Hey Abner - Under Florida Law
Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2023 9:49 am
Hey Abner,
My wife Paige runs a hedge fund in New York, and went down to see some clients in West Palm Beach. As she doesn't get to see much nature working in Manhattan, she rented a car and drove into the everglades to do a little site seeing.
All went well until she was pulled over by a redneck sheriff who wanted to know how a "hot little number like you can afford to drive a lamb-oh-geene?", which, truth be told, was a dumb car to drive into rural Florida where the roads aren't the best. He asked her for her driver's license, and her slave registration card. My wife gave him her New York Driver's license, and explained that she didn't have a slave identification card, as she wasn't a slave, and she hadn't been registered, as she didn't believe in slavery.
The fat Sheriff frowned, and explained that under Florida's new "Free Women & Families Protection Act", he had a right to detain for 48 hours any unregistered woman without a Florida license plate whom he suspected of being an escaped slave.
My wife literally laughed. She showed him her Iphone 14, her Platinum Credit cards, and her rolex watch. She showed him her leather bag, "which is worth more than your squad car." But the more proof she gave that she wasn't a slave girl, the more convinced he became that she must have stolen the money.
"You got a rich husband," he asked.
"Define rich," she said, looking over her sunglasses. "Rich to you, but next to what I pull down in my hedge fund, he can shine my shoes."
The Sheriff asked her to step out of the car, and she was soon in "frisk position", with the sheriff kicking her legs out and apart, then taking his time groping her breasts and giving himself a nice, leisurely feel. "If you ayn't a slave girl, you should be," he said, slipping his fat finger up her skirt and worming it into the crotch of his panties. He took his time, until he found her clit, and then started to slowly, slowly tease her, while whispering in her ear."
"I think you're an escaped Pleasure Slut, with a hot tight pussy and a smart mouth. I think you killed some guy named Page, probably fucked-him--to-death, then stole his lambo. That's it, slave girl, don't fright it, let's get those juices flowing. A little wet there, are we? Nothing to be ashamed of. We are, what we are."
Like many successful career women, my wife does have slave girl fantasies. But she wasn't prepared to be stripped naked roadside, cuffed, and taken to a room in the county jail where she was collared and held in a slave kennel. The room was like a puppy mill for accused slave girls, and hot as hell, and the guards wouldn't give her any water unless she "showed her slave moves" by masturbating herself to orgasm for her, or sucking them off between the bars of her dog cage. Some of the girls refused, and passed out. My wife did not pass out.
About noon the next day, with no explanation, my wife's cage was loaded in the back of a roasting hot panel truck and driven somewhere unknown. She was horrified when she realized that they had taken her to a slave market, and watched in horror as several protesting girls were taken off the truck and stacked next to the auction block. Much to her relief, she was allowed to remain on the truck and driven back to the Sheriff's office.
The fat Sheriff offered no apology, suggesting that she might want to "get yer dumb ass registered, for faster service." He even offered to drive her back to the market, where "my cousin can give you a real good deal on a professional grading." My wife said she had no desire to be registered, "and show my SIN number and BEEF grade to every smirking asshole with a badge."
After noting my wife "still had a mouth on her," the Sheriff released her into the street naked, then dumped her purse and clothes onto the street. She had to get dressed and call an uber, as her Lambo had been returned without her, a week later, after the Sheriff's office enjoyed a few joy rides.
My wife was TOTALLY pissed off when she went back to Manhattan. She wanted to sue the Sheriff, but discovered to her horror that under Florida's new law everything that happened to her was perfectly legal. However, getting even with him is her obsession, and all she talks about is what it was like to be naked and collared and caged. She also thinks that the girls who were auctioned at the slave market were probably free, but the Sheriff had arranged some sort of shady deal to sell them. She's wasting a ton of time researching his department, and searching for complaints against him, and even hired a private detective in Florida.
Paige's psychiatrist says that her obsession with the Sheriff is because he showed her that she was "slave hot" and "awakened a need deep inside of her." She fired him, and is looking for "a woman therapist who will understand me." Know any good Manhattan psychiatrists, Abner?
The good news is that we have incredibly hot sex, as now Paige wants to play slave girl every night. How do I cure my wife's obsession with getting even with the Sheriff, assuming I want to?
My wife Paige runs a hedge fund in New York, and went down to see some clients in West Palm Beach. As she doesn't get to see much nature working in Manhattan, she rented a car and drove into the everglades to do a little site seeing.
All went well until she was pulled over by a redneck sheriff who wanted to know how a "hot little number like you can afford to drive a lamb-oh-geene?", which, truth be told, was a dumb car to drive into rural Florida where the roads aren't the best. He asked her for her driver's license, and her slave registration card. My wife gave him her New York Driver's license, and explained that she didn't have a slave identification card, as she wasn't a slave, and she hadn't been registered, as she didn't believe in slavery.
The fat Sheriff frowned, and explained that under Florida's new "Free Women & Families Protection Act", he had a right to detain for 48 hours any unregistered woman without a Florida license plate whom he suspected of being an escaped slave.
My wife literally laughed. She showed him her Iphone 14, her Platinum Credit cards, and her rolex watch. She showed him her leather bag, "which is worth more than your squad car." But the more proof she gave that she wasn't a slave girl, the more convinced he became that she must have stolen the money.
"You got a rich husband," he asked.
"Define rich," she said, looking over her sunglasses. "Rich to you, but next to what I pull down in my hedge fund, he can shine my shoes."
The Sheriff asked her to step out of the car, and she was soon in "frisk position", with the sheriff kicking her legs out and apart, then taking his time groping her breasts and giving himself a nice, leisurely feel. "If you ayn't a slave girl, you should be," he said, slipping his fat finger up her skirt and worming it into the crotch of his panties. He took his time, until he found her clit, and then started to slowly, slowly tease her, while whispering in her ear."
"I think you're an escaped Pleasure Slut, with a hot tight pussy and a smart mouth. I think you killed some guy named Page, probably fucked-him--to-death, then stole his lambo. That's it, slave girl, don't fright it, let's get those juices flowing. A little wet there, are we? Nothing to be ashamed of. We are, what we are."
Like many successful career women, my wife does have slave girl fantasies. But she wasn't prepared to be stripped naked roadside, cuffed, and taken to a room in the county jail where she was collared and held in a slave kennel. The room was like a puppy mill for accused slave girls, and hot as hell, and the guards wouldn't give her any water unless she "showed her slave moves" by masturbating herself to orgasm for her, or sucking them off between the bars of her dog cage. Some of the girls refused, and passed out. My wife did not pass out.
About noon the next day, with no explanation, my wife's cage was loaded in the back of a roasting hot panel truck and driven somewhere unknown. She was horrified when she realized that they had taken her to a slave market, and watched in horror as several protesting girls were taken off the truck and stacked next to the auction block. Much to her relief, she was allowed to remain on the truck and driven back to the Sheriff's office.
The fat Sheriff offered no apology, suggesting that she might want to "get yer dumb ass registered, for faster service." He even offered to drive her back to the market, where "my cousin can give you a real good deal on a professional grading." My wife said she had no desire to be registered, "and show my SIN number and BEEF grade to every smirking asshole with a badge."
After noting my wife "still had a mouth on her," the Sheriff released her into the street naked, then dumped her purse and clothes onto the street. She had to get dressed and call an uber, as her Lambo had been returned without her, a week later, after the Sheriff's office enjoyed a few joy rides.
My wife was TOTALLY pissed off when she went back to Manhattan. She wanted to sue the Sheriff, but discovered to her horror that under Florida's new law everything that happened to her was perfectly legal. However, getting even with him is her obsession, and all she talks about is what it was like to be naked and collared and caged. She also thinks that the girls who were auctioned at the slave market were probably free, but the Sheriff had arranged some sort of shady deal to sell them. She's wasting a ton of time researching his department, and searching for complaints against him, and even hired a private detective in Florida.
Paige's psychiatrist says that her obsession with the Sheriff is because he showed her that she was "slave hot" and "awakened a need deep inside of her." She fired him, and is looking for "a woman therapist who will understand me." Know any good Manhattan psychiatrists, Abner?
The good news is that we have incredibly hot sex, as now Paige wants to play slave girl every night. How do I cure my wife's obsession with getting even with the Sheriff, assuming I want to?