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Convicted of terrorism, Vicki is sentenced to penal slavery
Vicki, a young woman who works for a large department store, figures out a way to bypass the electronic return tags on expensive dresses sold by the store where she works . This allows her to buy dresses on a Friday, wear them to events over the weekend, and return them on Monday.
When a very expensive dress she is wearing is ruined at a party, everything unravels. She will be charged for the dress and can in no way afford to pay for it. A young man she recently met gives her a program that will allow her to remove the charges from her account. Unfortunately, that program contains a virus that infects not only computers in the store where she works, but many other businesses as well.
This is the story of her conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible in the United States of America. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments of the constitution do not NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the constitution allows penal slavery.
This story deals with non-consensual punishment, pain, and involuntary slavery. If such topics offend you or upset you, I would advise skipping this particular book.
There are thirteen chapters to this story. The chapters can be read on their own, but the story is much better understood if the previous portions have been read. The complete story is full book length. I debated publishing it with some of my other books at Fiction4all, but decided that I would rather serialize it and post it here.
This chapter is the first of missy’s 11 days of public punishment. On this first day of punishment, Master Hiroya Takahashi demonstrates properly-trained pony girls, and instructs missy on the proper way to receive a punishment spanking. The focus of this chapter is pony girls and public spanking.
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Chapter Three - The first day of punishment.
Missy slept surprisingly well her first night as a slave. Perhaps that was because in her dreams she was free. She was wearing the beautiful dress and shoes and lingerie that she had worn that morning, but was at some lavish party in a beautiful mansion. Then the clock struck midnight and the everything disappeared. Suddenly she was being led out of the party naked and in chains.
“It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair!” she began screaming. She awoke to her own screams. A guard was standing outside her cell.
“Keep it down,” he said. “You’ll wake the other prisoners.”
Slave missy looked at the clock which was barely visible in the hallway. It was 6:00 am. Her first day of punishment would soon begin.
Around 6:30 the guard showed up with her breakfast. It was some sort of waffle and what looked like very thick bacon. There was no silverware. Evidently jail waffles were finger food. There was also a plastic bottle of some sort of juice. Vicki tasted it and was unsure of exactly what it was, but it was cold and sweet, so she finished it with her breakfast.
A toothbrush had been provided for her, so she brushed her teeth after breakfast. Standing in front of the sink she looked at her naked, hairless body. “It sure saves time getting ready in the morning,” she said aloud. “How will I style my hair today... oh, I don’t have any. What will I wear today... oh, it’s above 58 degrees so I will just stay naked.”
She continued to stare at herself in the mirror. For a moment tears welled up in her eyes as she read and re-read the brand above her left breast which said “slave missy.” It finally dawned on her that the lack of capital letters was not an accident. Slaves didn’t really have names. They had property designations. That realization brought more silent tears as she lightly rubbed the brand that was permanently burned into her flesh.
Finally she gave a deep sigh and spoke to her reflection in the mirror, “Well, slave missy,” she said, “you made it through day one. Only eleven days to go.” She looked down at the floor and then back up at herself before she added shakily, “And then at least one year of slavery.”
The guard interrupted her conversation with herself at that point. “Time to get back in your cage,” he said loudly.
As missy did so, he added, “Back against the bars away from the door.”
She entered the cage and pressed herself against the bars. The guard then entered the cell and immediately locked the big padlock onto the cage. After that, he came around the cage and placed the heavy metal collar around her throat.
“Face me and put your hands next to the bars,” he ordered.
Missy did as she was commanded and the guard affixed the manacles to her wrists.
“Hold your leg next to the bars,” was the next command, followed by “Other leg.”
Missy was now back in the chains she had worn the day before.
When the guard stepped out of the cell, he left the door open. He returned a moment later with the pallet jack and rolled her out to the loading dock. In place of the caisson, today there was a small, low, square trailer. And in place of the horses was a four-wheeled ATV.
“We’ll have to use the winch to set her in place today,” said the driver of the ATV. “After that, they can roll her on and off the trailer with the pallet jack if they want.”
The driver– one of the bailiffs– then attached the cable to the top of the cage. When it was lowered down on the trailer, missy could see that it fit exactly into a large, square, metal frame. Once it was in place, the bailiff and the guard flipped four latches up and tightened them, holding the cage firmly in place. The bailiff then drove the ATV down the ramp which led from the dock to the alley.
When he reached the street, a regular police car was awaiting them. It turned on its lights and moved out into traffic. A black SUV fell into line behind them. They then drove slowly through the town and out to the local fairgrounds where her punishment would take place.
When they arrived, there was already a large crowd gathered at the speedway, which doubled as a program stage when bands or other acts were in town. Missy could see that the stage was set up a little farther out into the track than normal. She could also see that the stands were packed and additional chairs were set up on the track. Those too were tightly-packed.
The driver slowed to not more than a crawl as he drove past the front of the crowd. People were standing to take her picture, and again children were lifting dolls. Missy wasn’t sure why they did that. Maybe it was just to show them to her, or perhaps they were comparing her to their dolls to see how accurate they were. In either case, she felt it was a bit creepy.
A large ramp had been built on the side of the stage and after the bailiff had gone the entire length of the crowd, he made a sharp turn and went up onto the stage. A cable was lowered from above and the cage was lifted from the trailer. She expected it to be set down on the stage once the trailer had left the stage, but instead, the cage was raised further so that she was suspended about twelve feet above the stage.
Once her cage was in place and had stopped spinning, William Wilson stepped onto the stage. He was dressed in a tuxedo. His hair had been dyed, or at least touched up, and was immaculately cut and styled. He was holding a microphone in his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “today is day two of twelve for Vicki LeClaire’s repentance and punishment and is sponsored by The Hiroya Takahashi Slave Training School. Whether for production or pleasure, Master Takahashi will train your slave to perfectly fulfill your every command.”
He pointed to the side of the stage where an older Japanese gentleman stood. “Master Takahashi will now give us a little demonstration of some of the training which can be done at his school.”
Hiroya was dressed in a thick linen robe which seemed to flow with him as he came to the center of the stage. He stepped back several steps and clapped his hands loudly. Four men and three women came running onto the stage and formed a line. It was obvious that they were slaves because, except for their shoes, they were naked. Their brands were easily visible. Missy noted that all of them bore the name “slutslave” followed by three numbers. She ran her hand across her own slave brand and said softly aloud to herself, “Thank you, Mister Wilson.”
Master Takahashi clapped his hands once more and two more slaves came onto the stage pulling small carts loaded with various pieces of metal. A third slave ran over to where the Master was and stood there holding a large electronic stopwatch.
Hiroya clapped his hands and the seven worker slaves began furiously assembling what turned out to be a set of shelving like would be used in a warehouse. In just moments they all stood back and the Master once again clapped his hands.
William stepped back into the center of the stage and announced, “That was assembled in just two minutes and twenty-three seconds. Do your slave workers work that fast? If not, why not check out The Hiroya Takahashi Slave Training School?”
The Master clapped his hands twice rapidly and the slaves began disassembling the shelves. If anything they were faster than they had been while assembling it. While they were working, William continued, “Not all slaves are production slaves. Some are sports slaves, and what better sport for slave owners than pony racing?”
He stepped to the side of the stage and announced “Master Takahashi will now demonstrate properly-trained pony slaves.”
The Master clapped his hands and the slaves on stage scurried away taking the pieces of the shelves with them. They were replaced on stage by six pony girls. Unlike the previous slaves, these girls were not totally naked. They were wearing elaborate, hooded headpieces consisting of high feathered tops, blinders, and an attached posture collar. Each had a bit strapped firmly in her mouth and a long tail attached to an anal plug which was inserted in her ass. A tight corset completed the outfit. It lifted their breasts up so that the bells which were hanging from chains clamped to their nipples didn’t pull the breasts down.
Hiroya now had a small whip in his hands. He snapped it once and the six girls moved to the very front edge of the stage. In almost slow motion they high-stepped in place while holding their hands before them like a dog walking on its hind legs. It was now obvious that their hands were encased in hoof gloves. The horseshoes on the end of the gloves flashed slightly as they reflected the stage lights.
Hiroya snapped the whip again and the girls formed a small circle. They were now moving more rapidly as they raised their knees as high as they could with each step. Another snap of the whip and they were almost running. Their bodies were beginning to shine with the exertion. Another snap of the whip and they were moving even faster. One or two of them were starting to fumble slightly as they danced rapidly around their circle, but none slowed their frantic pace.
Three rapid snaps of the whip and the pony girls suddenly froze in place mid-step. They slowly lowered their legs to the ground and then keeping in step with each other, opened the circle and high-stepped back to their line at the front of the stage. A snap of the whip and they high-stepped off stage down the ramp.
William again stepped forward. “If your interest is not dressage but actual racing, Master Takahashi is still the trainer for you.”
There was a loud “Hee-a-yup” and three pony girl carts roared around from behind the stage to pass single file in front of the crowd. Once past the seats, they fanned out almost abreast and began running around the track. The pony girls were dressed similarly to the ones who had performed the dressage routine on stage, but they were obviously much more muscular. Each of the drivers had a thin whip which they used to urge their ponies to run faster. This was just a demonstration, but there were still probably grave consequences for the pony girl who came in last in this one lap race.
The three carts roared around the last turn and into the final straight-away. Just before the seated area, they suddenly slowed and again went into single file to pass in front of the audience. The third pony girl looked very afraid.
The three carts passed in front and then curved around to where they had come from behind the stage. A few moments later one of the pony girls came up on stage. From the color of her head-piece, it was obvious it was the third place pony girl.
She walked over to Master Hiroya and handed him something. Then, keeping her back to the audience, she bent over and placed her hands on the stage. The plug which held her tail was clearly visible.
Master Takahashi stepped forward slightly. He held up his hand to show the audience what the pony girl had given him. It was a quirt, a long rod with three thin strips of leather braided and attached to the end.
He drew the quirt across her naked bottom and her tail quivered as her ass cheeks clenched and unclenched. Then suddenly drawing back his hand, he flicked his wrist and brought the quirt down sharply across her ass cheeks.
The pony girl yelped, but otherwise remained silent. The quirt flashed again and the girl once again yelped. There appeared to be no motion to Hiroya’s arm or hand, but the quirt moved at great speed and the sound of the leather striking flesh could be heard throughout the arena.
On the fifth stroke, the girl cried out. On the seventh she began pleading for mercy. By the tenth she was beyond words and just screamed and grunted with each new slash of the whip.
Many in the crowd were counting softly as the master whipped the losing pony girl, but many voices speaking softly add up. The count could be clearly heard... “twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.”
The master stopped at twenty-five. The pony girl slave remained with her hands on the stage floor. Her crying and the pain in her ass cheeks were shaking her body. Hiroya reached out and touched her back with the quirt. She immediately stood up and faced him.
He held out the quirt and she kissed it. Then she took it in her teeth and, using the proper high-step, pranced off stage.
As she left, William again came forward. He was carrying a stout, armless, wooden chair which he set in the center of the stage.
“And now the moment you have all been waiting for,” he said with a flourish. “Master Takahashi will demonstrate for you– and for slave missy– the proper way to give a hand spanking.”
He paused to look out over the crowd. “Remember,” he said, “each punishment is based on the number 46, which represents the 46 businesses whose computer systems were crashed by the cyber attack.” He shrugged and then added, “Of course, if slave missy doesn’t keep in proper position, she might end up with a lot more than 46 swats to her ass.”
He gave a hand signal and the cage slowly descended to the stage. William open the padlock and motioned for slave missy to step out. She did.
“I call your attention to the guards surrounding the stage,” he said loudly as he gestured with his arm at the dozen uniformed guards who had appeared around the stage. “Eight of these guards have tranquilizer guns,” he explained. Then speaking very solemnly he added, “Four of them are armed with standard ammunition.”
Turning to missy he said, “I think their presence will help you to answer this question. Do you promise that if I remove your chains and shackles that you will not attempt to escape?” He paused and said dramatically, “Keep in mind that the moment you attempt to leave the stage, eight tranquillizer guns will be shooting at you.” His voice dropped in volume, but retained its drama. “And as soon as your feet touch the track, the other four guards will cut you down.”
He held up the key to the shackles. “So,” he said, “do you promise not to attempt to escape?”
Missy knew that this question was going to be asked. She had not been told about the theatrics which would accompany it. She had even been quizzed earlier to be sure that she remembered the proper form for her answer.
Her voice was slightly shaky as she answered. “I promise that I will not try to escape. I accept that I deserve this punishment and I submit myself to Master Takahashi that he might properly punish me.”
The crowd roared its approval. As they cheered and clapped and whistled, William leaned in close to missy so that he could begin opening the locks. He also said softly to her, “It’s all showmanship. Everyone now thinks you are a very dangerous terrorist. We are already almost sold out for tomorrow. The people in town can hear those cheers. The remaining tickets will be gone before we finish today’s show.”
William then led her over to where Master Hiroya was seated. He had a heavy oriental accent– missy thought it was Japanese. Patting his lap he said, “Lie across my lap, slave. And then support yourself on your toes and fingertips.”
Missy lay hesitantly across his lap. As she settled herself down, he slapped her smartly and said, “Toes and fingertips!”
Missy lifted herself up on her hands and feet. Master Hiroya slapped her again. This time it was much harder and the sound of his hand striking her ass reverberated through the arena.
“Do you not understand English?!” he said angrily. “I said toes and fingertips, not hands and feet.”
Missy looked up and him. Her confusion must have been apparent on her face because he held his hand out with his fingers formed as if he were holding a large ball. “Fingertips!” he said firmly. “And toes!”
She formed her hands into the shape he had shown her and pushed her palms up off the floor. She also rocked her feet forward so that all that was touching was her toes.
“Support yourself,” he ordered. It took missy a moment to understand what he wanted, but then she tightened her muscles and lifted her body slightly off his lap.
“You will count all 46 spanks,” he said. His voice became much firmer as he added, “If you lose count, I start over. If your body does not come back up to this position before the next spank, that one does not count. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she answered and then immediately yelped as he once again strongly slapped her ass.
“Yes, what?” he barked.
“Yes, master,” she answered. “I understand.”
“Then we begin,” he said with a smile.
Missy could feel her body quivering as she awaited the first of her punishment spanks. Master Hiroya seemed in no hurry to begin, however, and several seconds passed before he suddenly struck her right ass cheek just above where it merged into her thigh.
“One!” she screamed out.
He immediately struck again.
“Two!” she yelped.
“No,” he replied. “You did not come back into position in time. That one does not count.”
He paused and then said simply, “Position!”
Missy raised her body off his lap. As soon as her weight was lifted from his legs, his hand slammed down into her left ass check. This time it was near the top, almost at her back.
“Two!” she yelled.
Hiroya Takahashi was not called, “Master,” for no reason. He was a very skilled spanker, a virtuoso of pain. No two slaps landed in the same place, and soon there was no place on her ass that was not red and swollen. After a dozen smacks, missy was crying uncontrollably.
“Tw... tw... twelve,” she choked out between sobs.
“Control yourself,” he ordered in his raspy voice. “Remember, if you lose count, we start again at the beginning.”
He then struck again. This time his hand landed across both cheeks of her ass.
“Thirteen,” she cried out, but her body would not return to the proper position above the Master’s lap.
He paused, looking at her struggle. “I will take pity on you because you are not yet a trained slave,” he said. “I will help you maintain position.”
He slid his left hand under her hips and lifted up. “Position!” he commanded, and she tensed her muscles to raise herself up from his lap. Without his help, she could not have done it, but with him helping lift her, she returned to the desired position.
The next strike, however, told her that Master Hiroya’s help was a mixed blessing. His hand held her in position, but it also meant that her body could not move with the slap. An increased level of pain shot through her ass and she screamed out, “Fourteen!”
Since she was held in position, the smacks started coming faster and faster.
“Fifteen!”
“Sixteen!”
“Seventeen!”
“Eighteen!”
“Nineteen!”
“Twenty!”
At twenty, Master Hiroya paused for several moments. He shifted his hand slightly under missy and she gasped as his fingers touched her slit. “Wet,” he said softly. “Perhaps we should begin training you in a different way.”
He then carefully positioned his hand so that the edge of his palm was directly over her clit, while his fingers wiggled over her pussy lips. Missy was distracted by his hand movements and was taken totally by surprise by swat twenty-one.
“Aiiieee,” she screamed, and then quickly added, “Twenty-one!”
The Master’s swats now fell into a rhythm. Each swat was eight to ten seconds apart. And following each swat, missy yelled out the number.
Somewhere around swat thirty-five, however, missy noticed that something was changing. Master Hiroya was still smacking her at the same strength and at the same pace, but now she was feeling more sensations from his left hand than she was from his right.
The smacks still hurt. She still screamed out each number. But each swat also drove her firmly down onto the hand which was supporting her. And that hand was positioned so that most of that force was centered on her clit.
“I’m getting turned on!” she suddenly thought to herself. “I’m getting turned on by a spanking!”
In the back of her mind, she could hear William’s advice that she not think about what was happening, but instead think about her fantasies. Getting her ass turned purple was not really one of her fantasies, but many of her fantasies involved being dominated by a Master or Mistress.
In her mind, she was watching herself on stage. She could see her flailing legs and reddened ass. She could hear her screams of pain and her struggle to keep up with each number.
The sight of herself was now a part of her fantasies. The pain did not diminish, but the pleasure began to build until it was starting to surpass the pain. She could feel herself climbing toward an orgasm. She was almost there when she heard herself cry out, “Forty-six,” and everything stopped.
Master Hiroya pulled his hand out from beneath her and her body dropped immediately onto his lap where she lay squirming and crying. The people in the audience clapped and applauded, thinking that she was writhing in pain, but it was not pain that was overwhelming her. It was need.
“Nooooo!” she cried. “I am so close. Please finish me! Please, please, please.”
Hiroya patted her lightly on her red and swollen ass and said softly, “Someday you will make an excellent slave.” He then laughed softly and said, “I would do what you desire, but today is a day of punishment. So, I will leave you in your need.”
Missy barely felt William’s hands which gripped her own and pulled her to her feet. He guided her back to the cage and she stepped inside. When he held up the shackles and chains, she knew the routine and pressed her back against the bars. Once the collar was in place, she brought her wrists close to the bars so the manacles could be attached, and then finally she lifted her feet so that the shackles could be put in place.
As the cage again rose into the air, she leaned back against the bars and wept. She kept her hands stiffly to her side, not as a sign of submission, but rather because she knew that if she allowed her hands to wander to her front, she would be unable to keep herself from rubbing herself to climax.
The cage turned slowly on its chain and the crowd, which was slowly filing out of the arena, had a clear view of her well-spanked behind as well as her glistening pussy. Slave missy hoped that no one saw the wetness of her thighs, but several gasps, pointed fingers, and loud laughter told her that everyone noticed.
When there was no one left excepts the bailiffs and the road crew, the special trailer was pulled up onto the stage and her cage was once again lowered and fixed in place. Missy looked around to see where the police cars were which would escort her back to the jail, but instead William, himself, got on the ATV and drove it off the stage.
He continued across the infield of the race track to a back entryway that faced out onto the small camping area that was used during the fair. Missy knew where he was going– or at least she had a pretty good guess. There was a large bus with a large trailer behind it parked at the very back of the camp area.
She was pretty sure that was where they were going because displayed along the side of the bus was a greater than life-sized image of her being pulled through the streets behind the horse-drawn caisson. In big letters across the side of the bus near the roof line it said, “slave missy’s Punishment Tour.” In slightly smaller letters beneath that it read, “Witness the punishment of a repentant terrorist.”
Mr. Wilson stopped and pointed a remote at the rear of the trailer. The entire back of the trailer slowly folded down, forming a ramp. Once inside the trailer, he again pressed the remote and the ramp lifted up to form the back of the trailer. Several dim lights illuminated the interior.
“Technically,” he began, “as of the end of your day of repentance, you were no longer a prisoner.” He looked at her through the bars. “You are a slave,” he said. “My slave. So I am now responsible for your confinement.”
He unlocked the padlock on the cage. “For some reason, however,” he said with a big smile, “the paperwork was slightly delayed so I couldn’t take possession until today.” His smile broadened as he said, “That meant you had to be kept at the jail overnight and then brought out here by the guards and bailiffs.” He was almost laughing as he said, “That parade through the streets probably ensured sell-out crowds for the duration of our run here.”
He gave his head a quick shake indicating that missy should step out of the cage. Spinning his finger in the air, he signaled her to turn around so he could remove the collar. Turning her back around to face him, he removed the manacles and shackles.
“Let me show you where you are going to spend the next year of your life,” he said as he opened a side door on the trailer. Another remote opened the door to the bus and he motioned her to enter.
Inside, the bus looked very much like a narrow hotel room. There was a small kitchen and living room area and a small but efficient bathroom with a shower. Opening a door about half-way down the narrow hallway, he said, “This is my bedroom.” Then opening the door at the end of the hallway, he said, “This is your cage.”
Slave missy stepped through the door. It was a fairly nice bedroom except for the fact there were bars on the windows. The bed took up most of the room, but was larger than the one in William’s room.
“You can get to the bathroom,” he said, “but there is a barrier door before you get into the kitchen.”
Looking back down the hallway, missy could see that there was a door with several iron bars which could be pulled closed across the hallway. It looked a lot like the door to her jail cell.
“I’ll fix us something to eat in a little while,” he said quietly. “In the meantime you can use the bathroom and shower.” He coughed lightly and looked slightly embarrassed. His eyes were obviously looking at her glistening pussy. “If there is anything you need to take care of before showering, just pull your door closed. You can’t lock it, but you can close it.”
Slave missy knew what he meant and blushed furiously. Her ass wasn’t the only thing that was burning. There was a fire in her cunt like she had never felt before. She murmured a soft, “Thank you,” and went into her bedroom. A few minutes later, William could hear muffled moaning coming from behind the closed door. Shortly after that, he heard the shower running.
When missy finally came out into the kitchen she could smell their supper staying warm in a pan on the stove. William was sitting at the small table. As she approached he said, “Let’s see what the damage is.”
Missy looked confused, so he held his finger in the air and moved it in a small circle indicating that she should turn around. “There’s no breaking of the skin,” he said as he ran his hand lightly across her ass, “but you are starting to turn purple.”
Missy could hear him rummaging around for something on a shelf alongside him, then suddenly something cold touched her ass. “This ointment will take away the pain almost immediately,” he said, “and the bruising should fade overnight.”
He began to gently rub the salve into her swollen ass cheeks. She gasped softly as his hand slipped slightly between her cheeks and moaned softly again as it moved down to the tops of her thighs.
“I put a towel over the bench on your side of the table,” he said when he was finished. “You sit while I wash my hands and get us supper.”
The meal was some sort of box dinner with hamburger in it. It wasn’t her favorite, but it was much better than the jail food. And she even had silverware so she didn’t have to scoop it up with her hands.
After the meal, William did the dishes. After he was finished, he sat down on a small couch to watch TV. Patting the cushion next to him, he said, “Bring your towel.” and invited her to join him. He even let her select what program she would like to watch. At ten, he said, “We both have a long day tomorrow,” and shut off the TV. As missy walked into her bedroom, she could hear the metallic clank of the iron door being closed in the hallway.
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END CHAPTER THREE OF THIRTEEN
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Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}
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I, Masochist https://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8263
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16.07.16
story continues in Twelve Days a Slave 4: A Corporate Flogging Contest
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