By Judicial Decree 4: Court of Claims

  • Written by: Commander James Bondage


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With his bevy of lovely and submissive slave girls to star in his erotic movies, Rupert Caine was unrivalled in the field. Until that is, the beautiful and unethical Erika Nordling began to compete with him, using what Caine considered to be dishonest tactics. Erika soon learns the seriousness of her error, when Caine arranges her financial ruin and she is sold as a slave…to a vengeful Caine.

Court of Claims is another exciting story set in a world where enslavement for debt is an everyday fact of life.


Traynor opened his desk drawer and took out a small plastic box with a red button on top.  He pushed the button, and as an electric motor whined, the wall behind his desk began to slide open. He gestured for Emily to enter the passage beyond, and she did, although not without hesitating a few seconds to think about what she was getting into.  Before she could reconsider her decision, Traynor was standing next to her in the corridor and the door (or was it a wall?) had closed with a soft, heavy thud that made the floor shake.  There was a definite feeling of finality about the sound.

Traynor inspected her face, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.  “I hope you weren’t thinking about changing your mind, Thayer.  The next time you go through that door will be when I decide you’re ready to win for the Tour, and that won’t be for at least six months.  Until then, you are all mine.  Now, come along.”  He walked briskly down the corridor in which they now stood.  Emily hastened to catch up.

“Oh no, I wasn’t thinking anything like that,” Emily responded, a little too quickly as they walked.  “I just remembered that I don’t have any clothes, and my clubs and baggage are still outside.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her.  “Your stuff is safe.  It’s being searched before it’s brought inside, to make sure you don’t have any contraband, like a cell phone or a laptop.  What do you need clothes for right now, anyway?  You can’t still be shy about being naked in front of me at this point, can you?” he asked.

Emily prodded herself mentally.  He was right, she realized.  In the short time she had known Traynor, he had been able to take control of her with ease.  She had stripped for him, silently endured outrageous handling, then bent double, naked and exposed reading for him while he beat her then masturbated her to orgasm.  Being nude in his presence already seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

“No, I guess I’m over that, sir,” Emily admitted.

“That’s what I thought,” Traynor said.  “Here we are.”  He stopped in front of a door and took a key from his pocket.  “What you need more than clothes are some training devices.  I’ll fix you up with a set right here…” he opened the door, “…oh, and you can meet my other student.  She just arrived this morning.”  With Emily close behind, Traynor stepped into the dark room and flicked on a wall switch, flooding the room with light from a fluorescent ceiling fixture.

On the floor was a nude woman.  She appeared to be of Native American or Asian descent, or perhaps a mixture of the two and she was young, beautiful and long-limbed.  Emily guessed that the woman was probably very tall, but it was difficult to be sure, because she was sprawled on the floor, bound in a peculiarly awkward-looking way.  Her right arm was pulled behind her back, attached to her left ankle, with her left leg doubled behind.  Her left arm was in front of her body, secured by the wrist to her right leg, which was also in front, the knee bent sharply.  Her cheeks bulged from the big red ball that could be seen inside her partially open mouth.  The ball was clearly too big to allow her to close her lips, and a strand of silvery drool hung down to the floor from her mouth.  The bound girl had been staring dolefully at the ground, and she looked up when they entered the room. Her eyes met Emily’s for an instant.  She looked like an animal caught in a trap, exhausted and without hope.  Emily’s heart immediately went out to her.

“Don’t you recognize her?” Traynor asked.  “Even if you never played against her, you must have seen her on television.”

Emily had seen her before, she realized, though never looking remotely like this.  “She looks like…but it can’t be…”

“That’s right,” Traynor finished for her.  “Meet the most famous bust in the history of women’s golf: Shelly Littlehawk.”

Emily clapped her hand to her mouth.  Of all the shocks she had experienced today, this was the most stunning.

Shelly Littlehawk was the ultimate female golf prodigy.  She was the daughter of a Native American father and a Korean mother.  She had begun playing golf at age 8, and started to regularly beat her father, a 6 handicap, by the time she was 12.  By age13, she was six feet tall, as thin and flexible as a rubber band, with a perfect swing, and could regularly drive a ball 300 yards off the tee.  She won every junior tournament she entered and was the top-ranked schoolgirl golfer in the country.  She became the U.S. Women’s Amateur Champion at the tender age of 15, and then won the title again two years later.  At 16, she was invited to play in a men’s Tour event near her home in Phoenix, Arizona where she made the cut, finishing in a tie for 26th place with a future U.S. Open champion.  That got her on the cover of Sports Illustrated for the first time, but not the last.  It was widely predicted that she would stand the Women’s Professional Golf Tour on its head when she turned pro, which she did at 18, turning down dozens of scholarship offers from colleges.  She was still slender, but now had developed some graceful curves, and with her high cheekbones, delicate features and imposing height of 6 feet 2 inches, looked much more like an exotic runway model than she did a professional athlete.  She was flooded with endorsement offers before she had taken her first swing in a professional competition, and her face was all over television and the glossy magazines.

She earned a Tour card right away, and then… then nothing happened.  At least, nothing good.  She had one top-ten finish in an early-season event, and then became progressively worse.  By the end of her first year, Shelly had missed the cut in twenty-two events in a row, and had lost her card.  Every self-proclaimed expert in the golf world had advice for her, but nothing seemed to help.  She kept trying, changing coaches as frequently as she changed her underwear, playing in “Q” School (tournaments where hopefuls can try to qualify for a Tour card) and eventually becoming a national laughingstock.  In the end, her name became a byword for wasted potential.  After two years of futile efforts to get her game back, she disappeared from public view.

And here she is, Emily thought.  She wondered how long the poor girl had been left helplessly bound in this obviously painful position, alone in this dark room.

“How long… how long as she been… this way, sir?” Emily asked hesitantly.

Traynor, who had been rummaging through a big metal locker, stopped for a moment to look at his watch.  “I left her here at nine-thirty, and it’s almost one-thirty now, so four hours.”

He knelt in front of Shelly, peering closely at the suffering in her soft brown eyes.  “Her main trouble is lack of toughness.  She collapses as soon as the smallest thing goes wrong.  She can’t handle adversity at all.”  He chucked the defenseless Shelly under the chin familiarly.  “Isn’t that right, Baby?  Well, by the time you leave this place, you’ll have the toughness of alligator hide.”  He fondled one of Shelly’s tight cone-shaped breasts.  She whimpered weakly.  “The mental toughness, that is.  Your physical hide will be about the way it is right now.”

He illustrated this remark by running his hands over the immobilized girl’s naked body.  He felt down between her legs, and penetrated both of her holes simultaneously.  Shelly yelped, and made a pitiful attempt to get away from this unwelcome attention.  The bondage and her position did not permit her to do more than topple over onto her side, where she lay motionless, tears running down her cheeks as Traynor roughly probed her front and rear openings.

At last content, he stood up.  “Do you like it, sweetheart?” he asked mockingly.  “I’ll just bet you do.”

He left the silently weeping Native American girl and returned to the locker, he had been searching through.  He motioned to Emily.  “Now get over here, Thayer.  I have a few things for you to try on.”

With a side glance at Shelly, Emily approached Traynor.  He had laid out on a small table a series of slim metal rings.  The rings were of various diameters, but all had LED lights embedded in them, along with little metal knobs that Emily suspected were some kind of antennas.

“Put out your hand,” Traynor ordered.  He took Emily’s slender arm in his grasp, opened one of the rings, and clicked it closed around her wrist.  “No, too big,” he muttered.  After two more trials, he found a circlet that fit closely enough around Emily’s wrist and, although it did not pinch, could not be slipped off.  He continued the process with bands for her other wrist, both ankles and her neck.  When he was finished, he brought out something that resembled a fat, silvery fountain pen, but with a small light at the end, instead of a nib.

“Now stand still.  This is a laser, and it can burn you,” he warned.  He touched the laser carefully to each of the five rings Emily now wore.  When he was finished, he replaced the device in the locker, returned all the unused rings to storage and locked it up tight.

“Those rings cannot be opened again without that laser,” he told Emily.  “You and Littlehawk will wear them until the day you leave this place.”

“What are they for, Mr. Traynor?” Emily asked, looking at her new jewelry curiously.

“They have several functions,” he said.  “I’ll show you one right now.  Put your arms behind your back, wristbands touching.”

When Emily complied, Traynor pointed a silvery, oblong controller at her, and she heard a soft click.  “Now bring your arms back out in front,” he ordered.

Emily tried, but she was unable to separate her wrists.  The two metal bands clung together as if they had been welded.

“Electromagnets; powerful ones,” he explained.  “All five of them have ’em.  It’s a restraining device, among other things.  That’s what’s holding poor Shelly all twisted down there,” he said.  “Would you like me to let you loose, honey?  Hmm?”

She looked up and nodded her head.

“What do you think, Thayer?” he demanded of Emily.  “Do you think she’s had enough for the first day?”

“Oh, I wish you would let her go, Mr. Traynor,” Emily answered.  “I'm sure she must be in agony.”

Traynor bent down, seized a handful of Shelly’s long, black, silky hair and pulled her back to a sitting position.  “Open your mouth,” he demanded as he squatted in front of her.  “Wider,” he said.  He reached in and, not without difficulty extracted the saliva-soaked oversized red rubber ball that had somehow been forced inside.

Shelly worked her jaw up and down and side to side, trying to force the exhausted muscles to work properly again.  “Hank oo her,” she said, attempting to thank Traynor for removing the ball.

“So, you want me to release you, hmm?” Traynor asked.

“Es ser, lees,” Shelly answered hopefully.

“Ok, if you promise to do something for me, or rather for her,” he said, indicating Emily with a sideways nod.

Both girls looked at him questioningly.

“Thayer here is a pretty horny little sex machine, isn’t that right?” he asked, turning back to look at Emily.

“Well I…” Emily hesitated, not sure exactly how to respond to this question.

“You stripped down for me like a cheap hooker, and came on my hand like a porn star, didn’t you, Thayer?” he asked, turning to look at her again.

Emily colored as she remembered the wild orgasm he had induced just a short time before.  “Yes, yes sir, that’s true.”

“Well, I think that what Thayer has secretly wanted as soon as she saw you is to have her pussy licked by a world-famous celebrity,” Traynor said, now addressing Shelly, “and since you’re the only one we have handy…”

The beautiful Indian girl started to automatically shake her head in revulsion at the idea, as Traynor continued, “…or I could just leave you here like this until tomorrow morning, and see if you’ve changed your mind by then.”

The beginning shakes of negation were instantly transformed into enthusiastic nods of agreement.  Shelly Littlehawk had been raised as a Mormon, in a tradition that was very strict, indeed puritanical, about pre-marital sex, and was even more disapproving of any kind of sexual deviation, especially homosexuality.  Although she was now almost 21 years old, she was utterly inexperienced in sex, having gone no further with a man than kissing before coming to Traynor.  She found the idea of putting her mouth on a man’s genitals bizarre and off-putting, but the thought of using her tongue on another woman’s…she could not even finish the thought.

But four long hours in painful bondage had drained the former child prodigy’s last reserves of strength and will.  She was ready to do almost anything, no matter how strange or perverted, to escape another eight or ten hours in this contorted pose.

“Ess… yes, Mr. Traynor,” she said slowly, “I will do as you say, if you will please release me.”

He nodded. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Thayer, get up there, face down.”  He pointed to a six-foot long Formica-topped table.  When Emily was in position, he ordered her to bring her legs back, until her ankle rings touched the ones on her wrists.  Traynor activated the magnetic locks, leaving Emily bent like a bow, with all four limbs caught up together,  just above the small of her back.  As a golfer, Emily needed to be quite flexible, and she was.  But this position would have been a strain for a trained gymnast.  She groaned in pain.

“Ah, Mr. Traynor, please let my legs go,” she begged.  “I won’t… murff !”  Her plea was abbreviated when Traynor rammed a wad of cotton into her mouth and sealed her lips tightly with a piece of sticky silver duct tape.

Traynor returned to Shelly, and with a push of the button on the controller, deactivated the magnets that held her in place.  Shelly sighed with relief, and immediately began moving her long, graceful limbs in little circles, attempting to loosen the cramped muscles.

Traynor watched her for a minute and a half, his impatience growing every second.  “All right, that’s enough,” he told her.  “Let’s get to it, unless you want me to change my mind.”

“Oh, please don’t do that!” Shelly exclaimed, the fear evident in her huge brown eyes.  “I’ll start right away.  What should I do?”

“First, put your wrists up to your neck,” he said.  When she did, he locked them in place on either side with his controller.

“Now bend over, get that tongue of yours all the way out, and start licking Thayer’s pussy,” he said.  “Hurry up about it!”

Hesitantly, the lovely innocent knelt at the end of the tabled and extended her long neck until her head has between Emily’s open thighs and her mouth nearly touching the rosy lips of the latter's golden-furred mound.  She stopped, unsure what to do next, waiting for further directions from Traynor.

Instead of advice, Shelly heard a loud smack! as her posterior was scorched with what felt like fire.  She shrieked “Eeee!” and spun around to see Traynor holding a broad, thick wooden paddle.  He his face was grim.

“Do you need a few more to warm you up, or would you rather start following instructions?” he asked.

“No more, please!” she yelped.  “Oh, that hurt so much, Mr. Traynor!  I’m starting right now.  Don’t hit me, please!” she begged.  Shelly immediately turned back and swooped down on Emily’s genitals.  Without any further hesitation, she forced her tongue past the blonde girl’s lower lips.

“Keep your legs straight, and open up your stance,” Traynor said.

Shelly stood up, bent low to keep her mouth in contrast with Emily’s pussy, and spread her legs apart.  She tried to see what he up to out of the corner of her eye, while continuing to burrow inside the musky interior of Emily’s sex with her tongue.

Traynor reached between Shelly’s legs, stroking the lips of her sex with knowing fingers.  The beautiful Native American girl moaned in protest, but did not dare to stop her assigned task of laving Emily’s secret parts with her tongue for even an instant.  Traynor opened the petals of her sex, and investigated the interior.  As he had already known, the girl was intact, her hymen untouched, but was quite responsive to his handling.  He continued to fondle her familiarly and she could not help becoming aroused, as the interior of her slot clenched around his fingers and began to flow with slippery lubrication.

 Although Emily was embarrassed, indeed humiliated, to be served by a woman this way (especially with Traynor watching), she was no more able unable to restrain her reaction than the other girl.  Shelly’s moans of outrage (or they from pleasure?) made Emily tingle with a strange excitement she did not fully understand.

Traynor took his erect penis out of his pants, and fitted it up against Shelly’s maidenhood, like an oversized key to an undersized lock.  “I hope you weren’t planning to leave this place as a virgin,” he said.

“Nnnnn!  Pllllsss!” mumbled the Native American girl desperately.  She started to turn, to beg him not to do it.

In response, Traynor let her have it again with the oak paddle.  It made a loud whack!, left an oblong red mark on the back of her thigh and caused Shelly to jump a foot into the air.

“Get back to licking that slut.  I don’t want to have to  say it again,” he growled.

Reluctantly, she lowered her head and resumed the task to which he had set her.  Emily sighed as Shelly’s tongue resumed flicking her stiff little pleasure knob.

“That’s better,” Traynor said.  “Now let’s get on with this.”  He steadily advanced the head of his thick organ into Shelly’s pussy, until it encountered the little scrap of tissue that guarded her virginity.  “This may sting a little” he told her.  “But don’t stop what you’re doing unless you want to feel the paddle again,” he warned.

Shelly nodded her head to indicate her submission.  It was clear to Emily that Traynor already had the other girl completely under his thumb, and could make her do whatever he wanted.  She suspected that this little session of sex was about more than satisfying his perverted desires.  It was Traynor’s way of reminding both of them that he would be calling the shots from here on in.

Ahhh!” Shelly cried out into Emily’s slot.  “Uhhh!  Uhhh!  Ooooo!” She groaned in distress, as Traynor tore her hymen away with one hard shove, then continued on to until the entire length of his tool was buried inside her.

Somehow, the unfortunate Shelly’s suffering from being crudely deflowered from behind, while being forced to please Emily with her tongue, excited the latter almost to the point of madness.  A tiny part of her conscious mind reminded Emily that it was wrong to take pleasure from another human being’s pain, but a more primitive layer found it violently arousing.  Without warning, Emily erupted in another orgasm, this one even bigger perhaps than the earlier one.

Emily screamed in pleasure, making strange muffled noises through the gag like “Nnnnrrrr!” and “Arrrgggg!”  She came copiously, drenching poor Shelly’s face with a flood of fishy cum.

Shelly had discovered that the initial pain from her defloration was fading as Traynor continued to slide his stiff rod in and out of her pussy.  In the place of pain was a sensation she had never before experienced, at least not so strongly: growing sexual arousal.  Soon, Shelly’s hips were moving back to meet Traynor’s thrusts, trying to swallow him up in her warm, slippery cavern as deeply as she could by timing the movements of her lower body to his long, slow strokes.

It was not long before, it was Shelly Littlehawk’s turn to lose control of herself.  Unthinkingly, she raised her head from between Emily’s thighs, her face smeared with pungent fluid, threw back her head and howled.  “Oh God, do it harder, pleaseDeeper, harder, please!” she shrieked.  Emily looked back in amazement at the lust-contorted features of the girl who had been an innocent virgin only a few minutes before.

Traynor’s fingers dug into the flesh of Shelly’s hips, and the pace of his strokes quickened.  He now drove in and out of her in a frenzy of excitement.  “Fuck me, you little bitch!” he bellowed.  He whacked her three more times with the heavy paddle, making her scream each time, before exploding deep inside her.  The pulsing of his rod as he ejaculated, combined with the furious fucking sent her over the top.  She screamed wordlessly, bouncing on his impaling organ like a maniac, as she came.

Afterwards, exhausted, Shelly’s head drooped on her long neck, coming to rest on the desk between Emily’s thighs.  She had never imagined that anything could feel as good as sex with Traynor had.  She did not know why she did not feel guilty, dirty and worthless after enjoying, actually enjoying being used in such a humiliating, filthy way.  Instead, she felt fine, as relaxed as if every bone in her body had gently melted away.  There was a warm glow seeming to come from every cell.  She smiled and wondered vaguely if he would like to do it again.

As if he had read her mind, Traynor pulled Shelly’s head up by her hair and said, “Fun time’s over now.  Tomorrow morning you two will get to work.”

This book was added to our catalog on Friday 16 February, 2018.

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