8 comments/ 12890 views/ 19 favorites Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 01 By: The_Technician 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, but decided that I would rather serialize it and post it here. A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. In this chapter, Vicki LeClaire is convicted of all charges. A sentencing agreement is negotiated by William Wilson, a professional slave sentence negotiator. This chapter primarily sets the scene for the rest of the book. Once that is done, the action near the end centers around public nudity and public humiliation. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2016 by The Technician. Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter One - A terrorist is brought to justice. Vicki LeClaire listened in shock as the foreperson of the jury read the verdict. "On the eleven charges of theft of goods and services, guilty as charged. On the single charge of felony embezzlement, guilty as charged. On the 46 charges of aiding and abetting a terrorist attack upon a commercial entity, guilty as charged." Guilty of all charges! Her knees buckled slightly, but her lawyer held her firmly so she wouldn't fall. "This is so unfair!" she thought to herself. "All I did was wear and return a couple of dresses," she said plaintively before breaking into tears. "I'm not an embezzler," she said quietly between soft sobs. "I'm not a terrorist," she said a little more loudly. "Does your client have a statement to make to the court?" the judge asked. Obviously, the question was directed toward her lawyer, and not to her. "No your honor," the lawyer replied as he turned Vicki so that she now faced the judge rather than the jury. "My client will reserve any remarks for sentencing." The judge's gavel struck loudly as she said, "Court is adjourned." Turning to the jury she added, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your service." With that the judge rose and left the courtroom. *** Vicki wasn't sure if her lawyer pulled her down to her chair or just stopped holding her up. In any case, she plopped heavily into the chair behind the defendant's table. She was in shock. Her mind was barely functioning. She was vaguely aware of everyone shuffling out of the courtroom. One middle-aged gentleman, however, was walking against the crowd and working his way over towards them. Finally, he was beside them. Reaching into his pocket, he placed a business card on the table. "I think you have need of my services," he said gruffly. Vicki picked up the card. In bright red letters it said, "Bill's Bail Bonds." "I'm a little past needing bail," she said. She tried to sound sarcastic, but that was difficult to do with her voice at the edge of breaking into sobs. "Oh!" he said suddenly and took the card from her hand. "Wrong side up," he added as he handed it back to her. The card now said in raised black script, "William Wilson, Sentence Negotiator." Beneath that it said, "Guaranteed Minimum Slave Sentences." Vicki looked up at him and said, "I don't understand." "Do you mean you haven't discussed the slavery option with her?" he thundered, speaking to her lawyer. "Do I have to do all the work?" he asked loudly and sarcastically. Turning back to her, he said in a much softer voice, "You do realize that you are going to be sold into slavery, don't you?" "Slavery?" Vicki said. "That... that... that... can't be," she sputtered. "Slavery was abolished hundreds of years ago. Isn't that what the Fourteenth Amendment is all about?" "Actually, it's the Thirteenth Amendment," Mister Wilson said. "But neither the Thirteenth nor the Fourteenth Amendment totally abolish slavery. The Thirteenth Amendment stopped all slavery except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted." He sat at the table and took Vicki's hand in his own. Looking directly into her watery eyes, he said simply, "You have been duly convicted of all charges, including the charge of terrorism." Her lawyer now began to speak. "Fighting terrorism for the past decades has been very expensive," he said slowly. "The budgets of federal, state, and local governments have all been badly drained. Everyone is looking for ways to save money and still provide all the security that people demand. You can't cut defense while you are effectively in the middle of a world war. And you can't cut security protection with everyone afraid that their next door neighbor is going to shoot them or blow them up. And you can't cut welfare and get re-elected." He sighed deeply, "The next big chunk of the budget is regular law enforcement, and over half of that budget is prisons." Bill continued, "Private prisons helped a lot in the past. They were a lot cheaper, but even they weren't cheap enough. That's when the courts turned to slave sentences. What could be cheaper than having someone pay you for the right to keep a prisoner in prison? Rather than the state paying a company thousands of dollars a month to house and guard a prisoner, the company pays the state for the prisoner who has been duly convicted and sentenced to slavery. Most of the country doesn't even realize that all of this is going on." He looked up at Vicki and said, "Obviously, you are one of those naive innocents, but you will soon learn all about it. There is absolutely no doubt that you are going to be sold into slavery." He laughed dryly before saying, "If it weren't for the terrorism charge, your own company would probably buy you to do your old job. It's cheaper than replacing you." He laughed again before continuing, "... and having a slave in the accounting office sends the message of what can happen to you if you hurt the company's profits." "The big problem," added her lawyer, "is the terrorist charges. I know that you were just trying to defeat the electronic return tags so you could wear some nice dresses and return them. But when one of the dresses got ruined at a party, your friend, Jarred, gave you a program so you could access the higher level accounting files. It did that, but it also put a virus on your company's computer that spread to 45 other companies before being triggered on Black Friday. "Jarred, whoever he really was, disappeared into the cyber underground leaving you to face the wolves alone. You are a convicted terrorist. You won't be going to any accounting department anywhere. You won't be going into any business position either. You won't even be bought as a domestic servant. Most people don't want to risk having a terrorist in their business or home. That means you're much more likely to be working in some mine or specialized farm out in the middle of nowhere. And manual labor brings the lowest prices for a slave. You could be facing years and years of indentured servitude– maybe even a lifetime." "Which is why you need me," said Bill. "I find places that are willing to pay top dollar." "What difference does that make?" asked Vicki. Bill looked across the table at her lawyer before saying, "Your lawyer really should have explained all this to you before you even entered a plea." "She was ignoring my advice at that point," the lawyer said rather defensively. "She said that she was just going to tell the truth and people would believe her." "Whatever," Bill muttered, obviously upset. "The judge is going to sentence you not to a number of days or months or years, but to a dollar amount. You remain a slave until that dollar amount is paid to the court. Slave contracts are for one month, six months, one year, three years, five years, or whatever. They can even be permanent, if the dollar amount is high enough." "And you can negotiate that down for me?" Vicki asked. "I can try," answered Bill, "but a lot of it depends on what you are willing to do. I can get very high prices for special purpose slaves, especially females." "He means prostitutes," her lawyer explained. "Well, yeah," muttered Bill, "but I don't think we will have to resort to that." He smiled at her and said, "And I can get huge amounts knocked off for public repentance or public punishment. I think our best bet is to go with both." "What do you mean?" "Repentance involves public humiliation and shaming," he explained. "A couple hours of misery to save years of slavery." He paused and shrugged his shoulders. "Some people can handle it. Some can't. And punishment is... punishment." "What kind of punishment?" she asked. Bill laughed. "The kind people would pay to do... or watch," he answered. "I don't think the court would allow a full bullwhip or anything like that on a woman, but a cane or a flogger or perhaps a wide belt would qualify for a CASEY reduction to your sentence." "Casey?" she asked. "Constitutionally Approved Slave Equivalent Years," her lawyer explained. "For example, if you were publically caned with say 46 strokes, one for each count of aiding terrorism, that might take a year's equivalent dollar amount off your sentence." "A year!" Bill exclaimed. "You let me set up the deal and I can get you at least five equivalents off your sentence... that is, assuming the caning was done on the bare in a public arena." Vicki put her head down on the table and began sobbing uncontrollably. Bill slammed his hand down on the table right alongside her head. "Missy," he said very firmly when she looked up at him, "I know that this is all very difficult for you." Glaring at her lawyer he added, "And it is made more difficult by the fact that your lawyer didn't properly prepare you for what could happen. But we have only 24 hours from the time the verdict is declared to present an alternate sentencing package. If you let me negotiate for you, your life will probably be hell for the next two or three years. But if you just wait for sentencing, you will be a slave in some godforsaken hell hole for the rest of your life." He lifted her head fully so he could look her in the eyes. "I need an answer now," he said. "Time is slipping away from us." "What do I have to sign?" she answered. The sobs had stopped. Acceptance had set in. Her mind had gotten past "How did I get into this?" and was now at "How can I survive this?" *** Before William Wilson left the courtroom, he assured Vicki that he would present a plan to her by noon the next day. If she was willing to accept that plan, they would present it to the judge at two in the afternoon. At 10:45 she was brought down to a special area to meet with her negotiator. Mr. Wilson was sitting at a strange metal table waiting for her. The guard had handcuffed and shackled Vicki before they left her cell. He sat her down and locked her handcuffs to a large ring on the table. William said, "I will call if we need you," and the guard stepped out of the room. Vicki looked around and asked, "Don't I need my lawyer?" William smiled at her and said, "He doesn't want to be here." He then grimaced and said, "Slavery bothers him. He can't handle it." Then he said softly, "I can arrange for a public defender to be here if you want, but this is my area of expertise... and it is your decision, not your lawyer's." "OK," she answered. "What are you suggesting?" Her body was stiff and tense. Her eyes were quivering slightly. It was as if she were waiting for a bomb to go off in front of her. "Initial proposal from the judge," he began, "is a sentence of twelve million dollars including a minimum of ten year's penal servitude." Vicki gasped loudly and her body began shaking. There was a wetness between her legs as her bladder began to empty. "I'll be a slave forever," she wailed. "In the old days," he replied, "yes. But people today are tired of years of war and security restrictions. They want a clear victory. They need some form of emotional release." He smiled. It was a smile of satisfaction. "And I convinced one of the vid syndicates that you were just that release... or to be more exact, your repentance and punishment was that release." Vicki looked up at him. "I know that you are not a terrorist," he explained. "But that's the charge on which you have been convicted. Because you are not a terrorist, you are sorry for what you have done. You are already repentant. You won't look defiant. You will look like a defeated person who wants to make amends." His voice became almost a jubilant yell as he finished with "That's what the people want to see!" Taking her hands in his, he said, "And that's what we will give them, a twelve-day reality series of your repentance and punishment. The first day you will be enslaved and publicly humiliated. Then on each of the next eleven days, you will receive punishment of some sort." He looked very satisfied with himself as he continued, "I based the pitch to the vid syndicate on the number of charges. One day of humiliation and enslavement for the embezzlement. One day of punishment for each of the eleven charges of theft of services. And each day will be built around the forty-six charges of helping the terrorists." Vicki listened quietly, then asked, "How long will I be a slave after that?" "I couldn't get the judge to go lower than one year," William replied. "But my percentage on this deal is my swan song that has laid a very good retirement goose egg for me. The plan is for you to be sold to me for 10% of the proceeds of a national public display tour. Basically, after the repentance and punishment, you end up being a one-woman side show with people paying money to see the captured terrorist... plus some occasional punishments." He reached over and lifted Vicki's chin so she was again looking at him as he spoke, "And 50% of the proceeds of the tour will be put into a special account for you to live on when it's all over." "Where does the other 40% go?" she asked. She was, after all, a number cruncher at heart. William laughed. "I figure 20% goes to expenses." He shrugged, "The other 20% is my standard fee." His voice became very business-like as he asked, "So, will you go along with the deal if the judge accepts it?" "Don't I need to know more of the details?" she asked. "A lot of the details haven't been worked out," he answered. "And I think you are probably better off not knowing exactly what is going to happen to you." He once again took her hands in his, "Besides," he said softly, "I have some very thorough investigators working for me. I've read through your web histories. If you actually enjoyed some of those fantasy sites you visited a lot, then most of what is going to happen might not be all that terrible." Vicki gasped loudly. She knew that her computers had been thoroughly examined, but she only went out to the BDSM sites on her little notepad which she always kept hidden when she wasn't using it. She never used any other computers for her web cruising. She didn't want to accidentally mix some of the pictures and videos with other things which she shared with friends. How could William know about that? "Don't worry," he said. "I won't give your little pink notepad to the authorities. They didn't find it when they searched. I had the advantage of your apartment being empty... and my investigator uses an electronics sniffing dog to find concealed equipment." He paused then said, "Your pink laptop was behind the access panel for the bathroom plumbing. If the government agents had found it, they probably wouldn't have had any additional charges, but everything on it would now be public record." He slid a form across the table. "My signature is already on it as negotiator," he said. "You need to sign your acceptance. Then all we need is the judge's signature and it's official." Vicki seemed to stiffen slightly as if her body did not want to do what her mind was commanding, but she signed the paper. At three o'clock she was once more taken to the courtroom. Although the session had not been publicly announced, the galleries were packed with reporters and others who wanted to hear the sentencing first hand. William and her lawyer sat with her at the defendant's table. At the proper moment, she stood and the judge said, "Vicki LeClaire, I hereby sentence you to twelve million dollars worth of judicial enslavement. The court accepts the terms of the sentence bargaining agreement reached through William Wilson Negotiations." He banged his gavel loudly and announced, "Court is adjourned." *** As soon as the judge had left the courtroom, one of the bailiffs came over to the table and said, "You requested transport, Mr. Wilson?" "Yes," he replied. "This has to be done as soon as possible." Looking over to Vicki and said, "Merchandising is part of the deal, but we have to get you scanned so they can get into production." Vicki wasn't sure what he meant, so she just said softly, "OK... I guess." The bailiff stood next to her and said, "Sorry, miss, I don't think you are much of a threat, but the regulations are full manacles and shackles whenever you are outside of the building. Please stand up and hold your arms out in front of you." Vicki did as instructed and the bailiff closed the heavy metal bands around her ankles. Then setting the chain in her hands, he closed the slightly smaller cuffs over her wrists. "I also have to accompany you at all times," he added. He escorted Vicki and Mr. Wilson to an indoor loading area where a white transport van was awaiting them. Two black SUVs were parked in front of the van and another behind it. Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 01 Mr. Wilson leaned in and explained. "Homeland Security is actually hoping that someone attempts to rescue you." Vicki looked down at the ground and said sadly, "No one will rescue me. I'm totally on my own." "You've got me, Missy," William replied. "I ain't much, but I'm a hell of a lot better than nothin'." He then smiled at her and Vicki found herself returning his smile. The drive across town was uneventful. When they arrived at their destination, the van was pulled inside a large, warehouse-looking building. The three SUVs waited out front. Vicki wasn't sure what was going to happen and fear was beginning to cause her body to tremble slightly. Three men and two women, all wearing white lab coats, were awaiting them as they got out of the van. "Oh, that won't do at all," said one of them. "We can scan through the clothing, if necessary, but the metal has got to go." "The regulations say the shackles have to stay on," the bailiff answered firmly. "Except for medical procedures," Mr. Wilson immediately replied. "And would a full body scan not be a medical procedure?" "I don't know," the bailiff answered. "They really need everything off," Mr. Wilson continued. "And, of course, you would have to be present for the entire procedure." He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips slightly as he tilted his head slightly toward Vicki. The bailiff wasn't the brightest light on the string, but eventually the bulb clicked on and he got the meaning. His face showed a flickering shock of recognition and then he broke into a broad grin. "I guess you're right," he said. "But I do have to stay with the prisoner at all times." One of the women, who was evidently in charge, said brusquely, "We just need you to stand in the middle of the red circle. Get in position and we will calibrate the scanning arms, then the officer can take off your chains." Vicki let one of the men guide her onto a red circle more or less in the middle of the room. A strange device lowered from the ceiling. It reminded her of the robot car wash things that went around her car while it was being sprayed with water. But instead of water, the nozzles appeared to be low-level lasers shining on her body. "OK," the woman said, "remove the chains and her clothing." Vicki started to object, but Mr. Wilson put his finger on her lips and said, "You need to practice not saying anything. The wrong words from you could void the negotiated sentence. Everything depends on you staying quiet and accepting everything that happens... unless you are instructed to say something." He cocked his head slightly and looked into her eyes. "Do you think you can do that?" he asked. "I'll try," she answered softly. "'Try' isn't good enough," he said. "You have to do it. A lot depends on it. Today is just a scan, but it will be practice for when it will be much harder for you to remain silent." Vicki stood docilely as the bailiff removed the shackles. Then one of the men stepped forward and begin removing her blouse. She drew a breath and was ready to ask that it at least be one of the women, but she heard Mr. Wilson cough. She looked over at him and he was holding his finger in front of his lips as a signal that she must remain quiet. The man was actually very gentle as he removed her blouse. He even knew how her brassier worked and was able to unhook it without problem. He then opened her slacks and lowered them slowly to the floor. "Left" he said, and Vicki raised her left foot to allow him to slip them off that leg. "Right," he added and the pants were gone. Vicki reached for the waistband of her panties. Surely they would let her take off her own panties. But Mr. Wilson shook his head no, so she stood waiting. One of the women came up behind her and put her fingers into the sides of the panties. They slid down easily. Again there were the commands of "Right" and "Left" as they were removed. Vicki was now standing naked in front of Mr. Wilson, the bailiff, and several men and women in white lab coats. "Hold your arms out like a scarecrow," the woman in charge ordered. "And you might want to close your eyes. The lasers are safe, but annoying." Vicki stood passively while the lasers danced over her body. "Arms above your head," came the command, and Vicki shifted position. "Arms locked behind your head." Vicki did as she was told. She noted with satisfaction that as she put her hands in that position she could feel her breasts being pulled up and out so that they looked their best. She felt her nipples tighten slightly, evidently from the cold of the room. "Almost done," the boss lady said. "All we need is the lower perspective." The woman then stood in front of Vicki and instructed, "Lay on your back with your hips right in the middle of the red circle. Then put your legs straight up in the air and spread them open." "What?" Vicki yelped in shock. "Just do as she says," William said softly. "The dolls need to be as realistic as possible to get the best prices." Vicki's shoulders slumped. She stood for a moment looking around at the crowd of people who all seemed to be staring at her. The bailiff was definitely staring. He was also grinning broadly. "OK," she said softly as she lowered herself to the floor. Lying on her back she had to skooch her hips around to position herself properly in the center of the red circle. Finally, one of the white-coated technicians said, "That's good. Now lift your legs and spread them." Vicki did as she was told. She felt her skin become warm with shame and embarrassment, but surprisingly, she also felt a cool wetness between her legs as her pussy was exposed to the air of the room. How could that be? How was it possible that she was becoming wet? This was so humiliating, how could she possibly be aroused by it? One of the techs leaned down. "You can get dressed now," he said. "We have almost everything we need." Vicki stood up and looked around. She was expecting that someone would hand her the clothing which had been removed. Instead one of the women walked up behind her and said, "Raise your arms above your head." Vicki did and a rough, orange dress was dropped down on her body. "It would be helpful if we had a quick scan of you in standard prison garb," the technician explained. "Please step back on the circle for one last scan." Ten minutes later they were getting back into the van. Vicki was shackled once again as she had been when they arrived, but now she was wearing the orange prisoner dress... and nothing else. When they arrived at the jail, the press was gathered waiting for her. With the shackles there was no way she could gracefully step down from the van. In fact, she couldn't negotiate the step at all. So, Mr. Wilson grabbed her by the waist and set her down on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, as he set her down, she slid against him and the dress rode up with her chains. A storm of flashes recorded the cheeks of her ass showing clearly beneath the hem of the dress. Mr. Wilson then turned her so that she was standing beside him. "Miss LeClaire has accepted a negotiated sentence," he began "... and will be making public repentance. She will also be receiving public punishment. Following repentance and punishment she will be entering into penal slavery for a period of not less than one year." He waited for the new flurry of photo flashes to subside, then spoke up loudly, "Her day of repentance will be in two weeks. Eleven days of punishment will follow immediately." Almost shouting he said, "Tickets go on sale tomorrow. The live video feed will be available on-demand in all available formats." The bailiff then led Vicki into the building. William accompanied them. Just before she was taken back to the cell area, he said to her, "Today was nothing compared to what is coming. I know it will be very rough on you, but don't think about what's happening. Think about all those fantasies you were dreaming about while you visited those bondage sites on your computer. It helped you today– I could see that. It will help you through your twelve days of punishment." That night, Vicki lay on her thin prison cot. Since the only clothing she had was the prison dress, she was naked beneath the sheet. Staring at the ceiling, she began thinking about all that had happened that day. Her skin once again became hot with the redness of embarrassment and shame. It didn't surprise her as much when her cunt became wet with arousal. She was still envisioning herself on the red circle with her legs spread high in the air as her hand slipped between her legs and her fingers started stroking her slit. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END CHAPTER ONE OF THIRTEEN Please remember to vote by clicking on one of the stars at the end of the story. If you really liked it, click 5. If you really hated it, click 1, but please click something. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Chapter Summaries Chapter One: Vicki LeClaire is convicted of all charges. A sentencing agreement is negotiated by William Wilson, a professional slave sentence negotiator. This chapter primarily sets the scene for the rest of the book. Once that is done, the action near the end centers around public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Two: Vicki's "Day of Repentance" and her humiliating descent into slavery, including being renamed as slave missy. This chapter centers primarily on public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Three: 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. Chapter Four: The second day of punishment begins with a flogging contest by a company called Judicial Placements Incorporated. Her negotiator... and new Master, William Wilson, flogs missy the required forty-six times to fulfill the terms of her sentence. This chapter is totally focused on non-consensual flogging. Chapter Five: Slave missy's third day of punishment. She is once again subject to a spanking, this time by the head of a private girls' reformatory. Before her spanking, several of the young women from the reformatory also receive public punishment. This is a spanking chapter with bare hand, slipper, paddle, and leather belt. Chapter Six: The fourth day. On this day of punishment, she is caned... by a robot, or more accurately, by a computer-driven mechanical spanking machine. Before her caning, James Madison demonstrates his company's machines. This chapter focuses on mechanical flogging, paddling, and caning. It also delves into self-bondage and pain-pleasure. Chapter Seven: The fifth day. Slave missy is punished by water combined with heat, cold, and electricity. This chapter focuses on various types of water punishment. Chapter Eight: On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to "The Whipmaster." Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another. Chapter Nine: The seventh day for slave missy is a day for electro-punishment. Slave missy becomes part of the vidshow, "Wheel of Pleasure, Wheel of Pain." Chapter Ten: The eighth day introduces a unique punishment– punishment by combat. There is also an undercard of slave wrestling with humiliation and pain in store for the loser. Chapter Eleven: The ninth day of punishment is a lottery. The public is given the chance to paddle the repentant terrorist. Eight lucky winners each get to give her five swats with a special paddle. One lucky winner gets to finish the forty-six required for her punishment by laying six swats of the paddle across missy's ass. The undercard is also part of the lottery. Three slaves in need of punishment will each receive 20 swats, again with one lottery winner delivering 5 of those swats. In addition there are two volunteers. One is a male member of the stage crew who is coming out as a pain slut. The other is a woman who has been at every performance so far and wants to experience public punishment and humiliation. Hers is a special case and her husband will deliver however many swats it takes to make her cum. Twenty-five winners were chosen to participate. Each was asked to write a short essay saying why they should be the one to deliver the final six to the repentant terrorist. The winner finishes off missy. Chapter Twelve: This tenth day returns missy to old school punishment as she receives an old-fashioned caning. There is also a contest between slaves to see who can withstand the most strokes of the cane. Chapter Thirteen: (Last Chapter) Slave missy finally reaches her final day of punishment. After having been punished by hand, slipper, paddle, cane, water, and electricity, missy is punished with pleasure. She is strapped into a high-tech denial/teasing/edging device and taken to the very brink of orgasm 46 times. Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 02 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 to the Constitution do 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. A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. This chapter is Vicki's "Day of Repentance" and her humiliating descent into slavery, including being renamed as slave missy. The chapter centers primarily on public nudity and public humiliation. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2016 by The Technician. Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter Two - A Day of Repentance Two weeks following her conviction, at nine o'clock in the morning, Vicki stood on the steps of the courthouse where she had been convicted and sentenced. The day had been determined not by the courts, but by the advertising cycles. William had set the date so that the maximum furor could be generated in social media and the most on-demand views purchased. The courthouse looked out on a large open square. That square and the route of her humiliation had been cordoned off. Tickets for watching from within the cordoned area had sold out immediately. Front row tickets were resold on-line for outrageous amounts. A large banner hung from the roof of the courthouse announcing today's date and time beneath the words, "A Terrorist Repents and Accepts Her Punishment." A large picture of Vicki in the orange prison dress, her hands and legs shackled, was also on the banner. Vicki had asked several times what exactly was going to happen, but William had been insistent that she should not know in advance what was going to happen to her. "You can't change it," he said. "Why force yourself to live it out in your mind in advance. Just accept what happens as it occurs and you will get through it." The first surprise for her day of repentance was the dress she was given to wear. It was an exact reproduction of the $32,000 dress that had been her downfall. That fateful weekend, her plan had been to wear the expensive designer dress to a Community Benefit Gala and return it to stock, but that was not to be. Samantha, the head salesperson on the designer dress floor, was also at the gala. When she saw Vicki she came over and intentionally spilled red wine down the front of the dress. Then leaning in close she had said, "You cost me a year-end bonus because returns were too high in my section." Then, almost snarling, she said, "Try returning that now, bitch." She couldn't return the dress... and there was no way that she could ever afford to pay for it. But Jarred, a boy at the party whom Vicki had dated, said he had a program which he would give her that would allow her to get into the proper files to take the cost off her account. It worked just as he said it would, but it also put a virus on the company's computers... a virus which spread to vendors, customers, and other businesses. A total of 46 companies were infected by the time Jarred triggered the virus crashing those computer systems on Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year. Jarred then posted a video claiming credit for the cyber attack in the name of the People's Economic Justice Front. That video was broadcast on all of the news networks almost as soon as it was received. Normally, Vicki didn't pay that much attention to news programs, but it was almost impossible to avoid seeing this particular video. And as soon as she saw the beginning, she recognized Jarred. Vicki stared at her TV. Could this be the young man who had helped her? At the end of the video, Jarred looked directly into the camera and said, "I would especially like to thank Vicki LeClaire. Without her help, none of this would have ever been possible." Vicki was still staring at her television screen two hours later when a special SWAT team from Homeland Security burst through the door to her apartment. She was dragged out to a heavily armored van and transported to a special security jail. Against the advice of her lawyer, she decided to tell the truth- the whole truth. She should have listened to her lawyer. That truth was the basis for the eleven counts of theft of goods and services- the dresses she had worn and returned. That truth was the basis for the embezzlement charge- for changing the accounting files. That truth was read as testimony against her at her trial as proof that she was, indeed, the terrorist who had introduced the virus onto so many stores' computer systems. She was convicted on all charges. And now she stood at the top of the courthouse steps wearing a reproduction of the exact dress which had led to her downfall. She was dressed as she had been that night. Well, not exactly. Today she was wearing Aubade lingerie and Prada shoes- items that she could never afford on her salary. And her hair had been styled by one of the best salons in town- again, something she would never have been able to afford. A professional had even applied her makeup. She had never looked better. William had explained, "Everything is symbolic. We start you at the very top so that your fall to the bottom is that much more dramatic. ... People pay for drama." When she grimaced, he added, "That little trick added 10% to the cost of the tickets and 25% to the video rights. And for you, money is time." After a forced smile, he continued, "Trust me. I know what I am doing." She could see the clock in a church tower located on the opposite edge of the square. Whatever was going to happen would start in five minutes or less. As the hands on the clock came closer and closer to the top of the hour, William leaned in close to her and said, "Things are going to start in just a few moments. Remember, don't think about what is happening. Instead think about all those fantasies you had when you went out to all those BDSM sites." He had barely stepped away when six women encircled her. They looked very familiar, but it still took her a moment to recognize them. It was Samantha and her entire sales staff. "We paid a lot for the privilege of doing this," Samantha said. "And we are REALLY going to enjoy it," said one of the saleswomen. All six of them each held up a pair of scissors. "I think this dress needs a little modification," said one of them. "I agree," said Samantha as she began cutting one of the sleeves. Vicki fearfully expected them to immediately cut the lavish dress from her body, but instead they cut only thin strips of fabric from the hem and from the ends of the sleeves. When they finished, the dress was intact, but smaller. "Not quite enough," said Martha. Vicki remembered that she had bought several of the dresses through her. With an evil-sounding laugh, Martha cut another inch off the hem of the dress. "Still not quite slutty enough," she said as she stepped back. Another woman stepped forward and cut away about half of the sleeves. Vicki felt like screaming, "Just cut it off me!" but she knew that she had to remain totally quiet. For this day to count, she needed to remain silent until she made her statement of repentance at the other end of the route. The women continued their slow cutting away of the dress until it was barely below her panties. She could feel the air move against the bottom of her ass cheeks. Samantha picked up one of the long strips of fabric from the ground and said, "Let's try accessorizing." She then tied the strip around Vicki's waist like a belt. "I don't like the line that creates," said one of the women. "The upper portion needs to move freely," said another as she reached in with her scissors and cut the dress in half just above the improvised belt. "That's better, but it should still move more freely," Samantha said as she cut 2" off the upper portion of the dress revealing Vicki's trembling abdomen. "Now, the sleeves don't look right," said Martha. She cut what little remained of the sleeves off the dress. "I think it calls for the wife-beater look," Samantha said with a sneer as she began to cut the top into a shape which would match the sleeveless T-shirt commonly called a wife-beater. "Now her bra shows," said another of the women. "We can't have that." "Easily corrected," said Martha as she reached under the mangled top with her scissors and cut the sides of the bra. Two more snips and the straps were also cut. One of the women reached under the top and pulled the bra clear. Vicki gasped as it was pulled roughly off her breasts. "We have the same problem with her undies," one of the women giggled. They are showing under the dress." "Well," replied Samantha, also giggling, "you know how to fix that." Two of the women worked together. Each pushing their scissors under the dress to reach the sides of the panties. "Those should fall down on their own," Samantha said derisively. "...unless she's pissed herself or is getting all turned on by this." The sneer was gone from her face, but not from her voice. The six women stepped back slightly, each staring at Vicki's legs waiting for the panties to drop. "I don't see any pee on the ground," said Martha. "That can mean only one thing." "Oh," said Samantha with a deep laugh, "you are a naughty little girl aren't you." She reached up under the short remnant of the dress and pushed the sopping crotch of the panties to one side. She slid her finger through Vicki's slit and then downward, catching the panties as she pulled her hand out from beneath the dress. "If I had known how kinky you were, honey," she said, "we might have been able to work out something on the dresses." She held the panties to her nose for a second and said, "Definitely the smell of a turned on kinky cunt." She then dropped the panties on the steps at Vicki's feet. For some reason, seeing her wet panties lying at her feet was more embarrassing for Vicki than anything else that had occurred. She felt her skin redden with shame, but at the same time she felt her juices beginning to seep down her thigh. The thought that people would soon be able to see her wetness brought more shame which brought an additional flood which brought additional shame. Soon she could turn no redder. Perhaps her wetness had also reached its maximum. The women returned to their alterations of her dress. "If she is such a slut," Martha said, "then she really should try the topless look." Three women attacked what little was left of the top of the dress and soon it joined her panties in a pile at her feet. She was now standing bare-breasted in front of several thousand people and who knows how many throughout the world who were watching live video feeds of the event. Her wetness had not reached its maximum. "The dress is still too long for a slut like Vicki," Samantha said. One of the women responded by cutting an additional 2" from the micro-mini remnants of the lower portion of the dress. Now her ass cheeks were definitely on display from the back. From the front, her cunt was not quite visible, but wisps of her pubic hair hung down just far enough to make themselves known beneath the dress. Samantha now stood directly in front of Vicki. They were face to face. Samantha tilted her head slightly as if she were going to kiss Vicki, but instead reached up under her dress with her left hand and cupped Vicki's gushing mound. "Life is full of missed opportunities," she said softly. "We really could have had some good times together." She then smiled and said cheerily. "I did have fun here today, though." She formed her mouth into a pouty frown and said, "Too bad things are going to get a little more intense for you at this point. I think you were starting to enjoy this, too." She then reached over with her right hand and cut down the front of the remainder of the dress. Catching that small piece of fabric in her left hand, she held it aloft for all the crowd to see before dropping it on the ground with the rest of Vicki's clothing. The crowd roared out its response as Samantha, Martha, and the other four women walked up the steps and into the courthouse leaving Vicki standing naked behind them. *** Vicki stood naked except for her high heels at the top of the courthouse steps. She had no idea what came next, so she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. The only thing that she knew for sure was that she was supposed to stay there and keep quiet. So that is what she did. She stood quietly awaiting the next portion of her repentance. She could hear footsteps behind her. Someone in heels was walking toward her. She managed to keep from turning around to see who it was, but as the footsteps came down the steps, she couldn't help herself from turning her head slightly. It was the stylist who had done her hair! "You didn't think I did all that work this morning out of the goodness of my heart, do you?" she said with a light silvery laugh. Vicki thought that this was probably how the woman spoke to her expensive clientele in her downtown shop. The stylist held something in her hands. Vicki wasn't sure what it was until it began humming like an angry wasp. It was a set of electric hair clippers. "I've always wanted to do this," the stylist said as she reached up and placed the clippers in the center of Vicki's forehead. "How would you like it styled today?" she asked cheerily as she pushed the buzzing tool back through Vicki's hair. The sudden coolness on the top of her head told Vicki that there was a bald strip down the center of her head. "I think we need to even that up just a bit, don't you?" the stylist asked. She then returned the clippers to Vicki's head and began making pass after pass across her scalp. Vicki looked down at her feet. Her damp panties and the scraps of dress were now being covered with twisted piles of hair. She began to cry softly. "Oh, don't worry, honey," the stylist said. "We will make sure that everything is properly finished out." She smiled and asked, "Won't that be nice?" Vicki remained silent. A moment later, the stylist patted her on her now totally bald head. "Collar and cuffs should always match," the stylist said in her falsely cheery voice. She then reached down between Vicki's legs with the clippers and began to remove her pubic hair. "Some stylists would be satisfied with that," she said firmly after all hair there was also gone. "But I am not just some stylist. I have a reputation to maintain." She clapped her hands and a man ran up to her carrying a heavy wooden tray. There was a machine of some sort on the tray that Vicki didn't recognize. The stylist pushed a button on the top of the machine. It whirred loudly and foam of some sort filled the stylist's hands. "Only the best for my customers," the stylist said as she began to apply the foam to Vicki's head. It was warm- almost hot- and seemed to sting slightly. "There are herbs in my special mixture that cause the hair to stand on end," the stylist explained. "They sting just a little, but it is worth it for the closeness of the shave." She then picked up a razor from the tray and began shaving Vicki's head. The razor was very much like a standard women's razor that you could buy at most stores, but somehow it looked... more expensive. It took only a moment for the stylist to finish Vicki's head. She then said, "Spread your legs wider." Vicki complied. The foam felt hotter on her pussy than it had on her head, but then again she was more sensitive between the legs than she was on her head. The stinging was also worse- much worse. "I added extra herbs just for today," the stylist said. "I'm sure you want to be shaved extra close." Again, it took only a moment for the stylist to finish. The man handed her a wet towel and she wiped Vicki's head and then her cunt. The after-effects of the herbs caused the skin to tingle and feel cold. "Normally I guarantee that you will stay smooth for at least five days," she said. She then cocked her head slightly and said, "It's a pity you won't know how long my shave would have lasted for you." With that she and her assistant walked down the steps and off into the crowds. Vicki wondered what the stylist had meant by her not knowing how long the shave would have lasted, but there was no one to ask. And even if there were someone to ask, she was supposed to remain quiet. Vicki stood as she had been left by the stylist. Her feet were a little more than a shoulder width apart and her hands were at her side. She could feel the air moving over her bald head and over her now smooth crotch. She had often thought about completely shaving her sex, but had never had the nerve. After all, only those kinds of girls shaved totally bare. "I guess I'm one of those kinds of girls now," she thought to herself. She could hear men's voices behind her, but they sounded muffled for some reason. A clearer voice, a woman's, said loudly "You can start as soon as we get the area cleaned up and I put the protective caps in place." Vicki had no idea what the protective caps were or where they would be put in place. The suspense was almost too much and she was very tempted to turn around to see what was happening behind her. Luckily, just as she was about to turn, a mid-20s young woman in white, haz-mat coveralls stepped out in front of her. The woman stood quietly while an older man in grey coveralls and a young man in blue jeans gathered up the scraps of her clothing. The older man then swept up the hair and small pieces of cloth which were still lying on the steps. Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 02 "We need the shoes, too," said the young man and Vicki stepped out of the shoes. She was now totally naked, but somehow felt less naked barefoot than she had in the high heels. "You'll need to stand very still while I apply these protective caps," the woman said loudly. "The seals have to be perfect or you could lose your eyelashes... or even your sight." She then took a clear plastic dome about the size of a shot glass out of a bag that was hanging from her shoulder. After checking something on the cap, she reached back into the bag and brought out a small tube of thick gel-like material which she applied to the edges of the cap. "Close your left eye," she instructed. Vicki did so and the woman set the cap over Vicki's eye, pressing firmly while she counted out loud to 25. "Now close your right eye," she commanded. Again, Vicki did so and a few moments later she felt something being pressed tightly over that eye as the woman once again counted to 25. "You can open your eyes now," the woman said. Vicki did so and realized that she was now wearing what looked like tanning goggles, except they were totally clear, and there was no band holding them in place because they were glued to her face. "Ready," the woman said in her loud and clear voice. Two men in full haz-mat protective suits, including taped gloves and fully-hooded headpieces, walked out in front of her. These must have been the muffled voices which she had heard behind her. "Try not to move around too much," one man said. "If you rub your skin while the solvent is still working, you can cause irritation. It will take a few minutes for the chemicals to kill the roots of the hair follicles." The other man, who had been standing behind him, stepped forward with two 3-gallon sprayers like you would use for pesticides in a garden. Handing one to the first man, he said, "Remember, top to bottom then back up until both units are empty." That is what they did. Starting with Vicki's head, they sprayed a layer of some sort of gooey liquid on her skin. It was bluish-green and smelled like stagnant water. A few moments later, Vicki's skin began to burn. "Don't touch yourself!" the second man commanded. "Keep your legs well-spread and try not to clench your ass," the other added. It took all of Vicki's willpower to keep herself from dancing in place or trying to rub the vile liquid from her skin. A short while later, she heard the hissing of the two sprayers as they emptied completely. "Five minutes," the first man said. "Starting now," the woman added as she once again stepped in front of Vicki. The two men were no longer visible- but then not much was. The caps protected Vicki's eyes, but they were coated with the blue-green slime and she really couldn't see anything very well. "Two minutes to go," the woman said. Vicki felt like she were being dissolved in acid. How could she stand two more minutes of this torture? "One minute," the woman said. Then "thirty seconds." At ten seconds the woman began counting down. Vicki felt herself pulsing with the count of each second. Finally the woman said, "Five minutes," and again stepped out of the way. The two men were back. Now they had much smaller tanks, but much larger sprayers. A hose snaked off into the distance from each tank, so evidently the tank was just to mix something into water that would flow through the hose. Vicki wasn't sure what was being added to the water, but she knew for certain that the water was cold- extremely cold. It was colder than any water that she had ever poured from a tap. Again the men started at the top and worked their way downward. The one man turned his sprayer so that it was spraying directly up between Vicki's legs. She gasped as the frigid water pushed its way slightly up into her slit. At least the cold, or the chemicals added to the water, stopped the burning. The rinsing seemed to go on forever, but it was actually only about ten or fifteen minutes. By the end, Vicki was shivering violently and her teeth were chattering. Both men now trained their sprayers on the ground, washing away the residue of the original glop. As they worked their way back behind Vicki, the woman once again faced her. "Hold out your arms to the side and spread your feet as far out as you can." Vicki did as she was instructed, fearing what might come next. There was suddenly a loud roar behind her that sounded like a mix of a noisy truck engine and a jet taking off. A strong, hot wind began blowing against Vicki's back. "Turn around slowly," the woman instructed. As she turned, Vicki could see that the hot wind was coming from a large heater like would normally be used up north to warm up stalled trucks in the wintertime. She tried to turn as slowly as she could so that she could luxuriate in the warmth, but the woman said testily, "We don't have all day. Keep it moving." When Vicki was once more facing out toward the crowds, the woman reached up with a large, strange looking set of pliers and grabbed one of the protective cups. "This may sting a little coming off," she said as she slowly pulled the cap off Vicki's left eye. A moment later, she removed the cap on the right eye. "Now you never have to shave anything... ever again," the woman said cheerily. Vicki stared numbly back at her as she realized "anything" included not only her pubic hair, but also her eyebrows and the hair on her head. "Time for your walk," a man's voice said as the woman stepped aside. Two bailiffs stepped forward and began attaching the shackles. These were slightly different than what had been used before. There was a heavy metal collar with a chain that connected to the center point of the chain for the wrist manacles. From there it also went down to the center point of the chain for the leg shackles. After everything was in place, one of the bailiffs attached a long chain to the point where the neck chain joined the wrist manacles. As he pulled on it, her hands were forced upward and forward. The bailiffs pulled her slowly down the steps, letting her get used to walking in the chains. Once they reached the street, they attached the other end of the chain to the back of a military caisson wagon. Vicki felt like she was an ancient prisoner of war ready to be paraded naked before the people. In many ways, that was exactly what she was. The horses began moving. Vicki had no choice but to follow the caisson through the downtown area until she came to the store where she used to work. Once there, she would read her prepared statement of repentance and acceptance. Vicki had known this would happen. She had known that she would walk from the courthouse to the store where she worked and there read her statement of repentance. She didn't know that she would be chained to the back of a ancient military wagon for that walk. She didn't know that she would be more than naked. And she didn't know that people in the crowd would be throwing rotten vegetables and eggs at her the entire fourteen blocks to the store. "William probably sold them the eggs," she thought to herself. "Or at least he charged extra for the privilege." For a moment she felt bitterness- almost hatred- toward William Wilson, but then she remembered that her sentence was twelve million dollars. Anything that went toward that amount lowered her final time as a slave. Without her negotiator, she would have been a slave forever. So, standing straight with her shoulders back she forced herself to complete her walk of shame. As she walked, she looked at the people in the crowd. There were men and women, old and young. Surprisingly, there were even young children in the crowd. Even more surprisingly, many of the children were holding unclothed dolls. Some of them held up their dolls as she walked past. It wasn't until the fifth block of her walk that Vicki suddenly realized that the dolls were her. One young man even had a full caisson set with her being pulled naked behind it. Looking through some of the shop windows, she could see displays of herself, exactly as she now was. There was even one almost life-sized doll watching over a large display of smaller dolls. The large, naked doll looked very accurate. She tried to see if it was also accurate between its legs, but was distracted by a price tag or something which was printed on the front of the doll. It was surprising to her how many of the people were giving garbage to their children to throw. To her, that seemed somehow wrong. But her opinions no longer mattered. Besides, there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was walk behind the horse-drawn caisson which was pulling her through the streets. When she finally reached the store, two more men in hazmat suits stood ready with hoses to wash the eggs and garbage off her body. There were no extra tanks connected to the hoses, so this was evidently just water. It was also considerably warmer than the water which was used to rinse the blue-green goo off her body. Unfortunately, there was no powerful heater to warm her and dry her when they finished. Her nipples hardened into tight nubs in the cold as she walked up onto the platform and faced the crowd. Her prepared statement of repentance was waiting for her at the podium. It was printed out in large type. Since she had not seen it before, she tried to scan it rapidly. A bailiff stood alongside her. "You have one minute to begin or the deal falls through," he said gruffly. Vicki picked up the paper and began to read. "I am heartily sorry that I have violated the law, but more than that I am deeply sorry for any harm I have caused to come upon any person or business. I readily admit my guilt and accept my punishment, including my... my... my..." She couldn't form the words. "Continue," said the bailiff sternly. Suddenly William was standing beside her. "You can do this," he said. "This is the toughest part. You can do this." Vicki took a deep breath and resumed reading, " I readily admit my guilt and accept my punishment, including my branding as a slave until full restitution has been paid to the courts." She set down the paper and began sobbing. Mr. Wilson took her by the shoulders and led her to another portion of the raised platform. "It's not an old-fashioned brand," he said. "There's no branding iron. It's more like a tattoo." Two bailiffs guided her over to a large, strangely-shaped, curved table. It looked almost like part of a large barrel. One of the men pushed her back against the curved surface while the other began strapping her arms and legs in place. Then a third bailiff, a woman, stepped forward with a large, strange-looking flashlight. The flashlight was actually a laser branding device. The woman pressed it against Vicki's pubic mound a few inches above her slit. Suddenly an excruciating pain flashed through Vicki's body. "That's one," said the woman as Vicki screamed. She then moved the device so that it was pressed against Vicki's skin just above her left breast. The woman pushed a button on the side of the device and once again excruciating pain flashed through Vicki's body. It was there and then it was gone, but that quick flash of pain was enough to cause Vicki to scream and, this time, to lose control of her bladder. She sobbed in pain and shame as her piss puddled under her. The two bailiffs released her from the restraints and helped her to her feet. They moved her back to the other section of the platform where the judge stood waiting. As she approached she could see that, for some reason, there was a large mirror next to the judge. The purpose of the mirror became evident when the judge spoke. "Vicki LeClaire is no more," he said solemnly pointing towards the mirror. His words were true. The figure looking back at her from the mirror was not Vicki. "From now until your sentence is complete," the judge continued, "you are slave missy, also known as prisoner PS382563." Slave missy looked at her reflection in the mirror. Reading the mirror image, she could see that just above her cunt it said "Penal Slave 382563." Above her left breast it read, "Slave Missy." William was standing beside her. "The worst is over for today," he said. She looked at him with tears flowing from her eyes. She reached up with her right hand and lightly stroked the brand that proclaimed her to be slave missy. "I used some of my commission to buy the naming rights," he said softly. "It could have been something really terrible. Or if no one met the price, your default name would have been slutslave563. I thought you deserved more than that." Vicki... missy, gave him a crooked smile that said she understood. She then looked around trying to figure out what else was awaiting her on her day of repentance. "Lower the cage," one of the bailiffs cried out as he and two other bailiffs began moving people away from the center of the platform. Missy looked up. A mechanism of some sort had been attached to the roof of the store. It looked like the winches that the window washers used to raise and lower their platform, but there was only one cable. And hanging at the bottom of that cable was a cage. "You are to hang for one half hour at each floor level," the bailiff announced. "Then you will hang just above the street until the sun has set." He then took her by the arm and moved her into the cage. The cage itself was circular, about three feet in diameter, and a little over six feet tall. Missy could stand in the cage, but couldn't sit or kneel or otherwise rest. She grabbed hold of the bars as the cage rapidly began to rise up into the air. She screamed all the way up as the cage swung wildly like a pendulum. When it reached the fourteenth floor, it stop rising, but still continued to swing wildly for several more minutes. When the cage finally stopped, missy could see that she was just outside the executive board room. There appeared to be a party going on. One of the men suddenly pointed out the window and everyone gathered to look at her. One of the women raised her glass of champagne as if offering a toast. The rest of the room matched her action. Then someone taped a large piece of paper to the window. Written in large black letters were the words, "You're Fired!" The person who had taped the paper to the window raised his glass toward the cage one final time, then laughed and closed the curtains. Missy started to cry. The closing of the curtain did something to her that nothing else had done. It made her feel insignificant. People staring at her as her clothing was cut from her body was embarrassing. Being paraded through the town totally naked was humiliating. Being branded was torture. But through all that she was still a person. People were paying attention to her. She was still a part of their world. The people in the streets below wondered what had caused the long, anguished scream they heard from the cage. As the curtain closed, missy was forced to accept that she was now nothing. She meant nothing to anyone. She was a slave... not even a person. She was a nothing hanging outside a closed window. As she screamed, her hands gripped the bars of the cage. Her head slowly sank down to rest against her arms. She was crying heavily... uncontrollably. Her body slid down so that it was partially crumpled with her ass against one side of the cage and her knees against the opposite side. At the end of the half hour the cage began to move downward. The movement startled slave missy, but at least it didn't start to swing. The thirteenth floor was a mechanical floor, so the only personnel on that floor were maintenance workers and cleaning crews. Four maintenance men were watching through a window. The next window over was a break room. It looked like the entire cleaning staff was gathered watching. There was no evidence of a party in either room. And no one was laughing as they watched her. The top floor could laugh at her and close the curtains on her and forget her, but these people were the bottom rung of the employees. Not as much separated them from the naked woman who hung outside their window. They stared silently at missy for the entire thirty minutes she hung outside the thirteenth floor. The reaction on the remaining floors was somewhere between the extremes of the upper floors. Two differences were at the ninth floor and the fifth floor. The ninth floor was the accounting floor where Vicki, now slave missy, had once worked. Everyone on the floor glanced up, but none of the men and women from accounting could bring themselves to come over to the window. They knew that Vicki wasn't really a terrorist. All of them were thinking how easily it could be them hanging in that cage if they had accidentally introduced a virus into the computer system. The fifth floor was the designer dress floor. Samantha and her sales people were waiting at the window when missy was lowered to their floor. They also raised a toast to her, but their drinks appeared to be soft drinks in plastic cups. Missy remembered Samantha's comment about what might have been. Pulling herself up and standing straight, she smiled at the faces in the window. Then she reached down and cupped her own sex, sliding her fingers deep within. She smiled at the shocked faces, except for Samantha who continued to smile at her. Missy lifted her glistening hand up to her mouth and blew across it, as if blowing a kiss. Samantha grabbed the blown pussy out of the air and held her hand under her own nose. She inhaled deeply and smiled back at slave missy. Neither of them was aware of what else happened for the rest of the half hour as they gazed into each other's eyes. As the cage began to descend once again, Samantha mouthed clearly, "Life is full of lost opportunities." It was late afternoon by the time the cage finally stopped just below the first floor. Crowds gathered beneath her. Many were taking pictures with their phones. A few professionals in the crowd were using quality cameras with long lenses. Missy tried to turn herself so they couldn't zoom in on her nakedness, but turning away from one photographer merely turned her toward another. Finally she gave up and stood passively as the cage itself slowly rotated back and forth on its cable, displaying her to the entire crowd. As the sun began to set, the two bailiffs who had been with her on the platform began moving the crowd back. The caisson wagon was brought in so that the top of the ammunition box was directly beneath her. A few moments later, the cage again descended until it came to rest on the top of the caisson box itself. The bailiffs slipped some cargo ratchet straps through the bars and under the caisson box and locked it in place. Then one of the bailiffs climbed onto the caisson and reached above the cage to release the cable. The driver climbed into the wagon seat and gathered up the reins which controlled the four horses pulling the caisson. With a loud "Hee-a-yup" he urged the horses to their task and they clip-clopped back up the path which missy had walked that morning. Their pace was significantly faster than it had been with missy walking behind them. When they arrived at the jail, they didn't go into the indoor prisoner transfer area. Instead the horse-drawn caisson was pulled up to the loading dock at the back of the jail. A winch arrangement on the docks was used to lift the cage and set it back down on a warehouse pallet. Then one of the bailiffs used a pallet jack to roll missy back to her cell. When they arrived at her cell, the bailiff said, "Stick your foot through the bars." Vicki did and the bailiff unlocked one of the shackles. "Other foot," he said and the other shackle was removed. The procedure was repeated with each arm. Then the bailiff pulled on the neck chain as he said, "Back against the bars." Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 02 Missy could hear a loud click and the metal collar was removed. The cage was then set inside missy's cell. The bailiff unlocked the door to the cage and took the padlock with him. "Don't attempt to open the cage until I have your cell door secure," he ordered. Once the cell door was securely shut, he said, "You can get out now." Missy opened the cage and stepped into her cell. The orange dress was nowhere to be seen, so she remained naked. A few minutes later a guard came with a food tray. It was standard prison food and didn't look all that tasty, but missy hadn't eaten all day and finished everything before sliding the tray back under the bars to the waiting guard. "Where is my dress?" she asked. "You're a slave now," the guard answered. "If the temperature is above 58 degrees, you're not allowed clothing." He laughed and then added, "It's always above 70 in here. You do the math." Missy sat on her bed and cried. She wondered if she could actually run out of tears. She was a slave... a piece of property. They had even brought her back to her cell like she were a part of the heavy iron cage in which she was displayed. "At least they let me have a pillow and a sheet," she thought to herself as she sat down on the bed. A little while later, she cried herself to sleep. She had not yet run out of tears. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END CHAPTER TWO OF THIRTEEN Please remember to vote by clicking on one of the stars at the end of the story. If you really liked it, click 5. If you really hated it, click 1, but please click something. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Chapter Summaries Chapter One: Vicki LeClaire is convicted of all charges. A sentencing agreement is negotiated by William Wilson, a professional slave sentence negotiator. This chapter primarily sets the scene for the rest of the book. Once that is done, the action near the end centers around public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Two: Vicki's "Day of Repentance" and her humiliating descent into slavery, including being renamed as slave missy. This chapter centers primarily on public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Three: 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. Chapter Four: The second day of punishment begins with a flogging contest by a company called Judicial Placements Incorporated. Her negotiator... and new Master, William Wilson, flogs missy the required forty-six times to fulfill the terms of her sentence. This chapter is totally focused on non-consensual flogging. Chapter Five: Slave missy's third day of punishment. She is once again subject to a spanking, this time by the head of a private girls' reformatory. Before her spanking, several of the young women from the reformatory also receive public punishment. This is a spanking chapter with bare hand, slipper, paddle, and leather belt. Chapter Six: The fourth day. On this day of punishment, she is caned... by a robot, or more accurately, by a computer-driven mechanical spanking machine. Before her caning, James Madison demonstrates his company's machines. This chapter focuses on mechanical flogging, paddling, and caning. It also delves into self-bondage and pain-pleasure. Chapter Seven: The fifth day. Slave missy is punished by water combined with heat, cold, and electricity. This chapter focuses on various types of water punishment. Chapter Eight: On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to "The Whipmaster." Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another. Chapter Nine: The seventh day for slave missy is a day for electro-punishment. Slave missy becomes part of the vidshow, "Wheel of Pleasure, Wheel of Pain." Chapter Ten: The eighth day introduces a unique punishment- punishment by combat. There is also an undercard of slave wrestling with humiliation and pain in store for the loser. Chapter Eleven: The ninth day of punishment is a lottery. The public is given the chance to paddle the repentant terrorist. Eight lucky winners each get to give her five swats with a special paddle. One lucky winner gets to finish the forty-six required for her punishment by laying six swats of the paddle across missy's ass. The undercard is also part of the lottery. Three slaves in need of punishment will each receive 20 swats, again with one lottery winner delivering 5 of those swats. In addition, there are two volunteers. One is a male member of the stage crew who is coming out as a pain slut. The other is a woman who has been at every performance so far and wants to experience public punishment and humiliation. Hers is a special case and her husband will deliver however many swats it takes to make her cum. Twenty-five winners were chosen to participate. Each was asked to write a short essay saying why they should be the one to deliver the final six to the repentant terrorist. The winner finishes off missy. Chapter Twelve: This tenth day returns missy to old-school punishment as she receives an old-fashioned caning. There is also a contest between slaves to see who can withstand the most strokes of the cane. Chapter Thirteen: (Last Chapter) Slave missy finally reaches her final day of punishment. After having been punished by hand, slipper, paddle, cane, water, and electricity, missy is punished with pleasure. She is strapped into a high-tech denial/teasing/edging device and taken to the very brink of orgasm 46 times. Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 03 In response to several private comments, I have decided to post the remainder of this series to the BDSM category. I'm sorry if I offended anyone, but I do think I gave adequate warning that this story is about non-consensual punishment. And yes, there is a significant pleasure response in most of the chapters. This is the story of a young woman's conviction as a terrorist and what happens to her when she is sentenced to penal slavery. Penal slavery is not impossible. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States of America do NOT prohibit slavery. They only LIMIT slavery to punishment for crimes. In other words, the Constitution allows penal slavery. After the woman is convicted, a "sentence negotiator" gets her sentence reduced to a public day of repentance followed by eleven days of public punishment. Following that, she is to serve one year of penal servitude. 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. A description of the thirteen chapters follows the end of each chapter. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician. Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * 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, Missy stood in her cage staring at the crowd. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but nothing at all happened except various roadies and stage crew set up and tested a sound system and various video recording devices. The crowd buzzed with conversation and occasional flashes of light indicated that people were taking pictures of her in her cage. The crowd continued to grow over the next hours and the stands became packed. Additional chairs had been set up on the track. Evidently they were reserved seating because they remained mostly empty until shortly after one, but soon after that, those too were also tightly-packed. At exactly 2:00 o'clock, 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 at 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?" Twelve Days a Slave Ch. 03 "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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END CHAPTER 3 OF THIRTEEN Please remember to vote by clicking on one of the stars at the end of the story. If you really liked it, click 5. If you really hated it, click 1, but please click something. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Chapter Summaries Chapter One: Vicki LeClaire is convicted of all charges. A sentencing agreement is negotiated by William Wilson, a professional slave sentence negotiator. This chapter primarily sets the scene for the rest of the book. Once that is done, the action near the end centers around public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Two: Vicki's "Day of Repentance" and her humiliating descent into slavery, including being renamed as slave missy. This chapter centers primarily on public nudity and public humiliation. Chapter Three: 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. Chapter Four: The second day of punishment begins with a flogging contest by a company called Judicial Placements Incorporated. Her negotiator... and new Master, William Wilson, flogs missy the required forty-six times to fulfill the terms of her sentence. This chapter is totally focused on non-consensual flogging. Chapter Five: Slave missy's third day of punishment. She is once again subject to a spanking, this time by the head of a private girls' reformatory. Before her spanking, several of the young women from the reformatory also receive public punishment. This is a spanking chapter with bare hand, slipper, paddle, and leather belt. Chapter Six: The fourth day. On this day of punishment, she is caned... by a robot, or more accurately, by a computer-driven mechanical spanking machine. Before her caning, James Madison demonstrates his company's machines. This chapter focuses on mechanical flogging, paddling, and caning. It also delves into self-bondage and pain-pleasure. Chapter Seven: The fifth day. Slave missy is punished by water combined with heat, cold, and electricity. This chapter focuses on various types of water punishment. Chapter Eight: On the sixth day of her punishment, missy is introduced to "The Whipmaster." Before punishing her he provides a demonstration of his abilities. The chapter is focused on public nudity, public humiliation, and public flogging of one sort or another. Chapter Nine: The seventh day for slave missy is a day for electro-punishment. Slave missy becomes part of the vidshow, "Wheel of Pleasure, Wheel of Pain." Chapter Ten: The eighth day introduces a unique punishment- punishment by combat. There is also an undercard of slave wrestling with humiliation and pain in store for the loser. Chapter Eleven: The ninth day of punishment is a lottery. The public is given the chance to paddle the repentant terrorist. Eight lucky winners each get to give her five swats with a special paddle. One lucky winner gets to finish the forty-six required for her punishment by laying six swats of the paddle across missy's ass. The undercard is also part of the lottery. Three slaves in need of punishment will each receive 20 swats, again with one lottery winner delivering 5 of those swats. In addition there are two volunteers. One is a male member of the stage crew who is coming out as a pain slut. The other is a woman who has been at every performance so far and wants to experience public punishment and humiliation. Hers is a special case and her husband will deliver however many swats it takes to make her cum. Twenty-five winners were chosen to participate. Each was asked to write a short essay saying why they should be the one to deliver the final six to the repentant terrorist. The winner finishes off missy. Chapter Twelve: This tenth day returns missy to old school punishment as she receives an old-fashioned caning. There is also a contest between slaves to see who can withstand the most strokes of the cane. Chapter Thirteen: (Last Chapter) Slave missy finally reaches her final day of punishment. After having been punished by hand, slipper, paddle, cane, water, and electricity, missy is punished with pleasure. She is strapped into a high-tech denial/teasing/edging device and taken to the very brink of orgasm 46 times.