StripSearch

My Dearest Oscar,

Did you know that I lecture at Sturm College of Law at the University of Denver? I also guest lecture in the women’s studies program. Yes, I am quite well paid for my lectures, thank you, and yes, I speak on feminism and the law.

I am sadly familiar with the phenomena you describe. A few semesters ago I was actually approached by a very well-dressed gentleman who was “scouting” the graduates of the Gender and Women’s Studies program. He had heard I was teaching a class on careers for women in the legal field and asked me who the most “strident feminists” were. He asked if he could review their term papers, so he could make a full evaluation.

I was quite pleased to meet him, as students in the Gender and Women’s Studies programs sadly have difficulty finding employment commensurate with their level of accomplishment. Some of the engineering and business program professors even refer to the degree as “The Starbucks Training Program.”

I have no idea how many of my graduates end up in the collar, for the clerk is always careful to route bankruptcies involving my students to Judge Willy. Judge Willy, like your friend Judge Younger, loves nothing more than putting an unfortunate young woman in a collar. I try to avoid him, as our dislike is mutual. However, from time to time he’ll slyly thank me for sending him new “suckers” to “try out in chambers”.

“There’s so much kneeling in my chambers the rug in front of my chair is damn near worn out. Plus, some of your girls can get a little sloppy, and miss a few drops, ha-ha.” He’s really a loathsome creature, but my repeated attempts to have him removed have fallen on deaf ears.

Where was I? Like you, I digress! The well-dressed gentleman recruiting my graduates offered a welcome antidote to Judge Willy, although I found the term “strident feminist” to be rather offensive, as I had often been referred to in that way, and never as a compliment. He explained that he knew all about me, and that I was also “on his list.”

I was a little surprised to hear this, and replied that if he knew all about me, then he knew I was a judge, and uninterested in another career. It was then than he dropped the bomb, and explained that he was a slaver, and the “career” he was recruiting my students for was full-time Pleasure Slut.

“Don’t worry if they’re tubby, or ugly, or lesbians,” he explained casually. “We’ll put them to work, and the pounds will melt away. A bit of plastic surgery can take care of big noses, and as for the lesbians, they’ll learn to suck dick quick enough when I crack the whip on their feminist asses.”

“I like the strident ones because they are the most fun to train and bring the best price on the block. Even when you’re auctioning them, and they’re going through their moves, you can see the fire in their eyes. It’s no fun fucking a bag of bones. A lot of guys like to own slave girls who hate them, or hate themselves, because they remember who they once were. Every day is a fresh humiliation.”

Needless to say, I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. Should I call security? Slap his face? Or should I tell him exactly what I thought of him and wipe that smug smile off his face.

“You said I was on your list?” I asked quietly, deciding to play along.

“Oh, yes, we have a full scouting report on you. If I were going to auction you, I’d list all your accomplishments and honors. I even have a video of one of your lectures, to play to the audience when you’re rubbing your snatch on the block. It’ll be a real hoot, and the buyers will love it. Nothing like watching some feminazi squirt all over the block while listening to her demand that she be treated with respect.”

Needless to say, I told him he was wrong, and a “disgusting, evil, sexist, pervert.” To prove him wrong, I offered him the papers of my finest students, and was shocked when a month after graduation he sent me a “commission” check for $25,000!

Needless to say, I was shocked, and wanted to call him immediately. However, after carefully considering the matter, I decided that I would not confront him, as insulting as he was. I think he, like Judge Willy, was probably exaggerating the enslavements simply to troll me and raise my ire. What better punishment for him then to cash his check and ignore him. Besides, on the off chance that he did actually foreclose on one my graduates, I am quite sure that she was a poser, hungry for the collar. As we have discussed, slave girls are born, not made, and Pleasure Sluts are only getting what they deserve.

I have continued to provide him with an increasing number of my students’ papers, and my commissions have steadily grown. It pleases me to extract more money from him, knowing that it is costing him a lot to keep up his sexist façade. If a slaver wants to pay me money for nothing, who am I to stop him?

Slavery is not particularly popular in Denver, so I imagine most of the girls are exported to other states, or overseas. I did have a rather startling experience last year when I spoke at a convention in Jackson, Mississippi. I was attending a party afterwards, where the decorations were naked slave girls, painted white, and posing as statues in the garden. I didn’t pay them much attention, as they did not move and seemed frozen in place. But when I went out to the garden I heard a soft, whispery voice.

“Professor Smith? Do you remember me? I was in your Female Empowerment class last year. I sat in the front row, and you wrote a recommendation for me to get into Columbia Law School.”

I looked around and saw no one. It wasn’t until the voice said, “up here” that I looked to my left, and realized that the naked statue, posed with her hands in her hair, was talking to me.

“Jodie?” I said, genuinely surprised. “Is that you? My God, what are you doing here?”

“I was at Columbia, but my father and mother were killed in a car accident. My uncle was approached by some slaver, who said he had read one of the papers I wrote for your class. He said he could give my uncle my parent’s estate and money from my sale if he could trump up some reason to enslave me. My parents were from Alabama, originally, and wanted to be buried there. After their funeral, I was arrested as a cocaine dealer, and 48 hours later I was on the auction block.”

“Oh, that’s dreadful. I know the slaving courts down South are disgraceful, but…”

“Judge Smith, can you help me? My uncle is my only family, and now I’m just a Pleasure Slut. Can you help me get out of here?”

“Help you get out of WHERE?” a male voice said.

Two men, including the host of my party, yanked Jodie off the block. “Are you trying to help one of my slaves escape?” he said, looking at me accusingly. “Because if you are, I got a collar that will fit that Yankee neck of yers, real nice!”

I spent the next five minutes assuring him that I did not know Jodi, and that she had spoken to me, and I had said nothing to her. To prove my indifference to her plight, I joined in on her punishment, and delivered several choice stripes across her (painted) white backside. I felt quite bad about the encounter, but had no choice, really.

Do you think I should hire someone to trace Jodie, and try to help her? I do believe that a girl can’t be a Pleasure Slut unless it is in her nature, but Jodi? Really? What do you think I should do?

You had mentioned that if you were one of my slave boys, you would be able to easily avoid getting an erection during my block moves, by abusing yourself WITHOUT MY PERMISSION when my back was turned. I know men like it when slave girls keep themselves wet-and-ready, but as men as a gender are much more limited in their ability to perform I feel it’s important to keep male orgasm under strict control.

I don’t know how the women in Texas handle their men (poorly, I expect, based on your shocking behavior) but I’ll have you know that I keep my men’s little hot dogs caged up whenever they are not in my presence. This goes for boyfriends as well as the male slaves currently in my custody. I have adorable pink little cages custom made, and keep the key around my neck, so they can see my power over them whenever they look at me.

Oh, the poor slave boys, they do suffer so. I know it’s wicked of me, but it is most amusing! When they’re caged and I’m doing my block moves in front of them, they are literally rolling on the floor, begging to be taken out of their cages, which go from “tight” to “agonizing” when the little dears get erections.

Often when they are in my presence, I allow them to take their cages off. You don’t want to keep them on all the time, lest they lose their natural abilities, plus I do enjoy punishing them for their adorable, but utterly futile, little stiffies. Men are such lustful, disgusting creatures, and they are much more productive under lock-and-key, with a powerful woman to direct their energies. I hope you don’t think I’m being mean, but it is quite the power rush for me to keep their sorry little wieners so firmly in my delicate, feminine grip.

You suggested you would be able to resist my block moves, through unsanctioned self-abuse. But what if such a gross act of disobedience is not allowed? May I suggest an experiment, to discover if you are as “straight” and “free” as you think yourself to be?

1. I will mail you a cage and a lock that you can stuff your junk in. Don’t worry. One size fits small.
2. I will periodically send you little videos of me playing with the key to your chastity device, so you know it is safe.
3. At my convenience, I will send a woman who specializes in training male slaves to your apartment. She will bring several male slaves along with her. She will unlock your cage and permit your little soldier to spring to attention. We will do a zoom call of me performing my nastiest block moves for you, and me watching you, kneeling naked before the camera.
4. If you get a stiffie, you’ll be spanked, and you will service each of the male slaves. They will be of different races, to show you that despite what happens at your horrible slave islands, we are all loving brothers (or in your case, sucking bitches).
5. If you win the bet, I will buy you a 5-year membership to the National Organization for Women, and a lifetime membership to The Women Anti-slavery League. If I win, I will get to enjoy seeing a Texas slave lawyer getting all his holes used for my amusement. Of course, I am certain that could NEVER happen, given what a powerful, macho straight man you are.

Oh, and please don’t even think of trying to pick the lock. I should warn you that with a couple of my boyfriends I discovered pick marks around the lock. As punishment, I replaced their chastity devices with “keyless”, permanent devices, then promptly broke up with them. Carefully designed so they cannot be removed without destroying the contents, such devices are quite expensive, but they were worth every penny.

So, Oscar, are you ready to give me your hot dog, for safe keeping, so we can begin our fun little experiment? Somewhere, there’s a slave boy who would love to have his penis sucked by a slave lawyer. That unpleasant taste in your mouth is merely a sample of what’s to come.

Thank you for your brutally frank assessment of my Slave Yoga “training”. I did sign up for the actual slave training program, taught by Master Apollo. What a story I have to tell!

First of all, there is the fact that I now had to perform my block moves SLAVE NAKED. That’s right, 100% in the buff, naked except for my slave collar, with Master Apollo kindly provided. I had done my block moves in the nude before, in front of Noodle and Stud, but they weren’t even men, really. After all, I owned them. They were under MY control.

Now, however, I had no control whatsoever, and I was buck naked in front of whomever cared to stroll out to the soccer field, and sit in the bleachers, and watch. And stroll, and sit, and watch they did, as your truly, with a huge fake slave smile plastered on my mug, and absolutely slave naked, bent and spread and showed the disgusting, leering perverts everything they wished to see.

As the new girl in the class, I drew the most attention. Many of my “bidders” had binoculars, and I could feel their grubby little eyeballs zooming in on me as I winked my asshole, or dripped my juices onto my hand, and then seductively licked my fingers. Pigs!

The odd part is, I despised them, but I found myself wanting desperately to please them, to turn them on, to be the center of their attentions. Alas, after a few days, I was no longer a novelty, and their attentions shifted to the other girls. The fact that my skin was darker than many of the other European girls was a liability, which annoyed me, because I knew that if I were not out in the sun so much I could lighten my skin again.

While I do not appreciate your language, the simple truth of the matter is that when I began doing my block moves with the actual slave girls, they were, in fact, “beating me.” Several times I heard the men laugh when I missed the move, and more than once an annoyed Master Apollo cracked my naked, straining bottom with the whip. The pain was unbelievable, like a hot razor wire branded across my bottom. I had never felt such pain, but I was grateful to him, and loved him all the more, because I knew the discipline was for my own good, to make me the best that I could be.

Still, the men’s laughter burned my ears. I knew I really had to up my game and work ten times harder to even be competitive. It was not easy, and my grueling practice at the club was augmented by many, many hours at home, practicing my moves.

To further my training, I purchased an automated program, called PERFECT PUSSY, a sort of Peloton for slave girls. There are instructor-led classes I can participate in. Unlike Peloton, the instructor can use the camera to see me, because slave girls, after all, have no modesty. I had not entered a name for myself, and when my master/trainer asked me, I didn’t know what to say. He named me “Pongo”, which is, I later realized, a rather racist reference to my skin color. But it was exciting to me that he not only thought that I was a slave, but that he could see me, and use my shock collar to jolt me when I failed to please.

When I’m not in a class, I use the PERFECT PUSSY AI module to train me. It shocks me when I miss a move, and shouts all sorts of horrible, racist things at me, having picked up on the awful things my masters say during my training session.

Hop faster, little monkey. The jungle floor is hot today!
Stretch! Higher, Pongo, like you’re reaching for a banana.
Get your slave juices going, girls. Not hard for Pongo, as she’s always dripping chocolate syrup.
I said SPREAD, Pongo. I know you’re not white, but you still have some sort of brain.
Make those nipples hard, Pongo. Make your master want to suck out some Bosco!

It was quite dreadful, really, but also quite the turn on. Not only did they think I was a slave, but my trainers, and even the computer, thought I was black, too.

Performing slave naked in front of total strangers is dreadfully humiliating, but also a total rush. Not having clothes, or any responsibilities other than pleasing your master and avoiding shocks and the whip, is strangely liberating. When I walk out with the other slave girls, or shower with them, and feel the men’s eyes roaming freely over my body, I know the freedom only a slave girl can feel. I had heard the term “slave free” before, but had never understood it until I had donned a real slave collar myself.

The freedom of my nakedness didn’t make it any less mortifying when the inevitable happened, and Brad Butler strolled onto the field and sat in the bleachers. He had his sunglasses on, and was talking on the phone, and several minutes went by where I’m sure he barely noticed me.

Alas, the inevitable happened, and when he saw me, he burst into an enormous smile. With the air of a man to whom money is no object, he quickly bought a pair of binoculars off of one the gawkers around him, and made a close examination of every crack and crevice of my naked, twisting, sweating body.

Oh, how I wanted to cover up, to hide myself, to not shame myself in front of him. When the order came for me to spread my legs and “lather up”, arching my pussy towards Brad, I hesitated, earning me a painful red strip across my disobedient slave girl ass.

“Get that beaver split, wet and ready!” Master Apollo barked. “Slave-gasm, NOW!”

What could I do? I rubbed myself to slave-gasm, while an amused Brad watched, with an enormous, shit-eating grin on his face.

As successful as my training has been, you are correct that Master Apollo knows that I am not a slave. Is he going easy on me? I don’t think so, but you may be right. The PUSSY PERFECT program and trainers don’t know that I’m not a slave, but while they can shock me, they cannot stand over me, and crack the whip, and give me that “live, on the block” experience.

If I switched my class time, I could get a trainer who did not know me, but I would need someone to help me with my ruse of being a slave girl. The only person I know well enough, or trust (to a point) is my own friend Brad. However, pretending to be his slave girl, even if it’s only for a walk to the car and back, is mortifying and risky? (and, I confess, a little exciting).

My apologies, Oscar. I have blathered on so about my silly classes, that I’ve largely ignored the matter at hand. First, I don’t appreciate you sharing my personal information with some baby lawyer barely out of law school. I’m sure Hanna is quite lovely, and is wonderful eye candy, but I hardly see how she can be fit to do anything but fetch my coffee at Starbucks. I looked her up, and she went to Texas Southern University, which is not exactly Stanford or Yale, now is it?

Now, I did see her family owned one of those awful slave plantations, so I imagine that she does have a fair amount of practical experience with slave law, your chosen field of endeavor. (Really, Oscar, why a gentleman of your quality would allow himself to be involved in such an odious business is beyond me. I’ve always had money, but is the lure of a filthy purse string too strong to resist?)

As for this Hanna person, I don’t like the idea of some little chippy from University of Nowhere looking at my bikini pictures or reading our correspondence. She wasn’t honor roll, her family is in the slave trade (DISGUSTING!) and she simply isn’t my sort of people. Do we really have to involve a graduate of the mediocrities?

Still, although I’m sure she isn’t as bright as you claim, her body maybe of some value. You had mentioned sending in someone undercover. Wouldn’t Hannah be the PERFECT choice? She already knows the ins-and-outs of the slave industry. I could arrange the paperwork for her “bankruptcy” and give her a quick run through in my court. I think it would be most amusing seeing her weeping in front of my bench, begging to avoid the collar. Normally, I find such histrionics quite tiresome, but when I think of Hanna in my courtroom, totally at my mercy, I feel a delightful rush of power.

Please don’t share this letter with her, as I’d rather she didn’t know how much I dislike her. But do share the idea, and please know I’m ready to make all the arrangements.

I’m quite flattered that Judge Younger thinks I’m Prime, but it only proves how senile he is. No sane man assesses a slave girl with clothes on!

Happy 4th of July!

Katherine

Such confidence. Can't wait to see where this turns next. Great story.

Well the judge is now ready for her next step the brand and collar. She deserves it so much what a bitch love to read about her as a processed slave naked collared branded pleasure slut servicing her entire former staff. Please continue.

This work is definitely one of your finest. You are a true artist. I feel humbled reading your work.

regards,

Belinda

Kathy,

I must say that I got a mild chuckle out of your proposed "bet". While the idea of placing some kind of wager with you is intriguing, I think the terms and conditions would have to be far different.

You may keep your male slaves in some kind of chastity cage, as is your right as the owner. But I am not a slave, nor do I have any wish to be. I have never had my manhood locked away from me, and I don't intend to start today.

Besides, what meager reward do you offer? The opportunity to see your block moves? My dear, as I have told you already, I appreciate that you are probably quite skilled... for a *free* woman. But I am a Texas slave lawyer. I have seen a hundred women this week with slave moves that would put yours to shame. I am sorry, but without any evidence to the contrary, I must assume that your moves are as mundane as that of any other professional girl.

Additionally, proposing that for my victory, I would receive a 5 year membership in the National Organization of Women, and the Women Anti-Slavery League? Ha! Do you know how bets work, you silly girl? You have to offer something the other person actually *desires*. Now undoubtedly, there are probably men there in Colorado who would willingly hand you the keys to their peckers without hesitation, just for the promise you might let them sniff your panties. Lock them up, slap their balls, keep 'em without release for months at a time. After long enough, I'm sure they'd sign over everything they own just for the chance to stick their tongue in your ass. That's what happens to men in places like that, where they get confused about who wears dresses and what pronouns they use.

But I am no soy latte drinking Colorado boy. No, any bet we make is going to have to be significantly more interesting, and more rewarding.

Perhaps a blind taste test, so to speak? You take a quick trip down to Texas, just for the weekend. I could arrange for you to do a block routine with a group of slave women. We'd take twenty female slaves and a group of ten men. We'll get you bare ass naked, fit you with a collar, and have a trainer who doesn't know who you are put you girls through your paces. After a lengthy but not excessive set of block moves (say, no more than an hour or two), each of the men chooses which slave he wants for the night. If you're truly capable of holding your own against real slave pussy, you'll be one of the first slaves chosen. Ten men doing the selecting means that you only need to be in the top half to win the bet. As long as one of the men picks you to be his pig slut for the night, I'll admit I was wrong and that you really do have a natural gift for it.

But if I'm right, you go back to Colorado and finish out this judicial session wearing one of those chastity devices of which you're so fond. Just imagine sitting on the bench in your black robe, deciding the fate of a beautiful woman of good breeding (perhaps a lady whose identity was stolen by a boyfriend or relative, who ran her into serious debt, and though you believe her story, she has no absolute proof). And as you sit there, contemplating how deliciously sexy this woman would look kneeling, naked, with a slave collar welded around her neck, you yourself have your honeypot locked away from your own touch behind a stainless steel belt. I know it's common practice for judges on the slave court to slip into their chambers to relieve their needs on occasion, but that option would be taken away from you. You'd have no choice but to decide this woman's fate when your own juices trickled down your thighs, your lips slick and rubbing against each other, your insides melting and aching for penetration you knew you could never get.

Hannah says it'll take a few more months until our plan is ready to go into action. She's working on getting the proper paperwork set up. Surely you've got the self-control to make it through such a time. I wonder how your rulings might change. Would you take pity on the poor women who appeared in your courtroom? Or would your own needs lead you to pronounce the maximum sentence in each case? You would know that they deserved to be enslaved for being so irresponsible with their finances, just as you deserved your own punishment for wanting to rut with the pig-girls.

Now *that*, dear Kathy, is a bet worth considering.



Anyway, back to business.

The "talent scout" you mention is familiar to me. Not the individual, you understand, but the type. There's a lot of money to be made, quick and easy, with the enslavement of young women. Why, there was a man around here who made a bunch of money doing exactly that sort of thing. Fellow drove a nice Mercedes that had one side all smashed to hell. Had a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Cadillac, about five different beautiful cars, all with major damage to one corner. He would park near the sorority houses on campus on the night of graduation, or homecoming, or just a big party. When he saw one of the girls stumble out to her car, he'd drive along behind her and make sure to get into an accident with her.

When the police arrive they find a drunk girl, tens of thousands of dollars in damage to a beautiful car, and an irate citizen. They'd arrest her, take her to jail, and set her to see the judge on Monday. 9 AM, he'd be there, talking about his "pain and suffering" and get the judge to deny bail. Pretty soon the girl'd be auctioned off to pay for the repairs. He puts the money in his pocket, leaves the car as it is, and moves on to the next college town. I think he worked his way through all the schools in the Big XII, several times over, once for each car.

He eventually got caught when he reused the same car, at the same school, in front of the same judge. I think he's doing ten years in a truck stop gloryhole for insurance fraud. I bet that last sorority girl thought that providence had smiled on her when the judge ordered the man handcuffed in the middle of court. Sadly, she had Judge Younger. "You were still drunk, missy. And how do I know you weren't in on this scheme with him?" He's getting pretty up there in age and his logic isn't always that sound anymore. He ordered the two sold as a pair, calling them accomplices. So she's serving her 10 at that same truck stop. My recollection is that it's on Judge Younger's way home from court. I wonder if she likes servicing 90-something year old balls.



Regarding the Jodi girl? All you did was write her a letter of recommendation. You don't owe her anything else. You think no one who attended one of your lectures could ever possibly break the law? Besides, I don't know that there's much you can do. Colorado is in the 10th Federal Circuit, Alabama is in the 11th. You couldn't even hear her appeal.

I'd suggest just let the little pig slut oink herself to orgasm for the next however many years.

As far as your own worth to a slaver, I am quite curious myself. My associate Hannah brought up an interesting argument. As you know, federal judges have lifetime appointments. If *you* were to be enslaved, your educational degrees and your law license would be stripped from you as easily as your clothes. And yet, you might still technically be a federal judge. At least, you wouldn't have been impeached and removed by Congress. Not yet. Not that your owner would allow you to return to Colorado, or sit on the bench, or make any rulings. But you would still get your paycheck. Or to be more accurate, *he* would get your paycheck.

To the best of my knowledge, no federal judge has ever been enslaved, so there aren't any court cases on the matter. But any wise bidder would take that possibility into account. You could be a double earner for any man lucky enough to place his brand on your ass.



Now I warned you that Mister Apollo was just going to take your money and give you a show. My bet is that quite a few of your "observers" were simply his friends, stopping by to leer at the rich woman play-acting as slave. Tell me, Kathy, did any of these men have video cameras with them?

Slave pussy is such a common sight these days that no one other than a few horny teenagers would bother recording it. Not unless, of course, they personally knew the woman in the collar. A lot of men will take the opportunity to "save for posterity" the degradation of an old girlfriend, or an ex-wife. But for nameless faceless random slave girls? There's simply no reason to do so.

I'd say that it's likely that several men in the audience were told by Mister Apollo that you were one of his wealthier clients, and they recorded the entire thing. Beware that he may use it for blackmail in the future. Can you imagine what could happen to you if he uploaded such videos to internet sites such as SlaveTube? "Federal judge guzzles own pussy cream" or "Judge Katie Smith aches for slave collar". I would not be surprised if, once your vacation is over, this man demands you perform the most degrading and perverse actions in exchange for not releasing such videos.

Do not worry, Oscar rides to the rescue. I have taken the liberty of personally emailing this scoundrel. I have promised to pay him 50% above market rate for copies of any blackmail videos. These usually go for no more than a few thousand dollars apiece, since that's generally what the legal fees to have SlaveTube take them down would run. By bidding extra, we can prevent them from ever being posted in the first place.

I also told him, in no uncertain terms, that his training of you will NOT include making you service Noodle and Stud, whether orally, vaginally, or anally. I also told him we would fiercely pursue a lawsuit against him if he required you to service any of your fellow female slaves. You retained him only to help you improve your slave yoga and your block moves, which does NOT include making you spend a few nights locked in the slave kennel on "snatch-cleaning duty". Any such action on his part would be a breach of contract.

I know this man's type, and I've seen them try to pull this sort of thing before. Don't worry, I'll just add the cost of the videos to your bill.



An AI trainer? That is interesting. I'm not completely familiar with the PERFECT PUSSY brand. But, like any piece of equipment that you use in your home, I am not sure it measures up to the real thing. After all, while a computer may be able to call you names, it can't *discipline* you if you step out of line. Sure, it has a shock collar, but you still retain the ability to take it off whenever you like.

Besides that, a computer doesn't have the ability to grab your arms, pull them behind your back, and tie your wrists together. It can't place a hand on your neck and force you over the back of the couch, while probing at your sopping folds with rough, calloused fingers. A computer doesn't have a cock for you to suck when you end the session early.

No matter how technologically advanced, it is a poor substitute.



Regarding bringing my associate Hannah into the case in a more active manner, I apologize if that isn't what you wanted. Based upon your letter to me of June 19th, I took it that you desired her to take a more prominent role. You stated, and I quote, "Please tell Hanna (sic) that my thought was to go to Pablo’s as a state auditor, with credentials from the Texas Department of Agriculture..." and "I have a lot of cute little farm girls flowing through my court, so if Hanna (sic) tells me how I might arrange this..."

I took that to be tacit authorization to fill her in on the greater details of what is happening. Regardless, what's done is done, she knows everything now. She really is quite bright, and as you said since her family owns a small plantation she is intimately familiar with the entire process. And yes, her trim figure and cantaloupe-sized breasts certainly make the office a nicer place to work.


Enslave Hannah? I'll admit that seeing her naked and collared certainly has its appeal. But we still need someone who can successfully act the part of a state auditor. Hannah has been spending a lot of time working through the specifics on that. I spoke to her about it yesterday and I think she can be quite convincing in the role. If she is to go undercover as a slave, we'll need to see how well she does at slave yoga, block moves, and other required slave girl behaviors.

I've kept her so busy the last several weeks doing research for you, I don't know that she's had time for more physical training at all. Truthfully I don't know that she could keep up with you. You have spent a lot of time training and pushing yourself the last month or so, whereas poor Hannah's little rump seems a bit heavier from all the sitting and reading she's done.

If you were to get her in your courtroom, what kind of sentence would you give her? Just imagine you've got the opportunity, the short perky lawyer (whose family money comes from the dirty business of slave trading) standing before you, awaiting the fall of your gavel. She *believes* that she's aiding you by going undercover, but she's always going to have that kernel of doubt, won't she? She will wonder if this will be just a brief diversion, a few days or maybe weeks away from her career, something she can tell people about at cocktail parties once the case is concluded. But then there will be a nagging doubt, knowing that you have the power to enslave her permanently, to end her life as a cute up-and-coming lawyer, and begin her life as a collared pleasure slut.

So what sort of sentence would you give her? Would *you* worry that she might lose her nerve halfway through? That when she's being prepared for the block, she might blab all she knows about our plan, trying to free herself from servitude? And if you *do* take me up on that bet, and your own needy pussy is locked behind a chastity belt when you sentence her, how does *that* play in?


Don't worry, I will keep this part of our communication just between you and I. As I said, Hannah is sharp, and she knows the slave business inside and out, including everything that could go wrong.

What if...

Ah, it is such a delicious idea that I am hesitant to share it.

What if I were to tell Hannah that the plan was for *you* to go undercover as a slave? And her job is to find a legal method to enslave you, something so tricky and clever that even a woman with the finest legal mind would not see it coming, or be able to talk her way out of it once the trap is sprung? And the all the while, Hannah is toiling away at the means of her own bondage and degradation!

She would happily proceed with the plan, never suspecting that every single word drew her closer to the loss of her freedom, and the beginning of her sexual servitude. Does that tickle your fancy?

Of course, for that to proceed, we could tell her that you are going through training to better present yourself as a slave. We might give Hannah access to your PERFECT PUSSY account so that she can observe you and give you further pointers and advice. And when you do come down to Texas, she could take a more hands-on approach, at least for the first week or two. This would give you a much better idea of how well your block moves had progressed (Hannah is unlikely to cut you any slack on mistakes), as well as luring Hannah into a false sense of security.

I don't see how it could go wrong.



Oh, I am afraid you may have misread my last message. *Choice*, dear Katie. Judge Younger thought you might grade out as *choice*. I thought it a good assessment, myself. A bit generous, maybe, but as you said it's hard to tell with a woman's clothes on. But Judge Younger has been doing this since my grandpa's time. He's certainly got a practiced eye. I wouldn't bet against his assessment, at any rate.

Enjoy the rest of your vacation! Again, let me know if Mister Apollo tries anything funny. We will be happy to sue him into oblivion and drag his name through the mud if he dares push things too far.

--Oscar

Katie,

Some pictures of the wonderful Hannah, just to give you some ideas when it comes to sentencing. I know that I am a visual person myself, and I find photos highly inspirational.









To get your creative juices flowing, so to speak.

-Oscar

I've enjoyed the story even though I'm not that big on corrupt judges enslaving women kinds of story. You both have gone beyond what one would expect of this story and created a very interesting tale.

Its interesting that the ancient Romans had many of the same ideas about slaves as the judge does. They considered slaves to be almost childlike and inferior, even though the realities were that a slave could have been someone with money and education that was captured in war. In the Republic one could be enslaved for debt until the law was changed in the 4th century B.C.

I doubt I'd even get around to using it but could I use the idea of PRETTY PUSSY in a story?

gary wrote: ↑Sun Jul 10, 2022 5:08 am I've enjoyed the story even though I'm not that big on corrupt judges enslaving women kinds of story. You both have gone beyond what one would expect of this story and created a very interesting tale.

Thank you! Personally, I'm not that big on stories that are too realistic. Add in some phony-baloney technology, or have a character fall for a trap that would never work in real life, and it becomes silly enough that I can enjoy it.

I tend to assume that there are certain changes in society that have taken place that we just haven't seen, that makes slavery more accepted. Like maybe there's a 'fountain of youth' treatment that makes you healthier and look younger, but it also makes you dumb and horny all the time. "Hey women on the wrong side of 40, just a few injections of this stuff and you can look 25 again. Just keep in mind you're gonna need somebody to balance your checkbook for you for the next 10 years."

Like other readers, I have enjoyed the back and forth of two smart authors trying to connect their characters together.
Perhaps this is just a matter of semantics, but: Johnny appears to be suggesting that "Oscar" intends to exploit the stupidity of the judge to entrap her. Based on previous letters, I was under the impression that Oscar was playing on the judge's arrogance, her belief that she would grade higher as a slave than Oscar is conceding, as a means of tricking her into some situation where she ends up enslaved. Of course, she's already sent out enough signals that she is one of Joe's classic females who secretly hankers after a collar, which qualifies her (I suppose) as both horny and stupid as Johnny has suggested.
In any event, I hope that Johnny will soon offer a gambit (perhaps a trade, her performance in return for the video of her showing her block moves?) that will put our judge into a collar, even if she takes various precautions. (Of course, a REALLY devious plot would allow her to enter and escape temporary slavery, then close the trap when she (inevitably) succumbs to the temptation to do it again. But that may be too complicated.)
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope that, in the near future, Oscar will make the judge an offer she can't refuse, so we proceed with the fall from grace!

Nice suggestions Carl but I am really be curious what Johnny will offer us as a solution. Also if she takes the bet and what will all happen.
So we all wait for the next one.