Jolene

"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 8^th 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.

Sidney

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.

My being asked to attend the court hearing came as shock because with the introduction of the truth machine, they rarely need to call witnesses and in the courtroom and I must admit to watching the girl in the dock more than listening to the recitation of her misdeeds. Not yet sixteen and already well developed in the tit department but otherwise a little on the short side with nice shoulder length dark hair and a feisty manner. "She'll sell for a very high price when they make her a slave, as they probably will after the damage she caused," I mused. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect she'd be given to me and from her outburst, she didn't expect it either. Perhaps the judge thought the humiliation of making her a manual worker would offset the extra forty-eight lashes she would have liked to award? Did the girl expect a wealthy man would buy her and take her back to her former life of luxury? If she did, she'd soon be disillusioned and certainly our household didn't have many of what she would term, luxuries. First though she had to get through the pain of her thrashing. Forty-eight lashes on a girl of her size would cause terrible pain, pain I would have to try and minimize.

The judge droned on lecturing the girl, Jo, on her behaviour until finally she addressed me, "Mr. Fenton, please accompany criminal slave Jolene Cousteau and the sergeant to the bailiff's office and arrange a time for her punishment and if there is time between now and then, take her to the slave clothing store and get remove her present finery and into a regulation uniform.

"3:30 this afternoon, be here at three so we can prepare her," the bailiff announced, "You've a little over three hours to get her uniform and clothing." He gave me a warrant for three sets of criminal slave clothing which she had to wear when outside in public areas. "For the time being, at least until she gets used to her new role in life, I suggest she wears this collar and a pair of cuffs. With a lead attached to the collar you have more control over her movements and if she looks like she will cause trouble, fasten her wrists together," he advised. At least he removed the gag which, with her tears, caused to cough and choke. "When they issue you a regulation strap, don't hesitate to use it for the least misdemeanour and if you cannot control her because of your broken arm, ask a free member of the public or a police patrol man to assist and give her extra for disobedience."

"Daddy, can you get me out of this mess?" she cried out and tried to slip my grasp and run to him but I held the lead firmly and pulled her back.

Knowing I needed to enforce my authority from the start I spoke sharply. "Be quiet slave. You speak when you are spoken to and not before."

"Good morning Mr. Fenton, as you may have guessed, I'm Richard Cousteau, her father, may I speak with you for a few minutes?" I agreed. "Please inform my daughter there is nothing I can do to save her from the punishment or the terms of the slavery. It's not what I expected and I doubt you expected it either but maybe now she'll begin to learn how the less affluent part of society lives and curb her excessive demands." I noticed he didn't speak directly to her. "I know they'll give you the regulation criminal slave clothes for her but underneath when the weather gets colder or for other purposes she'll need ordinary clothes. May I suggest that after you've been to the store you take her to "High Trees', my home, and select any clothing or items of toiletry etc she might need? I'll comm Roberts and Grace, our two slaves and they will assist and keep an eye on her, and you too, to see that none of the valuable items are taken. All her other clothes, the dresses she bought for parties and balls and her jewellery, will be sold to help pay for the damages she caused. I don't expect to see her again."

Quickly realising that even when her period of slavery ended in five years time, she'd have nothing to come back to; no money, no clothes, no jewellery, no home, nothing, Jo sobbed and would have argued had I not again tugged her lead and bade her be quiet. In a quieter voice, Richard requested that I take care of her and not treat her too harshly so I believed he still had some feelings for his daughter. We talked for a few moments more before he passed a few plastic credit tokens into my palm for the taxi fare to his home.

I could have stripped her naked for the 200 yards walk to the store but I allowed her to continue wearing the clothes she wore in court. In the store, Jo's slave life began in its embarrassing earnestness but I'll let her tell you about it and the longer-term consequences.

Jolene

My father's refusal to speak to me or to help me in any way, brought home the fact that I was no longer part of his family, not that we were ever close. At that moment I felt like a piece of discarded trash. In a way not so different from life at home except I had no little of no control over my actions but I had that same lonely feeling that I wasn't really wanted, not by father and probably not by the peasant who was now my master. At home father stayed aloof and we rarely spoke except when my behaviour brought reprimands from the school or the police and when mother went off with another man, I spent most of my time with friends and often didn't see him for days at a time. Yes, I had money, money that bought me friends but how many of them would speak to me now? Tears flowed at my rejection by my family and the realisation that the only person to have an interest in me was the peasant who held my leash, this Sidney Fenton who probably only wanted a cunt to fuck. As we sauntered along I began to ponder further on my future, I wondered if I would be a slave for the rest of my life because, without any finances when I became an adult, I might have to become a voluntary slave in order to have somewhere to live and food in my belly. Fortunately Master kept the leash slack and didn't drag me along but still passersby stared at me.

There were two ahead of us at the store, both voluntary slaves one with her master and the other, an elderly man, on his own. He only exchanged his old clothes for a new set; the master of the girl slave had her naked and spent some time choosing the colour he preferred. Voluntary slaves were offered, or their masters were offered, a choice of plain colours for their smock type uniform and in the end he chose blue. I, or rather my new master, didn't have any choice, criminal slaves all wore a distinctive black and yellow diagonally striped smock or a cummerbund of similar material around the waist so the public could recognise them. Now I was one of that despised group.

"Get your clothes off girl," the store man ordered, "Hurry up unless you want a touch or two of the strap," he went on when I hesitated. I knew from seeing the slaves at home and others around the town, I would have to show my body before long but dreaded it. The threat of the strap lying on the counter ready for use, forced me and it wasn't long before I stood before them wearing only my soft shoes. I blushed crimson and the store man laughed. "A new one, they often to do that." Fortunately another customer came in and Master took possession of my new uniform but allowed me to wear the smock I'd tried on. "These straps are made of real leather," the store man explained to Sidney when he showed the last item of my kit and waved it in front of my face, "And you should put a little belt oil on them occasionally to keep them supple and effective. Would you like to try it out now?' Thankfully he said, no, and explained about my thrashing this afternoon. It brought my impending punishment to the front of my mind again and the tears flowed once more.

As usual Grace and Roberts were naked when we arrived at father's house and I could see the sneers on their faces when they allowed me to enter but they knew better than to make untoward remarks in front of my master, however low in status he might be. Fortunately, we didn't have too much time before my return to the punishment centre so they quickly went through my closets and wardrobes to find clothes suitable for a working girl. Surprisingly, he ended up with quite a large bag of them.

Towards the end of our time, Grace decided she could speak openly about me. "When you get her home, Sir, please give her bum hole a good fucking. She likes that, or she liked forcing Roberts to do mine and if he didn't do it hard enough, she strapped him until he did."

Sidney replied noncommittally, "I shall make my own mind up as to who, where and when to use her but expect I will service her fully when she's recovered from this afternoon's ordeal." The strappings I'd given them were nothing like as severe as I would receive.

We arrived back at the centre a little before the time for my preparation. I undressed again and shook uncontrollably while wide cuffs were fitted to my wrists and ankles ready for fastening me to the punishment slab. At this point they sent Sidney to the visitors gallery and me to a cubicle overlooking the punishment room in time to see a man with welts over both sides of his body, being helped to his feet and escorted out.

The whippings in this town are done in what they call the "Japanese style", that is, the prisoner is fastened spread-eagled to the low wide slab and the whip master stands in line with the prisoner's right foot and about six feet away from it. Twelve full-force lashes are then diagonally applied with a long flat whip to stripe the right buttock and across the back to the left shoulder. He then changes position to behind the left foot and stripes the other buttock and shoulder. Most slaves get twenty-four strokes. I would get a further twenty-four with the whip master standing in front of my right and left wrists and the strokes all crossing the welts already there. Worse, for both men and women, the tail of the whip would many times bite into the genital area causing extreme pain. Had I been a few days older, Bitch Judge would have awarded me two times forty-eight strokes and for the second forty-eight they would have turned me over and repeated the strokes on my front. Normally this amount of punishment is reserved for serious, violent crime, crime resulting in injury to another person. My inadvertent breaking of Sidney's arm would have given her enough excuse to award it. I had a little to be thankful for.

I watched with horror as the next victim, a man in his late twenties received his forty-eight and I could see how the whip master with a flick of his wrist, deliberately made the whip tip curl during the second batch so it cut into the man's exposed prick and balls. He passed out but they revived him with an acrid capsule beneath his nose.

My turn came all too soon. Two men manhandled me struggling and begging to the slab and before being fastened down with my arms and, particularly my legs, widely spread, I had a quick glance at the audience, mainly older men and women who paid for tickets to see the pain inflicted on others. A quick thought flashed though my mind, if I'd have been of age, I would probably have bought a ticket but they were only on sale to adults. A fresh whip mistress stood ready with the junior whip, looking no different to my eyes than the one used on the adults, lying uncoiled on the floor. "Will she be more lenient?" I wondered, but I'd heard rumours they were often more cruel to other females and I think she proved it.

The hall quietened whilst they announced my crime and punishment. I howled, I pleaded, I threatened but my words only brought laughter from the audience. Silence again and I knew without looking, the whip mistress had taken the tail of the whip in her left hand and brought it over her shoulder ready to strike. And strike it did. A fiery pain seared my flesh from thigh to shoulder. I bucked to the extent of my fastenings, yelled and screamed but it made no difference, after a short interval, the whip struck again and continued welting my poor tender flesh unrelentingly until the count reached twelve. A longer pause during which, like with my predecessor, they placed a capsule with a pungent smell near my nose; they intended I feel the full forty-eight lashes.

Had it not been for the capsule, I may well have passed out but inexorably the whip reddened my back without breaking the skin but leaving an almost unbearable swathe of pain in its wake. Another pause and the whip mistress changed position at the end of the second dozen and then the tail end of the whip began its work biting into my already tenderised buttocks and its vicious tip finding its way into my vulnerable crotch and vaginal lips. By now my cries were reduced to hoarse croaks and even with the capsule I verged on the unconscious and hardly noticed when than announcer said "Forty-eight," and the whipping ceased. The cold antiseptic spray revived me but did nothing to reduce the pain and like the others I'd seen, attendants had to help me to my feet and out of the room. Sidney joined me shortly afterwards and supported me with his good arm while another man carried my bag of clothes. "Oh my God," Master whispered, "That was barbaric and far too severe for what you did. Let's get you home and try to treat your pain. I have a robo taxi waiting." At least he showed some sympathy for my plight and not just an eagerness to get his prick into a tight young hole.

Several times he expressed his anger at the judge who sat and watched from the VIP box and stood and applauded at the end, obviously pleased at the severity of my whipping but I hardly heard the words; the pain obliterated everything else. For the fifteen-minute journey to the farmhouse home, he held me standing between his legs and steadying me with his right arm gently folded around, but hardly touching, my back. His concern surprised me. Perforce, I put my arms around his neck and for the few minutes travelling time, snuggled against his good shoulder away from the spica cast, to avoid being thrown about on the corners. I cried softly. "The worst is over," he kept trying to reassure me but I doubted it. How could that be when I was a slave to a peasant who could thrash and rape me any time he desired; certainly my lifestyle had undergone a complete change, a change for the worse.

"This is my father, George," he introduced an older man who helped us from the taxi and welcomed me to their household. I tried to say something but I shook so badly nothing intelligible came out. "Ten of us, all one big family, eleven now you are with us, live in this old farmhouse as a small community and we generally get on well together. We trust you will fit in too," his father explained and indicating with a sweep of his hand that took in the five standing near the gate and the large house at the end of the path, "We were disgusted at seeing the severity of the whipping and our attitude towards you changed from the previous days. Yesterday we voiced our opinions, "She deserves all she is going to get; spoilt bitch has too much money and not enough work to do..." but after viewing your thrashing, our concern centred on hate for the judge and the need to treat your pain. However, we were pleased she gave you to Sid and not had you auctioned as a whore for a city brothel, it's about time he found a woman." I heard the words but seeing Sidney's arm in a cast and knowing the damage I'd done and now being a slave, didn't believe them. The pain ruled out any logical thought.

Fortunately he didn't introduce the others but of more concern to me were the two dogs that ran around us barking noisily. Not being used to animals and never owning a dog, made me afraid of being bitten and I assumed they were ferocious guard dogs intended to keep me inside my slave prison but Sidney took my hand and insisted I offered it for them to lick and familiarise them to my smell. They didn't bite and their damp tongues tickled my palm and, at George's command, quietened down and rubbed their fur against my legs. "Perhaps they'll be my friends even if the people aren't," I thought.

Bewildered and very apprehensive as to the state of the old house and the people inside, peasant people who wouldn't know how to treat a girl with status, I thought, but then came the realisation, their peasant status was far above mine; they were free. Walking bow-legged because of the swollen labia from the whip tail strikes, they led me into the kitchen where three older women, who I later learned were Sid's mother and two grandmothers, in turn put their arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. Tears flowed again, certainly never in my wildest dreams would I have expected such a welcome or the familiarity of my naked body being pressed against others, such closeness and touching wasn't part of my previous life. At home with my seeing more of our slaves than my father or stepmother, we rarely did more than a simple greeting when we met but here they had a very different closeness, a bond they appeared to draw me into whether or not I wanted to. Only hours earlier, my nakedness in front of the men and women watching my every move, would have caused more embarrassment than it now did, but the pain of walking and standing shut out other feelings and I didn't even blush.

Grandma Jean, Sidney's father's mother, took charge. "She's in your care Sid, take her into the shower, clean her up and let the water run over her back. Not too hot, mind. When we saw the whipping on the comms we clubbed together and sent George to buy a tube of the expensive Exothermaline cream, put it on her back afterwards, and give her a Hexocaine tablet from the medicine cabinet," she ordered.

"I'll give the one-armed bandit a hand, Gran, I need a shower anyway," a young woman piped up grinning at Sid, and introduced herself as Sarah, his younger sister, an attractive dark haired, buxom girl a few years older than me. Between them they supported me to the white tiled bathroom that somewhat resembled those at school except there were facilities for men and women in the same room. Along one wall were two urinals and four toilets with a low privacy partition between them but no doors and along the opposite wall, a vanity unit with five basins and long mirror. We walked passed them, stopping briefly at the medicine cabinet for a bright red coated pill they said would give some pain relief, to a small room at the far end with two showerheads.

Sarah held me while Sid used the urinal and she whispered, "If you want to pee too, I suggest you wait until the water is running, unless you want to try sitting on a hard toilet seat. We'll forgive you doing it here this once but we don't make a practice of it." She saw me eyeing the open stalls, "Don't worry about using them, most mornings we all have to use the bathroom together to save time and no one worries. You'll get used to it. It's much like living in a nudist community I suppose. Now lets get the water on. You'll have to hold the handgrip for a few minutes while I help big brother to get his shirt off and I get undressed." What a totally strange situation and a unique one for me, to be in the shower and washed by a naked man and woman, brother and sister, with them acting as though it was a normal occurrence. Sarah shampooed my hair and very gently sponged my back whilst Sid carefully, but not so gently, one handedly did my front and made particularly sure my breasts and crotch were properly cleaned. I winced each time he fingered my sore cunt but to my relief he didn't push his finger inside. I knew he'd want to fuck me and as a slave I couldn't object, at least not without fear of further punishment, but I hoped it wouldn't be soon. My fears rose when I looked down and saw his erection. Sarah saw it too and in her mirthful way, commented, "Well at least I shouldn't have to take care of that now you have a beautiful girl of your own," and from the remark I assumed incest wasn't a problem in this family.

The water and the pill eased my pain until I tried to move and when George announced "Dinner in twenty minutes," we dried each other with towels and in Sid's bedroom, Sarah applied the cream to my back, and cunt. (As I'm a slave I feel obliged to used crude terms). They dressed but kept me naked, "Not because you are a slave," Sidney remarked, "But to stop your clothes rubbing the cream off." "Consideration for me or because he wants a quieter fuck later?" I mused.

Dinner at home, even when my parents were present, was always a quiet affair and, unless we had guests, the comms screen took our attention. Not so here. All eleven of us sat around a long table, well that first day, I knelt a little awkwardly on a bean-bag but it saved me sitting on a hard seat and after Sid introduced me to everyone, they talked to me and each other as though I was part of the family, with the main topic being my whipping and what I would be doing as Sid's slave. I don't believe he had really considered that.