Ellie May's 4-H Project Pt. 04: Free At Last

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will nor used sexually without his or her uncoerced permission.)

(Joe Doe has approved the appearance of Ellie May, Steve, and his other characters in this yarn, and contributed some dialogue for Sarah. Thanks, as always. Note: the enslavement sentences in this portion are to recoup debts, not as a measurement of punishment.)

(Jim Wilson's Viewpoint)

Every man's entitled to one mistake, but I made a doozy when I married Alice as my second wife. In my defense, though, I held off until my boy Steve was in college up North, so I thought whatever I did wouldn't affect him. That thought was an even BIGGER mistake than marrying her, and that's saying something.

Back when Steve was only 11, his mom and the love of my life, Imogene, came down with pancreatic cancer and died, all within six months. I did my best to raise Steve and still run the ranch, and he turned out durned good--not just smart enough to get into Harvard, but an honest, hard-working, humble, stand-up kinda man. Imogene would have been proud of him.

Once he went off to Massachusetts, my loneliness got even worse. Like a damn fool, I fell for Alice--it wasn't just my dick thinking for me, although I have to admit that Alice was a helluva good looking woman who seemed to be just as interested in me as I was in her. I not only married her, I brought her and her bimbo daughter Ellie May (who turned out to be as much of a shiftless cock-teaser as her mother) to my ranch and gave them generous monthly allowances. Talk about bait and switch--I shoulda known better. Good thing Ellie May didn't want me to adopt her.

When Steve came home after his sophomore year in college, Alice and Ellie May set to work on him. Before I realized it, they'd stuck a damn device on his cock that shocked him whenever he got an erection--just so that Ellie May could make him into a 4-H Project about animal stud functions. They never said anything in front of me, but I found out later that they had threatened to de-ball him if he didn't cooperate. And then they used that threat and the shock-your-cock-locker to force him into voluntarily enslaving hisself; thank heavens Texas law limits that to five years in non-debt sitiations, but meanwhile he's stuck at Harvard, still going to class but evenings and weekends he's locked up in the University Slave Kennels! The only way he could find to avoid spending vacations under the thumb of those two bitches was to pimp hisself out, serving as a slave with all the money going back to the women in Texas. I'm not proud of my son being a gigolo, but at least he got laid.

Between that money and what I gave them, I thought those two women would have more than 'nough for their pastimes. Before we married, I had been upfront with Alice (too bad she didn't return the favor): Imogene's family had most of the money in our marriage (somewhere north of $400 million, and that was 20 years ago), plus the money to buy this ranch. I loved Imogene, not her money, so I readily agreed when she established a trust that controlled most of her assets (and DAMN, did that woman have some fine ASSets!) so that no one could accuse me of gold-digging. When Imogene died, the trust became irrevocable, with her brothers Wilbur and Seth as the trustees until Steve came of age. They allowed me enough money to maintain the ranch, plus whatever profit I could make operating it, which was just fine by me--I was too heart-broken to even discuss the trust with them. $500,000 would come to Steve when he graduated college or reached age 22 (whichever came first), and total control when he turned 25. Trouble was, as a slave he could not access this property, so for the moment Wilbur and Seth controlled the principal while allowing me to continue operations.

I tell you all this borin' detail so you'll understand what happened next. Almost two years into Steve's five-year indenture, my #$@&* second wife tried to sweet-talk me into bailing Ellie May and her out. Somehow, the two of them had run up debts of over $200,000--I mean, WTF? I don't think I've spent that much money in my entire life, including payments on my truck. Naturally, Alice wanted ME to pay that debt--she was so lovey-dovey she seemed to be promising unlimited tail and blowjobs if I would just do her this "LEETLE" favor. So I explained the trust to her AGAIN--Even if I sold my pickup, I'd have less than $100,000 because I'd already given those two cock-teasing bitches ['scuse my language] everything I could spare.

She became increasingly desperate, and I got the impression that the sheriff was about to seize HER assets--which consisted mostly of her bodacious body and half-owned sports car title. She offered to do "Anything" if I could just persuade Wilbur and Seth to pay off these TEENSY little debts.

I told her that there was one thing that the trustees MIGHT be willing to spend that kind o' money for, but I had to check with them. She eagerly promised to do "anything" in return. I said I couldn't promise nothin', but I'd do my damnedest to persuade Wilbur, the oldest brother.

*****

(Telephone conversation)

"This here's Wilbur--'zat you, Jim?"

"Yup. Sorry to trouble you, but I got a proposition for you as Steve's trustee."

I heard him chuckle. "This oughter be good--OK, brother, what cha need?"

"There's one thing that's kinda expensive, but I think it'd be a legitimate use of the trust."

He laughed, sounding sympathetic but reluctant. "You already gave away jest about everything you got for some high-class pussy--fat lotta good THAT did you!"

"Don't remind me, Wilbur." I groaned. "This isn't about me, though, it's about Steve."

"I'm listening."

So I told him, and he agreed, cussing under his breath. Five days later, Wilbur met Alice, Ellie May, and me at the State Agriculture Office; they swore out manumission papers for poor Steve and signed statements acknowledging that they had no claim on his trust or estate OR the ranch, and Wilbur gave them a cashier's check for $230,000. I had already taken out the necessary advertisements announcing that neither the trust nor I nor the ranch was responsible for their debts and informed my bank in writing to the same effect. I did warn both of the girls that if they ran into debt again, Wilbur and I would be unable to help them. I don't think they heard us, just rushed off to cash the check.

(Steve Wilson's perspective)

Even though I spent the last two years wearing a collar and a frakin' chastity belt, I had done it--passed my last exam to graduate from Harvard. It was Friday afternoon, and graduation was on Sunday. Trouble was, now I had to go back to Texas and serve another three-plus years as Ellie May's boytoy. Emphasis on "toy." With my luck, that harpy and her Mom would decide to fry my right buttock with the ranch brand, to balance the fouled anchor on my left (an involuntary memento of having sailed on the whoreship Yo Ho Ho one spring vacation.)

What made it worse was that I had found the love of my life--living with me in the Harvard Slave Kennels, of all places. Billie Jean Jackson was from Amarillo and as smart as she was beautiful, and THAT was saying something--tall, voluptuous, high cheekbones, huge smile, ginger-haired. (I could just imagine how arousing that smile would look when her lips were wrapped around my dick, but unfortunately we both wore chastity belts.) Over the past 20-odd months (and DAMN were they odd!) of slavery I'd spent a lot of time surrounded by prime-rated pleasure slaves, but Billie Jean outshone them all.

She was a junior at MIT who had run afoul of the devious system of "Protected Students" in that school, where lecherous professors would CLAIM that good-looking scholarship students had plagiarized, just so the administration could declare all scholarships and student loans in default, then enslave the student immediately. (If you're wondering, actual cheating had gone WAY down since the reinstatement of slavery!) Most victims of this scam were kept in small kennels operated by the departments [in the psych department, for example, the "Protected Students" were caged along with the lab rats, used (and paid in terms of debt remission) for experiments such as sexual stimulation as a reward for operant conditioning.] Somehow, though, Billie Jean ended up in the Harvard Kennels, probably because she was in a weird Anthropology co-op program between the two schools. The good news about that was I got to know her and she wasn't available for "nooner" checkout by the MIT Anthropology profs who had trapped her; the bad news was that Billie Jean was in constant demand to work in the Harvard Kennel Brothel.

Given our supervised existence (TV cameras everywhere), Billie Jean and I rarely had a chance to explore our mutual attraction--at least, not explore it physically. We had managed to neck and fondle--her breasts were TRULY stellar, but in chastity belts playing with them only left us both frustrated. All I could do was memorize her Slave Identification Number and promise to find and buy her once my five years were up--if Ellie May hadn't castrated me by then! Lord knows that rhymes-with-witch threatened me often enough.

B.J. [what a marvelous nickname for a beautiful pleasure slave] and I were spending every remaining moment together before I graduated, when I was summoned to one of the interview rooms--not a brothel bedroom, an ordinary room. I was not entirely surprised to see Professor Sarah Hollister waiting for me, since I'd begged her to find some slave employment for me so that I could stay in Boston. But, I was astonished and embarrassed (I was, after all, collared and slave naked) to see the man with her--my eldest Uncle Wilbur!

Then they showed me the manumission order from the Texas Department of Agriculture. They got the kennel wrangler to remove the collar and chastity belt immediately--which just left me even MORE naked in front of a beautiful female professor. I kept reminding myself that I'd not only seen Sarah disguised as a naked slave but used every one of her velvet openings on that cruise in the Yo Ho Ho--she kept talking, praising my "stoicism" and "hard work" to my uncle. Only once did she acknowledge my erect dick, grinning, winking, and mimicking a blowjob when Uncle wasn't looking. They did allow me to go pack my belongings before meeting them at my locker to get dressed, which gave me a chance to explain my good fortune to Billie Jean. I kissed her passionately, promising to free her somehow, but then had to leave (needless to say, my unlocked pecker was even more erect than before!)

Uncle Wilbur handed me a new cell phone, a platinum credit card and a bunch of cash. "You're not rich YET, Steve, so don't go crazy. But you need to live up here for a few weeks. I STRONGLY urge you not to go back to Texas until you've adjusted to freedom; don't want them harpies gettin' their hooks into you again." I knew I had to talk to him about freeing Billie Jean, but this wasn't the time or place, least of all with the professor listening.

At the door to the kennel, Professor Hollister pulled me aside. "I arranged your freedom, my friend, with the understanding that you can keep a secret and will forget about that nasty little slut 'Flame' you met on the Yo Ho Ho."

"I don't recall any pleasure sluts by that name, Professor." I replied, doing my best to demonstrate what a convincing liar I could be. "Besides, I'm a free man now. What's another slave pussy mean to me, other than a comfortable set of holes to fill?"

"Well, there's one slave pussy you seem to remember," she said slyly, looking over at Billy Jean. "Don't worry. I'll make sure she's safe until you can spring her."

I thanked her profusely for everything she'd done to make my life more bearable, and she patted my cheek in an almost maternal way. It was odd how dramatically our relationship had changed now that I was free.

For the next several months, I stayed in a long-term motel and Ubered to the kennels whenever they would let me see Billie Jean. My uncles even paid for me to get counseled on Zoom by a slave psychiatrist, Dr. Sheldon. Then, two months after my college graduation, I was astonished to have Uncle Wilbur e-mail me a copy of the agreement he (as my trustee) had reached with MIT, in effect buying Billie Jean's freedom, paying off her debts, and giving her enough funds to finish her degree. It was all camouflaged by declaring B.J. to be the first recipient of the "Huddleston Trust Scholarship in Anthropology." B.J. prepared to move back into a regular dorm, and we were able to date. Given that we'd both been pleasure slaves, we escalated to sleeping together really fast. (Gotta admit, even though we had hated to be pleasure slaves, it certainly taught her to be amazing in bed.) Life was grand, but it was about to get even better--or at least more just and equitable.

*****

(Jim Wilson's Viewpoint)

I had thought that everything was fixed, if a little messy, when Wilbur bought my boy's freedom at the price of paying off the debts run up by Alice and Ellie May. I even understood why Steve was spendin' time in Massachusetts--I wished he'd come home, but not until his head was screwed back on so he could resist those two madwomen. Both of us had been too dam' gentlemanly to handle them--never again.

Two months later, I got indications that those two were in debt again--unexplained phone calls, bill collectors at the ranch gate, and so on. I gave every bill collector a copy of that quitclaim the two Jezebels had signed, indicating they had no claim on the trust or ranch. By now, I'd learned not to trust anything those girls said, so I had an investigator check around. He found out they were even FARTHER in debt than the first time, probably because they had only paid off the most pressing debts without reforming their lifestyle.

When I mentioned this to Wilbur, he chuckled and asked for the name of my private dick. I found out LATER that Wilbur had bought up most of Alice's and Ellie May's debts . . .

One afternoon, just after someone had towed their sports cars for non-payment, a process server showed up at the ranch, giving the two women notices to appear in county court three days later to settle their debts. I faxed the papers to the ranch's lawyer and told him I'd pay for a couple hours of his time to review the matter on the phone with Alice. I suspected there was nothin' he could do, but the girls had long since stopped listening to me 'cept when they begged in vain for me to pay the debts somehow.

On the appointed day, I drove the two of them to court in my pickup, which was the only non-farm vehicle left on the place. Besides, I was curious to see what would happen--and so, apparently, was Wilbur. In the brief hearing that followed, the attorney trying to collect the debts kept looking around and getting nods from Wilbur, which didn't really surprise me.

In short order, that attorney presented documents indicating that Alice owed some 300,000 bucks for cars, clothes, jewelry, and general foolishness; Ellie May owed almost as much.

The judge must have heard similar cases of "profligate spending," because he wasn't takin' excuses or issuin' pardons. Once the women said they had no means of payin' their debts, his decision was short and bitter-sweet (for them, anyway; I tried not to smile):

"Alice Holmes Wilson, this court finds that you owe $304,695 in credit card and other debts, all of which were secured by chattel slavery on your body; the court therefore awards that body to the Huddleston Trust as slave for a period not to exceed 13 years."

"Ellie May Holmes, this court finds that you owe $271,885 in credit card and other debts, all of which were secured by chattel slavery on your body; the court therefore awards that body to the Huddleston Trust as slave for a period not to exceed 12 years. Bailiff, strip the sluts and convey them to the Trust's attorney. Next case!"

(In case you're wondering, in Texas enslavement is considered de facto divorce, because a slave is expected to perform any sexual act directed by her/his owner--the moment that judge spoke, I was just as free as Steve!) Even I was shocked by the length of their sentences, but my (now ex-)wife Alice immediately tried to squawk. I say TRIED, because her third word was interrupted by a loud ZZAAPP! as a bailiff's cattle prod was discharged into her body, which collapsed in a heap. Then two bailiffs pulled out surgical scissors and began cutting the clothing off her prostrate body. I was glad I waited for the floor show before I drove home--alone.

(Ellie May's perspective)

These guys Joe and Carl keep writin' bout me but never let ME talk, so let me butt (emphasis on butt) in here. I never meant for it to get outta hand with Steve being collared, but then I never meant to get so far inter debt that I ended up the same way. Waco College larned me enough about slavery that I was terrified before I ever went to court, but that judge scared the crap outta me! We hadda PRETEND to be slaves for a few hours as part of our trainin', but this was for real. My heart sank, but unlike Momma I knew I had to be on my best behavior if I wanted to get through slavery with as little pain as possible.

I knew this was the likely outcome of our debt hearing, so I came to court wearing no undies nor bra. I was redder than a Texas sunset as I stripped down right there in court with ever-body watchin'. That judge was really enjoyin' hisself, too, staring at my goodies. When the bailiff ordered me to, I dropped to my knees and spread wide enough to show ever'thin' while they collared, cuffed, and gagged me--both of the bailiffs grabbed themselves a free feel on my boobs, too. Funny thing--getting treated like that in school had been a turn-on, but THIS time the combination of terror and public exposure REALLY got to me. My nipples and clit were harder than dry beans, but I sure wasn't dry down below. I think the bailiffs woulda walked me out of court immediately so they could find some corner to play with me, but they kept me there, slave nekkid while they pawed me, waitin' for the judge's decision about my Momma's misbehavior.

(Alice Wilson's perspective)

I couldn't believe that asshole judge had the cohones to declare me--ME--a slave for 13 years, but when I started to argue I got hit by some kinda electric charge. I came to suddenly when someone splashed water on my face. I was in the same court room, still facing that asshole, but I felt very chilly and realized with a shock that I was butt naked. No, make that SLAVE naked! My shredded clothes were on the floor in front of me. Not only that, but I could feel a collar around my neck while I was bent over and tied down, with my arms stretched out along the railing at the front of the spectators' section. I tried to talk, but I couldn't--some bastard had tied a ring gag into my mouth, sheathing my teeth but holding my mouth open.

I heard His Asshole Honor say, "Ahh, I see our newest slave has returned to the living. Since you don't know when to keep your mouth shut in the presence of free people, I find you in contempt of court and sentence you to six of the best, to be executed immediately. Bailiff, do your duty."

I was furious about the way I was tied up, but before I could even draw breath to protest around that gag, I was screaming when something stiff and hard (and I don't mean a cock!) slammed across both cheeks of my ass. It was followed by five more tremendous blows from that rubber-wrapped cane--when I finally got to look at my lacerated butt in the mirror, I saw four long red lines spaced out vertically across my injured rear, with two more forming a lazy X on top of the other four.