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Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Proud, educated, professional women who secretly long for humiliation, discipline, or slavery have their fantasies fulfilled.
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imreadonly2
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Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by imreadonly2 »

A super quick version of an idea I had mentioned awhile ago.

Christie and her daughter Sailor were staying in the Hamptons, laughing at some absurdly overpriced items at Goop Sag Harbor.

“So do you want a candle that smells like her vagina?” Sailor asked her mom.

“I think those are sold out, actually,” her mom responded dryly. “Although at these prices, she should probably just give you a whiff.”

The little bell on the front of the shop rang as two muscular, grim men wearing enough tactical gear for a military invasion entered. Sailor didn’t notice them; she was busy posing in a floppy hat in the 3-way mirror.

Christie frowned. She hoped Sailor didn’t want to buy it, as it was simply atrocious, and way too expensive for her 23-year-old-daughter.

The officer walked right up to the famous model. “Are you Dakota Benelio?” the officer said flatly.

“No,” Christie replied. “I’ve never heard that name.”

The other office didn’t look at her. Instead, he held up a scanner to his neck. His face tightened and he shouted “GOT HER!” to his partner when it gave a satisfied, “BEEP."

“Got her!” the other officer said, holding the scanner up to her neck. “US-KY11-T9L1”, he said, reading the number back. “Dakota Benelio.”

"That's not my number," Christie said. She had gotten tagged, as they put it, because of her international travel. It was the only safe thing to do, and was designed to prevent situations like the one that was now arising.

“Do you have your slave identification number on your lip, sweetie?”

“I’m not a slave,” Christie said firmly. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking too?”

“Yeah, Dakota, you're an escaped slave. “Show us your lip.”

Christie glanced over at her daughter, who was looking at the dresses at the back of the store. Best to get this over with before Sailor saw.

Angrily, she pulled back her lip and let the officers check her number. “Partial match,” the officer said, checking carefully. “It’s NY instead of KY”.

“Probably a modification,” the other officer said. “Yeah, see? She turned the two ones into two fours.”

“NY is New York, idiots, which is where I live, and you don’t modify slave tats. This is ridiculous.”

“Take off all your clothes, slave girl,” the officer said flatly.

“I’m not taking anything off,” Christie said angrily. “I’m calling the police,” she said.

“We are the police, Goldilocks,” he replied, “and since you ran your skinny blonde ass across state lines, this is a federal matter. It doesn’t matter what the local Barney Fife says, you’re coming with us.”

“I’m calling my lawyer, then,” Christie said, taking her phone out of her purse.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Sailor said, striding over.

“Are you her daughter?” the first slave catcher said.

“Uh-huh!” Sailor said. “Are you real slave police? COOL!”

“If you are her daughter, we need to take you into custody too,” the first officer said, eying the long legged blonde up and down.

"I'm not a slave," Sailor said. "You can scan me, or check my SIN," she said, opening up her lip like a flower.

“If you're an escaped slave's daughter, you might be a slave, even if you're not in the system."

"Yeah, better safe than sorry. Take off all your clothes,” the other officer said.

Christie shouted at her daughter, who was already unbuttoning your dress. “Don’t take off your clothes! No, not you. I’m trying to get to my lawyer. Hello? Hello?”

“Fucking receptionist!” Christie said as she redialed.

For her part, Sailor was already down to her lacy underwear. “Can you two Instagram with me? False enslavements are SO cool right now. My friends are going to be SUPER jealous!"

Christie gritted her teeth as her beaming daughter took a selfie with a cop on either side of her.

She beckoned the clerk over. “Can you snap a pic?” she asked. “I want to get a fully body shot of me with the slave hounds. Tyler is going to DIE! Wait, let me kick off my sandals.”

At last, Christie got through to her lawyer, who seemed rather bored, and slightly annoyed that he got called out of a tax meeting.

“Yes, yes, stop yelling, Christie. Calm down. This sort of thing happens all the time. Let me talk to the one of the officers.”

Already anticipating the buffoonish cops apology, a smiling Christie handed the phone to one of the officers.

“Posted!” Sailor said happily. “This is RAD!”

“Okay, we’ll do some more photos down at the slave center, sweetie,” the first cop said, putting his had over the mouthpiece to separate the conversation he was having with Christie’s lawyer.

“Will we ever,” the second cop said. “REAL photos,” he added, giving Sailor a smile and a wink. But in the meantime, you need to take off the rest of your clothes.”

“Everything?” Sailor said, hesitating a bit, as she was only wearing her bra and panties.

“Everything off,” the officer said. “Down to the skin.”

"Yeah, slave naked!" the other cop said.

“Sailor, don’t” Christie scolded as her daughter unhooked her bra. It was too late. The officers smiled as sailors lovely breasts popped into view.

Turing to the clerk, Christie said. “You know us!” You know who we are. I am a celebrity. I'm a very important person. They can't do this to me! Tell them!”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” the female clerk said, eyeing Sailor’s figure as she stripped herself naked for the two grinning officers. “But I never knew you were slaves!”

The officer handed Christie back her phone, “The man who used to be your lawyer wants to chat with you, slave girl” he said with a smirk.

“What the fucks going on?” Christie said, shouting into the phone.

Sailor, smiling, gave a littler twirl as the officers ogled her naked body.

“I think we’d better do a contraband check on this one,” the first officer said.

“Agreed. Okay, sweetie, bend over, and spread your legs, and put your hands flat on the floor. We need to see that slave pussy.”

“Yeah, your asshole, too.” The officer said, passing the hand sanitizer to his partner as they prepared for the ‘slave search’.

Christie’s lawyer was brusque. “Christie, shut up and listen. I know this is bullshit, but these guys are licensed by the feds. Once we get them into court, I can get their licenses yanked, but I can’t do anything while I’m in Manhattan and you’re in the GOOP store. What the hell are you doing there, anyway?”

“She’s a little tight back here,” the slave officer said. “I’m going to give her a little rub, to warm her up, and get the slave juices going.” Sailor groaned as the officer massaged her clit.

“That’s hardly the point,” Christie snapped back. “Sailor's slave naked! And he’s telling me to take off my clothes!”

“Yes, and that’s what you are going to do. Take if off. Every stitch. And you are going to do everything he says, and Sailor too, or he is going to shock you with the slave goad, and whip your ass right in the store, then charge YOU with assault. Look, they’re taking you to the courthouse in East Hampton, and I’ve already sent someone there. They’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours? The courthouse is like 10 minutes from here. They’ll be branding my ass while your clerk is stuck in traffic on 495.”

“They’re not that efficient there. The place looks like a mobile home. Relax, the Judge probably won’t even be there. And if he is… uh, well, ask him if he can wait.”

“That’s your plan? Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Just cooperate. If it’s inevitable, relax and enjoy it. Sailor seems to be having fun.”

Christie blushed as she realized that her daughter’s orgasm was loud enough for her lawyer to hear.

“Have fun, you two,” he teased. “Bye-bye!”

Christie’s heart sank as the officer took her phone and purse from her hands.

“Strip,” he repeated. Everything off.”

Christie’s trembling fingers could barely undo the buttons on her Prada dress. Looking up at her mother between her legs at her way-too-uptight mom, Sailor smiled.

Sailor closed her eyes as the officers highly trained fingers pushed her toward her second slave-gasm, and slipped a finger in her rectum for an additional “search”. Her mom could really be dense. She didn’t notice that the little store was festooned with security cameras, or there was a remote TV truck parked outside. She didn’t notice the other sales girl, who was watching from a discrete distance, was wearing an earpiece, as were the cops, and that the other sales girl was a regular on the celebrity prank show they both watched together.

Most of all her mom had forgotten the date. April Fools!

Sailor groaned loudly as she crested through her second orgasm. Her mom was bending over now, preparing for her search. Damn, her ass was perfect! If they did get branded, the producers assured her, it would be a temporary. Rad.

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SteveBurke
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Re: Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by SteveBurke »

That was fun! Nice twist at the end.
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Re: Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by jeepster »

Yeah like the April fools ending!

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Re: Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by Mr. Smith »

Loved the April Fool's angle. That Sailor sure oozed potential in this story.

Since the Longhorn badge was not burned into her ass this must have occurred before she went on to star in "The Simple Life (of a slave)" which as you recall was the Slave Channel's updated version of the Paris Hilton classic. If I recall correctly the Longhorn offered complementary badging to the celebrity mothers and good ole Christy elbowed herself to the front of the line not wanting to be outdone by her daughter. Christy actually shoved Lisa Rinna out of the way and tripped Kelly Ripa before scooting in front of Aunty Becky diving onto the branding bench to get the Longhorn badge burned into her left buttock. The three-time Sports Illustrated cover model earned another cover on the Longhorn monthly with her and Sailor on their hands and knees afterwards proudly looking over their shoulders showing off their fresh Longhorn badges, leather cheerios and drippy blossoms wide open on display. Inside were a series of mother-daughter split screen photos showing their faces on one side, eyes bulging out, teeth gnawing on the bits with the view of wisps of smoke coming off the badge being burned into their tails as they voided their bladders. With Aunt Becky and Lisa Rinna there were two threefers since both daughters made the show. Lucky for both mom's, only one of their chiildren came down with a bad case of slave mind happily existing as ponygirl Daisy and Flower in Snoop Dog's stable for the next five years. Aunt Becky's daughter never returning to USC to get her hard-earned degree.
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Re: Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by Mr. Smith »

I was not tracking that Christie Brinkley was 44 or 45 when she had Sailor. It surprised me. In a previous story I had the 67-year old's ass branded. Not sure I would have gone there if I was aware of her age.

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Re: Never Forget The Date by Joe Doe

Post by imreadonly2 »

Many celebrities, long accustomed to preferential treatment and backstage passes, assume that their life of pampered privilege will extend into their slave training and sale. As their panicked eyes and flaring nostril's make clear, there is no red carpet at Longhorn, but their is a red hot branding iron. Longhorn takes enormous pride in holding all of their stock to the same exacting standards, and in ensuring that all slave treats are hard earned and well deserved. Many are shocked to discover that their minimum wage handlers are no longer fetching diet cokes for them, but are instead cracking the whip on their pampered asses as they teach them the proper block moves

The good news is that Pleasure Sluts in training have no need of antidepressants, rehab, or costly court appearances for their misdemeanors. They simply have no time for such nonsense, as they are busy rubbing themselves to orgasm and learning to give pleasure during every waking moment. Punishments are doled out swiftly, with no appeal, save for the pathetic's slave's whimpering as she begs to suck you cock. When the time finally comes to hump their branding iron, they can do it with pride, freed from the false delusion that they are somehow special, and joined in sisterhood with the countless slave girls who have gone before them, and will follow in their (bare) footsteps.
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