A Judicious Request, Part 5, Katherine's Response by Joe Doe

[imreadonly2]

THANKS TO CARL FOR HIS HELP, AS ALWAYS!

My dear Oscar,

Your letter stirred many thoughts and emotions, but so as to not bury the lead, let me begin with your most intriguing proposal.

I was disappointed that you are forsaking the opportunity to let me put you in chastity. As a judge, I think you would find me strict, but fair, and if you attended the NOW meetings and completed your nightly homework assignments, I think you’d find your self-transformation remarkable. I have put a number of hot-shot male lawyers through this sort of rigorous training program, including a rape defense lawyer who made a fortune getting off rich scumbags, but now works as in-house counsel for COSMOPOLITAN.

I must say that the offer for me to compete against actual slave girls is MOST intriguing, and really gets my competitive juices flowing. Fooling the men and even a real slave trainer into thinking I’m a mere slave girl sounds like great fun, and, under normal circumstances, I’m quite certain that I could beat any of those disgusting hussies at their own game.

After all, unlike them, I have a brain, and a personality, and a lifetime of accomplishments. I am NOT a Pleasure Slut, even if I am clever enough to pretend to be one for a group of idiot men. What a glorious victory it will be. Perhaps we should consider that chastity cage for you, after I am the FIRST girl chosen?

Intriguing as your proposal is, your brief is a bit TOO brief, counselor, and you leave out several crucial details. In fact, it’s so poorly thought out, I suspect it’s a plot hatched by your chit of an assistant, Hannah, and not a truly professional attorney.

1) As I have told you, my skin has turned quite dark. I have taken up slave block training in class where the trainer does not know that I am not really? a slave, and have been relying on Master Apollo to discretely restore me to my correct and rightful status at the end of every session. However, I am concerned that since “black” girls command less money than white girls, I might be picked last not because of my skill level, but because of the inherent racism of your Texas audience. Of course, there are certain white men who might prefer a negro girl, as a sort of throwback to old plantation days, but that’s hardly the sort of pervert I wish to perform for.

Are you proposing to transport me back in time, to 1840, where you and your cohorts can sit on the porch of some antebellum mansion, guzzling whiskey and mint julips, while twenty dusky slave wenches perform for their pleasure? As unlikely as it is, this is what would be required to make such a competition fair. With white slave girls so freely available in Texas, I’m not sure if anything short of a DeLorean could create a situation where ten men of quality would wish to make offers on 20 negro girls.

2) Speaking of which, who are these “ten men” who shall serve as my jury? As only perverts and degenerates would engage in such a foul spectacle, I wonder whether they are friends of yours? Are these common laborers, bored businessmen, or the Dallas elite? A lady wants to know the “gentlemen” whom she’ll be meeting that night. I certainly hope these will be men worthy of my social status.

3) You mention a trainer who would “put you girls through your paces.” I must confess, Oscar, that I read that sentence dozens of times, as your casual use of the collective noun “you girls” made me a slave girl among other slaves as effectively as any judicial decree. As I read it, I realized that I would merely be one of a gaggle, indistinguishable from my sisters. My heart races at the thought of phrases like “bring out the sluts” or “we have a fine coffle tonight, gentleman.” You question whether I could “hold my own against real slave pussy”, but your grammar betrays the exciting paradox that (for the purposes of our bet) I would be “real slave pussy”, and “colored” slave pussy at that.

Do you understand the psychological implications of what you are proposing, counselor? “Putting me through my paces” and making me “show my block moves” to a group of powerful, fully clothed men, all of whom are looking at me as “slave pussy”? Have you already forgotten the fate of Doctor Lacy, who had her slave fires awakened, once collared? While I am confident that would not happen to me, I’m sure the ex-doctor would have said the same thing, and the horrible, terrible, but nonetheless deliciously arousing element of chance is always there. Similarly, can I rely on you to control YOUR urges and respect the temporary nature of my simulated, pseudo-enslavement?

I know one girl who said that having a free woman play slave girl was like “turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box, as you never know when your enslavement might suddenly pop out.” Are you proposing I turn the crank not for an hour of class, but for an entire weekend?

4) Is this man a “trainer”, or an auctioneer? These are not mutually exclusive professions, and one can easily see how, in the heat of the moment, a friendly selection of a bed wench for the night might turn into a bona fide sale. This is exactly the sort of detail a fluffy headed little upstart like Hannah would neglect. Indeed, in its negligent lack of specificity and careless disregard of the countless perils and pitfalls, I’d say this scheme has her clumsy little fingerprints all over it.

5) As for this trainer, you fail to mention if he’ll have a slave whip. Indeed, you make it sound like summer camp, with a friendly coach to urge us on. As I’m sure you’re aware, counselor, performing under the crack of the whip, with men laughing at you and leering at you and commenting on your naked body, is very different than performing in front of the mirror at home.

I have actually have felt the whip, and despite your sneering and jeering it was applied by a trainer who did not know that I was not a slave girl. The pain was indescribable. However, it was, I’m embarrassed to admit, cruelly effective, as in my desire to avoid the lash I abandoned any pretense of dignity or modesty. As I will offer you no further proof, you will have to take my word for it, but as for slave girls having moves that would “put my moves to shame” I can assure you the shame in ‘winning’ such an exhibition would be all mine!

A whip makes all the difference my friend, which you’d know if you’d ever been on the receiving end. What if you wandered over to where I was showing my wares, drink in hand, for a closer look? What if the trainer (auctioneer?) noticing your interest, commanded me to thrust my pussy up toward you, and use my fingers to “lather up” as they say in the trade? What choice would I have but to comply, and (even though I presume you are a gentleman, and would never shame me that way) what choice would you have but to play along? My only option would be if I debased myself in front of you BEFORE or AFTER the whip striped my ass.

Again, what if your trainer suggested I demonstrate my value to you by offering you a slave kiss? Would you accept? Not something you’d ever want, I’m sure, knowing I’m a federal judge, and as far above you in standing and station as the heavens are above the earth. But what choice would you have but to play along, and what choice would I (under the command of the whip) have but to offer you the greatest pleasure you have ever experienced with my soft, dainty tongue?

Perish the thought! I’m sure you’re as disturbed by this as I am.

6) As the typical block routine is between 2 minutes and (at most) 5 minutes (I’ve been trained for both) and two hours would be allocated, what, pray tell, might be happening during the rest of the allocated time? I’ve read of events where the girls are made to perform “together.” What if I am paired “opposite” a “white” girl, for a little salt and pepper action? What if (and I shudder at the thought) the race line is respected, and I am partnered with a negress and expected to engage in sapphic love? This is where the question of the whip is of no small import, as anything but absolute eagerness to perform any perversion demanded of me would undoubtably earn me a good-old-fashioned plantation butt skinning! I’m sure your “jury” might enjoy such a spectacle, but it would hardly constitute a fair test of my slave performance.

7) I will need a false identity and persona, entered into the National Slave Registry, so the auctioneer may describe me to the buyers. Is this little chit of a clerk (who, based on her photos, looks like she’d look better in a school uniform, over the headmaster’s knee, than in a court of law) going to prepare a suitable identity, that will allow the men to fully appreciate the extraordinary opportunity presented to them? I fear that, given her background running an old-time slave plantation, I might be presented as “Pongo, the black slave monkey” rather than a prize beyond the aspirations of any in the room?

8) In your other troubling use of a collective noun, you mention “We’ll get you bare ass naked.” Who, pray tell, is “we?” Is this Hannah person to be involved? I should hope not, as the thought of having to strip in front of some snotty, wet behind the ears lawyer, fresh out of some Podunk law school, shames me to the core. Of course, I will have to be slave naked before your ‘jury”, but not just to allow your minions to lord it over me.

9) And where, dear Oscar, will you be during this most peculiar occasion? Performing a block routine in front of strangers who mistakenly think I am a slave girl at least spares you the indignity of a fall from lofty heights. If you were to watch, I would be spared nothing.

A part of me wonders if it is necessary for you to be there. The thought of shaming myself before you is quite troubling. To have to perform, as a naked black slave monkey, in front of your watchful gaze? How could I ever face you again, as a free woman?

And what of Judge Younger, and that dreadful Hannah? I certainly hope if they were present, out of some necessity I cannot fathom, my identity would be concealed from both of them. As a gentleman and a friend, I would expect no less from you.

Your letter brought up so many other intriguing images and questions. Silly, silly boy! Don’t you know that only SLAVE GIRLS wear chastity belts? How could I have some cute defendant or feckless lawyer kneel before me in chambers to “plead their case” if my “chambers” were under lock and key? There isn’t much chance for that as a federal bankruptcy judge, but it’s a fun trick to pull in an arbitration or a moot court. It doesn’t matter how unskilled they are, it’s the look on their faces, and my sense of power, that are the real turn on.

“Get your little tongue up there, Oscar. Suck up all those juices! No real men in court today, so I’ll have to ‘settle’ for you. Don’t look so sad. Slurp! Slurp! Taste your helplessness. Worship the power of the law, or I’ll put my gavel handle right up your ass.”

I will not lose, so the chastity belt would not be an issue. Still, I wonder how one gets through airport security wearing a metal chastity belt? I can skip security in my own courthouse, of course, but if I were to visit a location where my federal credentials did not immediately whisk me past the guards, like a local courthouse in Texas, so I could teach Judge Younger a thing or two about the law, what would the procedure be?

My name is Katherine, not Kathy, or (worse) Katie. I always hated those nick-names. I despise the way that men turn adult professional women into helpless children by giving us ‘cute’ names. Of course, if I was a slave girl, you could name me Katie, or Pongo, or whatever other degrading name you chose. But I am NOT a slave girl.

One cannot be a federal judge and a slave girl. Under Federal slavery law, a slave is presumed to resign from any offices or associations from which they cannot be immediately expelled. Furthermore, a federal judge may remain on the bench assuming “good behavior”, but this is the good behavior a federal judge, not the good behavior of a bimbo slut forever rubbing her hot, wet pussy. So, we have to separate my free and pseudo-slave identities.

The case is not as novel as you might think, as I did lose a colleague to the collar. I actually tried to rescue her, but she begged me not to. The newspapers reported her as being killed in a boating accident, to avoid embarrassment for her family and profession. I still check up on her from time-to-time, and she is happy in her slave heat. She said she was never really free until she was enslaved. Oddly enough, I dream of her situation often, but enough about that!

As for the disgusting Judge Younger, while I’m glad he put the bastard who was enslaving those poor girls in a collar, I’m sorry he didn’t nut him first. As for his victims, I can’t imagine the humiliation of having to service the judge who wrongfully enslaved you. The thought of Judge Younger seeing me naked sends shivers down my spine, and I haven’t even appeared in his court! Oh, what I wouldn’t do to have him standing in front of my bench!

Cameras and cell phones are not allowed in the club and are turned in at the front desk. The guests are all quite elite, and wish to exercise in private, thank you very much. But thank you for your concern. There are no videos of me performing my block moves, and I will leave you to imagine that which is utter perfection.

As for your little chit of a lawyer, Harriet or Henrietta or whatever her name is, you said her family owns a slave plantation, did you not? As you surmised, if she was standing in front of my bench, I’d have no mercy on her. It’s one thing for a farm girl from Colorado, unfamiliar with slavery laws, to end up in my court, and quite another for a woman who has made her family fortune as a flesh peddler to end up in dire straits. Of course, her family fortune would protect her from bankruptcy, but if she were to register with the Colorado Bar Association and find herself in my court, a six-month contempt citation might lead to all sorts of interesting possibilities.

Oh, to see the look of shock on her smug little face when is slammed the gavel down, severing her from her education, money, and power! Stripping haughty women of everything, and reducing them to slavery, is the MOST fun. Don’t you agree, Oscar?

It might be amusing to darken her skin, and plumpen her lips, and see if you can sell her to her own plantation. She isn’t particularly pretty, and seems quite short, so I don’t imagine she’d be a Pleasure wench, but you might pass her off as a teenager or perhaps a breeding slave. Yes, a breeding slave, matched up with several strong, powerful bucks, might be most amusing. I’d certainly fly to Texas to watch THAT.

I must admit that I am intrigued by being graded while masquerading as a real slave and using my grading as a way of luring Hannah into a collar. It’s too bad that she didn’t think out any of the points above, and that your intriguing suggestion will thus have to remain, forevermore, a delicious and unrealized fantasy.

Love,

Katherine

[Carl Bradford]

At first her responses went from being curious and even excited. Now she sends a very haughty reply, is she nervous or defensive maybe? Pretentious, professional women must be enslaved! It will be interesting how this goes. Look forward to it.

[Carl Bradford]

As usual, Gary is right on the money. This is more than Joe's usual (if excellent) story of the proud woman who secretly wants to be a slave, although it is that. This is a genuine, justly-proud-of-herself character who has achieved much yet has imagined submission as much as anyone and is willing to risk it, but appears to want to submit as a slave but only to one guy (and his minions?) without losing face to people she considers beneath her. (I know, too many conjunctions, but that reflects her conflicted state of mind.) I want her to experience the depths of slavery that she dreams of, yet eventually escape and recovery her aloof attitude. The only problem, as I've suggested to the author, is that the readers want to see her laid low (literally) and I don't see a convincing plot device for that to happen. Still, I have faith in Joe's evil but inventive mind--please put us (and Katherine) out of our collective misery by putting her on the auction block.

[Mr. Smith]

I agree whole heartedly with Gary's analysis that haughty professional women such as Katherine must experience slavery and the branding iron to drive home the depth of their fall from privilege. Badging these women is imperative, helping them learn humility. In this manner they will have a permanent reminder seared into their flesh that they can rub or have rubbed keeping them humble as a reminder of a shared life experience they have with all those who wear a collar. Deep down she wants to do it, she just needs the right excuse. Maybe Hannah is going to participate in the competition? I am sure that something will pop up in Joe's head.

[butterballgurl]

I have really enjoyed this story. It's one of my favorites this year. Congrats and lets keep 'er going!

[Johnny Lawrence]

Katie,

You are quite right that I should have included more precise information in my proposal. I apologize for the lack of clarity, as I was "thinking out loud" as it were, and writing out the idea as it came to me. As any good lawyer, you have identified potential ambiguities and sources of conflict, and we should absolutely address those before we proceed.

Therefore, let me spell out the amended terms of our little wager. I think it will be great fun, with a delicious amount of risk for both of us, though still tolerable for the losing party.

My associate Hannah is preparing a set of slave identity paperwork for our "audit". Now, fake names and fake slave ID numbers are routinely generated and passed through the system for bookkeeping purposes. Much as a bank may make a transfer of 50 cents to verify that a routing number and account number are correct before sending a large transaction, fake slave IDs are fairly commonplace and are used to ensure that inventory tracking systems are functioning properly before a particularly large sale takes place. No one pays much attention to these accounts, as by law they are limited to a sale price of only one dollar. The legislature thinks the risk of someone transferring an actual slave for such a minimal price is very low, and so a fake slave ID number is easy to create.

We will create one of these test identities for your use. With this, you'll be able to pass into the system without attracting any attention. The correct number of slaves will appear, you'll have a number assigned, no one will be suspicious. We can use a temporary tattoo to give you a SIN on the inside of your lower lip. The 'semi-permanent' ones will last at least six months, and are guaranteed to wear off within a year or two. This will give you some proof of your tale should you choose to share it with friends, without marking you for life.

Since your sale value will be limited to one dollar, the system will automatically kick you out if we were to hit an auction house. With you already registered to the system, this should prevent any kind of accidental sale.

Though I must say, I don't really understand this younger generation. Since the test identities are not normally matched to real slaves, these Millennials have taken to assigning them ridiculous names. Your thought that you might wind up labeled as 'Pongo' is not far from the truth. But truthfully it's more likely to be something like 'Slavey McSlavetits' or some other asinine thing. Kids these days.

Now, regarding the terms of the bet...


We will set up your competition on a weekend when the banks are closed. Labor Day is rapidly approaching, though perhaps that is too soon. We will ensure that our little contest takes place during a time when no actual bids may be placed. Though it won't simply be a quick 5 minute set of block moves. No, this will be a completely thorough, top to bottom demonstration. We can put you through your paces with a set of slaves who are set for the auction block a few months after. Effectively you would be competing against those who have been graded Prime and are expected to yield very high returns.

Hannah informs me that her family's plantation will often do a "finishing school" on their best performers. It's usually about a month of intense training from sun up to sundown. The slaves are relieved of their regular duties while they're prepped for sale. It's a bit like taking a cow and sticking them in a feeding pen to fatten them up before taking them to market.

Our competition will take place as part of a 'final test' to see how much the slave girls have improved. Since they'll all be set for an auction at the Big D a few months later, you won't have to worry about people placing individual bids on you. Any girl in that competition will likely bring a far higher price at auction than what a single bidder would be willing to pay. Our judges would know that you were not for sale at this time. That policy actually allows the judges to relax a bit more and enjoy the festivities. They know that they aren't going to be harassed and bothered by someone giving them the hard-sell.



I always chuckle when Yankees talk about how we are 'so racist' down here in Texas, especially when they move to a city like Denver where there's not a black person in sight. Well, not to worry. We'll make sure that you aren't unfairly discriminated against due to the light tan that you've built up over the course of your Mediterranean vacation. We wouldn't want a bunch of 'racist Texans' to skew the results of our little wager.

Now generally the judges for these events are friends of the folks running it. And so that would mean you'd be reviewed by yes, ten wealthy old white men like myself. But I happen to know that Hannah's family are big supporters of higher education, particularly of the college football variety. So I've placed a phone call to the head coach of the Texas Longhorns. They aren't expected to do that well this season, and they're gonna need something to keep their spirits up. I've arranged for the starting defense to be our judges (I gave brief consideration to calling up the Aggies, but we'd probably have to have all the slave girls wear pig snouts to even get an erection out of 'em). Now that's eleven guys, eight of them black. They're all big boys too, 6 foot 3 and above, some of them 350 lbs or more. I'm pretty sure they won't discriminate against you on the basis of your complexion.

Now since there's eleven of them instead of ten, you would think that's a problem. Fortunately for us though, one of them is, as they say in France, queer as a San Francisco trolleyman. The inside linebacker will just have to satisfy himself elsewhere.


As far as the stakes of our wager... I've included an attachment with this letter. It's a filing from our firm for a case in Colorado Federal District Court. You'll note that it's set on your docket for a first appearance here in a few months. You'll also note that if you read it, you'll find at least a dozen grammatical errors and problems with the legal citations. It's as if a first year law student from Gooberville University wrote it.

If you win our bet, and are selected as one of the top slave girls in the group, then I'll send my associate Hannah up to your courtroom to argue that case. You'll note that it's got her electronic signature on the bottom of the last page. Also attached is a request for temporary admission to Colorado Bar for this case only. Why, I don't know what a judge might do with a lawyer who presents such a poorly crafted motion before the court. But I'm sure you have some ideas. Hannah will be in your courtroom, and at your mercy.

However, if I win our bet, you'll leave the State of Texas wearing one of your beloved chastity belts. I'll retain the code until you come back in a few months for our investigation. We'll put the copy of said code into a safety deposit box at the bank that requires both of us to be present to retrieve it. Therefore you would know the code is secure, and I would know that you can't get to it ahead of schedule. I will also dismiss the lawsuit before the first hearing date, negating the need for any of our attorneys to appear.

Don't worry about boarding a flight while you're wearing a chastity belt. As you suspected, there really isn't a way for you to bypass security. An event like a federal judge being detained because she set off the metal detectors, while wearing a locked chastity belt that she can't remove, well it would surely make the papers. No, you wouldn't be able to board an airplane during this period. But that's alright, old Oscar has a perfect plan to get you back to Colorado. Now you might be thinking you'd just rent a car, considering we are from states that share a border. But there is always the chance that an attractive woman such as yourself could be stopped by a police officer while driving back, and possibly searched, and with a temporary SIN tattoo and a chastity belt, that might prompt questions that you would prefer not to answer. At least in Colorado you could use your connections to avoid any problems. No, I was thinking of something that is simultaneously a little more enticing, and also less risky.

There is a company here that provides secure transportation for slave girls. I have not dealt with them personally, but they come with the highest recommendations. They have a cage that fits in the back of a truck. You would be shipped back to Colorado the same way a slave would. The journey itself would likely be overnight, given that the vehicle would need to make multiple stops along the way and it would not be a direct drive. But we can arrange to have you dropped off at a location of your choosing. If you were to provide a key, they could even let you out of your cage in the foyer of your own home. Or if you'd prefer a little more excitement, they could also deliver to your office on a Monday morning. Though if you choose that option, I'd suggest leaving your car in the courthouse parking garage.

Imagine, a pair of brawny delivery men wheeling a large crate onto the service elevator of the courthouse. You could peek out through small openings in the crate, watching as you pass by dozens of colleagues who are simply there for their normal daily duties. Attorneys, clerks, defendants, all of them would think they were miles in status above the little slave cunt in the box. Each would look down at the crate and smirk, believing it was just another slave being delivered for the pleasure of a powerful judge. "I wonder who she used to be?" they'd say. The delivery men would wheel the crate past your courtroom, to your chambers. Per their instructions, they would unlatch the top, pull you out, and leave you standing there bare-ass naked, wearing only a chastity belt and handcuffs. Then they would wheel out the empty crate, closing your office door behind them. Once you were alone, you could retrieve the key to the handcuffs, and with some struggle and effort, free yourself. Then you could slip into a pair of heels, and pull on your black robe to conceal your nudity. And after an appropriate waiting period, you would walk out from your chambers and call the names on your docket. No one would know that the judge on the bench was the same person who was brought in twenty minutes earlier restrained in the box. And no one would know that you wore nothing underneath the robe, but a chastity belt that you had no ability to remove.

Or, I suppose you could play it safe and just have them leave you at your house. But what would be the fun of that?


So, dear Katie, there are the terms. If I win, if you are not able to be selected in the top of your class as a slave, then you return to Colorado under my lock and key. Your sex would be under the control of a Texas slave lawyer, locked away from your touch no matter how badly you needed it. There it would remain for at least sixty days, while we finish the final arrangements for our investigation of illegal slave sales.



As far as how I choose to address you, I hope you understand that I am only looking out for your best interest. Slaves do not get to choose their names, or object to how their masters speak to them. Using a diminutive form of your own name is far more respectful than most slave owners will be. Even your self-chosen name of Pongo is better than you're likely to receive.

Not long ago I was involved in some litigation between two realtors. The women were bitter rivals, each one wealthy and successful, and each a thorn in the side of the other. On one particular night, the women encountered each other at a fundraising dinner. After a few drinks and an evening full of petty bickering, tensions came to a head when Ms. Julie Carson grabbed a large pot of barbeque cowboy beans and dumped them all over Ms. Vanessa Turner. The beans flowed over the woman's face, over her long silky black hair, and down directly into the plunging neckline of her expensive dress. Julie stormed out leaving Vanessa covered in glop, and the instant subject of a thousand photos from every other person at the dinner.

Barely more than a week later, Julie went out to a small town to see a house that had come up for sale at a supposed bargain price. After seeing the house and speaking with the owner (who told her the listing was in error, the house was not for sale), Julie was stopped by the town's one police officer, Mr Carl Turner.

According to the police reports, the officer stated that Ms Carson was "incredibly intoxicated", that she nearly struck his police cruiser, and that when he attempted to place her under arrest, she tried to knee him in the groin. Of course, the officer's dash camera and body cameras were both malfunctioning that day.

In an unusual turn of events, Julie Carson was seen by the municipal judge within an hour (unusual because court is normally only held once a month, but he just happened to be there at 10:30 that Tuesday morning). The municipality is too small to have normal trials, since there isn't even enough space in the courtroom for a jury to sit. And generally the only jurisdiction they have would be over traffic tickets, so something as serious as drunk driving or assaulting an officer would be referred to a county courthouse.

But according to what little court record there is, Julie Carson became quite verbally combative with the judge. Exactly what she said wasn't recorded, but Judge Jack Turner said he had no choice but to cite her for contempt of court. He sentenced Julie to the maximum punishment, six months of temporary enslavement.

They held an auction that afternoon, and wouldn't you know who had the winning bid? That's right, her rival Vanessa Turner.

With only a six month enslavement, there were legal limits to what could be done to Julie. No sexual limits of course, I'm sure Vanessa got her pussy licked quite a bit over that six month period. But facial tattoos and other permanent modifications were off limits. Likewise she couldn't be transported out of the country. As pro-slavery as Texas is, we do have limits to what a part time municipal judge can do. But a lot of things were still fair game.

What really got people's attention though, was when Vanessa changed her slave's name. Went to court and did it legally and everything. Changed the name of the business as well, and signed a new 5 year contract with the advertising company. Soon afterwards, billboards for Cuntsucker Realty were springing up all along I-35. "Buy a house from Cuntsucker Carson! I'll do anything for a sale!" it said, with a giant picture of the woman who used to be named Julie, her huge tits bare to the world, mouth and chin completely soaked with a bunch of feminine juices.

Vanessa did it smart, too. She knew that as soon as the enslavement period was over, Cuntsucker would just file to change her name back. So on the last day of the enslavement, acting on behalf of her slave's interest, she filed an appeal of the name change, the business name change, and the advertising contract. This took the matter up to the Texas Court of Civil Appeals, which is notoriously backed up. They'll spend years arguing over the issue, and in the meantime a lower court won't touch any of it.

Well that was a few years ago, and I still see signs for Cuntsucker Realty along the interstate. It doesn't seem to have negatively affected her business much. Though it may just be my imagination, but I don't think the smile in the photo reaches all the way to her eyes.

So... Katie... I think you should be grateful for the name you are given. It could certainly be much worse.



Following up on something you said earlier, I asked my associate Hannah if she had ever had experience with chastity belts. I've been thinking about them lately in terms of worker productivity. One of the biggest problems with running a slave law firm that people don't consider, is a lot of the young associates seem to think it's all about free samples. Yes, that is part of the job, but you still have to bill a lot of hours! I can't tell you how many times I've been waiting on a research brief from a young associate, and walked in to find him (or her) enjoying the services of our client, or the property of our client. That sort of thing is for after your billable hour requirements have been met, folks. It costs a lot of money for this downtown office space. I thought perhaps if sex was taken out of the equation, people could focus more on their jobs, and less on their urges. I entertained the idea that if an associate fell short on their billing, maybe locking away their pieces until they improved might up their productivity.

I expected Hannah to talk about using them to discipline the slaves on her family's plantation. Imagine my surprise when she began blushing furiously, and asked in a quiet whisper "how did you know about that?" Intrigued, I played it as though I already knew what she was talking about, and wanted to get "her side of the story". Of course I had no inkling of the information that I was about to learn.

After reassurances that her job was safe and she would suffer no consequences for her revelation ("It's all in the past as far as I'm concerned"), and much further prodding, she revealed that she herself spent time in a chastity belt! The events took place while Hannah was at the University of Texas, during sorority rush. As part of initiation, the sorority sisters locked each of the pledges into a belt, which would only be removed after the pledge period was over, normally about three weeks. I've heard of silly games like this, where college girls engage in such play without realizing the potential liability they face. My understanding is that many sororities engage in light "slave play" during initiations and record it on their phones, happily creating a trail of evidence that can and will be used against them if they were to ever appear before a slave court.

As you know, the wearing of a chastity belt is not sufficient evidence on its own of intent to self-enslave, of course, but combined with other information, it is something a judge can consider. Growing up on a plantation, Hannah had to know that information. But, along with the other pledges, she allowed one of the sorority members to lock her in one of those tamper-proof belts that can only be removed with a specific key. Hers even had a vibration function, charged by the movement of the person wearing it, that teases the wearer and keeps them constantly aroused, without allowing them a chance for release.

"This will help you sluts keep your legs closed!" the girls laughed.

What Hannah didn't know at the time was that the sorority sister who smiled so sweetly and locked her into the belt was not a random person. In fact, the girl's mother had been enslaved and sold at Hannah's plantation just eighteen months before. Apparently the woman had been left with some bad debts from her divorce, and was auctioned off to a brothel south of the border where she had to service Mexican truckers for the next seven years.

The sorority sisters were aware of this before Hannah even applied. They saw her name on the list of potential rush candidates, and made sure to target her from the beginning, making her feel at home with their organization. This helped ensure her decision to rush their sorority.

Once the belt was locked on, they put Hannah through an extra-intensive initiation process that they had no intention of letting her complete. After the fall rush period was over, they told her that they didn't have enough slots for all the pledges. "It's a new ruling from nationals, we can't admit everybody this semester. Can you wait until the spring? We all just love you and want to see you in this sorority!" Of course, since she wasn't a member yet and hadn't completed her initiation, the belt stayed on.


According to Hannah, being locked in the belt was a torment. It teased her constantly, a low vibration that would kick in whenever she sat still for too long. She couldn't concentrate on her classes. She was an aching mess of need all through the fall. No matter what she did, she couldn't achieve any release, either from the belt or from her own sexual urges. "I went to a frat Halloween party. I didn't even have anything to drink, but I was so out of control with lust that I sucked off half the guys there. They pulled me into the men's bathroom, and there was a line of guys just waiting tostick their cocks in my mouth... Then I looked up and saw some of my sorority sisters there, filming me."

Her grades suffered, and by December she was failing every class. "I couldn't concentrate at all. I spent the whole semester in a constant fog."

Eventually she had to withdraw from school. At that point, of course, she was denied membership in the sorority. "You failed your initiation, Hannah!" one of the women shouted. "But you won't go home empty handed! You can keep that belt as a souvenir!" The entire house erupted in laughter before slamming the door in her face.

It took poor Hannah an additional three months before she was able to find a locksmith both skilled and trustworthy enough to pick the lock and get her released. Imagine having your pussy locked away from you in August, being constantly teased, and unable to even touch it until the end of March! Her failing grades prevented her from re-enrolling at UT Austin, which is why Hannah's undergrad degree is what it is.

Even speaking to me about it, I saw the intense reaction the memory of the chastity belt caused in her. She was both terrified of it, and also seemed extremely aroused. After our conversation, I saw Hannah leave her office and scamper down to the ladies room. A moment later, I quietly slipped inside, where I was treated to a musical performance of moans and grunts coming from the only occupied stall. This continued for only a minute before she thrashed about, legs kicking, her scream obviously muffled by biting down hard on something. I stepped back out of the restroom as silently as I came in, and returned to my own office.

I am definitely more interested in seeing this phenomenon in action, preferably on an educated person with a brilliant mind and a tremendous willpower. The loss of self-control and descent into a mindless, rutting beast desperate for an orgasm would be something to see.

Unfortunately it seems pretty useless as a device to make associate attorneys more productive. Oh well, the search goes on.


--Oscar


P.S. If you desire a detailed itinerary for our little bet, here you are.

You will arrive on a Friday evening. I will pick you up from the airport, where I will take you to dinner at an old fashioned Texas steakhouse. Eat well, because it will be your last meal as a free woman until Monday morning! You should try some calf fries while we're there. I think you'll like them. After dinner, I will drive you to the country home of a friend of mine. He's a cattle rancher and has an enormous house in the country, on a lot of land. He's currently doing a term of enslavement of his own for a LOT of tax evasion, so he won't really mind if we use it.

Hannah's family already has a showing of this nature coming up. We will just bring you in as a last minute addition. The trainer in this instance would not be a man. It will be Taniqua, a tall black beauty who works for Hannah's parents. She is nearly six feet tall, with big wide hips, an enormous ass, and breasts larger than your head. But make no mistake, she is in fantastic shape. Little in the middle, as they say.

In a departure from typical Texas slave wrangler fashion, Taniqua will not be dressed as a cowgirl. She wears shiny reflective black leather. Black leather corset, long black leather gloves, thigh high black leather boots. She leaves her breasts, ass, and pussy exposed while she works. It helps her to establish dominance over the slaves she trains, as well as the audience. She does not use a whip, but a firm black riding crop.

Taniqua tolerates no nonsense from anyone. I attended one particular showing where an audience member got a little out of hand. It was a blonde woman in her late 30s, a Texas state representative as I recall. Taniqua was showing off two fit young college men, forcing them to suck each other off, when the blonde woman (Amy something, I think) decided to join in. When Taniqua walked to the other end of the room to show a different set of slaves, the blonde woman moved in and began to push a large dildo into the ass of one of the college boy slaves. She was laughing and looking at her friends, making faces for their camera phones. Taniqua returned only a moment later and caught her in the act.

You must understand that these showings are not for audience participation. Only certain select judges are allowed to join in, and then only at the designated time. The purpose of these showings is to increase the sale price of specific very high value slaves. People want more what they can't have.

Taniqua walked back to that side of the room and saw state rep Amy sodomizing the college man. She shouted out for the woman to stop, but the blonde didn't listen. A moment later, and Taniqua had grabbed the woman by her long hair and pulled her down to the ground. Then in what must have been a ju-jitsu move of some kind, she wrapped herself around the struggling woman and clamped her thighs down on the back of the blonde's neck. In a matter of seconds, she proceeded to strip the woman's clothes right off her body! A set of handcuffs then ratcheted around the blonde's wrists, holding them behind her back.

Amy began to scream and curse at Taniqua, but those curses turned to yelps as the tall black woman began to strap her harshly across the asscheeks. After just a few strokes, the blonde woman was sobbing, but Taniqua didn't let up for several minutes. She then got Amy in a head-scissor move of some kind, the blonde's terrified face staring up at the huge black ass of her dominator. Taniqua then sat down, directly on the woman's face! Her gigantic ass cheeks were so large that we couldn't even see the pretty woman underneath her. The slave wrangler then grabbed on the blonde's kicking legs and wrenched it back, and then used her free hand to swing the riding crop, which she brought down directly on the other woman's pussy!

I watched this go on for at least fifteen minutes, until eventually Taniqua began to moan and rock her hips. She was using the blonde woman's nose and mouth as a masturbation aid! Eventually she came, gushing out a wave of liquid that I've never seen equalled. She squirted so much it left a giant puddle on the ground. At that point she turned to the audience and asked if we would excuse her for a twenty minute recess. We all nodded, I think in equal measures of fear and arousal. Taniqua stood up, pulled the shell-shocked Amy to her feet, and led her into a back room. I noticed that of Amy's three friends, two of them beat a hasty exit. The third, a cute woman with short red hair, worked up the courage to follow Taniqua. "Guys, we have to help Amy!" she said. Seeing her associates high-tail it, she set a stern look on her face and went into the back room alone.

Twenty minutes later exactly, Taniqua strutted back into the main room. Behind her, naked Amy followed on her hands an knees. A steel slave collar was locked around her throat. A cord ran from the collar to Taniqua's hand. Behind Amy, her redheaded friend followed. Also naked, also on her hands and knees. Also with a heavy steel collar locked tight around her throat, a cord connecting her collar to Amy's.

Taniqua continued the normally planned showing, this time with two additional display pieces. And while this wasn't a legal enslavement (Taniqua having no legally binding authority), there is no doubt in my mind that for that weekend, those women *were* slaves. After the showings were over, and the judges chose their pig sluts for the night, Taniqua chose her own. I saw her snap her fingers, and the blonde and the redhead both dutifully crawled over to where she pointed. The tall black mistress simply bent over at the waist and leaned on a table, and one at a time, the two "free" former members of the audience moved forward and began to worship her ass with their tongues.

At this showing, Taniqua will be your trainer. Will I be there? You bet I will, Katie. But unlike those women, I am wise enough not to interfere with the showing.


But I digress. You will arrive at the mansion on Friday evening. The showing will be Saturday evening. When you arrive, you will enter a utility room and storage area where the slave cages are kept. You will disrobe, and climb into an empty slave cage of your own volition. At that point, you will close the cage door and I will lock it. Then I will take my leave of you and go home. Once the cage is locked, our bet begins and it is too late for you to back out.

Saturday morning will be rather boring. An automatic dispenser will provide you with slave kibble and water. Around noon the prep crew will arrive to get you cleaned, shaved, and make sure you've had your shots. A long burst of devoicer is provided that will last about 48 hours. This is to prevent the slaves from saying anything during the showing or the festivities afterward. While they are all supposedly very well trained, occasionally a slave sees someone from her former life and has a vocal reaction. Also some slaves have offputting Yankee accents, and so their voices are silenced to prevent disturbing the ears of the attendees.

It will take several hours to process all 20 slave girls, but prep should be wrapped up by about 4:00 pm. That will give about 3 hours for you to stretch, exercise, and practice your routines. The show begins at 7:00.

While a normal block routine is over in just a few minutes, this is an extended showing. You'll be asked to hold slave poses for five or ten minutes at a time. Your neck, your feet, and the inside of your pussy will be inspected for color, shape, and smell. Some wealthy buyers have very specific tastes, and a typical slave auction doesn't spend enough time on these aspects for them to get a good read. Why would you risk a million dollars on a slave if you aren't sure that her feet have just the right stink?

The exact exercises will of course depend on the specific prospective buyers who are present. Of course none of them will be able to bid on you that weekend. The sale will be set a few months later. The buyers supply the plantation with a list of desired improvements and specific training for the slaves, things that would make them fetch the desired price. No one arrives at these events planning on spending any money. Not that day anyway.

After the two hour routine, then the judges are selected. Truthfully, they have already been selected, they just haven't been informed yet. Ten judges will be chosen from the crowd and brought in to a set of chairs. Then, one by one, the twenty slaves will perform as best they can, trying to seduce each judge for three minutes. You just work your way down the line. Twenty slaves performing three minute dances is... well it's somewhat over an hour, because they don't start you all at once.

The first slave begins her seduction routine in front of the first judge. She has three minutes to make her case to be chosen, through whatever means her judge allows. After three minutes, a bell rings and she moves on to judge number two, while the second slave begins on the first judge. In this way, each slave moves down the line, appealing to each judge in turn. At any moment, a judge may choose a slave for the night, by simply standing up and grabbing the slave in front of him (or her). That judge will then take that slave back to a bedroom, to do as owners do with slaves, for the rest of the night and the next day. No slaves are allowed to be taken off the premises.

After all ten judges have chosen, the remaining ten slaves are placed back in their cages, where they remain until Sunday afternoon. Late the next day, the cleanup process begins, with the unchosen slaves processed first, showered, and placed into their transport containers for the next morning. After those are taken care of, the slaves who were chosen by the judges will be processed in the order that they are returned. By 6:00 Sunday evening, all slaves must be returned downstairs, and by 8:00, all slaves are in their transport containers.

There is a great deal of debate as to whether there is an advantage to a slave going first in her seduction attempts, or going later. While occasionally a judge will be so aroused from the earlier show that he grabs the first slave who steps in front of him, rushing to the bedroom immediately, there are also judges who wait until the very end of the performance. They fear that they will miss out on the ultimate slave if they select too soon. As far as I am aware, there is no statistical advantage to any particular placement. The order of the slaves is up to Taniqua. Once all 20 slaves have completed their performances, any remaining judges make their choice from the remaining slaves.


Some of these display shows are "enhanced", while some are "natural". In an enhanced show, the slaves are given fancy hairstyles, makeup, and a good solid shot of 'slave juice' to make them horny. And make no mistake, it does *make* them horny. The poor things can't help themselves. They're ready to hump a doorknob if given the chance. Many prospective buyers prefer the enhanced shows, because they intend to keep their slaves pumped full of slave juice anyway. Others prefer it natural, with only a simple hairstyle, minimal makeup, and no slave juice injection. It's considered a more pure display of talent, but these days that style seems to be on the way out.

This particular showing will be an enhanced one. Don't worry, I will make sure you aren't given a shot of the slave juice. We can mark that you have an allergy. While it would almost assuredly improve your performance, you seemed quite certain that your wits would give you an advantage. I doubt it, but I don't want to be accused of unfairly biasing the bet. Besides, the results can last a week or more, and I can't imagine the self control you would need to function even halfway normally once you were back on the bench, if you had slave juice coursing through your veins.


My bet, dear Katie, is that you will not be one of the first ten chosen. I am so confident, in fact, that if you are the first girl chosen, I will *consider* your request of my putting on a chastity belt. Temporarily, of course. Not only that, but by winning you will have my associate Hannah in your courtrcoom soon, to do with as you please. Perhaps you have another of those permanent chastity belts of which you are so fond? Can you imagine her aching needs, the most personal of pleasures to be withheld from her forever? How will she beg and plead before you lock her in? What would she promise to do for you in exchange for mercy? And what will she say when you judge her performance 'unsatisfactory' and lock her pussy up anyway?


P.P.S. As far as whether you would be expected to sexually service another woman during this time, or even another black woman, that is a possibility. But I would have thought that, if Mister Apollo were conducting an authentic slave training experience, you would have already crossed that bridge. You mean he has never ordered you to suck the pussy of a woman you considered your social inferior?

I told you, his training is a ripoff and a scam.

Oh, and don't worry about feeling something 'snap' inside of you, reducing you mentally to the status of a real slave. Yes, it happened to Doctor Lacy. But you said she was always a slave inside, didn't you? Not a woman of high breeding? Surely that won't happen to you. Or are you willing to concede that I was correct, that even an intelligent and strong-willed person can become a slave, not just legally, but internally. Not just on a piece of paper, but deep in her soul. Irrevocably.

Do you fear that you would be like that redhead, and that twenty minutes of exposure to Mistress Taniqua would have you crawling on your knees, begging to rim her? Are you secretly a slave pretending to be a judge? Or are you a powerful woman of wealth and breeding, whose inner nature will triumph, and who will soon control two Texas slave lawyers, and have them securely under lock and key?

It's an interesting question, dear Katie.

--Oscar

[butterballgurl]

love that this story is heating up so well. unfolding of the bet is so close!

[Belinda]

So awesome. This particular part had a true emotional impact on me. At 69 I should not be affected this way. Your words made me feel young again.

[gary]

Excellent as usual, working its way to a interesting experience

[Johnny Lawrence]

It’s really up to Joe on where he wants to go from here. The ‘letters back and forth’ thing is fun for a setup, but I’m not really sure how to progress it from flirting and anticipation to something actually happening while retaining that format.

And that’s assuming Joe even wants it to move forward. From my recollection of the old Joe/Watcher collaborations, they seemed to end with a cliffhanger.

But I certainly appreciate all the great feedback on my first writing experience!

[jeepster]

Really hard to believe that was your first writing of stories! It so reminded me of those stories you mentioned!

[butterballgurl]

I certainly hope the story continues. Katherine is hanging in the balance. I really enjoyed this story.

[jeepster]

Too bad this story didn't continue

[jeepster]

Is that it, Joe? Everybody was loving this story you and Johnny had going!