"Miss Jolene Annette Cousteau, by your own admissions I find you guilty of all the charges laid against you," Judge Susan Harris intoned. Of course it was by 'my own admission', when they put you on the truth machine it couldn't be otherwise. As soon as that bitch entered the courtroom I expected I'd be in serious trouble because she had the reputation of not taking any lenient options and always doled out maximum allowable penalties 'as a deterrent to others'. I'd hoped Judge Frank Poisewaite, a rather kindly man, would have presided over my case because I knew him slightly but he declined because his friendship with father would make it unethical to do so.
"Namely," the sour faced judge went on, "that on Friday May 8th 2026 having secretly spied on your father and learned the combination to the key safe, you opened that safe and stole the key to the liquor cabinet and, although you are below the legal age to drink alcohol above 1%, you consumed a considerable quantity of his best brandy and became very drunk. In this state you returned to the key safe and took the keys to his veteran car and drove it, without instructions and not having a licence or insurance, at high speed down the main street of Bethwick mainly, you said, because you liked the roar of the old-time engine. Luckily the loud noise alerted those on the street and they were able to hurriedly get out of the way otherwise you'd be facing far more serious charges. However, when you tried to turn the corner with Beccles road, you lost control of the vehicle and demolished a newly erected fence and shed. The impact of the heavy car broke one of the fence posts and a piece of the wood struck the left arm of Mr. Sidney Frederick Fenton, the man erecting the fence, breaking it in two places. He needed surgery at the hospital and will be unable to use the arm for a minimum of four weeks, to the detriment of his business. Although the car suffered damage and needs costly repairs, you escaped unscathed."
Shaking and with tears running down my cheeks and only standing by leaning my handcuffed wrists on the rail in front of me, I waited for her to pronounce my sentence. In my pre-assessment, the court administrator advised me that I would most likely be whipped and be given a term of slavery but I'd hoped for the minimum of one dozen strokes and being sold for a short term to one of father's rich friends. From the way she spoke and her disdainful attitude towards me, neither seemed on the cards and I wondered just how bad my whipping would be and if I'd have to stand naked on the auction platform in the market square and be bid upon by the slave dealers. The thought of being sold to a brothel owner, horrified me but Judge Harris took her time reviewing my life as a rich, spoilt girl, highlighting my poor academic record and wilful behaviour until at last she came to the point, I and others, waited for.
"For the next ten days, until your sixteenth birthday, you are considered a 'Junior' and therefore I am restricted to awarding you forty-eight strokes of the junior whip." I screamed but she went on calmly when I'd quietened, "Had this occurred in two weeks time, I could have doubled your punishment which I believe would be far more suitable for the crimes you committed. Secondly, I am offering you as an indentured criminal slave to Mr. Fenton for the period until you attain your majority at the age of 21, if he will accept the responsibility."
"No!" I yelled, "He's only a common working man." One of the courtroom attendants silenced me first by putting a hand across my mouth and then by a gag thrust between my teeth.
"Mr. Fenton, will you accept the charge of this unruly female and try to teach her the ways of your trade? You may of course, use her for your pleasure like any other slave." He looked uncertain but agreed.
I glared with hate in my eyes at my new master. Of medium height and build, with dark, close-cropped hair and a roundish face and wearing rather shabby working clothes, I guessed his age to be in his early or mid twenties. He stood to answer the judge with his left arm glaringly encased in a bright blue plastic spica cast and tied around his neck. With only one useable hand, I doubted his ability to control me and wondered how I could extricate myself from this situation. Perhaps father would help.
"Thank you Mr. Fenton, I will write an option into the agreement that if she fails to respond to instructions and to your satisfaction within four months, you are free to contact me at this court again and I will order a further spell in the punishment hall and for her sale at auction. For the time being you will need her extra hands to make up for the loss of yours in your work and in your personal household chores," and turning to me she went on, "At school you haven't shown any aptitude or enthusiasm for clerical or comms work so perhaps manual labour will suit you better."
Help him with his work? Manual work? What could I do after they'd whipped me until I couldn't stand? I'd seen some of the punishments when I'd illegally used father's home comms unit to access the adult comms network and seen the suffering they went through. Then I'd been able to frig myself to a climax as the naked men and women writhed and screamed under the lash but now I would be on the receiving end of the whip and it didn't have the same appeal. Personal household chores? Washing and shaving him? Wiping his arse? Urgh! But being whipped again, probably more severely because I would then be in the 'youth' age group, before being sold at auction, might well be worse, much worse. I'd have to tread carefully and keep my temper under control.
"Miss Cousteau, I have obtained your personal bank account details and for a girl of your age, you have a considerable sum on deposit. At the moment the balance stands at 19,145 credits but that will not cover all the damages you have incurred although it will go some way to recompense the owners of the damaged properties, including your father's car, and to pay reparations to Mr. Fenton for his discomfort and loss of work and to supply you with the work gear you will need for your new career. The court has taken over that account and initially I will award 4,000 credits to Mr. Fenton and I will see that you, Mr. Fenton, receive that as soon as possible. The rest of the money I will apportion when the cost of the damages has been assessed accurately."
The bitch intended to take all my money and leave me with nothing and I couldn't do anything about it.
I'm butting into the story here to give my thoughts and feelings on the court's decision.
Suddenly and with no warning, I became the owner of a slave girl, and not just any girl, a very attractive teenager who would have cost a small fortune at auction. None of my extended family had ever owned a slave and I wondered at my ability to control a girl used to getting her own way without a thought or care for others. Would she rebel and I'd need to use the strap frequently? I didn't want a relationship like that, I wasn't the sort of person that wished to see people suffer but I knew that it might be necessary with the teenager that was now my slave. How would the rest of my family take to having a female slave in the house? She'd have to take her place amongst them and not have special quarters or meals but they were problems I thought we could overcome provided she at least made some effort to conform. But would she? Like most men I suppose, I dreamed of having a young slave girl to take to bed and fuck anytime I pleased and it didn't matter if it were a criminal or a voluntary slave although most preferred a voluntary one. Again, like most men particularly young ones like me, I knew I would never afford to buy one at normal market prices. What I really wanted was a wife but few girls were available and free to marry largely because rich men hired them as housekeepers or maids, terms synonymous with concubines. Male slaves were cheaper and generally used as workmen but a few were used to satisfy their master or mistress's sexual needs. Not for me, although I did consider getting one to assist me in my work but only recently starting up in the business, I hadn't the spare cash. Having been through building college and not being able to get employment afterwards, I'd taken a government grant to set up a workshop in the old milking parlour and mostly did shop fitting and joinery work but in slack times, took odd jobs to keep the money coming in, which was the reason for my being on the site when the car hit me. The accident set back my plans because I wouldn't be able to work for at least a month and I would lose some of the goodwill that I'd slowly built up.
.... There is more of this story ...