Civil Penalty Pt. 03

Civil Penalty, Part 3

Avicia

***

This story is set in the legal slavery universe created by joe_doe_stories and Carl_Bradford. If you are offended by legal slavery stories, or if you have strong feelings that slavery stories should conform to the way you think slavery should be portrayed, please do not read this story and keep looking for something you will enjoy.

If you are unfamiliar with how legal slavery stories work, please consider reading my short story, The 34 ^th Amendment, for an explanation and background.

Thanks to MrSmith27 for permission to use Horny Juice.

Parts of this story are non-consensual/reluctant. Everyone engaged in sexual activity is over 18.

Thank you to the usual suspects for their discussions and editorial help. You know who you are.

Note: I use UK English spelling and vocabulary.

***

Beth:

Nothing had prepared me for such a visceral shock. Oh, I thought I'd been prepared: I'd been slave graded for college, I'd talked to friends who'd recently been enslaved, I'd rewatched enslavements on the Slave Channel and roleplayed them in my head, imagining each step happening to me and how it would feel. I'd even frigged myself while watching the Slave Channel to prepare myself to be horny if a wrangler decided to use me. But, no, nothing could have prepared me for this.

In preparing for my enslavement, I had crucially missed the adage: the higher you are, the harder you fall. When I was first graded, I was an innocent 18-year-old with limited life experience, and I was basing all my expectations on what I'd experienced back then. But now; now I had meaningful status; I was an eminent Chief Technology Officer (CTO) of a well-known engineering company and provided technical leadership on one of the country's most highly classified research projects that would, hopefully, lead to a multi-billion-dollar government requisition.

I was used to speaking and being listened to with respectful attention. In the office, I gave orders to my subordinates, and they obeyed with alacrity. I was fundamentally used to being in control, and losing that terrified me.

Losing my clothes to be graded at 18 had been a game; I'd gone with several friends from the chess club to get graded together, and we'd gotten through our embarrassment by supporting each other even as we hung naked in the grading frames.

It hadn't started badly this time when, on Wednesday 13^th December at 10 am, I'd stripped for Jason, my lawyer, in the car park and handed him my clothes and wallet (he let me keep my dollar store flip flops) - no, that I'd been prepared for. The weather was brisk, and Jason zip-tied my hands behind my back and hurried me to the doors.

The terror had started when I got into the lobby to be checked in and met David Gillespie, the attorney who would sign my indenture on behalf of the SEC. We were early, and our corporate attorney hadn't arrived yet. David had probably expected me to drag my feet. At first, he didn't see us because he was half-turned away. But when he first noticed us, the sneer of lascivious anticipation on his face frightened me.

Throughout the prior legal proceedings, he had always appeared professional in a "more sorrow than anger" manner. But this look was completely different, and it confused me. I realised something was terribly wrong, and I glanced at Jason. He was standing next to me with his folder of paperwork and must have seen it, too, because he gave me a concerned frown.

The female wrangler waiting by the check-in desk didn't introduce herself, but her name tag said 'Judy'. She quickly snipped off the zip ties holding my hands behind my back, replaced them with handcuffs, and tightened them to the point of discomfort.

"Collar!" She ordered.

As soon as I knelt, and the heavy shock collar had been fastened around my neck, she recited the standard warning about how I was now under slave discipline and that any wrangler was authorised to administer corporal punishment if I showed the slightest hesitance in complete obedience.

David then demanded that 9608, i.e. me, be devoxxed (a spray that very effectively paralyses the vocal cords and silences you). The SEC lawyer didn't represent my owner, and I hadn't even signed the indenture yet; since the corporate attorney hadn't arrived yet, I hoped Jason would object. Jason shook his head, "Best not to rock the boat, Beth," he said.

"We need to stop the mouthy bitch causing trouble," David said as he smirked at me. He hadn't even had the decency to use my name but used the last four digits of my Slave Identification Number from when I was graded as an 18-year-old. Our corporate attorney, representing my employer as my future owner, could have stopped him, but frustratingly, he still wasn't here.

In minutes, I'd gone from a clothed, influential, high-status free citizen with wealth and power to a demoralised, naked, powerless, devoiced human fleshlight. I'd mentally prepared myself to be naked, but I'd assumed I'd keep my voice and could ask questions and, if necessary, speak up if the agreed stipulations weren't followed. But now, I was a dumb animal, powerless to influence what happened to me. Being silenced terrified me the most.

"Not so high and mighty are you now, Professor Cartwright? You are finally where you have always belonged, naked, silenced, kneeling at a man's feet, ready to look up at him adoringly as his cock fills your mouth. I enjoy deep-throating a slave as much as the next guy. What will make using you special is how high and mighty you were before becoming a chattel. As soon as the papers are signed, I intend to enjoy thoroughly using your body for my pleasure."

The admissions clerk finished checking the indenture contract and called for a wrangler to escort me to the facility's attorney to notarize the contract.

"Apart from updating her naked photos and seeing the slave vet for the mandatory STD tests and birth control implant, will there be anything else?" the clerk asked.

I couldn't believe my ears when David replied, "Yes, 9608 needs to be re-graded. Her grade is nearly 20 years out of date, and her owner needs a current book value for their animate corporate asset. As I'm sure you know, a slave-grade-based valuation of all animate corporate assets is an SEC reporting requirement."

No one had mentioned that to me! My heart quailed at the thought of hanging naked for an hour while the public could paw and torment my body; it also significantly increased the chance that someone would recognize me. Getting graded meant that I had to go through the demeaning slave wash again. At least no one should recognise me here at the enslavement centre next to the Seagirt Marine Terminal in Baltimore harbour; that would be some consolation.

Judy attached a dog leash to my collar and pulled me to my feet. She said "Heel" like I was her pet dog; she gave my leash a quick yank and started walking to the attorney's office. The facility's attorney read the voluntary indenture contract with the detailed stipulations and asked me if I was signing it of my own free will. I had been silenced, so I nodded to acknowledge I was. He looked at me disgusted, probably thinking I was some sex-crazy bimbo acting out a slave-girl fantasy.

I signed the contract, as did the SEC attorney and our corporate attorney, who had just joined us. With one stroke of the pen, I reduced myself from being human to merely the corporate property of Absconditus, Inc, the company that moments before had been my employer and was now my owner.

Once the contract was notarized, the facility's attorney stood up, unzipped himself, fished out his flaccid cock, and said, "Thank me properly, then get to it, 9608."

He was clearly determined to make me debase myself further, but I had been devoxxed and just pointed at my throat and mimicked being sprayed. Jason looked awfully embarrassed while my corporate attorney stared, fascinated, at their new naked animate property while subconsciously rearranging the bulge in his trousers. The SEC attorney snickered. My wrangler gave me the antidote and a glass of water. She held my shoulder comfortingly until I'd recovered my voice.

"Master, thank you for your kindness in processing this slut's enslavement. Please let this slut show you her gratitude in the traditional way." He nodded, giving me permission to degrade myself for his pleasure.

My hands were still handcuffed behind me, so I licked his limp cock a few times, trying to get him going. That achieved nothing, so I took his 2" flaccidity into my mouth and tongued the small floppy thing as best I could. Eventually, he stirred and started to engorge. It took another few minutes of licking and sucking to get him semi-hard so I could bob on his cock. He clearly wasn't getting anywhere, so he grabbed my head and started using my mouth like a human fleshlight, ramming my head back and forth while he stood still.

Dominating me like that was apparently what his libido needed, and he was quickly hard as a rock. He was relentlessly ramming his 5" length into the back of my throat while I gagged and retched on him, trying dutifully to smile. Eventually, he came with minimal warning and pulled back to ejaculate on my tongue. From watching the Slave Channel, I knew I had to keep his slimy mess there to show him. He left me like that while he wiped his cock on my hair and zipped himself up. Only then did he peer into my mouth and tell me to swirl it around to ensure I'd tasted it properly before swallowing. Doing that was more humiliating than the blowjob itself.

I'd barely recovered from my ordeal when I saw the SEC attorney had his cock out, as well, and he was already rock hard.

"Spread your legs and bend over the table, slut," he growled.

I barely caught a look of sheer outrage on Jason's face before turning and leaning over the desk with my hand still handcuffed behind me. I felt David grip my hips before impaling himself in one long hard thrust. Unlike the facility's attorney (who probably saw too many naked sluts to get excited by any of them), he was fired up and raring to go. I was embarrassed that the humiliation had already made me wet enough for penetration to be easy.

After only two minutes of ramming his cock against my cervix, I felt the first stirring of pleasure and the journey to my orgasm. Before I could crest, he came hard, yelling, "Fuck, yeah. You fucking worthless, piece-of-shit whore. Feel my fucking baby-makers pumping into your womb."

I remembered I wasn't on the pill and hadn't had the implant yet, and burst into tears. I'd need to ask the slave vet for the morning-after pill. I was also chagrined that he'd cum too quickly for me to get anything from it.

"Stay there, 9608," my corporate attorney ordered. "This is too good a chance to pass up; this will be your life for the next six months, so you need to get used to it."

He slipped his cock inside me for sloppy seconds; his cock had greater girth than David's, and I was already starting to get aroused from David fucking me. His immense cock drove my hormones wild as every erogenous zone on my body lit up with tingles. He pumped away at a fast, steady pace. I felt my orgasm draw near and remembered what I'd been taught in slave yoga,

"May this slut have permission to cum, Master?"

David said, "No, no pleasure for you, slut," but my corporate attorney overruled him, "Yes, 9608, to get through the next six months intact, you will need regular pleasure too."

He sped up, and we came almost simultaneously, our contractions prolonging each other's orgasms.

"Thank you, Beth," our corporate attorney said. I'll see you twice in the next six months and hope you'll look forward to it as much as I will."

I'm sure my cheeks must have been burning from shame, but I'd loved that fucking and had needed it badly. Hearing him say he thought my pleasure as a slave was essential and that he wanted me again meant a lot and gave me hope that I could endure this. My wrangler helped me to my feet and gave me a single-use bottle of nonalcoholic mouthwash.

As we were leaving, David demanded that I be devoxxed again. My wrangler refused, telling him it could cause permanent damage to do it that quickly after the antidote. She told him I would be devoxxed when I was put into the grading frame and not before. He looked angry but accepted it. Our corporate attorney, representing my owner, failed to speak up on my behalf.

"We're not done, 9608, not by a long shot. I'll be seeing you again soon," was David's parting shot.

After we left, I asked permission to speak.

"Mistress Judy, would devoxing me really have caused permanent damage?"

"What? No, of course not, but I wasn't going to be ordered around by that douchebag. He's not your owner, so I didn't have to do what he said."

Jason hugged me one last time and then departed with our corporate attorney. I felt like I'd lost a critical defence against what the staff might do to me.

***

As an Extraordinary Talent (ET) slave, I should have been spared the infamous 'pink shots' with closeup photos of my vulva and anus for my file at the National Slave Registry (NSR), but my special status would not start until after sex camp, so I had to repeat all the lewd poses I'd done when I was 18.

The three most humiliating ones were first, on my back, knees bent back towards my armpits, holding my labia apart for an intimate closeup of my sex; second, on my knees, resting my forehead on the ground and reaching back to hold my butt cheeks apart for an intimate shot of my anus; but third, the worst pink shot of all, was the infamous three-hole slave: I had to face away from the photographer, stand with my legs shoulder width apart, bend down, and grab my ankles. That way, the photographer got a photo of all three of my holes lined up, starting with my anus at the top, then my glistening labia below it, clearly showing the splayed open entrance to my birth canal, and finally, my mouth at the bottom where I had to make the open-mouthed expression I'd have if I were sucking a cock. I wanted to die inside, but I took solace in the fact that strict laws controlled who could access the naked photos in the NSR. I was sure they'd never see the light of day.

After the photo tech uploaded my new photos (to be stored in addition to my age-18 photos), I faced the humiliation of the slut-wash, where I was chained, spread-eagled, and washed by two 18-year-old boys, including washing the inside of my vagina where their fingers thoroughly explored all my inside contours. After the SEC lawyer had cum inside me, I was glad of the douche, even if it was given by a pair of douchebags. My wrangler leashed me again and took me to see the slave vet.

I had an uneventful visit to the vet, if you can describe having the interior of my birth canal and anus thoroughly explored (yet again) by the vet's latex-gloved hands as uneventful. The STD tests were negative, as expected for someone who hadn't gotten laid in several years. I asked him for the morning-after pill and was given it. He was disgusted that the SEC lawyer had fucked me rather than getting the traditional blowjob, but he could do nothing as it was perfectly legal.

I was glad of the birth control implant as it took all fear of pregnancy away, or rather, it would when it took effect in a few days; I should be covered by the morning-after pill until then. I couldn't imagine the humiliation of finding myself pregnant while a slave, knowing it could have been any one of 20 guys who was the father that week. To my shame, I realised that part of me was now looking forward to getting laid every day despite Steve's warning that many men wouldn't care whether I got off or not. I was sure at least enough of them would want to prove their masculinity by making me orgasm on their cocks for my needs to be taken care of.

***

I'm sure you've watched countless enslavements on the Slave Channel on TV (I mean, almost everyone watches it, even if they won't admit it; it's a vicarious thrill watching some poor girl's swift, devastating fall from grace from the comfort and security of your own home), so you're probably familiar with the basics of slave-grading. After slave yoga and mantras intended to arouse you for grading, you are devoiced and restrained spread-eagled (again) in a vertical six-foot-square frame for one hour so the gawkers and professional slave graders have 360-degree access to your naked body.

The first half hour is for over-excited college kids out for a cheap thrill. For the $10 entrance fee, they get to finger, paw, smack, pinch, and generally humiliate the naked slaves hanging helplessly while jeering each other on. The crowds can penetrate any opening in your body and finger you to orgasm. The only thing they can't do is have sex with you.

I thought the gawkers would concentrate on the cute 18-year-olds getting graded for college loans, but some thought it more fun to humiliate older women; I got my fair share of harassment. I found it particularly humiliating to be abused by the kind of immature and ignorant college boys who would have to beg for my attention as a Professor on campus but here could slip two fingers in my pussy and torment me.

During the second half hour, the crowds leave, so the professional graders have unrestricted access to the slaves being graded (the kids in for college loans are legally slaves for the few hours they are naked in the facility).

They grade you on the combination of physical attractiveness and slave heat. Slave heat means how responsive your body is when they finger you or play with your nipples and how wet you get. After all, no one buys a slut for her brain, even if she is a distinguished professor. SEC accounting standards required that my book value as an animate asset depended solely on my slave grade and the length of my indenture; it had nothing to do with my value to the company as their CTO. According to the SEC, my book value was my resale value at auction if the company had to dispose of their asset (and my ASS).

For thirty minutes, I hung there, fingered and teased by gawkers, until wranglers cleared the gawkers out and the professionals came in. Along with them, I saw my nemesis approaching me. Fear instantly twisted my insides. Colonel Jack Essex had been waiting, like a nightmare, hovering on the edge of my career for months now. He'd tried to undermine my company's bid at every opportunity while leering at me unconscionably. No one else was supposed to know when and where I was being processed to protect my privacy and career. So WTF was he doing here? And how did he get in during the time set aside for professionals? Even my wrangler seemed disturbed by his appearance.

I saw David, the SEC lawyer, catch up with him and shake hands; they made a beeline for my frame.

"Hi," Jack read the electronic display over my head. "9608. Not bad, not bad at all," he sneered, "for a frigid middle-aged woman." Wow, taking cheap shots at a defenceless slave, how brave of him, I thought. "Ah, here we have the slut's details, age 37, height, 5'8", weight 132lbs, torso 35B-26-36, shoe size 7, collar size 12, vagina length 5 inches. See, 9608, that's all you are now, a series of numbers describing the desirability of your mindless body."

What he said next shocked me to my core, "I'm here today representing the General; he is deeply concerned that your enslavement is jeopardising your company's proposal. He asked me to come and check on you and ensure you were being sufficiently submissive to avoid prison. After discussing you with David here and based on the General's input, we have decided that David and I will be judging your graduation test at Ski Pole Ranch."