceeding to the final part of our program – the Level Two Enhanced Whipping you have all been waiting for. There are refreshments and drinks in our lounge and an opportunity for you all to mingle. Enjoy!”
The house lights came up and at least half the people made their way to the lounge. Many did not want to miss the opportunity to mingle and make new friends having similar interests in bondage and discipline!
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note to readers, writers and would be writers: If you are enjoying this story or would even like to contribute a story to the Capitallia universe, author would appreciate hearing from you. Femdom or maledom stories welcome. Coaching available for new writers. Drop an email to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 37. The Perjurer and the Prostitute
One thing I was discovering on this occasion of attending my first Public Whipping was that attending such events was going to be one of the less pleasant duties of my new job as a Public Advocate. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing evil people punished, but this was more than offset in my mind by the sheer brutality of the procedures. But everyone is different in this regard. Bill had told me that he often found these events quite enjoyable, though it was more the humiliation aspects than the infliction of pain that he enjoyed. Jeremy, my fellow advocate and companion for the evening, told me he found these events hard to stomach at first, but that he had gradually come to take them in stride.
Eventually the intermission came to an end and we all filed back into the auditorium. Soon the stage lights came up and there was Jason ready to get the show started.
“Folks, are you ready for our final victim of the night?”
The audience broke into rhythmic clapping to show its readiness. When it finally died down Jason called out to two of his assistants.
“Bring out our next victim!”
Two of the female assistants then went to Sally and drew her arms behind her back, bending the elbows each at a right angle so the forearms would be horizontal and could be strapped to each other, right hand to left elbow and left hand to right elbow. This denied her the possibility of using her arms in self-defense and also assured that the arms would stay well above her waist and present no interference with strikes to the buttocks. They then marched her to the front edge of the stage.
“Audience, I would like you all to meet Miss Sally Rigers, convicted perjurer and slave. For many years she was head teller at Leland Bank and Trust, a now defunct institution. Some of you may have had accounts at that bank and had occasion to do business with Miss Rigers when she was head teller at the bank. Later she was an accounting supervisor who worked under Tom Jenkins at Masterson Automotive.”
“At this point, to understand Miss Rigers’ crime, I would like you all to meet Mr. Edgar Miller. We all have Edgar to thank for the entertainment Ms. Rigers is going to supply us today. Edgar is an economist who had a good job at that bank until Ms. Rigers gave perjured testimony that got Edgar enslaved. He is free now and has won a criminal case against Ms. Rigers for which he was able to sentence her to public whippings. So let’s all give Edgar a round of applause!”
“Way to go Edgar!” someone shouted, and many applauded.
“Now do I have a volunteer”, the Whip Master announced, “to initiate the punishment of this young woman?”
Three hands went up – one woman and two men.
“Does one of you have some personal or professional connection to Ms. Rigers?” Jason asked.
One of the two men who had raised their hands shouted that he did and was invited to come up on the stage. He wore no mask. The other two volunteers looked disappointed and sat down. When the volunteer was on the stage near Jason he thrust the microphone to him and asked his next question.
“I won’t ask your name sir, but I would appreciate it if you would tell everyone what is your connection to our victim sir?”
I once worked at Leland Bank and Trust when Ms. Rigers was head teller there. She was my boss and she fired me to give my job to one of her friends. I hated her then and now.”
“Why then I think you might be an ideal candidate to pull down her pants and give her a good whack on her bare ass!”
“You may begin. We are all eager to see what charms Ms. Rigers can offer us today! Please stand to one side of her as you strip her so the audience will have a full view of what you are doing!”
The volunteer, being right handed, took up a position to Sally’s left and somewhat behind her. From this position he could reach around her from behind, while facing the audience, and reach the buckle of her belt and unzip the zipper of her jeans. Soon he was inching her jeans down while the crowd clapped rhythmically. One of the female assistants was holding both of Sally’s ankles – probably so that she could not kick out at the volunteer.
When he had bared her thighs he stopped to admire his work. Some in the audience whistled at the sight of such an attractive slender pair of thighs, and at the light muscular definition of those thighs. Others were focusing on the tight fitting panties that perfectly outlined her sex, displaying a neat camel’s toe. The volunteer was still somewhat behind Sally so he didn’t see the camel’s toe but he did cop a feel of those thighs from his position. Then he continued to lower the jeans until they were all bunched up at her ankles. The female assistant raised first one leg and then the other so that he could pull the jeans off her altogether.
He then reached up from behind Sally and hooked his right and left thumbs in the waistband of her panties. He hesitated and turned to the audience for direction.
“Should I?” he said.
Of course the response shouted from a dozen seats was “hell yes”. He never was in any doubt about proceeding but apparently just wanted to ham it up a bit.
He began inching her panties down until the pubic hair on her mound was visible. He dramatically paused. The audience was now clapping rhythmically again to encourage him to continue. The panties were inched down a bit further until everyone could see the top of her vulva. Again he paused for emphasis. Then the panties were pulled down to mid thigh with one quick motion. Sally gasped. Many in the audience whistled, liking what they saw, for Sally had a generous amount of dark pubic hair framing her vulva, yet not concealing it. Spectators glanced back and forth between looking at the action on stage and looking at their in seat monitors where they could view a close-up of Sally’s vulva. I turned my monitor on as I was curious what all the whistling was about and I wanted to see if Sally’s privates were prettier than my own. Edgar drew out a pair of scissors and cut the panties off her.
At a gesture from the Whip Master, two of the female assistants drew her ankles about three feet apart and secured her ankles to rings in the floor. This was both to improve the display of her privates and also to immobilize her so she couldn’t kick out when the volunteer would deliver the opening blow to her ass. Like so many women who are slender and have good muscular definition she showed cute little indentations on the sides of her well-rounded buttocks. Jason’s voice again was heard over the P.A.
“I would like everyone to take particular note of the interesting coloration of the labia this young woman has. Now that we can all see the inner lips it is apparent that they have a darker coloration along the outer edges while being quite a vivid pink elsewhere. This in contrast to the outer lips and the clitoral hood which are much lighter in color. Probably only one woman in twenty has this particular color configuration.”
I was conscious of the fact that I myself had this configuration. Bill had told me how much he liked it the first time he saw my genitals. The men in my nude therapy group had also commented favorably on it when they had the opportunity to examine me intimately.
“Now, if you are ready sir, you may use this paddle”, Jason continued.
He handed the volunteer the same ceremonial oak paddle that had been used for the opening swat to the other victims. He took the paddle and took a practice swat at a nearby padded post provided for that purpose. Sally remained facing the audience in a standing position with her feet tethered and one of the assistants steadying her upper body. She remained in this position because the audience would enjoy watching her face, seeing her fear and her pain.
The volunteer stepped up behind Sally who was now trembling. He drew his arm way back while twisting his torso and delivered a blow with the full force of his arms, shoulder and body. It whistled through the air and made a very loud sound when it connected with her buttocks. Sally cried out with the pain of it and tears began to run down her face. The audience was eating up every detail of this. Then the Whip Master turned Sally around so the audience could see that Sally’s entire buttocks were now pink and inflamed.
“Thank you sir. You have done your job. Now let’s have a round of applause for our volunteer!”
The audience cheered at the top of their lungs as he found his way back from the stage and took his seat next to me. Jason turned to the same generator cart that had been used with the two previous victims and again flipped switches so that we could all hear the whir of the generator starting up once again. The Whip Master pulled the evil looking whip off the cart and he was ready to go once more.
Sally was left with her back to audience for what was coming next. She had earlier been stripped from the waist down but still had her white t-shirt on. Jason took out his pocketknife and cut the t-shirt off. Then he unfastened her arms that had been tied behind her back and secured her hands instead above her head to lines he had dropped from above the stage. Her back was now fully bared.
The Whip Master then stepped to one side of her with his whip. He drew his arm way back then brought the electrical whip forward until it struck Sally’s upper back. The audience gasped to see blue sparks jump and the intricate dance of all the muscles in her back. She let out a piercing cry and begged for mercy. There would be none. He drew back his arm again, this time landing the electrical whip on her buttocks. Again the audience saw the blue sparks and was treated to see all the muscles in her buttocks contract and ripple. The third blow was to her thighs and the audience enjoyed watching her hamstring muscles violently contract and ripple.
The fourth blow rained down on the top of a slender arm and delicate shoulder causing these muscles to ripple and cramp. The fifth blow was to the backs of her knees. As her legs gave way she found that she could no longer stand, and hung suspended by her arms. For the fifth he spun her around so that she again faced the audience. The audience was seeing her lovely breasts for the first time and was impressed with their size, shape and firmness and by her compact areolas and pert nipples. Jason then rained the blow down across the fronts of her thighs. The audience saw the quadriceps muscles ripple and cramp. Then he laid the electric whip across her sensitive breasts and nipples. She cried out that the pain was more than she could bear.
“What do you want from me?” she cried. “I will say or do anything you want if only you make the pain stop!”
Jason walked over to her and put a pair of earphones on her head.
“The earphones I put on her”, Jason explained to the audience, “are playing loud music so she can’t hear what I am about to say to you. Notice that she complains she can’t take any more pain but she has had no more blows than I gave the others. The difference is that she is under the influence of pain enhancing drugs. Now I will compound her stress by adding an explicitly sexual element.
Jason then turned a dial way down on the control panel.
“I have greatly reduced the voltage and current”, Jason explained, “for my next stroke since the purpose of this one will not be to cause pain but to cause sexual humiliation.”
The sixth stroke was gently applied to her genitals. We could still see blue sparks though they were much smaller than before. She gave a small cry and jumped a little.
“I suppose this is legal too? The same way Duncan’s homosexual rape was legal?”
“Exactly so.”
Jason repeated this gentle stimulation of her genitals several more times letting just the tip of the whip tease her labia. Each time she gave a small cry and her pelvis jerked back momentarily, then jerked forward in an obscene fucking motion. Her nipples became hard. At last his efforts were rewarded. She gave an excited out of breath cry and the audience could see juices running from her vulva down her inner thigh. Jason took the tip of his whip with the current turned off and gently teased the labia apart so that all might see the stickiness within
We have just about got her to the point we want her. What we are after is a pain triggered sexual-psychotic break. But to put her into that state I will need to apply some more pain. We want to temporarily annihilate her personality so that she loses her grip on reality and begins to have delusions. Then she becomes highly suggestible and we can have some fun with her. ”
At this point Public Advocate Roger Stinson rose to his feet, picked up the microphone that had been provided for him and made an announcement over the public address system.
“I must call a halt to the proceedings”, Stinson announced, “until I am satisfied that a risk assessment has been done and that no permanent harm will be done to the slave!”
There could be heard a few groans, muffled conversations and grumbling.
“I understand your concern Mr. Stinson. I assure you that this will be a temporary state from which she will fully return to normal in a few hours. If you will type in the words ‘sexual-psychotic break’ on your in seat computer, you will see a summary of all the precautions we have taken to protect the mental health of our subject tonight. Take a moment to scroll through that and then tell me if we haven’t done enough to protect Ms. Rigers.”
Stinson did spend what seemed like ten minutes reviewing this material before making a decision. While he was doing this many in the audience were starting to grow restless. At last he spoke again over the public address system.
“I have seen enough to know adequate precautions were taken. I am granting permission for you to proceed with your show as intended.”
“Thank you sir. We appreciate your professionalism. I want everyone to understand that what you will see will resemble a hypnotic trance but it is not that but the symptoms of a psychotic break with reality.”
He began to lash her again and again with the electric whip. Breasts, then shoulders, then thighs then calves, then one right across her lower belly just above her pubic hair. The audience saw the muscles of her abdomen spasm and this time Sally disgraced herself. Jason quickly stepped out of the way so that the audience might see the urine running out of her vulva and trickling down her slender thighs. Many whistled again to show their appreciation of the show they were seeing.
Sally began to shriek at the top of her lungs and continued shrieking for what seemed like ten minutes. Then she broke down sobbing without letup. At this point Jason freed Sally’s wrists from the overhead restraints. She curled up into a ball. Jason let this go on for a while.
“Now I will ask you all to be very quiet when I take the earphones off her to help me set up her delusion.”
Jason now removed the earphones so that she could hear everything that would follow.
“Sally do you know where you are?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me where I am”, she replied.
“Sally you are in your parent’s home. You are in your bedroom. You are 12 years old. It is after midnight and very quiet in your house. All you can hear is the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. You are waiting for your father to come to your room. Sally, do you understand where you are?”
“I am in my parent’s home”, Sally replied. “I am in my bedroom.”
“Sally you will find that you are strong enough to stand now and you want to stand.”
She slowly uncurled from the ball she had been in and shakily got to her feet facing the audience.
“How old are you, Sally?”
“I am 12 years old.”
“What are you doing in your bedroom?”
“I am waiting for my father to come to my room.”
“Sally you feel some sensation on your legs. You will reach down now and touch your legs. What do you feel?”
“I feel wetness.”
“Check your panties. Do they feel wet also?”
Sally’s hand reached down to her crotch as though to check her panties, though she wasn’t, in fact, wearing any.
“Yes, they feel wet.”
“Why are you waiting for your father?”
“Because he has to check if I have soiled myself.”
“What will he do if he finds your legs and your panties wet?”
He will punish me hard with a paddle on my bare butt.
“Does your father ever do other things … sexual things with you?”
“Sometimes yes”.
“How do you feel about that?”
“It gets me hot. It is very exciting!”
“Does it make you want to touch yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you do that now? Nobody is watching you. You have some private moments before your father comes up the stairs.”
Ms. Rigers two hands slowly went down to her waist. She used her two hands as if she were inching her imaginary panties down. Then her right hand began to play with her vulva.
“Sally you hear the stairs creaking as your father climbs up to your room.”
“Yes, I hear him coming. I stop playing with myself because I don’t want him to catch me.”
“Sally, I am your father and I am in your room now. What do I see?”
“You see me standing facing you with my panties pushed down to my knees.”
“Yes, I can see you have wet your panties and I can see the urine that has run down your legs. I also smell your arousal. I walk over to you and cup your vulva with my right hand and feel the slipperiness. I raise my hand to my nose and smell your juices.”
As he said this Jason did, in fact, walk over to Sally, cup her vulva, then raise his hand to his nose and smell the odor.
“Sally, how many times have I told you what would happen if you wet yourself?”
“Many times father.”
“And how many times have I told you not to play with yourself?”
“Many times father.”
“You know what must happen now, don’t you?”
“I must be punished.”
Jason snapped his fingers and the two female assistants rolled out a narrow bed.
“You are to lie face down over that bed with your ass elevated.”
She did as commanded and Jason picked up the electric whip once more and laid a whole series of slashes across her buttocks. She twisted and writhed and cried out with the pain of each stroke as the audience saw all her muscles in play.
“Do you think you have been punished enough?”
“Yes father.”
“How do I usually show you that I still love you after a hard punishment like that?”
“You stick your penis in me.”
“Yes Sally. And that is what I will do now. Lie face up on your bed.”
Sally did as commanded and Jason had two lines dropped from above so that he could elevate and separate Sally’s legs. He turned the bed at 45 degrees to the audience. He removed his black spandex codpiece. He stroked himself a few times until he had a hard erection. Then he hovered over Sally and positioned his penis at her gateway and pushed in.
“How does this make you feel Sally?”
“It makes me feel loved father. It feels really good!”
“Show me how good it feels.”
Sally began bucking and giving Jason a fine ride. After a period of mounting excitement he pulled out and shot a stream of his semen all over her belly. He got up, unfastened Sally’s ankles from the overhead lines, put his codpiece back on, and gestured for the audience to maintain their silence. He signaled for the stage lights to be dimmed somewhat and the house lights to be brought up.
“Sally do you know where you are?”
“I am in my bedroom in my parent’s home and you are my father.”
“No Sally. You are not in your bedroom. I am not your father. You are on a stage with 100 people watching you! Go ahead, look out there and see all those people who have been watching you!”
“What am I doing on a stage? I am only 12 years old!”
“No Sally. You are not 12 years old. You are a 32-year old woman. You just had sexual intercourse in front of all those people out there. You had sex with your father in front of all those people. Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. Why did I do that?”
“Because I told you to and you always do what I say. Now aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“I am ashamed. I am so ashamed.”
Sally’s face was red. She again curled up into a ball, began to suck her thumb and was crying like a baby. This went on for what seemed like ten minutes. Then Sally was crying hysterically and the audience loved that too.
“Perhaps the young lady has had enough. Attendants, please carry her off.”
The two female attendants came forward with a stretcher, placed Sally on it, and gently carried her offstage.
“That concludes our show for this evening”, Jason announced. As you make your way out through the lobby remember that we do have representatives on hand to take your order for photos and videos of today’s show. These make fine gifts for your friends! Thank you for joining us today and please come back and join us again for next month’s show!”
The stage lights dimmed, the house lights came fully up and people started heading for the exits.
Our group of public advocates made our way out into the lobby. It seemed we all had prisoners we needed to check up on. For Barbara Fox it was the two male victims punished earlier. For Roger Stinson it was Sally Rigers. My own need was to again visit Rachel in the preparation area just prior to her upcoming private punishment. We stopped at the box office and a staff person was dispatched to take Fox and Stinson to the recovery area and to again take us to the preparation area.
Jeremy asked Stinson if we might accompany him to visit Sally before proceeding on to Rachel.
“It will be a valuable learning experience for you Stephanie” he said, “to see what goes on in the recovery area.”
The recovery area resembled the preparation area in that it was organized into a number of curtained off cubicles. We came to one where a naked Sally lay strapped to a gurney, her body perspiring heavily and trembling from head to foot. A heart monitor was attached to her and I could see that her pulse was racing and her blood pressure elevated. She seemed to be staring off in the distance with fixed pupils and not aware of any of us. A nurse had hooked up an IV line with a saline drip and was using that to also give her a medication.
“Hello Mr. Stinson”, the nurse said. “We haven’t been able to talk to her yet. I am just giving her a cocktail to help bring her down from her agitated state. It is a mixture of Traumatholin and a tranquilizer. Our doctor says it is important that she be able to remember her punishment in the days to come but also important that the traumatic aspects of her punishment not imprint on the part of her memory that would cause post traumatic stress syndrome. She needs to retain her sanity and her ability to function.”
“Very good nurse. I want you to get a sheet to cover her as soon as you can.”
“Yes sir, we don’t bother about the modesty of these prisoners, but if that is what you want sir?”
“That is what I want.”
Mr. Stinson then began to feel Sally’s arm muscles and then her leg muscles. He kneaded and deep massaged her limbs and evoked a small cry of pain from the young woman. By now the nurse had returned with a sheet that she draped over Sally.
“Nurse, her muscles are all bound up in knots from the electric whipping. I want her to have a muscle relaxant and an anti-inflammatory. If you need to check that with your doctor I will wait here while you do that.”
“Sally – can you hear me?” Stinson called out.
At first we heard only a muffled groan from Sally. Stinson squeezed her hand very firmly and repeated his question.
“Who – who are you? she replied in a faint voice.
“I am Roger Stinson, your court appointed Public Advocate. I am here to make sure they are treating you all right as you recover from your punishment. I am on your side Sally.”
“All my muscles hurt so bad! I don’t think I can move anything without screaming!”
“I know Sally”, Stinson replied, “We are going to do something about that very soon.”
Just then the nurse returned with a signed order from the doctor
“Doctor says I can give the two drugs you requested Mr. Stinson.”
She injected a vial of first one of the drugs and then the other into the fitting on the IV drip line. Sally’s muscles began to relax almost immediately.
“Try to move one of your arms now Sally.”
We saw her tentatively move an arm and then raise one of her legs a short distance above the gurney.
“Everything is sore Mr. Stinson, but it doesn’t hurt too much to move now!”
“There is one other thing I need to check Sally, since you were raped on stage.”
Stinson whipped out a sterilizing towelette from his pocket and thoroughly washed all the fingers of one hand. Then he peeled back the sheet and inserted two fingers in Sally’s vagina.
“I will go slow. You tell me if this hurts.”
“It is a little sore sir, but not too bad. Jason used quite a bit of lubricant.”
After a moment Stinson seemed satisfied, pulled his two fingers out and washed them off with another towelette.
“I am impressed Mr. Stinson!” I said. “Are you a doctor as well as an advocate?”
“Hardly! I just took a college course called “Slave Medicine 101”. They teach students how to perform the most basic physical exam and diagnose some of the most common problems that may result from corporal punishments.”
I could see that Sally was in good hands and I needed to be sure and check in with Rachel before the after show got started in Room B101. So Jeremy and I made our excuses and proceeded on to the preparation area. This time we again found Mr. Morrison present in Rachel’s cubicle but he was standing next to a seated and clothed Rachel. Rachel was smiling this time. Her friend Don from high school was with her with his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of support. Her outfit was somewhat shocking – probably what she had been wearing at the time of her arrest. Her black skin provided a striking contrast to the garish clothing she wore. She had on a pink wig, a sleeveless black belly-baring top, pink short shorts, fishnet stockings and high heels!
“Greetings again Miss. Glenn“, Morrison said with a broad smile. We meet this time under happier circumstances! It seems two new orders have come from the Court. One is concerning Rachel and is the reason you see her sitting in a chair and not strapped to a table. It seems the Administrative Tribunal has vacated her convictions on two of the three charges. The only conviction they let stand was the one for wearing inappropriate attire in an upscale part of the city. That is a very minor misdemeanor, and they have vacated the original sentence and substituted a new one calling for only a mild humiliation.”
“That is good news indeed!” I said. “But what about that pain enhancing drug you gave her earlier this evening?”
“Don’t worry about that”, Morrison replied. “We have already given her the antidote”.
“Why did they acquit her of the two felony charges?” Jeremy inquired.
“It seems a freshman girl finally came forward”, her friend Don responded, “who had heard Bart’s blackmail threat. She had been afraid to get involved originally but her conscience bothered her. She went to the Public Prosecutor. Bart was called in and confronted with the evidence against him whereupon he broke down and cried and confessed he had indeed blackmailed Rachel and that he had lied about it under oath in his sworn statement earlier!”
“What is the prosecutor going to do about that?” Jeremy asked.
“Blackmail and perjury are both very serious felonies”, Don continued, “and the prosecutor was prepared to try Bart as an adult – with the possibility he could be enslaved for up to ten years! Bart’s lawyer negotiated a plea bargain for him to avoid a trial. The upshot is Bart will become a chattel slave for two years and he has to undergo a ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’ - which is to be administered tonight!”
“Rachel, does that help to take the sting out of what you have been through?” I asked.
“Well, it can’t hurt”, Rachel admitted.
“I suppose this is not such good news for you, is it Mr. Morrison? I mean after all you sent out invitations promising your 100 guests they would see a 16-year old girl receive a very intense whipping.”
“I will survive Miss Glenn. Actually I think my guests won’t be too disappointed since they will see a 16-year old boy receive the exact same intense punishment that Rachel was to have received!”
“Excuse me, but is Bart here being prepared?” Rachel asked eagerly. “Can Don and I see him being prepared for his whipping please?”
“Can they?” I asked. “I mean it seems only fair after what that jerk has put her through!”
“Well I guess we can do that”, Morrison replied. “If you four will follow me over to the other side we will look in on Bart’s cubicle.”
When we got there we saw a very naked Bart Jackson completely strapped down on a gurney with an IV running into him. He looked very scared. Rachel burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny Rach?” I asked.
“It’s his balls! They are so small! And his penis is so shriveled up! And its so much fun to see the son-of-a-bitch tied down to a gurney!”
“Just wait till I get you, bitch!” Bart screamed.
“I take it the IV is a drug to intensify his experiences of humiliation, fear and pain”, I said.
“Quite so Miss Glenn”, Morrison replied. “He is in for quite a ride tonight. Probably will be blubbering like a baby before the night is over.”
When Rachel had seen enough the four of us returned to her cubicle to talk. Don spoke first.
“Rach, when they take you upstairs for their ‘show’ maybe it would be best if I just waited for you down here. I am not sure you would want me to witness your humiliation before all those people!”
“No Don”, Rachel responded. “I want you to go upstairs and watch the show – watch whatever it is they are going to do to me. It will help me to know that I have friends in the audience – instead of looking out at a sea of sadistic faces! That way we can talk afterward and you will be able to help me to get through the aftermath of that experience.”
“OK - I will go upstairs and watch the show – if you are sure that is what you want me to do?”
“I’m sure Don”, Rachel replied.
I think Jeremy and I need to get back upstairs now. We will come back to see you in the recovery area after the show.”
As the crowd in the lobby began to thin out, Jeremy and I quietly made our way to the much smaller Auditorium B101 on the second floor. A small percentage of the spectators from the large auditorium had also made their way here until I estimated there were about 100 of us waiting for this more private show to start.
This hall was too small to have private sky booths, but I noted that it had something else instead. The seats were very comfortable and well spaced apart and there was more than typical space between the rows of seats. Each row of seats was also on a riser that raised the floor under the seats about 18 inches above the level of the floor just in front of the seats, creating a kind of trench in front of all seats. Along with this there were privacy partitions between every two seats that came up to about shoulder height. I noted also that there were small trap doors in the floor in front of every third seat. I saw a girl coming up from a crawl space below the auditorium floor through one of these traps to service a man a few seats down from where Jeremy and I were sitting. Once she got down to business what she was doing was completely hidden by the partitions on either side of her customer.
“What’s all this about?” I asked Jeremy.
“It’s so the prostitutes can find their customers without disturbing other patrons and the prostitute’s head can be kept always no higher than the customer’s lap. That way the customer can enjoy a blowjob or cunnilingus in something that half way approaches privacy.”
There was an atmosphere of eager expectancy. Just before the show got underway we noticed Don had slipped in and taken a seat at the end of the fourth row.
The houselights then dimmed and Jason took the stage and made this announcement.
“When we sent you folks your invitations to this special performance we promised to show you a ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’ of a 16-year old schoolgirl/prostitute. Well, I have some bad news but also good news. Just an hour ago we received papers from the Court that the girl’s most serious charges have been vacated and that she is now sentenced to only a ceremonial paddling for a very minor misdemeanor.”
There were groans of disappointment at this news.
“However we have another treat for you this evening. It seems a 16-year old high school boy was sent to us just two hours ago with an Order from the Court that he be administered a ‘Level Two Enhanced Whipping’. So you will get to see such a whipping inflicted on a minor after all!”
There were cheers at this news.
“But let’s begin with the girl. She is now here only to be punished for a minor misdemeanor and we decided to present her to you exactly as she was dressed at the time of her recent arrest. Assistants, please bring the girl on stage now.”
What the audience saw was a tall and somewhat thin black teenage girl whose dignity was evident in her face her erect posture and her bearing. Yet she was clothed very much like a cheap whore. Probably these were the clothes she had been arrested in while plying her trade. Her attire was a pink wig, sleeveless off the shoulder white fur wrap that left her lightly muscled arms and dark and toned flat midriff bare, pink short shorts revealing slender but lightly muscular legs and fishnet stockings with garters and high heels. She wore makeup suggestive of her profession and cheap jewelry. Jason picked up the microphone to make an announcement.
“This girl obviously needs to be taught a lesson about appropriate attire when prostituting herself on New York’s upper east side. Will two of my assistants bring her to the front of the stage and secure her for the initiation at this time?”
Two assistants brought her forward, stood her facing the audience, secured her wrists to an overhead line and each held one of her ankles to prevent kicking. She was nervous even though she knew she had been spared the worst.
“Will the Court Bailiff and the Complaining Witness please come onstage?”
A uniformed guard and a fifty something gentleman now came on the stage. The man was wearing a plain black facemask. The guard was holding a sheaf of court papers.
“Will the Bailiff please read the charges against this girl and give us the essential facts of her case?”
“Her street name”, the Bailiff began, “is Rita, aka ‘Skinny Rita’. I am not at liberty to reveal her real name since she is a 16-year old high school student and the Court has ordered these proceedings kept private. She lives in East Village and is a sophomore at Wickmore High School. She supports herself and pays her high school tuition by working as a prostitute. She is charged with offering herself on the street in a flagrant manner for purposes of sex in a part of our city where street prostitutes are required to dress modestly and must wait to be approached by a customer. That is a paddling offense and she has been sentenced accordingly.”
“In view of her obvious youth, I should mention that Rita, as she prefers to be called, was legally emancipated by a Court when she was only 14, got her prostitution license that same year and is now 16. The public spirited gentleman with me had been taking his young daughter out for a stroll when he encountered our ‘Skinny Rita’ dressed as you now see her and was solicited by her for sex in the presence of his daughter. He was outraged that his young daughter should see such a thing when walking in one of New York’s best neighborhoods. He realized that Rita was in violation of the law that mandates certain dress and behavior codes for girls working in that part of our city. He found a patrol officer to place her under arrest, and then attended her trial as the complaining witness against her. Because of his efforts Rita finds herself here today.”
“Lets hear it for our public spirited citizen!” Jason shouted into the microphone. There was a spirited round of applause.
“What do you say folks? Since he is already on stage shall we ask him to be our volunteer to prepare Rita for her paddling?”
“Yes, yes” many voices shouted.
“Do you agree sir?”
“Certainly. I would be glad to serve.”
“We will need her pretty legs bare for the whip, so start with her fishnet stockings and her high heels.”
The old gentleman did not have to be told twice. First he unstrapped the high heels from her feet and the assistants helped him remove them by lifting first one of her feet and then the other. It was pretty obvious he liked fondling Rita’s legs, as he seemed to take a very long time removing those fishnet stockings. As soon as he had them rolled down and off her legs the audience could see that her legs were a beautiful very dark bronze color. He found the zipper to her pink short shorts and worked the shorts down to her ankles. The attendants again lifted first one of her feet and then the other so that he could get the shorts off her entirely. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her panties and eased them down until some of her black and very curly pubic hair was showing.
“Perhaps”, Jason interjected, “you could leave our audience in suspense on the panty business for a moment and take her wig off first!”
This was done and the transformation of her appearance was startling. It was apparent that her hair was a bleached blonde. Her private hair obviously did not match the blonde hair on her head. She was beginning to look a lot more like the girl next door.
The gentleman returned to teasing the audience with a very slow unveiling of her private parts. Soon the top of her vulva was visible. Then the panties were jerked quickly down to mid thigh with a flourish. Though her pubic hair was dense, black and curly it was well trimmed to cover only her pubic mound and not her slit. She had not had a bikini trim so the curly black hairs just thinned out at the outer reaches of the pubic mound and on the innermost skin of her legs where they came up against her crotch. Her outer labia were prominent and tended to hide the not so prominent inner labia.
Dick pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the panties off her. Then, with his two thumbs, he pulled the outer labia apart so that all might see her inner cunt. Cries of “way to go old man” rang out from several quarters. Then he removed her breast halter so that all might enjoy the sight of her firm youthful breasts. Jason picked up the microphone.
“Notice folks the distinctly darker tone of the inner labia as compared with the skin of her pubis and inner thighs. This is a fascinating feature we so often see in women of color! Notice also the delightful dimples we see on the sides of her well rounded buttocks. This is a feature we often see in women this slender who are also well muscled!”
At this point Jason was handing the gentleman the ceremonial paddle. He took a couple of practice swings then brought the full force of his torso, shoulders and arms into a whistling swing that connected loudly with the girl’s buttocks. She let out a loud scream and jerked her pelvis forward.
There was much amusement at this.
“OK folks – I’m afraid that must conclude our punishment of the girl. That is all her sentence allows for. Attendants, please remove her now. For our next entertainment we have the 16-year old high school boy I mentioned earlier. Now his punishment is going to be a real treat! Let’s get him out here!”
The audience saw a rather muscular boy clad in tight fitting t-shirt and jeans and looking really scared. The two female attendants brought him right up to the front of the stage where they held his upper body firmly. This was, of course, Bart Jackson.
“Now our boy here got himself into a world of trouble first by blackmailing Rita into giving him sex, and then by lying about it under oath in an affidavit to the public prosecutor. Since both the blackmail and the perjury are felonies, the Court has ordered us to give him the maximum severity punishment. I am sure you will all enjoy his screams today!”
At this point I knew if I stayed I would be witnessing the induction of a sexual-psychotic break similar to what I had seen done to Sally Rigers. Since Bart was not my client and I had no particular desire to see this cruelty repeated, I suggested to Jeremy that we go back downstairs to the recovery area where they would be bringing Rachel after her ordeal.
Upon reaching that area we found curtained booths similar to what we had seen in the preparation area. We reached Rachel’s booth and found her naked lying on a hospital type bed but not restrained this time. She was waiting for her clothes to be brought down from the auditorium, and feeling too emotionally drained to get up off the bed. Rachel was sobbing quietly. Evidently her humiliation upstairs had left its mark on her psyche. Her friend Don was at her side, holding her hand and caressing her brow. He was doing his best to not look at her naked breasts and genitals, though Rachel did not seem to mind being exposed before him in this intimate setting. Perhaps after what he had seen upstairs it no longer mattered to Rachel what he saw now. She was obviously comforted by his presence.
One of the nurses came then and placed a sheet over her body for modesty and warmth. Then she and Mr. Morrison left Rachel, Don and I to talk in privacy.
“Rach”, Don offered in a soothing manner, “it really doesn’t matter in the end what they did to you in that show. Try to put it out of your mind and be ready to move on. Probably nobody you know or will ever meet again was in that audience of 100 specially invited guests. They were all big shots you know – politicians, judges, heads of major corporations. What do you care about those people anyway?”
“But Don, what if word of this gets back to our high school? How am I supposed to live this down when all the kids at school are talking about it?”
“I don’t think that is going to happen Rach. The court records of your case are sealed per the judge’s order. Mr. Morrison told me they made a point of not telling Bart or his family that you were also part of that show. And they didn’t admit Bart’s family or friends to the auditorium to watch the show. They made an exception in my case, but the 100 invited guests were all sworn to secrecy. Guests tend to take that very seriously because otherwise they would be blackballed from getting any future invitations to private whippings.”
“Maybe you are right”, she said at last.
She drew Don to her and embraced him with all her strength.
“Don, as soon as you take me home tonight, I want you to make love to me. Will you do that?”
Don was surprised at this turn of events. He and Rachel had been best friends up to now, and that was all it was he thought. He had wanted it to be more but he hadn’t realized until this moment that Rachel was ready for it to be more. The puzzled expression on his face at last gave way to a big warm smile and he nodded to Rachel.
I thought this might be a good time to say goodbye to these two and headed back to the office to write up my report on the evening’s activities.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note to readers, writers and would be writers: If you are enjoying this story or would even like to contribute a story to the Capitallia universe, author would appreciate hearing from you. Femdom or maledom stories welcome. Coaching available for new writers. Drop an email to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Chapter 38. Cheryl and Denise
Two years after the events previously related, since Stephanie still owned Tom Jenkins, she was still maintaining general oversight of his involuntary sex therapy. She would visit the psych lab at Masterson Automotive about once a month and Paul Gregory would take her into the lab where Jenkins would be restrained naked on his back with the plethysmograph device attached to his penis. I accompanied her on some of these visits where I would see the lovely female technician stimulate his visual cortex with all sorts of provocative images and we would all watch the plethysmograph output graph to see which ones affected Jenkins the most. It was the technician’s job to punish Jenkins with an electric shock to his genitals whenever he showed arousal in response to images of inappropriate sexual activity.
After two years of these treatments Stephanie was finally beginning to see a change in Jenkins to where he no longer responded positively to images of violent rape. At the same time he was starting to show erectile response to images of normal sexual activity between loving men and women. So after two years she signed a form authorizing him to be treated by the sex surrogate and to no longer be in restraints during his therapy.
Six months after that Paul invited her to the lab to witness intercourse between Jenkins and the surrogate, Sherry Wilson. I accompanied her for this demonstration as well. She was satisfied with Jenkins arousal and performance with the surrogate and so she informed him that she considered his sexual deviancy issue resolved but that she felt he needed more punishment for his crime against her. She had originally sentenced him to twenty years slavery but she informed him, in view of his sex cure, she would only require him to serve another five years. During this time there would be no more contact with the sex surrogate and the only permitted sexual activity would be masturbation. Did she let Jenkins off too easy? Who knows?
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I suppose it was inevitable that Stephanie and I would marry. We had been through so much together.
The way it finally happened was that I had invited her out for coffee after one of the sessions with Dr. Henderson.
“You have dedicated your budding career”, I said to her, “to ensuring that those who have lost their freedom are treated humanely. I admire very much that in you that caused you to choose this work and give up a higher paying career with an accounting firm. Though there is quite a difference in our ages, we have similar values and share many interests. We seem temperamentally suited to one another.”
“I feel so much more visible with you”, she replied, “though you are twenty years my senior, than with any of the men I have dated that are closer to my own age.”
“Will you share my life Stephanie?” I finally found the courage to ask.
As I asked this question I produced a diamond engagement ring from its case in my pocket. I asked for her hand. Tears of joy were streaming down her face and I could plainly see just how much she had wanted to hear such a proposal from me. She just nodded through her tears as she was plainly too choked up to speak.
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About two years into our marriage Stephanie got a call from Bud Harris, the manager of the Fantasy Showgirls bar where Cheryl worked as an enslaved pole dancer. He knew that Cheryl’s daughter Denise had just passed her 13th birthday and he was very interested in exploring the possibility that the children’s legal guardians would agree to an indentured apprenticeship of Denise to Fantasy Showgirls. This would make it possible, among other things, for him to put on a mother/daughter act.
Harris had what he hoped was an attractive business proposition to put in front of the godparents. He wanted to recruit Stephanie to present the proposal in his stead because she would have more credibility than he would have. Stephanie was convinced his proposal was in the best interest of the children so she agreed to do this. She decided to take me with her to help close the deal.
Debra and Harry Veeders lived in a very modest home about an hour north of New York City. We arrived one Tuesday evening at a time that had been agreed upon and rang their bell. Harry Veeders greeted us and invited us in to their small living room where we also met Mrs. Veeders.
“Debra, these are the people who called, Bill Steelforth and his wife Stephanie.
“Your maiden name was Glenn wasn’t it?” Debra responded. “I have heard so much about you in the news.”
“Can I get you folks a drink or coffee?” Harry asked.
“Just coffee will be fine”, Bill responded for both of us.
After about ten minutes of small talk Mrs. Veeders gave us an opening to talk about what we had really come to discuss with them.
“We sure do appreciate the thoughtful arrangements you made for Cheryl to be able to live with her kids at that facility”, Debra said. “They get good day care there when Cheryl is working and we usually have the kids on weekends.”
“I thought you might be angry with me for having prosecuted and ultimately for having sentenced Cheryl”, Stephanie said.
“We love Cheryl”, Debra responded, “but we know she committed a crime and must pay for it. At least in your sentence you came up with an arrangement where the kids don’t have to suffer because of what Cheryl did.”
“I thought that was only fair”, Stephanie replied. “But I wonder, now that Denise is 13, if you have thought much about her future? She has reached the age where young people either go on to high school, or go to work, or enter an apprenticeship.”
“We have thought about it. With some financial strain we think we could bear the expense of sending Denise and her younger sister to high school. But there is no way we could afford to send them to college. And that concerns us because we know that a high school education just isn’t enough to land a good job these days.”
“Apprenticeships often provide a good alternative when parents or guardians cannot provide a college education”, I offered.
“Do you know of any apprenticeships Denise might qualify for?” Harry asked.
“As a matter of fact that is what we came to talk about”, Stephanie said. “We understand that the children have kept up their ballet lessons, is that correct?”
“That’s right”, Debra responded, “Bud Harris, Cheryl’s employer, has been covering the costs of ballet school for both girls the last two years. There is a picture of the two girls in their ballet costumes on the mantelpiece.”
I walked over to look at the pictures. I could see that both girls were pretty – each in her own way. Denise was tall for her age and thin, with long arms and legs. Shirley, at age 8, was much shorter and a bit chubbier.
“We bring a proposal from Mr. Harris”, Stephanie explained, “who would like to offer Denise an apprenticeship where she can use her ballet skills dancing at his club and receive training for a career in show bar management.”
“You mean she would have to pole dance?” Harry said. “I have watched a couple of the shows they put on there and I can tell you they are pretty raunchy. I am embarrassed that our dear friend Cheryl has to work in that place as part of her punishment. I won’t have Denise working in a place like that – flashing her crotch at any guy who has the price of a drink!”
“Don’t be so judgmental Harry!” Debra jumped in. “Have you forgotten that I was once a dancer in one of those places when we first started dating!”
“Oh but it’s very different now honey! In your day they kept their g-strings on! And the dancers didn’t go upstairs and fuck the customers!”
“We had to fraternize with the customers, get groped by the customers and do table dances in my day!” Debra protested.
“Mr. Harris made it very clear that Denise will not be expected to fraternize, or go upstairs with any customer”, I responded. “He has one night a week in each of his clubs which is called “Artistic Night”. On these nights the dancing is erotic in an artistic way, not in a lewd way, so he tends to get a better class of customers on those nights.”
“Why does he want a 13-year old girl to dance in his club?”
“He thinks it would be spectacular”, I interjected, “to have a mother/daughter dance act. After all, Cheryl has had years of ballet training too.”
“So Denise would be dancing on stage with her mother and both of them would be naked?” Harry asked.
“That’s right”, I replied.
“No way!” Harry exclaimed. “I would feel like I was prostituting my godchild!”
“Hold on a minute Harry!” Debra said in a loud voice. “The naked human body is not inherently obscene. A mother/daughter act could be beautiful or even erotic without being vulgar. I have something to say about all this too and I, for one, would like to hear the rest of the proposal.
Harry stopped talking, set his jaw and just crossed his arms over his chest.
“During her initial indenture”, Stephanie continued, “from her present age until she is 16, Denise’s duties would only be to dance on stage and to do table dances on request. She would receive extensive training in pole dancing and artistic show dancing to supplement the ballet skills she already has. Customers would not be allowed to touch her at any time. The bouncers would enforce that. She would also be attending high school during this time and Mr. Harris will pay for that!”
I saw Harry’s body language soften a bit at the mention of Harris paying for high school. Obviously that would take a major financial strain off him and his wife.
“We should also point out”, I said, that during this first three-year indenture she would also be posing for nude photographs and have her nude dance performances photographed and video recorded. But in accordance with the federal child photography law no such photographs or videotapes could be offered for immediate sale or otherwise distributed. Instead they would be logged and placed in escrow storage until Denise would be 18 years old. At that time she could decide, as an adult, whether to consent to the sale and distribution of these materials. If she then consented she would realize quite a nest egg that she could use to pay for a college education!”
“Harry, we have to at least consider it!” Debra exclaimed. “Think of the advantages it would bring our Denise!”
“Upon reaching age 16”, Stephanie continued, “she would be offered the option to re-indenture for another 5 years. This second indenture, if she chose to go ahead with it, would be sexual in nature. First of all she would be entering into a protégé-mentor relationship with Mr. Harris himself. He would be her sexual teacher. Until age 18 that would be the only sexual activity required of her.”
“I don’t know about you Harry”, Debra interjected, “but I rather like the idea of our Denise going into a protégé-mentor arrangement. So many teen girls have their first sexual experiences in the back seat of a car with some fumbling boy their own age making a bad job of it. Denise will have an expert teacher in Mr. Harris who can make her first experience an absolute delight and transition her from girlhood to womanhood in a most memorable way!”
“You have a point there Debra!” Harry responded.
“Upon reaching age 18”, I remarked, “she would be expected to go upstairs with the occasional VIP customer but she would be off limits to the general run of customers.”
“I wish that were not part of the deal!” Debra said.
“Let’s be realistic”, Harry responded. “Most females wind up trading their sexuality for something less than romantic love sooner or later! Is a wife who married a man she didn’t love because of his promising career any less of a prostitute? Is the single woman who jumps from one affair to another in a never ending quest to assuage her loneliness any less of a prostitute?”
“That’s different Harry!”
“I really don’t see how”, he replied.
“From age 18 to the end of her apprenticeship at age 21”, Stephanie continued, “she would be receiving intensive training in show bar management. During these years she could also be attending college part time – that is if she consented to distribution of her photos and videos. At age 21 she would be legally free to work anywhere, but it would be Mr. Harris’s intention to offer her a lucrative position with his club as both a dancer and a club manager. His plan is for her to take over management of the club where her mother works.”
“What about Cheryl?” Debra asked.
“She too will be receiving intensive training in show bar management later on – so that when she completes her slavery in 6 more years she too will very likely be offered a salaried position as manager of one of Mr. Harris’s clubs.”
“What about it Harry?”
“I don’t know”, he responded, “it sounds like it could work out financially for both Cheryl and Denise, and for us, but I still have reservations if I would want Denise working in that kind of a place.”
“Well Harry, why don’t we visit the club on one of these “Artistic Nights” and see for ourselves what the atmosphere is like, how the customers behave and so forth?”
“All right – that makes sense. Let’s leave it at that Mrs. Steelforth. Then if we like what we see we will talk directly with Mr. Harris.”
“One other point to consider”, I said. “If you do decide to go ahead with this get a good underwriter to draft the apprenticeship contract of indenture for you. That will be an important step in securing Denise’s future. If you need a name of an underwriter I may be able to recommend someone.”
With that we ended our meeting.
About a month after Stephanie and I visited the Veeders, I got a call from Bud Harris, manager of Fantasy Showgirls. He wanted to let me know that Denise was now apprenticed to him and to thank Stephanie and I for the role we had played in persuading her guardians. He suggested that I visit the club on Thursday night when Cheryl and Denise would be having their first dance performance together for ‘Artistic Night’. He wanted me to satisfy myself that this apprenticeship was working out all right for Denise.
I admit I was curious, having seen the photo of Denise in her ballet clothes, to see what it would be like to watch her dance nude. Stephanie had another commitment Thursday so I went alone. I took a seat at the bar just as one of the acts was ending, ordered a drink and waited for the mother and daughter act.
“Say, aren’t you Bill Steelforth!” the fellow on the next barstool said to me.
“Why yes, I didn’t know I was so well known”, I replied.
“You have been in the news quite a bit”, he said. You have a reputation of being one of this city’s most reputable slavers! But perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Roger Stinson of Stinson Associates.”
“Your name is familiar to me”, I said. “Stephanie had mentioned running into you at that show a couple of years ago put on by the Public Whip Master.”
“I am the court assigned Public Advocate – to protect both Cheryl and Denise. I made unannounced visits to the club a couple of times during Denise’s training. Tonight I am here to make sure they don’t prostitute the young girl, and to make sure there is no rough stuff.”
“I am glad to see that an advocate has been assigned for both of them”, I said. “Did you have to intervene to stop anything during the girl’s training?”
“Well, at first the girl didn’t want to do this job. She said this whole apprenticeship deal was her godparents’ idea and that she had never agreed to it. She just put her little foot down and refused to train for the dance routines. Said she was never going to dance naked on any public stage!”
“What happened then?”
“Bud Harris was beside himself. He was planning to send her to the Public Whip Master for a bare bottom paddling. I intervened at that point. I pointed out to Mr. Harris that there were other, more humane, ways to secure the girl’s obedience.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“What I proposed was that he induce a hypnotic state, with the help of some chemical persuader if necessary, and plant post-hypnotic suggestions that could be triggered later to bring about her compliance.”
“These techniques would be legitimate in her case since she is under indenture. Did he follow your advice?” I asked.
“Yes indeed. I expect you will see the results tonight!” he replied.
There was an atmosphere of expectancy in the crowd. It was early in the evening and there had been only one act so far. Mostly it was the mother and daughter act that was the big draw tonight.
Just then we heard the voice of the M.C. come over the PA system.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to our mother and daughter team, Sugar and Spice!”
There was very warm applause indeed as the two slender females I knew as Cheryl and her daughter Denise made their way up the steps of the stage. Each of them wore only white dance shoes and a white terrycloth wraparound that left their arms and shoulders bare and came down only to mid thigh. Evidently Mr. Harris had been letting them get quite a bit of sun as I couldn’t help but admire the sun bronzed arms and legs of the young woman and her 13 year old daughter. Cheryl wore a steel collar denoting the fact that she was a penal slave. Denise wore a leather collar denoting that she had lost her freedom temporarily because of her apprenticeship indenture.
“Are all the dancers here under some form of bondage?” I asked.
“Not at all”, he replied. “There are, I think, two others besides Cheryl and Denise who are slaves. The others – about a dozen of them – are all free employees. They dance here and trick with the customers because they can make a comfortable living, receive good medical care and have their employer pay most of their tip income into a retirement trust fund. They are also protected from the hazards of street hooking.”
Both dancers acknowledged the warm applause with a low bow and then, on the first beats of the music, promptly removed the wraparounds revealing two completely naked bodies. I had thought there might be a gradual strip tease but apparently management felt the spirit of art would be better served by a quick unveiling.
Cheryl’s breasts were firm, well shaped and of moderate size. Denise was just at the onset of puberty and had the barest suggestion of breasts beginning to show. Both of them were redheads with Cheryl having a dense jungle of red pubic hair that spread out thinly at the periphery to encompass the tops of her inner thighs. The thick jungle had been trimmed enough along the central slit so that all the details were visible despite the thick pubic hair. Her inner labia were prominent and her clitoris could clearly be seen. It was apparent that she had a ring piercing her clitoral hood, with some sort of tag hanging from the ring.
Denise, at the onset of puberty, was just beginning to show a little red pubic hair at the top of her vulva. In her case only a straight slit could be seen due to the prominence of the outer labia. She too had a genital ring though, in her case, it appeared somewhat lower than her mother’s ring. It was just barely visible peeping out between the outer labia and the viewer might infer that it was piercing the inner labia just below the clitoral hood, though the inner labia were well hidden. She too had some sort of tag hanging from her ring. Many men in the audience drew in their breath at the beauty displayed, but there were no catcalls or other impolite noises.
The music of the first dance was from a Broadway musical. The beat was fast and mother and daughter were moving as only well trained dancers can, and doing so in perfect synchronicity – like a Broadway chorus line. On the last beat the two of them ended by doing two perfect splits and raised their arms high in a gesture of triumph. There was very vigorous applause.
The next song was a jazz number with a much slower beat. Both dancers were doing synchronized twirls on pointe with one leg raised to horizontal. Each time the two dancers’ raised legs came around toward the audience in unison there was quite a magnificent view of both their crotches.
For the second half of this jazz number mother and daughter went into another ballet like maneuver. Cheryl held her daughter aloft – much as a male dancer holds a ballerina aloft – while Denise soared like a bird. Another excited round of applause.
At this point there was a short break during which an area of the stage floor four foot by 8 foot was hydraulically raised until it was 7 feet above the surrounding stage floor. What the audience then saw was that there was a platform underneath the original stage floor upon which a clear glass bathtub rested. This bathtub was filled with water and its base was now level with the surrounding stage floor. Cheryl and Denise looked on with anticipation.
The music of the third song was slow and dreamy. Cheryl led her daughter to the tub and had the strength to lovingly lift her and placed her body down into the water. Because the tub was of clear glass and the water contained no suds everything could be seen. Cheryl took a bar of soap and began to lovingly soap her daughter’s body. Her obvious pleasure was sensual though not sexual as her fingers trailed with delicate touch the arms, legs and buttocks of young Denise. The pleasure Denise was experiencing was also apparent to the audience and was, like her mother’s pleasure, sensual in nature. After a while Denise stood and her mother assisted her in stepping out of the tub. Cheryl then delicately toweled off her daughter’s body. On the last few beats of the music the two then locked themselves to each other in a naked embrace to thunderous applause.
During the break that followed the bathtub was hydraulically lowered back down below the stage, restoring the original stage appearance.
“Couldn’t an act like that be a violation of Capitallia’s law against parent-child sex?” I asked.
“No – because while the act is sensual it is not explicitly sexual. Also no because when Cheryl was enslaved she lost her standing as a custodial parent. The parental roles are now assumed by the Veeders. It would be illegal for either of the Veeders to have any sexual contact with Denise”, Roger replied.
For the fourth and final song both dancers climbed their respective poles. The music was energetic and the dancing was sinuous and erotic and included such acrobatic moves as climbing the pole with body upside down, using the arms for upward propulsion and clamping the knees against the pole to maintain position between upward thrusts. These maneuvers beautifully delineated the musculatures of the two dancers, while exposing their vulvas to the overhead spotlights and an appreciative audience.
While these maneuvers beautifully displayed female anatomy, I noted that there was none of the vulgar thrusting motions suggestive of fucking that I had seen earlier when Cheryl danced by herself. So ‘Artistic Night’ really was different than other nights at this club. There was vigorous applause at the end of this dance and both dancers bowed to acknowledge it. After this the two dancers put on their wrap arounds and were assisted in climbing down from the stage. We then heard the voice of the m.c. over the public address system.
“If you enjoyed the artistic dancing you just saw on stage, remember that you can have more of it at your tables. Both Sugar and her daughter Spice are available for table dances!”
Here again I had noted that the performance on ‘Artistic Night’ was different than on regular nights. Neither dancer had gone around the edge of the stage collecting five-dollar tips for putting on a lewd display for individual customers. The table dances they would do for ten dollars a song would be conducted with considerably more decorum and not involve lewd thrusting motions nor permit customers any physical contact.
“Do dancers in this club get to keep all these ten dollar tips for the table dances?” I asked.
“Yes”, he replied. “Mr. Harris wants them to be highly motivated to please customers. He wants them to really hustle to entice as many patrons as possible to pay for them to dance and display their bodies in artistic poses. But they receive their tip income in ways that insure they not become too financially independent. Mr. Harris doesn’t want any of his dancers to feel so financially secure that she can afford to quit her job or even afford to take off days when she doesn’t feel like working.”
“So how does it work?”
“Each dancer can have all her tip income put into an escrow retirement account managed by a third party trustee. Or she can specify that she wants part or all of it to go to buy credits in a house account. These credits can then be used to purchase creature comforts like special foods, a massage, a trip to the beach on her day off, and so forth.”
I saw a portly man in one of the side booths snap his fingers and signal to young Denise. She picked up one of the available dance pedestals and carried it over to the man’s table. After some brief negotiation she climbed up on her pedestal, removed her terrycloth robe and began to dance for this customer. The real purpose of the pedestal was to raise her up so that her genitals and buttocks would be slightly above eye level for the customer and her legs would also be highly visible. I stayed to watch her do this dance that included a lot of sensuous movements and many postures designed to display the girl’s body to her customer. In one of the breaks between dances the customer began to converse with young Denise.
“Did it hurt when they put that ring through your inner labia?” he wanted to know.
“Not at first sir”, she replied. They had me pretty well numbed up during the actual piercing, but it was sore down there for at least a week afterward.”
“I see that there is some sort of tag hanging from your ring with words written on it”, he continued.
“Yes sir”, she replied. “Would you like me to tell you what the tag says or would you prefer to read the tag yourself?”
“I would like to read it myself!” he replied.
“You may sir – as long as you don’t touch me down there! I will hold the tag so that it is readable, but I must ask you to keep your hands at your sides as you look at the tag!”
“It says ‘Apprenticed to Fantasy Showgirls’ and a date”, he announced in a loud enough voice that patrons at several nearby tables could hear him.
He seemed to be getting excited by her dance performance and by this opportunity to examine her intimately. At the end of her last dance for him she donned her robe and he gestured for her to sit and talk with him for a while. She politely declined and answered a summons from another customer wanting a table dance.
“Her apprenticeship indenture specifies” Roger explained to me, “that she is neither required nor permitted to fraternize with the customers. That is to protect her from sexually aggressive behavior by intoxicated patrons. And of course she does not go upstairs with customers.”
I had seen what I had come to see and enjoyed the show. I thanked Roger for all his helpful commentary and went home for the night.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note to readers: If you enjoyed this story or perhaps have an idea for another slavery story for the Capitallia universe, drop an email to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Note to writers: If you would like to contribute a story for inclusion in the Capitallia universe on SOL, author would appreciate hearing from you. The basic criterion for inclusion is that it be a story about slavery in this future society where slavery is legal. Femdom or maledom stories welcome. Coaching available for new writers.
Epilogue
Ten Years Later
Much has changed in Stephanie’s life and in my life. Ten eventful years have passed. Stephanie has established herself now in the profession psychologist Paul Gregory suggested to her. She is a practicing slave Advocate and is also called upon to teach classes in the subject. One morning I was an observer watching her teaching a class of new hires for her employer, the Williamson Agency.
“When you go to an employer site,” Stephanie began, “to perform an audit, your first duty is to prepare a complete inventory of who, at that site, is enslaved or indentured. You will have a list from the state slave registry of who is supposed to be under bondage at that site. You will ask the employer for a list, and you will compare lists. Then you will check that the slaves actually on site match the ones described in the lists. “
A student’s hand went up.
“Does that mean physical examinations?”
“Certainly that means physically examining and photographing each slave you find on site. You will document any birthmarks, tattoos, scars or brands. You will also have each one give you his or her fingerprints and submit to a retina scan. These biometrics provide a secure link between the slave’s body and the database of information about him or her.”
“What do we do when the biometrics we find on site don’t match those from the state slave registry?” a student asked.
“If you find any person working at the employer site under conditions of bondage whose biometrics don’t match official records, you must generate an I-701 form for follow-up by other agency personnel. If any person listed for that site on the state slave registry is not found there, you must generate an I-702 form.”
“You mentioned employer site just now,” a student asked. “Do we only audit business firms? What about slaves owned by wealthy people as house servants?”
“Many of our more successful citizens,” she replied, “are fortunate enough to be able to employ either penal slaves or indentured servants in their households. We consider any site where our clients are employed to be an employer site for purposes of our work.”
“Stephanie,” one of her students asked, “you said earlier when we receive an assignment to audit a certain business, our first visit and most subsequent visits should be unannounced.”
“That is right, Melanie” she replied.
“But you also said,” the student persisted, “that we should try to develop and maintain a cordial relationship with the slave owners we audit. Wouldn’t things be on a more cordial basis if we showed them the consideration of advanced notice so as to minimize the disruptive effect on their business?”
“Yes a cordial relationship is important,” Stephanie responded, “if it can be achieved without sacrificing the accuracy of our work. With residential audits we always show the homeowner the courtesy of calling for an appointment at a convenient time. With business audits we often use the element of surprise. ”
“How then do we maintain cordiality?” Melanie persisted. “Do we accept their invitations to wine and dine us?”
“Certainly not. You do it by showing the slave owner the courtesy of keeping him informed as to the progress of your investigation, and giving him a chance to ask questions and listening to his side in the event any unfavorable findings turn up in interviews or examinations of his books.”
“When we hear allegations,” another student asked, “of illegal activities in an interview with a slave or indentured person, how do we protect that person from reprisals by his or her master?”
“Doug,” Stephanie responded, “whenever possible we try to obscure from the slave’s owner the specific source of such an allegation.”
“But surely,” Doug persisted, “there will be times when it would be obvious to an employer who the whistleblower must have been. What then?”
“In those cases”, she replied, “we sometimes take a slave into protective custody until the issue can be adjudicated. If the complaint proves valid, the employer may be ordered by the court to divest his ownership of that slave in order to prevent any future reprisals.”
“When do we break for lunch?” the youngest member of her class asked.
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A number of interesting things happened during the first ten years of our marriage including some very good fortune early on. Masterson had finally built his new manufacturing plant in Brazil, eager to take advantage of the recently legalized chattel slavery and private prosecutions in that country. Masterson had so much need of my services to staff the new plant that I opened an office in Rio de Janeiro. My contract basically called for me to find victims of crimes and assist those victims financially and otherwise to bring successful private prosecutions against criminals who could then be enslaved as punishment.
Many crime victims lacked either the financial wherewithal or the legal sophistication to do all this on their own. My firm’s assistance to them came with conditions. They had to agree up front that if the prosecution were successful that the convicted person would become the property of Masterson Automotive Group with a fixed amount, previously agreed upon, being the compensation to the crime victim. Naturally the financial and other assistance was only provided if the Steelforth Agency determined that the criminal would be someone Masterson Automotive would want to own, or alternatively someone my agency could put up for auction and earn a substantial return on the investment that had been made to secure that conviction.
The second memorable event was when Tom Jenkins had served out five more years of his twenty-year penal enslavement and it was time for the early release Stephanie had promised him. She signed the manumission order with the provision that he would be on parole for another ten years and subject to plethysmograph sexual function testing every six months. In the event a test showed a relapse to unacceptable sexual ideation, he would be in violation of parole and his slavery would be reinstated for the balance of the original twenty-year sentence.
Stephanie also paid Jenkins his manumission fee of $35,000 as required by law. She had earned ten times that amount in rentals of his services while he was a slave on loan to Masterson. After he was set free Greg Masterson put him back on the payroll at a generous salary as a free employee, doing pretty much the same work he had been doing as a slave the previous seven years.
The next development was that Stephanie learned that both Erin and Kim completed their apprenticeships and became qualified as journeymen in the robot car repair trade. They had both been quite humbled by their forced sexual service during their apprenticeships. Stephanie was satisfied that they both had a whole new attitude, so she decided to give them both early releases from slavery. They both got good jobs as free employees at repair firms. Last I heard Erin was studying for his citizenship exam and had saved up enough for his first year of citizenship taxes.
Then we had some news about Harold Vick, the lawyer who had been a fellow slave with Stephanie at Masterson Automotive and who had been enslaved for embezzling client funds entrusted to him. He had finally completed his term of slavery and been manumitted. He discovered no law firm would hire him for the trust work he used to do, but he was able to secure a position as an attorney at a much lower salary working with old Mr. Maxwell at the “Slave-No-More” agency. It would be five more years after that before he could re-apply for citizenship.
Jeff Duncan finally completed his ten years of slavery at Vixter Enterprises. He was manumitted and Ms. Vixter paid him his manumission fee of $50,000 as required by law. She offered that he might continue as her Human Resources Manager as a free employee. The salary offer was stingy and he declined the offer. He had kept up his skills in the field through his years of slave service. Last we heard he had found another salaried position with another firm.
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I have enjoyed ten happy years of marriage with Stephanie. We have lived together in a very large mansion out on Long Island. Our elegant home is surrounded by beautifully manicured lawns, has a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean, and includes a grand ballroom, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a gymnasium, and a fully functional auditorium where we have sometimes put on live concerts and dance performances. So large an estate of course required live in servants and we hired quite a few. Servants come cheap in Capitallia. Our servants have mostly lived in a detached building connected to the main house by a tunnel. We haven’t had to worry much about what the servants might see or overhear of our personal lives because each night at the end of their shifts they were mind wiped of any such personal knowledge concerning us.
One thing that did cause a bit of conflict between Stephanie and I was when I announced that I had just purchased, at auction, the ballet dancer and penal slave Vivienne Morentzy. Her former owner was no longer a citizen and could no longer have slaves. She still had 12 years to serve of her original 15-year sentence.
I announced to Stephanie one day that my new acquisition would come to live with us and that I would house her in the detached servant’s building. I planned to have regular sex with Vivienne and I sensed that Stephanie might have felt threatened at first. But I explained that it was just recreational sex, not a relationship, that it really did not mean a thing. It would in no way diminish our relationship. When I told her that she announced: “if you are going to keep a girl toy on our estate, then I am going to keep a boy toy.” Of course I agreed. What else could I do?
Stephanie had learned by this time that it could be quite exciting for her to sexually dominate a young man, even if she decided to limit actual intercourse to me. She wanted total control of a male slave. But she wanted it to be voluntary on his part. In this Stephanie and I were different. I got my thrills out of non-consensual sex, my dancer slave Vivienne being a prime example. Vivienne was grateful to me for helping her with her career and fucked me out of gratitude at first, but she could hardly be regarded as having consented to being my long-term sex partner. But I did not need her consent to this arrangement. That is the beauty of slavery.
Stephanie found that, to fulfill her own domination desires, she just could not take a young man against his will. But she wanted that degree of control. So, at my suggestion, she advertised discreetly through websites for a young man willing to voluntarily enslave himself to a thirty something woman for a period of ten years. She interviewed quite a few applicants until she found Michael. He was twenty something and perfect in body and spirit. Tall, slender and well muscled.
She wanted to make sure that body would always obey her so, with my connections, she had him bio-implanted and sent him off to Richmond Slendabond for his basic slave training. When her pet was delivered to her she installed him on our estate in the detached servant quarters.
Most days, if the weather was not too cold, she would order Michael to work naked outdoors. Our property was well secluded so there were no neighbors to worry about. She liked looking out the windows of our home and watching his sleek well defined body in various poses and attitudes. She put this gorgeous hunk to work to maintain our grounds and gardens and take care of the swimming pools.
Sometimes Stephanie and I would exercise our penchant for voyeurism by ordering Michael and Vivienne to have intercourse with each other while we watched and enjoyed a fine glass of wine and erotically stimulated each other. Sometimes Stephanie would fondle Michael intimately but she never felt the need to have actual sex with him. In this she was different than I was with Vivienne.
Soon after we moved into this palatial home she began getting regular reports about Zigler from her attorney. He was maintaining regular correspondence with the State Department. Apparently two Senators had called State and caused them to ramp up the priority on the Zigler case. They were officially protesting that an execution of Zigler would deny a Capitallian citizen of her property right in Zigler. The Chinese had previously agreed by treaty to respect international property rights.
Zigler’s execution had been postponed at least three times over these last few years while the Chinese evaluated their response to our State Department. Finally the Chinese agreed to extradite him back to Capitallia with our government’s assurance that he faced the certainty of twenty years of slavery here. Stephanie’s lawyer had arranged for a couple of armed plain clothes detectives to meet Zigler upon arrival in New York’s Kennedy Airport. They were to simply take custody of him and put him in a private prison holding cell until she could arrange to sell him at public auction.
But things did not unfold as planned. Just as Zigler was collecting his luggage a gang of four underworld types muscled in on her detectives and spirited Zigler away. We later learned that Zigler had left Capitallia defaulting on a very large sum of money owed to a loan shark with connections to organized crime.
The following morning all the newscasts were reporting that one Mel Zigler had been thrown off the roof of one of Manhattan’s tallest skyscrapers. It was reported that they had to scrape him off the pavement with a shovel. DNA was taken from his splattered remains and matched with DNA on file for his passport. There was no doubt the pool of blood, flesh and bone shards on the pavement was Mel Zigler.
Stephanie had the opportunity to sentence Zigler to the death penalty at his trial but she had not done so. That wasn’t her way. But someone else saw it differently and now at least she has closure. That man will never hurt anybody again.
If Zigler had accepted his sentence of twenty years slavery he would be half way to freedom by now. He would be about age seventy by the time of his manumission but, with all the life extending technology in Capitallia today, he could still have had a life and a career after that. But that wasn’t Zigler’s way. He was a socio path who could never accept responsibility for his own actions.
Stephanie and I have a nine-year-old son who is doing very well in school and wants to be a slaver when he grows up. I have encouraged him in this. I hope one day to turn my business over to him. One day I was working at my desk in my study overlooking the ocean. I had a young female slave crouching under the desk diligently using her mouth to pleasure me. I had forgotten to lock the study door and my son Jeff entered. He came to stand by my side and I knew that he could see that I had a naked girl under the desk. He had seen such things before so I felt no need to explain the situation. Stephanie overheard this conversation between our son and myself.
“Son, why do you want to be a slaver?” I asked.
“To help society deal with all the problems caused by criminals and people deliberately living beyond their means”, young Jeff replied.
“And what else?” I queried.
“Well, to make sure that justice is done. I mean to make sure that people get what’s coming to them if they have been bad!”
“Jeff, are these the real reasons?” I pressed.
“Well, gee Dad, I mean there is also all that power!”
“What kind of power?”
“The power to buy and sell people, the power to make people take their clothes off and the power to make some girl do what that girl is doing for you now! How could that not be fun?” Jeff replied.
“But sometimes we slavers make terrible mistakes. And then it is not so much fun”, I replied.
“Did you ever make a terrible mistake in your work Dad?”
“Yes son. I enslaved your mother, before I got to really know her, because I believed the law required this be done to her so that her creditors could have the restitution to which they were entitled.”
“Dad, how could you possibly have enslaved Mom? What were you thinking?”
“Son, I told myself that I was merely carrying out a ‘routine’ enslavement. I didn’t listen to that inner voice of doubt that told me something wasn’t right. If you become a slaver, son, always listen to that voice.”
Later that evening Stephanie told me her reaction to that exchange.
“I think with a father like you”, she said, “our son is going to grow up all right.”
THE END
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Note to readers: If you enjoyed this story or perhaps have an idea for another slavery story for the Capitallia universe, drop an email to dondaverse (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Note to writers: If you would like to contribute a story for inclusion in the Capitallia universe, author would appreciate hearing from you. The basic criterion for inclusion is that it be a story about slavery in this future society where slavery is legal. Femdom or maledom stories welcome. Coaching available for new writers.
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