A Routine EnslavementChapter 22 Steelforth Licks His Sexual Wounds
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A 'Routine' EnslavementChapter 16: Steelforth Is Challenged free porn video
It was a Thursday afternoon when I received a phone call at my agency that was to profoundly change the course of my career as a slaver. It was from a Paul Gregory who identified himself as the company psychologist for Masterson Automotive Group. He said the subject of his call to me was concerning Stephanie Glenn, who of course I well remembered since my own examination of her person and from the time I drove her to the slave training facility. I was, moreover, the person who had done the most to bring about her enslavement. Or so I thought at the time.
"Mr. Steelforth", the voice said, "I know you are a busy man but I have a concern that a very intelligent and sensitive young woman may have been wrongfully enslaved. I believe your own actions in this matter may have been entirely ethical and well within the law — based on the information that was being fed to you at the time. Nevertheless, the young lady has convinced me that much of that information may have been lies deliberately fabricated in order to wrongfully convict her, and that the fabrication was by a conspiracy of people who stood to profit by her enslavement."
"That is quite an accusation" I replied. "Do you have evidence to back it up?"
"Unfortunately I do not" he continued, "but she has laid out a plausible case and I was hoping you would be willing to look into the matter to see if any corroborating facts can be found."
"You are asking me to work to turn up evidence against my own client?" I asked, astonished.
"Maybe not your immediate client, Richmond Slendabond, but against your client's client."
"But that would be Masterson Automotive Group — the company you work for!" I blurted out.
"Yes it would, but hopefully not the company as such, but only a small clique within the company" he replied.
"Isn't it risky for you to be calling for an investigation that could implicate important people in your own firm?"
"Indeed it is. That is why, until we learn just who is involved, this phone call never took place. Is that agreed?"
"I will agree to that and I will look into the matter, but I can't promise anything yet."
"Understood. Let us leave it at that for now. Good bye."
I remembered that night backstage at the ballet where Stephanie had gotten down on her knees and pleaded with me to look into her claim of unjust enslavement. She had pointed out, reasonably enough, that all her business records were now in my custody. I felt moved to investigate her claim, particularly now that there had been some corroboration from a Masterson employee.
That night, upon arriving home I retired to a certain area in the attic of my home where I had stored all of Stephanie's books, papers, clothing and personal effects. Everything, in fact, that defined who she had been when she was free. Now, of course, she was legally a non-person and could have no right to privacy of any kind. All her most intimate things could have been sold at public auction to the highest bidder. Partly as an act of kindness to the girl, but also because the girl fascinated me, I had called in a favor from Morgan Richmond and arranged to buy all her things for a token sum. I had been intending to spend an evening perusing all these things anyway, if only for my own amusement. After all I did have a fascination with this girl and wished to know all I could learn about her from her personal possessions.
I began by flipping through the pages of her high school yearbook. I saw that she had been captain of the school's cheerleading squad. These photos showed her to be a perfect physical specimen. She also looked a bit 'stuck up' in these pictures. I could well imagine how she might have lorded it over her classmates, snubbing other girls, rudely rejecting the advances of boys she thought were beneath her. Well nobody could be beneath her now, I thought with a wry smile. I had known girls like her in high school and there was a part of me that experienced intense pleasure at the thought of how such a girl could be brought so low. Another part of me knew that if she had been enslaved unjustly, that those of us who cared about the integrity of the system would have to overcome such feelings and see that such an injustice was rectified.
I moved on to a photo scrap album and saw some tantalizing pictures of how she had looked in white tennis shorts at the age of 13. She showed that particular charm of a girl on the verge of young womanhood.
I reached for the box marked 'clothing' and proceeded to idly handle all her skirts, blouses, hosiery, bras and panties. There was another box marked 'unlaundered clothing' and the scent of her was on these things and I felt myself beginning to get aroused.
I found a little red book called 'My Diary' which had a locking mechanism and required a key to open. Fortunately that key had been taken from her when she was arrested and was now conveniently taped to the back of the diary. With a quickening of my pulse I put that key in the diary's lock and turned. What a world then opened for my enjoyment! There was an entry describing her experiences and emotions the day she first experienced menstruation. There was an entry describing the pleasure she experienced when she first discovered her clitoris. There was quite a long section of many pages describing her infatuation with a high school boy and her feelings when he didn't invite her to the school's formal dance. Getting inside a young girl's head in this way was exhilarating for me. The voyeurism of all this plus the aromas of her clothing caused me to tent my pants.
But then I reminded myself that I had a more pressing purpose.
One of the first things I discovered was that she had kept a ledger where she recorded all of her financial obligations. If she took a loan from anyone or bought anything on credit there was an entry for it in her ledger. How like an accountant to be so methodical. Then I found a file where there were copies of all loan documents and credit card slips that matched up exactly with the ledger entries. Oddly, the grand total of all these obligations did not even reach $4,000, let alone exceed $10,000 as had been alleged in court.
I had brought her court file with me from the office. In it were detailed all the debts which supposedly totaled over $10,000, the statutory minimum for enslaving a person. I began to notice there were quite a few major loans and credit purchases that were not in Stephanie's ledger. I compared her signature on those items with the signatures for items that Stephanie kept in her file. There appeared to be a difference, even to my untrained eye. If these documents had been forged, who would have done it and how could I prove such a thing?
Finally I finished my explorations into her personal things. It was a warm early evening in the springtime. I was driving home in my chauffer driven limo with the wine bar in the rear seat. I was feeling the beginnings of a stiffening of my penis and a certain tightness in my balls as I thought about the ease with which I had been able to invade Stephanie's private things and her private thoughts. I needed some relief. So I had my chauffer drive me down one of the streets in lower Manhattan where I knew there would be lots of scantily clad prostitutes working. As my limo turned toward the East River on Fourth Street I saw that there would be abundant young people to choose from and that, in this part of town at least, the working gals and guys were blatantly displaying their bodies and the services that might be had.
Prostitution was entirely legal in Capitallia; in fact the government encouraged it. It was considered good public policy that there should be an abundance of interesting sexual experiences available to match the lusty needs of middle class citizens — both men and women. Turning tricks was one of the most common and lucrative occupations for young men and women who were not citizens. There was no stigma to this work and quite a few of them could save enough money after perhaps ten years to finally make the transition into the citizen class.
Citizens could freely partake of the fleshly delights on offer without having to worry about catching something. This was because the government also considered it good public policy to provide good quality free medical services to all working gals and guys.
Street prostitution was not limited to any particular district of the city but it took different forms in different parts of town. Streetwalkers on Fifth Avenue and Sixth Avenue and much of the Upper East Side were required to be fashionably dressed according to a dress code. Clothing could be form revealing but must be elegant and generally somewhat expensive. The females were required to wear long dresses and high heels, while male prostitutes must wear expensive tailored shirts and slacks. They could not advertise their profession in any overt way, other than by wearing a certain approved design of earrings. The client always must be the one to initiate contact. In other parts of the city working guys and gals could wear more casual attire and discreetly flirt with passersby. The working people in still other areas could dress in a highly provocative manner, exposing nearly all of their bodies to public view, and make very explicit offers of specific sexual services to anyone who showed the slightest interest. It was to this part of town that I had directed my driver.
I kept the tinted windows rolled up at first. I displayed a small symbol on the outside of the car so that the street people could tell it was a male client looking to pick up a female. Several of the women, wearing micro skirts and revealing blouses, approached my car and thrust their hips suggestively in my direction. I could hear their voices. One called out "Fuck me mister, only thirty dollars!" I knew I could have her for less. The going rate for fucking was only twenty. But her legs weren't very long. I motioned for my driver to move on. Further down the block I saw something very exciting. She was slender as a reed and with well defined legs that just wouldn't quit. Besides her high heels she wore only a g-string and short blouse exposing a very flat and firm midriff. Her buttocks were entirely visible, well rounded and muscular. She was a natural redhead as I could readily determine from wisps of her pubic hair that escaped her all too brief string bottom.
I rolled my window down and crooked my finger at this redhead. She came at once to my door and introduced herself.
"Hi! My name is Sheila. I fuck real good mister, don't require you to use a condom and I don't rush you. I am also a very good cocksucker. What is your pleasure sir?"
"First things first. Let me see your photo ID and scan it through my laptop."
She handed me her card, as she was required to do by law. I could see the photo on the card was clearly of her. The card said "Sheila Brown, Public Prostitute" and was issued by the State of New York. I swiped it through the scanner. Up popped a summary of her medical history for the last ten years and the date of her most recent medical checkup and most recent vaccinations. She was clear. The name on her card was, of course, a "working name" and not a real name, nor did the computer display her real name or her actual place of residence. I clicked on another item and got a history of any comments and/or complaints noted by previous clients. There were quite a few positive comments on her fucking ability and no complaints. Then I pulled up her price schedule and learned what her standard fees were for fucking, for blowjobs and for other services. Another click and I was presented with a tally screen showing how many tricks she had turned that week so far. She would easily make the quota she needed to keep qualified for free medical services and to qualify for the government's ten percent matching bonus for the week. I handed her back her card with a nod indicating that I was satisfied.
"Now it is my turn", she said. "If you don't mind sir, I would like to run your card through my hand scanner to see if you have any kind of record. It is purely routine and necessary for my protection."
"No problem". I handed her my card with my photo and my "pleasure name", an alias I used only for hiring ladies of the night. Her scanner soon showed her that no other prostitutes had filed complaints against me. Only the disappearance of a working girl or a sworn complaint or affidavit filed in a police station would ever get logged against my card. Routine transactions for sex services were never logged.
I opened my door to her and gestured for her to join me in the back seat of the limo. I rolled up the partition separating my compartment from the driver's space that we might have some privacy. I rested one hand on her warm slender thigh.
"Business first" she said in a not unpleasant voice, removing my hand from her leg, and told me her price.
So I pulled out my anonymous debit card and slid it through the scanner, entered her price, and clicked on "Purchase Service". Soon a paper receipt came out of the laptop that I handed her and she seemed satisfied. I put my hand back on her warm and well-defined thigh and this time she did not object.
"Sheila, why don't you remove your clothing now so I can enjoy you more?" I said as I tripped a hidden switch that locked both doors to the rear compartment from both the inside and the outside. She would not be leaving now until I was quite finished with her.
Geraldine
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