Joe Doe stories

[atalaya]

For many years now, a talented author by the name of "Joe Doe" has been writing strip-search stories. This link will take you to a list of his work:


https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/C_L ... Joe%20Doe/


Some of his stories are available on Literotica:


https://www.literotica.com/stories/memb ... ubmissions

[Harlequin]

Joe Doe had sent me this snip-it of a story inspired by my "From Vacation to Slave Training: Part One". I have his permission to post and maybe add to it.

I held the slave collar in my hands, examining it closely. The collar was chocolate brown, and the adjustable buckle and ring on the front of it you could use to attach the leash were both painted gold. It looked like an old dog collar, really - a bit frayed, which is probably why it had a short it in it, although it didn't look electrical at all. In fact, it looked like a dog collar one might use on German Shepard or a Golden Retriever.

"It's sort of... cute," I said, examining it. "It doesn't look very sturdy, though. I'm not surprised she was able to get it off."

The salesgirl smiled. "Why don't you let me put it on?" she said. "It looks like it's just about your size, and the color would perfect with your red hair."

It was a tempting suggestion and for a moment I already agreed. However as I was already buck naked in the back of a Slave Store with my clothes drying at the laundromat 3 doors down and my purse and ID in the safe adding a slave collar to my ensemble seemed like an unnecessary risk.

"I'm naked," I said.

"There are a lot of naked girls here, silly," the clerk said dismissively. "If you put on the collar, then you'll have something to wear."
I chuckled; a slave collar didn't seem like the clothing I needed at this point. "It's safer, really," she said. "Your ID is locked up in the safe and I can't get it out until the manager comes back. With no clothes and no collar if someone from slave inspection came in right now they'd tag you as a runaway and take you down to slave control."

I felt a sudden chill. The girl wasn't threatening - far from it, she was smiling and seemed quite cheerful. "Oh, look, your nipples are hardening," she said, laughing. "Was it something I said?"

I blushed as I looked down. My nipples were indeed rock hard.

"If you really want some excitement you should let me collar you," you said. This has remote settings on it, that control sexual excitement and submissiveness. I've never gone higher than a 4; it's like a thousand vibrators, and all you have to do is squeeze your thighs together and BAM! It's like the slavegasm of all time."

"You've worn it?" I said, surprised.

"Of course, silly," the girl said. "It's one of the perks of working here. Who needs a guy hanging around when I got a closet full of these beauties," she said, taking the collar from my hand.

"Come on, try it. You've got to admit your curious. It will just take a second to buckle it on."

"Okay," I said, reaching out my hand. She pulled it away.

"No, no, no, no," she said shaking her head and smiling. "That's not how you put on a slave collar. On your knees."

[jeepster]

Awesome ! That is a good chapter and really hoping it goes on!

[jeepster]

So Joe Doe, what's on the horizon for your next story? A new character in the Texas slave market? A Tracey story? A April fools day story? How about a future sci fi story? Traveling through space some planets or space stations female slavery is common. Or a space freighter needing repairs might take a deal to transport slaves to another planet or space station. Could be awkward if the ship Captain is female. What would the financier require of her? What happens when the hyper sleep chamber of the Captain's breaks down and she must use one of the slave girl's sleep chambers? Unbeknownst to her they program subliminal messages while they sleep. Will she be a horny slave slut when she wakes up? Will she not resist being collared and made to serve?

[jeepster]

Wow orflash64 sounds like you have that story ready to write! I would read it!

[imreadonly2]

Joe asked me to post this reply to the ideas:

The idea of an April Fools story intrigues me. A while back I had drafted a story where a female executive brings her husband along to a conference. Annoyed at the way her bored husband spends his days in the hotel gift shop fondling the slave girls for sale there, she arranged to have herself added to "inventory" for the day as a joke.

A woman arranges to have herself delivered to her husband as a naked slave slut, the joke being he is excited to get a slave girl but when he unpacks her he discovers its his wife. Only she is delivered to the wrong address.

A guy who borrows stuff from his neighbor and never returns anything is surprised to come home and find his his wife and daughter have been enslaved by the neighbor. "You can keep my wheelbarrow, rake, power saw, and jumper cables, since I have your wife and daughter's sweet, hot pussies!" The two women, who are in on the joke, pretend to be slave sluts, begging for their neighbor's cocks, while the husband fumes.

As part of a "punked" style TV series a female celebrity is confronted by slave catchers in an upscale Rodeo drive store. They claim not to know who she is, "I don't watch that show!" and strip her naked and collar her, while her "friend" (also in on the joke) expresses wonder that she's really an escaped slave.

So many story ideas, so little time!

[bertrumm00057]

I understand about time constraints as I too suffer from that malady but I must tell you that I'd be thrilled to read ANY if these ideas that you might turn into a full-fledged story. Wonderful stuff!

Hooked6

[jeepster]

iamreadonly2 I would read all of those stories so tell/ask joe to expand them!

[bertrumm00057]

I would like to add my encouragement for Joe to expand on any one (or all four!) of these ideas. They are very tantalizing opportunities for stories.

GreyRose

[Freight_Train]

BACK HOME AGAIN – FATHER’S VIEW By Joe Doe

This story by Joe Doe is taken from my story "Home Again" and is seen from her father's point of view

Naturally I had been shocked the first time I saw Claire naked in the slave pens; what father wouldn't be? Seeing my darling little Princess "slave naked" wearing nothing but a slave collar left me both appalled and outraged; how could these bastards do this to my sweet, innocent little girl? Claire seemed more embarrassed to be naked in front of me than to be penned in what could best be described as a barn that stunk of sweat, straw, and slave girl pee. How could such a thing be so?

After sleeping on it I woke up the next morning and did some serious reading about this whole "slave vacation" thing. I learned a lot, and learned more when I called my friend Steve, a psychiatrist and old frat buddy who I knew did some work for some of the major slave houses. Steve knew I was upset, but much to my surprise he was entirely nonchalant.

"Claire's always been a great kid, and she desperately wants to please you, Walter. But all those honors classes and extra curricular activities can be a strain, and it's perfectly natural that she wanted to cut loose for a few weeks, and adopt a persona where decisions would be made for her, and she could be valued for her body as well as her brain. My advice to you is to relax and go with it. She's just having some fun, and rebelling against expectations the way all kids do. Be glad she isn't doing drugs and she isn't hooked up with some crazy loser boyfriend," he added with a chuckle.

"I'm not sure it's as safe as you think it is," I replied. "That miserable little piss-ant of a clerk looked like he would have been happy for me to enslave her. He told me she was "prime pussy" and he'd get a 5% commission if I "sold her sweet ass off the block." I could have wrung his scrawny neck."

Steve laughed. "You said she was graded Prime Plus, right? Well, I got news for you, Walter: you don't get that sort of slave grade by passing the written exam, if you know what I mean. She's 18, and she must be one hot piece of slave pussy. I'm betting the little minx has picked up some SKILLS. I wouldn't mind fucking her myself."

"You're talking about my daughter, Steve!" I said, shouting into the phone.

"Relax, cowboy!" he said, chuckling. "I'm not the bad guy here, I'm just telling it like it is. She likes playing slave girl, and she's Prime Plus, and that means men are going to want to fuck her, or collar her for good. Rather than being all possessive about it you might want to think about being supportive, and figure out how you can help her fulfill her fantasies without getting collared permanently."

"What do you mean?" I said, dumbfounded.

"Well, you do sales? You entertain clients, right? That’s means slave girls, right?"

"Sure. Our customers like a good time, same as anyone else. But those girls are slave sluts. We're talking about my daughter, here."

"Those so-called slave sluts are someone's daughters, too, my friend. Why is Claire any different? When you saw her in the slave pens, naked and collared, did she look any different from the other slave girls?"

"No, I guess not."

"You've answered your own question, Walter. Look, she's still your little Princess, and you can continue to treat her that way. But when she wants to play slave girl, treat her the same way you would any other slave slut, and don't be shy about using the whip."

"The whip?" I said, gobsmacked. "Steve, you can't be serious."

"I'm totally serious. Look Walter, I have to go, I have a patient coming in. If you'd like to setup a session."

"Claire doesn't need a psychiatrist."

"No, she's fine, I meant for you. Although if you want to send Claire along as payment..." he laughed. "See you Walter. Tell Susan I said hi."

Steve's lack of concern and jokey demeanor shocked me almost as much as Claire's nakedness did. And the suggestion that I was the one who needed the psychiatrist hit home, particularly after Claire's comment about being "used to this craziness."

Was the problem really with me?

The next morning in the slave pens I took Steve's advice to heart and I didn't look away from Claire's nakedness. He was right; naked with legs splayed wide open, she didn't look any different from the rest of the store's inventory. I didn't lust after her - she was still my daughter, after all - but after all she had put me through, I found myself rather enjoying her obvious embarrassment. After all, why should I give her any privacy? She was the one who wanted to play slave girl, right? Taking more than a little pleasure in her predicament I leaned on the coral fencing and watched as Claire, legs spread wide and hands behind her head, knelt in the straw in front of me and waited for the pimply faced clerk to find the key to her collar.

I had quite a bit of experience with slave pussy entertaining work, so ignoring her lip biting, small tremor, and beet red "slave blush" I took a moment to evaluate Claire objectively, not as a father but merely as a piece of slave meat, an animal that could be bought or sold. She had beautiful hair, lovely features, and nice tits, with high, perky nipples. The brand on her breast was particularly fascinating; I had looked it up online and identified it as a 'slave star' given out by Roman House to identify their highest quality merchandise. It was quite the status simple among slaves and earning it meant that Claire must be quite accomplished indeed. The fact that Claire had agreed to be permanently marked this way meant that this was no mere game to her; despite her blushes and protests the little slut realized she was a juicy piece of slave meat and was damn proud of it. Yes, Claire might have been a straight A student and Captain of her netball and soccer teams, and winner of the blue ribbon at the science fair and an equestrian champion, with medals for show jumping and dressage. But whatever other skills she possessed the brand would forever mark my darling daughter as a first-rate cock sucker.

Her pussy also drew my interest. She was completely shaved, and with her legs splayed to show the lips of her pouty pussy were clearly visible. She was also visibly and noticeably wet. At first I thought the little puppy had just urinated into the straw, but as the seconds ticked by and her pussy continued to ever so slowly drip...drip...drip I realized that the little minx was slave wet, and was dripping right in front of me, her own father, like the most shameless of slave whores.

I leaned over the railing, putting my head down. Damn. I could even SMELL her. I couldn't believe my innocent little girl was in a slave pen, her legs spread wide, her pussy dripping like a leaky faucet. Had the little minx been juicing herself before I arrived, rubbing herself slave hot? From the way she was breathing, and the slow but steady drip... drip... drip of her pussy it wouldn't surprise me in the least. Realizing hot how she was and how shamelessly she was displaying herself to me my fatherly instinct kicked in and I stiffened with anger; did the little slut have no shame? Without even thinking I touched my belt buckle.

Claire's doe like eyes widened in panic as she recognized the look, I got in my eye prior to dispensing corporal punishment to her bare bottom at home. But my anger soon subsided. Claire was Prime Plus, after all, and it was natural that she'd have a sloppy wet slave pussy. She wasn't being bad; it was who she was.

I smiled. Her fear subsided even as her shame and embarrassment increased. Good. Spanking Claire with the leather belt for being who she was seemed pointless and cruel. However, I felt myself regretting that I didn't have a slave whip with me, and wondered if i should stop and buy one at the Bit-and-Bridle tack shop on the way home. I could buy one here at the store easily enough, but something about parading my little champion into the same store that she bought her own gear at to shop for her slave whip tickled me. I knew they had a clearance sale on pony girl gear this week, and as Claire had won an enormous credit at the store at her last steeplechase competition I wondered if I might not be able to get her stripped down and kitted out for free. Claire and I knew the lads who ran the store well, and I was certain they'd be happy to help.

On the drive home I started to think about how I might provide Claire with a safe environment to live out her fantasies. I knew Steve wanted to fuck her, and my poker buddies. Those Mexicans who did our lawn always ogled Claire and her friends when they were in their bikinis, much to my annoyance (and the girl's secret delight, I knew). Fat Frank, our neighbor's idiot son, had never been on a date and was probably going to celebrate his 21st birthday playing video games on his parent's couch. I knew he had a crush on Claire and I did owe his dad a favor...

My mind wandered as the miles whizzed by. When one of our biggest overseas clients visited us unexpectedly the Slave House, we were using at work charged us a premium rate and then sent over a real skank. I had raised hell and replaced her in time. But it sure would be nice to have access to affordable, reliable slave pussy 24/7. Of course, if I were going to do that renting her out to the brothel during Spring Break wouldn't be that much different. It might be a nice way for her to meet some of the boys in her classes at school, or maybe even her Professors. I loved Claire dearly, but she had cost me a lot over the years. But her pussy could turn a nice coin, as the slavers say, and I smiled as I imagined fishing coins and dollar bills out her hot sloppy sex.

I looked over to Claire, who was looking out the window absentmindedly and twirling her lovely hair as we drove through the countryside. She looked so sweet, so innocent. Daddy's little Princess.

"Would you like to stop for an ice cream cone, sweetie? Or some yogurt? I know you're watching your figure."

Claire beamed back at me, "I'd LOVE some yogurt! I mean... if it's no trouble."

"Well, it is a bit of a detour," I said.

"Pleeeeeze, Daddy? Pleeeezzzzzze!"she whined, using that voice that always wrapped me around her finger.

"Okay, sweetie," I said, laughing. "We'll stop by Yogurt Bear, and get you a nice scoop of low-fat yogurt in one of those little cubby cubs with all the cartoon dancing bears on it, and if your good Daddy will even put a little bit of fruit on top."

Laughing and clapping her hands like a child, Claire shouted out, "Yeah! Yogurt time! Thank you, Daddy! You're the best daddy in the whole wide world!"

I made the turn, and drove for about five minutes into town. Claire squealed with delight as the Yogurt Bear sign came into view. She was excited, and I was excited too, since my Princess's little detour meant that the tack shop was now on the way home.

[Freight_Train]

BACK HOME AGAIN – FATHER’S VIEW By Joe Doe

Here is the second part of the story.

Claire looked puzzled as her father pulled his old truck into the parking lot of TUCK'S TACK SHOP.

"Why are we stopping here?" Claire asked.

"Well, sweetie, you have an in-store purchase credit from that race you won a few weeks ago, and our conversation at the ice cream store I thought of a few things I wanted to pick up."
Claire wasn't sure what the conversation at lunch had to do with her winning the blue ribbon two weeks ago, but she did have a store credit and she was always up for picking up some more gear for her horse Brown Thunder. Plus, it had been a long conversation at the store, with Claire confessing that she missed sleeping in her slave cage, naked and collared. Her father had been wonderful, and had really listened. He said he’d try to keep an open mind, and help Claire work through what she was going through, and thanked his daughter for sharing her desires with him. "I may not understand all this," he admitted, "But I'd rather you were open and honest with me, and let me help you, then going behind my back. Telling me you were on a cruise in Europe was very irresponsible, and while I'm not angry about the slave stuff, I am VERY upset about the lying."

"Yes, sir," Claire said, withering under her father's fierce disapproval. Although 18, Claire was definitely still "Daddy's girl" and would do anything to please her father. She was relieved that he had accepted her experimentation with the slave girl lifestyle, even as she felt the sting of his disapproval for the way she had handled things.

In truth her father’s feelings were decidedly mixed. At one-point Claire blamed him for her desire to experience the life of a slave girl, theorizing that it was due to his “lax” discipline, and “ineffective” parenting. After all the worry that she had put him through, Walter was furious that Claire had flipped everything around to be HIS fault, although he tried not to show it.

“My friend Steve’s a psychiatrist. He said that you’re still my little Princess, and I can treat you that way. But when you want to play slave girl, that’s how I should treat you, and I shouldn’t be shy about using the whip.”

Claire’s reply shocked her father to the core. “Steve’s right, Daddy. It’s hard to describe, but slave girls don’t have daddy’s, and certainly not daddies as wonderful as you are. Slave girls are property, objects you can buy and sell. It’s terrible, but it also gives you a feeling of security, because you know that as a slave slut your master owns you, and will take care of you, and love you the same way you love that stupid old truck of yours.”

“I don’t know if I could ever love a slave girl as much as my truck,” Walter said, laughing. “But do you really want me to treat you like slave meat? I mean… are you sure.”

“Absolutely. I know you love me, but love means support, and sometimes discipline. Think of it as tough love, giving me the discipline, I need.”

In truth, Walter had been so irritated with Claire’s disgraceful antics that the thought of using a slave whip on her had briefly crossed his mind. What hadn’t occurred to him was that she wanted it too, and that it might be the ideal solution to their problem. Maybe a bit of “tough love” would scare some sense into her, before she took this slavery thing too far.

Claire had another reason for being happy for the stop at the store. The heart-to-heart talk with her father had been a long one, and during it Claire had topped off her large root beer float with a liter of diet soda, only to find that the restroom at the ice cream store was closed. Claire had wanted to stop somewhere, but her father gruffly told her he wanted to get home to watch the Saskatchewan Roughrider game, and that “slave girls had to learn to hold it.” Hearing her father say that to her was strangely exciting, even if the ride in his bumpy old truck with a full bladder was excruciating. So, Claire was happy to stop anywhere that had a restroom!

Claire's cheerfulness about the restroom break vaporized when she walked in and found Taylor was behind the counter. Taylor was on the cheerleading squad, and the meanest of the alpha girls at Claire's school. It was said that Taylor wasn't a bitch, actually, because at least bitches had loyalty.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson," Taylor said, purposefully ignoring Claire, one of the "smart girl honor students the dumb-as-a-rock Taylor most despised. "What can I do for you today?"

"I really need a slave cage, and a slave collar, too. I don't know... maybe some slave chow too?"

"What sized slave?" Taylor asked. "Are we talking a field hand or a pleasure slut?"

"Pleasure slut," Walter replied. "In fact, it's for Claire,” pointing back behind him at his surprised daughter with his thumb.

There was a huge silence as Taylor looked at Claire, who was blushing beet red, then back at her father, then back at Claire. "Daddy, not here. If we buy the cage online..."

"Don't be silly, Claire," her father admonished. "You're the one who wanted to play slave girl, and that means we'll need the gear, right? Tuck's is your favorite store, you have a store credit, it's on the way home, and you even have your friend Taylor to help out. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

"Oh, yes, SIR!" Taylor agreed, grinning at the blushing Claire like a cat eying a big fat mouse.

"You're right it's better to buy it here, so we can get the proper sizing. Although we'll probably need to get her out of those clothes."

“Good point, Taylor. Let’s try it all on, so we won’t have to do any returns.”

"Daddy!" Claire protested. "I can't take my clothes off in the store. Not in front of HER!"
Walter 's tone turned sharp. "Why the sudden modesty? You weren’t modest in the slave pens. I spent a fortune sending you to England, and you used the time you should have been learning about culture to get slave training. Now your friend Taylor will be happy to give you some slave training right here in Aisle 1 at a fraction of that cost, isn't that right, Taylor?"

"Absolutely," Taylor agreed, licking her lips with pleasure, and never taking her dancing eyes off Claire.

"Thanks, Taylor: you're the best. Now Claire, we agreed that we were going to be open and honest and I was going to help you live out these fantasies of yours. That means Taylor is in charge and you do everything she says. Is that understood, young lady?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Claire said, staring at the worn linoleum floor of the shop like wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

Walter turned his attention back to Taylor. “Is Tuck around? I wanted to talk to him about that new truck of his."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Johnson. He's out back. Don't worry about a thing. I'll get a shopping cart going and get everything you need."

"Daddy, don’t leave me!" Claire said, protesting as her father turned his back on her and walked away. "DADDY!"

Walter kept walking. "DADDY!" Claire pleaded. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Taylor's overly cheerful tone turned icy cold as Walter receded. "Take off your clothes, bitch,” she hissed. “You'd better be slave naked by the time I get back with your collar or I will whip your ass."

Walter heard what Taylor said but didn't bother to turn around as he strolled out the front door. In the security mirror he saw that Claire had already kicked off her shoes, pulled off her shirt, and was unzipping her pants. She hadn’t followed him out the store. She was obeying. Which meant that on some level this was exactly what she needed.

The owner of the store, Tuck, was a bit older than Walter, fat, bald, and a bit of a windbag. But he had been a great friend to Claire over the years, coaching her for her riding competitions and befriending her to point where she called him, “Uncle Tuck”. He wasn’t actually her Uncle, mind you, but they were that close.

For his part Walter was genuinely interested in Tuck's new F-150 truck, and how it compared to his own battled but beloved old warhorse. Walter could have gotten a new truck years ago, and probably should have, but he was old fashioned, and believed the old ways were usually the best. Still, he was always curious about how the new compared with the old.

Walter hadn’t known that Taylor was working at Tuck’s that day, but seeing the opportunity he took full advantage of it. Walter knew that Claire hated Taylor, and the feeling was mutual. But as a slave girl Claire would have to do things, she hated for people she hated, and as a career it was a lot less glamorous than the slave recruiters made it. Maybe it would scare some sense into her, or maybe it was just what she needed.

The two men shook hands, and Walter let Tuck prattle on about his truck. By giving Claire a chance to live out her fantasies while still backstopping her, Walter knew he was doing Claire a favor. Plus, as much as he loved her, Walter had to admit that his little girl had been behaving like a randy slave slut, and as such strict punishment was totally in order. He vowed that whatever his past faults were, he wouldn’t be lax today.

Tuck was still on about his awesome oversized truck driving over everything when they finally strolled back into the store to see what had become of Claire. Although it made total sense, it still shocked Walter when he saw his daughter buck naked, squatting next to the full shopping cart with her legs spread wide, her face beet red with shame. Taylor had ended Claire' protests by putting a slave bit in her mouth, basically a rubber stick that she had laced up tightly behind Claire's head to pull her gums back into a permanent forced smile. “Claire was also wearing a black leather slave shock collar that looked like it was designed to hold an orangutan.
Walter was shocked. A part of him wanted to help her, but Steve’s words echoed in her mind. “If she wants to play slave girl, treat her the same way you would any other slave slut.” Knowing it was for his daughter’s own good, Walter instantly hardened his face into a mask of cool indifference.

Tuck, who had been bragging about the space in the bed of his truck, stopped dead when he saw the naked girl, squatting with her legs spread 10 feet in front of him. Walter picked up on the conversation as if nothing had happened.

"I don’t know. Size isn't everything, Tuck," Walter said. "Judging from where your eyes I’m thinking there’s times that small, snappy, tight will a suit a fella just fine."

"I got you everything you'll need, Mr. Johnson," Taylor said brightly. "Although there's a couple of options we should probably talk about."

"Wow, you got yourself a pleasure slut, Walter?" Tuck said admiringly. "That is one hot pussy. I can smell her from here."

"Yeah, she's slave hot, all right," Taylor agreed. "I gave her a little rub between the legs and she started juicing right away. See?"

Taylor took a knee and expertly rubbed the naked slave pussy in front of her, using her thumb to work Claire's button while Taylor teasingly worked her fingers inside.

"See, Tuck?" Claire's father said, secretly enjoying the flush on Claire’s face, regarding it as payback for all the embarrassment she had caused him. "Just like a truck. You got to keep 'em well oiled to make ‘em responsive."

"Geez, Walter, she sure is finger lickin' good! I wouldn't mind having a slice of that sweet little pussy pie."

Walter frowned as Taylor removed her hand and showed the men her glistening wet fingers. He was hoping to teach her a lesson, and the little slut was getting off on it!

"She's got a hot little slave snatch,” Taylor said. “But if you fuck her, she probably can't suck up to you and call you 'Uncle Tuck' anymore."

Walter enjoyed watching Tuck's face pass from confusion to shock to amazement to embarrassment to horror as he realized that the slave pussy, he was looking at was actually Claire. “Welcome to my world,” he thought.

"Claire? Is that really you?" Tuck said, breathless.

Claire, drooling into her gag, said nothing, but looked up at Tuck with pleading eyes.
Tuck turned to Claire’s father. "Gosh, I'm sorry Walter. When I said all those things, I didn't realize it was Claire. I wasn't even looking at her face."

"When a girl's slave spread, that's not where a fella's eyes go," Taylor snickered. The tension eased as Tuck, Taylor, and Walter all laughed, Tuck a bit nervously. Walter quickly explained that Claire wanted to play slave girl, and had been trained, and had even earned a “slave star on her titty”, pointing out Claire’s brand with fatherly pride.

"Gosh, I don't know about this, Walter," Tuck said. "I've known Claire forever. She calls me her Uncle Tuck, after all. It's kind of odd seeing her this way. She looks pretty embarrassed. Maybe I should give her my jacket to… cover up."

"She wants slave training," Walter said, shrugging off Claire's nudity as if it were no big idea. "She practically begged me for a slave cage at lunch. Of course, if you'd rather we took our business elsewhere..."

Walter let the implicit threat of lost business trail off and hang in the air like the scent of Claire's randy twat. Tuck looked at the shopping cart stuffed fill with slave accessories; he had trained Taylor to up-sell, and even with the in-store credit there was enough profit in that shopping cart to pimp out his new truck nice. REAL nice.

Claire's last hope for rescue from this nightmare faded as she saw the $$ signs in her beloved "Uncle Tuck's" eyeballs. She could see him toting up the dollars in his head, and when he looked back at her he didn't even bother to look at her face, focusing his eyes between her spread legs like it was an open cash register drawer.

Tuck’s tone hardened immediately, “No, I'm delighted to help Claire get kitted out. You know our store's motto, Walter: if you'll buy it, we'll sell it."

Walter felt a surge of satisfaction as she saw the panic in Claire’s eyes as she realized that her “Uncle Tuck” now regarded her as slave meat he could turn a dollar on. She wanted to be objectified, but he knew from his conversations with Steve that didn’t make being objectified any less horrifying.

Determined to give his daughter what she wanted, and what she needed, and surely what she deserved, Walter decided to lay it on thick. "Well, then why don't you give her the once over, Tuck, while Taylor gives me the run down on what's in the cart. Maybe I'll trade an afternoon with your sweet ride for an afternoon with mine."

"Deal", Tuck said, laughing.

Claire couldn't believe it. The two men were laughing, but had her father just traded away her pussy for a ride in a fucking TRUCK? Seriously?

Tuck knelt down, smiling as he ran his fingers through Claire's soft hair, enjoying the warmth of her skin as ran her fingers down her face.

"I got you some slave kibble,” Taylor said, giving Walter an inventory of the cart as Tuck had his fun. "100 pound bag, because it's cheaper. I didn't bother with the flavored stuff. I mean, it tastes way better but this is way cheaper and just as nutritious and who gives a shit if slave chow tastes like food, anyway? I got you two stainless steel bows for her food and water, too."

“I also got you a package of these special high protein water bottles, made just for slave girls. You see there’s a little tank on the top that’s filled with sperm, and then when you press the button the sperm floats down through the water so it tastes like jizz. All slave girls are hungry for spunk, and it makes the water taste like jizz…because it is jizz. You can just hang it on the side of her cage, and she can suck on the little rubber penis on the end, and have a drink whenever she wants.”

“Wow, that’s really clever,” Walter said, admiring the mechanism while ignoring the disgusted look on Claire’s face. “Where do they get the sperm from?”

“It’s mostly dogs, horses, and bulls,” Taylor said. “Although they mix in human sperm too. They have slave clubs, and the manufacturers of this stuff give guys points to look at slave porn or even rent a real slave girl if they send in their splooge. It’s locally sourced, so chances are she’ll be eating the cream of at least two or three guys she knows with every suck.”

“That’s really clever,” Walter said, pretending to hold the tank up to the light so that his horrified daughter could get a good look at the thick white man-slime that formed the top layer of the water bottle. “But why do they keep the sperm separate from the water?”

“That’s really important. The water will eventually break the sperm down, but you want it to keep its consistency, all gooey and sticky. That way it coats their mouth, and every “rinse” just coats their mouth more. That way they get a REALLY good taste."

"All the horses at the stable contribute," Tuck added. "Chances are that someday soon she'll be eating Brown Thunder's baby batter." All three laughed.

“That’s wonderful," Walter said. "Wow, look at all that sperm, Claire! They sure do pack a lot in every bottle, don't they? Can I get another set of these, Taylor?”

“I already put a whole case of 48 at the bottom of the cart,” Taylor said, moving he slave kibble so Walter could see. “Yum, yum,” she added, flashing Claire a wicked smile. “Enjoy sucking off every guy at school, brain-iac, and your stupid horse, too.” Taylor thought.

“Thanks, Taylor. You think of everything. What are the cans?" Walter asked.

"Dog Food," Taylor said. "You probably want to mix in some wet food as a treat every now and then. They sell wet slave food, but it's way more expensive, and this just as good. I figured she'd like the meat they use, since she likes horses." Walter, Tuck, and Taylor all laughed as Taylor punctuated her joke by making a horse sound.

"Claire's going to absolutely devour it after eating all the pressed grain dust in the kibble, and drinking all that spunk, but don't give her too much at once or she'll get the runs, and shit all over her cage."

"I won't," Walter promised. "What's the cage like?"

“First class. It's got a grate she sleeps on, and a plastic floor to catch her droppings for easy cleanup. Room enough to keep her there 24/7, stainless steel, with a locking latch you can fix with this padlock. Wheels so you can pull out this handle and roll it like a suitcase, and hooks so you can throw her right into the back of that old truck of yours, snap her down, and fly down the road."

Walter noticed the panicked look in his daughter’s eyes. Was she scared of Taylor’s suggestion of putting her in the back of a truck in a slave cage and then speeding down the highway, or because Tuck’s hands were moving slowly down her body? Whatever the cause, the fact that his daughter was frightened pleased him, as now she knew how he felt when he had been worried about her safety.

"I don't know if I need a padlock," Walter said doubtfully. "This is voluntary, after all."

"The lock is for her benefit, not yours," Tuck explained, not bothering to look up as he squeezed Claire's breasts and tweaked her nipples to erection. "The little sluts like to be caged, and shocked, and discipline. It makes them feel loved."

Tuck and Taylor’s observations agreed with what Walter’s reading had told him, and the assessment of his psychiatrist friend Steve. It was hard to think of her that way, but then he remembered how wet Taylor’s fingers were.

“Yeah, you're probably right, Walter said coolly. “You don’t want to let the little sluts run loose.”

"Which brings us to the collar,” Taylor said, holding up the controller.

Walter looked at it doubtfully. “Gosh, that thing looks like a monster. What's the weight recommendation for that?" Walter said, picking up the empty box.

"Well, it's recommended for man between 350 and 400 pounds," Taylor admitted. But I took out some of the steel links so it would fit her nice and snug. It's spikes all around the inside, not just in front, so if you press the button, she'll feel it right down to her toes."

Walter frowned. It was more like it would blow Claire’s toes off. He took the small remote out of the box. The controller was black and steel plated. The model Taylor had chosen for Claire was called THE PUNISHER, and in addition to the 10 settings, it had one marked 11. Wow. Taylor did NOT like Claire.

"How much does this cost?" Walter said doubtfully.

"The better question is how much is it worth," Tuck said, running his hand down Claire's flat stomach and teasingly grazing the top of her pussy. "You can train a girl fast with this, and if she tries to escape out of it she gets the full charge. That will learn her good."

"Or smoke her brain like beef brisket" Taylor giggled. “She won’t be getting straight A’s in her AP classes then.”

“Damn, the little slut’s coming all over my hand, he said. “You sure do have one hot slave pussy here, Walter!”

Walter felt a sudden surge of anger as he watched Claire come in a wave all over Uncle Tuck’s hand, even as Taylor yanked out her phone and filmed the entire thing.
How dare the little slut embarrass the family this way? Without even thinking Walter pushed the large red button on THE PUNISHER...



Walter opted out of the hard-plastic chairs around the table and settled into a comfy sofa chair by the fireplace. He didn't like to rush his coffee, and he had no intention of doing so today. True, Claire was naked in a pet crate in the back of his broken-down old truck, but what of it? She was the one who wanted to play slave girls, and slave girls waited on the convenience of their owners and masters, not the other way around.

Walter paused and took his very first sip. Hot, but definitely good stuff! He rose and strolled over to retrieve a couple of sugar packets like a man who didn't have a care in the world. As he slowly ambled back to his chair Walter saw noticed than a small encampment of homeless people had spotted Claire and were now ambling over to the truck. How many were there? 3...4...5... 5 men, and one woman with a shopping cart. They were smiling and laughing with each other as they made a beeline to Claire, who was not smiling or laughing at all.

Walter knew the smelly bums were probably there to cop-a-feel, or - if they could get their peckers between the bars of Claire's cage - a quick suck. Naked and crated, Claire would be helpless to fight back against the 6 of them, particularly with dirty peckers coming at her from every angle. As he mixed the sugar into his coffee and gave it a quick stir, he considered intervening, but then decided against it. When a group of local merchants had tried to sweep the homeless out of the town, his liberal daughter had called them "greedy" and "heartless Walter still remembered the sting of his liberal daughter's earnest scolding. "It's the job of each of us to serve the poor and the homeless in anyway we can," Claire had insisted. Now they were heading straight at her, and judging from their smiles and the bulges in their trousers he suspected that his liberal daughter would be able to put her ideals into practice and "service" each and every one of the drunken, smelly bums.

Walter took a sip of his coffee and opened the paper, looking for the sports section. It was the day of rest, and he had all the time in the world.

[jardam1]

Wasn't this previously posted? Did you change something? Looks just like the previous version.

[bertrumm00057]

I know it was posted on the old Yahoo Group, but I couldn't find it here. Maybe it was somewhere else on the site.

[imreadonly2]

Since you were so nice to post it, Joe asked me to post this continuation of Claire's adventure.

Walter took a moment to check the scores, then read an article about the local team, the Red Sox. Pitching was important, Walter agreed, but if you couldn’t hit, you couldn’t score.

Walter shook his head gravely. Some sports writers just didn’t understand baseball!

When he finally glanced up to take another sip of his coffee, Walter was pleased to see that the homeless encampment had worked out a system for maximizing their usage of the slave pussy that had he had left in the slave cage in the back of his beat-up old truck. Two of the greasy, grey-haired old men were holding Claire by her long hair, with one of him feeding him his cock through the bars. Walter couldn’t see Claire’s face, since her ass was facing the doughnut shop, but he could see the cage move a bit each time her head bobbed forward and her nose and forehead hit the bars.

Walter chuckled softly as he realized that the bumping of Claire’s head against the cage was keeping time with the C&W song playing softly in the background of the venerable old doughnut shop.

Walter wasn’t upset to see the homeless bums having their way with Claire; indeed, he looked at it as an opportunity. He had wanted to give Claire the chance to live out her fantasies of slavery, but he also wanted her to understand that REAL slavery meant satisfying whatever filthy old pecker was placed in front of her. This was a lesson his sweet little girl needed to learn, and she needed to learn it well.

Walter was pleased for another reason as well. Over the years he had been harangued by his liberal daughter on a variety of subjects, including homeless people downtown. However, Walter knew that despite Claire’s impassioned liberal accusations about HIS insensitivity, she had always crossed the street to avoid them. Claire confessed to her father that while she was used to animal odors and barns, and shoveling Brown Thunder’s poop, the smell of the pee and sweat and stink on the old geezers always made her want to gag.

When Walter had asked Claire if that same smell might drive away customers from downtown and hurt local businesses, she had told him he was greedy, and that Walter’s generation screwing everything up was the reason we had homeless people to begin with.

“If I were in charge, I’d treat the homeless just like everyone else,” Claire had said haughtily. “No matter what they smelled like.”

Now Walter’s liberal daughter, who had never worked in the homeless shelter, or done anything of substance other than scream at her befuddled father, was finally getting a chance to turn her liberal words into liberal deeds. Today, she would help the homeless, in the way THEY wanted. Slave girl Claire was surrounded by a half dozen of them, and Walter fought the urge to laugh when he imagined what they smelled like together!

Nonetheless, Walter was proud to see his little girl was keeping up a steady rhythm, and judging from the look of ecstasy on the old bum’s face, he was having the time of his life. Walter had tried to teach Claire to do every job well, and she had apparently learned that lesson, even if the “job” was sucking bum cock.

Walter admired the efficiency in the bum’s attack plan. While Bum #1 was clearly getting the best service, the needs of the other vagrants where not neglected. Two of the bearded, dirty bums knelt on either side of the cage, and had stuck their cocks through the bars. Claire kept up the same steady rhythm as she stroked their fat shafts.

Behind her, one of the bums was trying to get his cock towards her ass and pussy, but the smallness of the cage and the length of Claire’s calves kept the kneeling slave girls exposed bung hole and pussy out of reach. It was a hopeless cause, but the lone female homeless person was having better luck. She had raided the wheel well toolbox bolted into the truck frame, and was now using the short handled, stiff bristled scrub brush to roughly scrub Claire’s exposed bung hole and pussy.

The truck scrub brush was pink, and about a foot long. It had actually been purchased by Claire at her father’s bequest. Claire had chosen pink, while Walter would have chosen black or a dark blue, but Claire had insisted that pink was “prettier”.

Walter couldn’t hear the homeless woman’s taunts, but she could hear the old crone’s shrill cackling through the glass of the doughnut shop window. The stiff, rough, pink bristles might not be the right color for scrubbing out the wheel wells or getting slop off the bumpers, but the color matched Claire’s pink slave girl bung hole and pussy.

Walter could tell from the pink lather that the old woman had squirted a generous dollop of some of the concentrated “bug buster” soap he kept in the wheel well onto Claire’s slave pussy. She cackled up a storm as she used the truck brush and commercial detergent to work up a good lather in Claire’s slave pussy.

“Want me to top off that coffee, Walter?”

Walter turned to see Dolly, the owner of the shop, standing next to him with her coffee pot. Dolly was in her mid 50’s, with brightly died green hair and numerous colorful tattoos on her arms and neck. She also had a missing tooth, which she had never bothered to replace, for she thought it looked cuter, “natural”.

Walter didn’t have to ask if the coffee was decaf. Dolly had known him for years, and knew how he liked his coffee.

“Yes, please, Dolly. Your coffee is the perfect way to start my day.”

“Aren’t you a sweetie?” Dolly chuckled.

Noticing the commotion at the truck, Dolly asked if Walter wanted her to “shoo the bums away from that hot little piece of slave tail you have in the back of yer’ truck.”

“Naw, let ‘em have their fun. They ayn’t harmin’ no one.”

“So did ya’ll decide to dress up that dumpy ol’ truck by putting a hot piece of slave gash in the back?” Dolly teased.

“That’s not any old slave gash,” Walter chuckled. “That’s my daughter, Claire.”

For a moment Walter thought the unflappable Dolly might drop her coffee pot. “That’s CLAIRE?” she said, moving to the door for a closer look. “Really?”

Dolly stared out, mouth agape, as Walter explained the entire story of Claire’s fascination with slavery, and his plan to teach his daughter a lesson while letting her live out her fantasies safely.

In truth, Walter wasn’t sure if he should tell Dolly, since Dolly and Claire were close friends, and she was something of a second mother to his daughter. Dolly had taught Claire to play guitar when they sang together in the church choir. Claire had written an article about Dolly’s doughnut shop for the school paper. A few months ago, Claire had actually worked in Dolly’s doughnut shop briefly when one of Dolly’s employees got appendicitis.

Walter was concerned that the maternal Dolly might spring to Claire’s defense, and bring the entire exercise to a screeching halt. But if Taylor had shown how someone who despised Claire would treat his newly enslaved daughter, and Tuck had shown how a male mentor might react, Dolly would show him how a close female mentor would absorb Claire’s faux “enslavement.”

Dolly nodded as she listened closely, occasionally injecting a supporting “good point”, or a “REALLY?”, and even chuckling at the funny parts, like Claire’s hypocritical speeches about the homeless. At one point, Dolly surprised Walter by saying, “She is a bit stuck up, at times. Kind of a know-it-all. Even with me.”

Walter thought as much, but it was good to hear someone else confirm it.

“This might be just the lesson Clare needs, to take her down a notch… or a whole bunch of notches, which is what she needs, truth be told,” Dolly concluded, without even being told that Walter thought as much too.

Walter thanked Dolly for her honesty, and explained that it was important to treat Claire not like a friend, but a slave, so she got the “full emotional experience.”

“Got it,” Dolly agreed. “Couldn’t agree more.”

When Walter finished Dolly said, “You’re a great father, Walter. I’m not sure what she has goin’ through that pretty little head of hers, but it’s good of you to let her work through it. If she wants to be treated like a slave slut, guess that’s how we should treat ‘er, then!”

“Yup!” Walter agreed.

Dolly looked out the window again. “What’s that pink foam all over her gash?” Dolly asked.

“Bug scrub,” Walter said, looking down at his paper to check tomorrow’s weather. “Industrial strength. It pretty much just dissolves the bugs, and you don’t even have to scrub. It’s great for cutting through the caked-on mud on the bumper and up in the wheel wells. Works great, but you have to dilute it with water to keep it from damaging the paint, or burning your hands.”

Dolly surveyed the scene with a chilly, dispassionate gaze. “Well, her pussy juice is wetting down that scrub brush like a fire hose, judging from all the bubbles and lather, and pink scum on her snatch,” Dolly observed coldly. “The little slut is humping that brush pretty good.”

Walter looked up and noticed that Claire was indeed leaning into the brush, and humping away, forming a rhythm that matched her face bopping against the front of the cage. She was sucking bum #2 now, and Walter surmised that Bum #1 must have finished with her, as he was holding Claire’s hair and looking down on her with a smug, satisfied leer.

“Look, she’s coming on the brush! See that pussy twitch? Right out in public, too! No shame. Filthy little slut.”

Dolly shook her head in disgust as she topped off Walter’s coffee again; clearly, she was enjoying the conversation, and was in no hurry for him to leave.

“Disgusting little piggy,” Dolly hissed. “Good thing yer usin’ that nasty pink bug scrubber. Little slut probably has lots of cooties and crotch critters crawlin’ round that stinky hole of hers. If it were up to me, I’d give all these little pleasure sluts a good scouring with that pink bug scrub, right up between their legs, twice a day, and three times on Sunday.”

Observing the anger and contempt in Dolly’s narrowing eyes, Walter realized that his concerns about the “decent women” of the town rushing to Claire’s defense were unfounded. Indeed, decent women despised pleasure sluts, and relished stories of their punishment and humiliation.

Dolly scowled as Claire’s second orgasm subsided, and her third began. Still, she was humping. “I wouldn’t mind givin’ this one a couple nice whip cracks across her fat ass, for whore humpin’ in my parking lot! Ya’ got a whip in that truck, Walter?”

Walter had indeed bought a slave whip that morning, at Taylor’s suggestion, and it was sitting in his truck, awaiting its first use.

“I actually taught Claire how to use the dressage whip,” Dolly said. “She cracked Brown Thunder across the rump with it a couple of times, which I didn’t like at all. Maybe she needs to know what it feels like.”

Walter looked up at Dolly and smiled. “Don’t suppose I can have a doughnut, can I, Dolly? Pink frostin’, with those fancy sprinkles you put on so nice, if you please.”

[jean.amelot]

Great, I loved it. Wondered where he was going to take the story.

[bertrumm00057]

Excellent continuation, I look forward to more of this story. Does Walter use Claire for his business clients? Do the farm hands have Claire bent over a bale of hay riding her for hours?

[jeepster]

Great chapter! Loved it! Can't imagine whats next for her.

[bertrumm00057]

I second this, top notch quality writing, kudos
I would love to look inside Claire's head when the slave collar is set to punishment mode... haha...

[r1co7]

yes different way of taking it, excellent story from joe as usual

[Survivor29]

Does anyone know where I can message Joe Doe?

I have an idea for a re-write/alternate version of one of his stories and I want to ask him if he is okay with it.

[bertrumm00057]

I am not sure, Steve, but can it be that our member imreadonly2 is able to contact Joe directly?

[Freight_Train]

Just post it here, Joe Doe will see it. Either he will use it or not.

[Arcadian]

There are times when Joe's stories contain an element of raceplay.

(Usually where one of the paler members of the weaker sex is brought low in less progressive societies than those we currently inhabit. Not going to lie, I find those particularly delicious)

Here is an example of the genre that reminds me of Joe's style. Only harder.
https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Nea ... hanta.html

[imreadonly2]

There are times when Joe's stories contain an element of raceplay.

(Usually where one of the paler members of the weaker sex is brought low in less progressive societies than those we currently inhabit. Not going to lie, I find those particularly delicious)

Here is an example of the genre that reminds me of Joe's style. Only harder.
https://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Nea ... hanta.html

Like most of the readers here, I deplore actual racism. Race play in my stories is much more about power exchange, and to the extent that race is an element of power it's much like a teacher-->student or doctor-->mental patient or free woman--> slave girl transformation. So a white woman might be captured by the Barbary Pirates, or abolitionist Yankee might find herself wrongfully accused of "mixed" blood and find herself standing naked on the auction block. In these stories, it's not about one race being superior to another, but the power exchange that occurs because of our regrettable racism.

Thanks for sharing the link!