like busses, there's none around and then several fetish archives have them.
check out
Legacy of Timeless Beauty Archive for the illustrated 'The Ropes',
Gromets Plaza for The Other Side and The School of Rubber and over at
MCStories has 'Limbo' by Fools Page.
here's part one for you to get started with:
Limbo Two enforcers were needed to get Janice into the chair. A third had to be called to strap her down, wrists to the armrests, ankles to the chair's legs. He took a grip of the prisoner's hair and pulled it against the chair's frame. "Hold still, little fucktoy-be. We get you square way."
His tone was jocular. Janice's was terrified.
"No . . no!" She struggled futilely in her bonds. "My attorneys are appealing the decision. Wait! Wait a few more minutes!" Heedless of her cries, the strap went round her forehead. She was held in place.
She was ready to receive her sentence.
Janice pulled on the bindings uselessly. Her cries echoed in the large and nearly empty room. "I got theory," one of the enforcers said. His gorilla face, perfectly matching his ape-like build, screwed up in unfamiliar concentration. "Do you wanta hear it?"
"Sure," a buddy said inattentively. Janice struggled furiously. It was as if she wasn't there. In a way, their indifference was worse than any deliberate abuse.
"I tink lots women break law deliberate get sent here. Dat's what I tink."
"You mean dey wanta be turn into dollygirls?" The cretin's tone was incredulous.
"Yeah. Dake dis slut." The enforcer tapped Janice on the shoulder. She clenched her eyes shut in dismay. "She musta cum from good famly. Look her. Lots money, lots connects, I bet. What she need do here? I say she wanna get caught, turn into a fucktoy."
"That's not true," Janice screamed. "That's not true at all!"
"Ease ways do it," the last enforcer said. "If she want so bad, why na go to public slaver, get self assess? Lots people do."
The enforcer with the theory shook his head, beast-like.
"Naah, da'd be too ease. It'd be too . . too conspicuous." The word sounded unfamiliarly on the cretin's lips. "Dis what you'd call . . subconscious ting. She prolly wanta be made dollygirl, but she didn'a wanta at da same time."
"No! No!!" Janice wasn't sure which outraged her the more, her sentence or these loutish thugs.
The one buddy looked exasperated. "Well, which it? Do she or don' she?"
The enforcer with the theory sighed. "You no gets me. It's like, only par o' her wanta be slave, but, like, she don' wanta admit it to self, so she steals money or turns off her car's brain or sometin', and makes sure she gets caugh. Den, it like, ain't her decision no more. She ain't responsible."
His friends didn't look convinced. "Still seems da ease ting to do woulda go to public slaver."
One of them checked the time. "Supervisor comin'. Time give her da Speech, Eight."
"Yeah, give her da Speech, Eight," the second enforcer said, looking excited. "I likes da Speech."
"Yeah," the enforcer called Eight said. He had an "8" on his uniform. There was also a barcode underneath that undoubtedly provided more detail. He came around and stood in front of Janice. He hunkered down. His arms actually touched the floor, further increasing his resemblance to an ape.
"Lady," he said to Janice. "In shor time, you no long be lady."
He put a block-like hand on one of her bare knees - Janice was naked - and she cried out.
"You be dollygirl. You be wery hot. You be wery needful." He tried to look sympathetic. "Nows, be good slut, when you hot, we gives you whas you need. We uses you good. You wanta be ba slut, we let you burn. So, which you wanta be? Be yous good slut or ba slut?"
The three men gathered round the woman in the chair. They were all evidently interested in her answer.
"Fuck you!" she screamed at them. "Go to hell! All of you!!"
Eight nodded sadly. "Ba slut." He stood and turned to his companions. "Dat's wha? Nine to six, dis week?" The others agreed. Eight turned to Janice.
"You be sorry you not more respect, ba slut."
"Fuck you! Fuck you!"
"You be screamin' dat real differen soon. You be meanin' it then."
A door to the processing chamber slid open into the ceiling. A man clad in a long flowing robe of white shiny plastic strode in. Two of the enforcers stood behind Janice's chair. The third, Eight, came to attention beside it. The man - he was from BioTrust Corporation's Human Acquisitions division - approached and handed the guard a syringe filled with a glowing pinkish solution. Janice wailed.
The representative got down to business at once.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. DeChamps," he said. "The judge has rendered his decision."
He looked at Eight. "You may proceed."
"No!!" Janice screamed. The enforcer put the pressurized injector to her neck. With the push of a button, the pinkish contents of the attached vial were sent whooshing into her bloodstream.
Janice screamed in terror and despair. She couldn't believe it. They had done it!
They had actually done it! They had injected her with the dollygirl agent!
They were turning her into a slave!
The reports she had read, the solidoes she had viewed: they did not lie. The mutagenic agent worked fast. The first thing she felt, not counting the injection itself, was a rush of heat to her sex. The heat spread rapidly. Her skin went flush. Her nipples grew hard. Her bare ass sitting against the chair's cool plastic felt suddenly heavy and full.
On the heels of the heat came euphoria.
Less than ten seconds after the injection, such a sensation of happiness and unholy joy struck Janice that all the cares and worries from her long months of house arrest, not to mention the terrible, nightmarish week of her actual imprisonment prior to sentencing, vanished.
She smiled blissfully at her captors.
She stopped struggling. Her muscles went limp and relaxed. The enforcers nudged each other. Why, this isn't so bad, Janice thought. This isn't so bad at all. This is actually . . . Oh!
Janice gasped. Her reverie was interrupted by the sudden, crushing sexual hunger that gripped her.
Her eyes widened in almost comical surprise. Oh!!
The enforcers laughed at her expression. The H-A representative appeared bored.
Ohh!!!
In an instant the heat in Janice's veins increased in intensity, rising from a fairly pleasant, relaxing whole-body tingling, as she might have in a bath laden with soothing oils, to a furnace-red conflagration.
Objectively, she knew what was happening. She had had plenty of time to do research. The subject had held a morbid fascination with her. The dollygirl agent was a fast-acting neo-hormone related to estrogen. It affected the periaqueductal gray and hypothalamic areas in the brain, among other places, promoting what the BioTrust scientists called "hyperserotonism," an accelerated and unnatural release of hormones to speed up the sex drive. Normally, female humans and primates undergo a menstrual cycle instead of an estrous cycle. The chemical injected into her veins was going to change that.
She was going to go "into heat," perpetually, because, once started, hyperserotonism never stopped.
Never. It mutated the related metabolic pathways. Early experiments with animals and condemned prisoners had resulted in ultra-intense cases of serotonin syndrome resulting in coma, tremors, and death before the correct hormonal balance was achieved. Now, the procedure always worked. Always.
Janice felt as if she were about to catch on fire! She felt like she was going to go up in flames!
The most powerful carnal desire she had ever felt came upon her. She needed to have sex. She needed to be fucked. She needed to be fucked right now!
Her thighs squirmed. She pulled on her wrist straps again. She writhed in sudden, uncontrollable turmoil. She twisted her head as far she could and screamed out loud.
"Oh God! God! Fuck me! Oh God, please, someone, anyone, fuck me!!"
She pulled from side to side as much as she was able.
"I need it! I need it!"
The H-A man glanced at his watch. The enforcers grinned goatishly and ribbed each other.
"Ba slut," one said. "Ba slut." Janice wished she had taken them up on their offer. Such a feeling that had come over her was impossible. It was beyond belief, beyond any experience she could previously have imagined. Her entire existence was now centered on one thing and one thing only.
She needed to be fucked. Urgently. Desperately.
Janice begged for relief. She begged the enforcers and the H-A representative to take her there and then. She would have gladly done anything if they would only consent to gang-rape her.
She fantasized about her rape. How delightful it would be. Their cocks sliding inside her. Moving inside her. Using her. Making her hotter and hotter.
"Take me! Ohh, ohhh! Please, take me! Please! I need it! Ohhh! Please!!"
One of the enforcers put his hands on Janice and squeezed her breasts. Already, they were beginning to grow. She could tell. The flesh was tingling beneath his fingers, stinging her, enflaming her, raising her heat more so. The neo-hormone worked on the brain, but it also worked on the body, tightening, sensitizing, expanding those female characteristics affected by estrogen and androgen. Her breasts would grow. Her sexual sensitivity would increase more. She would be rendered permanently aroused.
Permanently aroused.
What she was feeling, she knew, was only the beginning. Her heat would grow until she was used. Even then, her relief would be temporary, a brief respite from the urges now permanently rewriting her neural pathways. She would be a horny, submissive slut for the rest of her life.
"Take me," she entreated. "Please, please, take me! Take me!!"
Whatever the enforcer might have said, if he had intended to say anything, was lost when the door to the processing room slid open again with a bang. A group of men in professional gray plastic businesswear stormed in. They were accompanied by the warden of the processing facility himself.
"Stop this procedure! Stop this procedure at once!"
The fellow yelling was outwardly a young man in his twenties. Appearances, though, were deceiving. Anyone who could afford it nowadays looked and felt young - another benefit of BioTrust technology - and so there was an increasingly wide gap between one's physical age and one's chronological. The newcomer held a flimsy in one hand and was waving it.
"I have a court order to prevent this seizure from taking place."
"Fuck me," Janice begged. Her heat was rising. Ever rising. "Please, someone, anyone, fuck me!"
"Get your hands off her," he ordered, and the dumbfounded enforcer complied instantly. Obedience to authority was hardwired into his genotype.
The BioTrust representative took the fax. "But we've already started," he said, mouth open. "She's already received the changing agent." He waved his arm at the bound and writhing figure.
"Damn," the pseudo-young man said softly. He hardened his expression and faced the warden. "She needs to be released into my custody immediately."
"Who the hell are you?" the robed BioTrust representative interrupted. The warden just shrugged.
"I'm Mrs. DeChamps' attorney. I have an order from the court stopping this procedure until a higher ruling is made. Mrs. DeChamps is to be returned to her house arrest forthwith."
"But . . but she's been given the agent," the man repeated. "Once someone's been given the dollygirl drug, she's no longer considered a person. That's the law." He glanced down.
"Look at her! She's turning into a dollygirl as we speak."
Janice was incapable of really following what was happening. She was lost in a frenzy of absolute need, of total, all-consuming lust. Her breasts, already swollen, were growing more so. She could feel it.
Her clit was throbbing. Her tongue swept over lips that felt bigger, softer than they had ever been before. In her mind, she was reliving every sexual act she had ever experienced. Flesh joined flesh. Skin touched skin. She visualized herself on her back, on her hands and knees, getting fucked, being stroked, being used. She fantasized. She saw herself strapped to a bed - it was an easy scenario to envision considering that she was already tied down - and a strong man was thrusting his hard dick into her repeatedly. He caressed her breasts. He pinched her nipples. He slapped her ass and ran his hands over her smooth thighs. She in turn covered his face with kisses. She couldn't kiss him fast enough. More, more! the wanton bitch of her fantasy screamed. "More," she whispered, writhing.
"Nonetheless, she must be released," Janice's attorney said. He had come with two other lawyers, an expensive legal team. Their faces were set. They were not going to take no for an answer. They studiously avoided looking at their naked, squirming, sexually enflamed client.
"Warden, if you would arrange a gurney for Mrs. DeChamps."
"Dere be one ouside," one of the enforcers said, voice slow and brutish. "Dere be always one dere. Once dey simmer down little after da fif or sixt orgasm, we use da gurney to take da sluts to surgery."
"Let me see if I can make myself clear," the BioTrust representative said even as the enforcers began undoing Janice's straps. They had had a hard time putting her in the chair in the first place. She fought harder now, this time not to escape but instead to claw the men's clothes off. All the while Janice pleaded with them to fill her with their massive, delicious cocks.
"Fuck me," she pleaded.
"According to the perpetual agreements that exist between the Republic and BioTrust, Mrs. Janice DeChamps no longer exists. This . . . ."
The representative pointed at the red, sweaty woman in such dire need of relief.
". . is a dollygirl, a piece of property owned by BioTrust, Unlimited. She became a piece of property the moment the dollygirl agent entered her bloodstream."
"Take me . . . take me!" The guards lifted her onto the movable table. "Fuck me!"
The representative flung his arms out helplessly. "Law aside, it's irreversible! Once the dollygirl transformation starts, it can't be reversed or arrested. It's designed that way. Regardless of whatever you do, she'll always have the body of a dollygirl, with all that that entails."
"The body, perhaps," Mrs. DeChamps' attorney said resolutely. "But her mind is intact, and my court order is valid." He looked at his wriggling, squirming client. Abruptly, he appeared unsure, as if he were having second thoughts about at least one of those claims.
Mrs. DeChamps' eyes were wild. She continued begging for use. "How can we calm her?" her lawyer asked in a softer tone.
"Fuck her," the representative said bluntly. It wasn't a slur. It was a direction.
He took in all three attorneys with his stare. "All of you should fuck her, if you want her to be coherent again, and maybe, maybe then you'll be able to talk to her, for a little while anyway." He sniffed.
"What else do you recommend?" the lawyer asked, clenching his fists. The BioTrust man sighed, thought about it, and tried to provide the best answer he could under the circumstances.
"Buy her a dildo," he said. "A big one. Powered."
He reconsidered.
"Actually, if you want to be sure, buy her more than one."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It's an axiom. For every two lawyers that participate in a proceeding, that proceeding's complications increase eightfold. Put another way, too many cooks ruin the dinner. Janice's case, cut to its basics, was not difficult to understand. It all came down to a question of citizenship.
In brief: Janice Catherine Marnes, a Class-A Citizen of the Republic of America, married one Tso-lin DeChamps, a foreign national and citizen of the Sino-Franc European Alliance. Mrs. DeChamps moved to Europe to be with her husband. The couple lived in Paris Nouveau for fifteen years, nine of them while actually cohabitating under the same roof. During that period, which included periodic visits back to America for both parties, though rarely at the same time, Mrs. DeChamps ignored not one, not two, but three formal requests from the State Department to clarify her claims to Citizenship.
Specifically, did she or did she not continue to claim to be a Citizen of the Republic of America?
The issue was not a minor one, as anyone with even a small measure of perspicacity could see considering that Amendments Thirty-Six through Forty-Seven of the Revised Constitution, to one degree or another, all concerned Citizenship as defined by the Restored Congress. It was ultimately determined that Janice no longer enjoyed legal residency in the Republic. This decision was based largely on the fact that Janice hadn't paid taxes to the R.A., nor made a home there, in several years.
To that effect, she was sent a letter stating that she was being downgraded from a Class-A Citizen to a Class-B with fewer privileges. This letter was ignored.
Another notification sent a few years later informed Janice that she was now a Class-C Citizen, the lowest of the three defined American socio-economic classes. Class-C Americans included unskilled workers, the unemployed, and recipients of welfare. This letter, too, was ignored. It made no difference in Janice's life at the time, considering the allowance she enjoyed even while separated from her husband. She hardly visited the country of her birth anymore. In fact, her questionable citizenship status may not have ever mattered to her had M. DeChamps been a trifle more adept at skiing.
What happened was this. After six years of living apart from his spouse, Tso-lin suffered an unfortunate, and ultimately fatal, accident on the ski slopes of Switzerland while on vacation with his latest mistress. No foul play was involved. It was just bad luck. Nevertheless, so bad was the accident that not even the famed and ultra-skilled surgeons of BioTrust were able to put the gentleman back together again.
Janice received word of the calamity while vacationing herself in the Philippines. She immediately chartered a spaceplane to take her back home. The Sino-French, however, refused to issue her a visa.
In point of fact, they refused to let Janice back into the country at all, ever, nor claim any part of her late husband's estate.
The fact of the matter was that in fifteen years of marriage, Janice DeChamps had never petitioned for Alliance citizenship. She had relied on her husband's elite status to enjoy residency, as was permitted under Sino-Franc law. As such, following Tso-lin's death, the country decided to take advantage of the loophole Mrs. DeChamps had so inadvertently provided.
After all, M. DeChamps' estate was very, very large. Why should that money go to his wife, their appalling logic said, when this recipient wasn't even Sino-French?
This was bad news for Janice. That the Philippines were once more a dominion of America made it catastrophic. Suddenly, Janice found herself back home in the Republic, ostensibly a Class-C Citizen facing a huge tax debt . . . and the penalty for outstanding debt in the Restored Era, as everyone knew, fell under the provisions of the Forty-Third Amendment, the one that extended eminent domain to individuals and thereby reinstituted that quaint American custom, organized chattel slavery.
The government proposed to sell Janice to its corporate partner, BioTrust, Unlimited.
Legal proceedings began to turn Janice into a dollygirl.
It was a slow course of action. The former Mrs. DeChamps still had some resources at her disposal. She made petitions to the Restored Congress. She requested asylum in other countries. She offered to pay her debt, first in installments, then, by heavily leveraging herself, in one very large lump sum. Some bright individual with the government came up with the interesting notion that Janice wasn't a Citizen of the R.A. at all, that she had already become a nonperson in the same legal sense a dollygirl, toyboy, or other bioengineered servant was. The issue was debated in the courts. A decision was reached. This decision was appealed. The appeal was appealed, and the Republic petitioned for immediate action, which, while not actually undertaken immediately, was ultimately taken.
Yet another appeal followed, arriving just a bit too late to avoid complicating the issue even more so. Everyone concerned prepared for a long court case.
Meanwhile, as attorneys on both sides continued to earn their fees, Janice DeChamps, the woman at the center of all this controversy, found herself in limbo.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Her lover traced the curve of her hip with his tongue. Putting a hand to her knee, he spread her thighs and nibbled on the inside, gradually working his way, kissing, licking, toward the center of her heat.
Janice's back arched in anticipation. She gasped lightly, mouth framed by the plumper, cock-sucking lips of her transformation, tongue running along the tips of her perfect teeth. Her lover was clean-shaven; his velvety cheeks felt deliciously smooth against her soft skin, teasing. He settled his head between her legs. His breath felt fantastic against her burning slit. He kissed her, sucking, laying his tongue along her, inside her, and Janice's whole body quivered in burning need. As she began to spasm, he lifted up, mouth hardly ever leaving contact with her body, across her navel, and finally burying his face between her inflated breasts. His hands ran down the sides of her body, pulling her into position. At just the right moment, she felt his cock enter her, felt their pelvises connect, and she . . . .
"Mrs. DeChamps."
Someone was trying to get her attention. Janice ignored it. She was being too expertly fucked. She wrapped her legs around her lover. He was the third in as many hours. Her hands clutched at his back, at his well-groomed hair. His rhythm was precise, his timing the result of long hours of training.
He bent his head to a nipple and took it inside his mouth. At the same time, she squeezed down on him, pumping her toyboy, enjoying the lovely friction of their joined bodies, working over and over and . . . .
"Mrs. DeChamps, please." Once again that voice interrupted her pleasure-need. So irritating!
The heat of him was everywhere. It was inside her! Her climax was right there, building. She wanted to pull him down into her and . . . .
Janice heard someone, a man, sigh. "All right, that's enough." The same voice from before, now issuing a command. "Boy, stop what you're doing and stand over here." Janice opened her eyes.
"No!" she cried out. But it was too late. Forlornly, she felt the lips and cock of her lover disengage.
A crushing ache - an unfilled desire exponentially augmented by the attentions of her borrowed toyboy - ripped through Janice's cunt. It was worse than pain. Pain, at least, was a sensation. Pain was a positive, a thing unto itself. Pain added to the sum of one's existence. The sudden absence of sensation - the absence of a pleasure she desperately needed! - on the other hand was a negative: a removal of something from her.
Something vital. As her lover pulled away, a piece of Janice's soul was carved out and discarded. She wept. "Please! Oh, please! Give him back!!" She twisted around on the bed and looked up.
Out of arm's reach, Janice's lead attorney stood, his suit glistening.
The blond BioTrust toyboy who had servicing her, huge cock still deliciously engorged, muscular frame tanned and tone, his California-blond, sun-bleached hair doll perfect, smiled at the man beside him.
"How may I serve you, sir?" he said, voice as beaming as the rest of him.
Those beautiful blue eyes that had looked so earnestly into her own only moments earlier now completely ignored Janice. She was no longer in the room, at least to him.
He was a toyboy, and she was a dollygirl. Between serving her and serving the free Citizen suddenly there in the room with them, there was no - could be no - competition.
"Put your clothes on and get out of here," Janice's attorney, Mr. Robley, said. He gestured toward the door of the luxury apartment, the same sealed door which no command of Janice's could open.
"At once, sir!" the blond toyboy (California Surfer model, XTC, from BioTrust) said, as earnestly as any living doll. Not even seeing Janice anymore, whose heart wept, whose sweaty body needed his to complete her, the male sex slave quickly scanned the room, picked up the black short-shorts he had come in with, and which Janice had torn away two hours earlier, and slid them on, giving his firm buttocks a playful shake in the attorney's direction. Immediately sensing that he was not interested - Janice didn't know Robley's sexual orientation, he hadn't shown an inclination either way in all the time she had known him - the toyboy bounded out of the room with that barely contained, perpetual enthusiasm so characteristic of BioTrust's patented playthings. The door, of course, split open for him.
"Mrs. DeChamps," Robley said, and Janice, somehow, pulled her attention from the closing portal to her attorney's face. Her heart quickened. He was male. Maybe she could get him to fuck her!
She split her knees, kneeling on the bed before him. "How may I serve . . ." He shook his head and stopped her.
"Don't do that, Mrs. DeChamps. You're pretending again." Both of them knew, after all, she hadn't had the brain surgery that all BioTrust XTC dollygirls and toyboys customarily received after their chemical transformation. That procedure instilled obedience and leashed their awesome sexual appetites. Combined with a programming regimen that took advantage of their post-surgical minds, the dolls' endless carnal passions could then be reserved for the exclusive rights of their future owners.
"Please . . ." Janice begged. She was so hot and wet. She cupped her mammoth tits, grown so large and sensitive since the "execution." She licked her lips.
Her eyes drifted toward the bulge of Mr. Robley's plastic pants.
"Mrs. DeChamps, please," the attorney said. He snapped his fingers several times, pulling her attention to his face. "Mrs. DeChamps, we had an agreement, if you recall. Three hours pleasure followed by fifteen minutes of interest in your case again." He looked around and saw a chair. He beckoned the piece of furniture. Its rollers activated to draw it close to him so he could sit down, shiny suit squeaking as he did so. He then opened his portacase. Solidoe facts and figures formed in the air above his lap.
"So, to begin . . ."
"Please," Janice said. That he was clothed and she was naked and blushed from her tragically aborted fucking went unspoken. If he was uncomfortable, he hid it well.
For her, such a state of undress before others now felt normal. "I don't want to fight the court anymore. I want to be a dollygirl." She fell prone to the bed.
"Please, just . . just give up the appeal. I am a dollygirl." She had been made such that a life of sexual servitude - of fucking and sucking - was a fate she no longer wanted to avoid. Quite the contrary.
She needed to be fucked like the slut she now was! But Robley, damn him, shook his head.
"Well, that's one of the issues we have to discuss, Mrs. DeChamps. Technically, you aren't. We served the court order forestalling your sentence, as you may recall, after the dollygirl agent was delivered but before your dollygirl surgery. No precedent exists for such circumstances, curiously enough." The attorney gazed out into space. He was practically glowing. "We have the opportunity to make new law here," he said reverently.
"But I want to be a dollygirl!" Janice pleaded. "I have to be a slave now." She lifted herself before him, offering her breasts. Her nipples were stiff and desperately needed to be pinched and fondled.
"You have no idea what the drug's done to me! Please! Fuck me! God, please, just fuck me!!"
"That wouldn't be appropriate, Mrs. DeChamps. I'm an officer of the court." He pulled away.
Janice moaned. A wave of overwhelming desire swept through her body, emanating from her wet burning cunt and culminating in her plump, juicy tits, enflaming everything in-between. She shuddered in the wave's embrace, the power of it made so much worse with the studious indifference of this man - such a handsome, powerful man! - whom she knew would never deign fuck her the way she needed to be fucked. She closed her eyes for a moment, weakly, then opened them again, with determination.
"I order you to tell the judge that I'm ready to receive the rest of my sentence. Tell your firm."
Again, Robley shook his head, sadly this time. "Mrs. DeChamps, I'm sorry, but you don't have the authority to give such an order."
She blinked. "What?" It was so hard to concentrate when all she wanted - needed - was to be put on her back and fucked until she passed out. She didn't understand.
"I said you don't have the authority to quit your case, Mrs. DeChamps. You no longer have standing."
"But . . but it's my case!"
"Well, actually, no," Robley said. He gestured at the solidoe field generated from his portacase. A legal brief expanded, and with a touch he highlighted certain sections of it. "If you'll look here . . . ."
Janice didn't have the stamina to read anything. She wanted sex! She made a whimpering sound.
"Oh, yes," the attorney said, seeing her plight. "Okay then. I'll summarize. Until the matter of your exact status has been determined, I can only follow those directions given to me by Mrs. DeChamps when you were, legally, still Mrs. DeChamps."
"But I don't understand. I am me!" Janice screamed. "I am me!"
"Well, a little yes, and a little no, Mrs. DeChamps."
"You just called me ëMrs. DeChamps!' I am Janice DeChamps!"
"That's more of an informal title, I'm afraid. The problem, in principle, is that the law is only clear on the fact that once someone has been given the dollygirl drug, she is no longer a free person."
He laughed humorlessly. "But what does that mean precisely? Does that make you property?" Robley shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. That's BioTrust's position, at any rate. But there's ample precedent for a person not to be at liberty, yet at the same time not to be a piece of property. Yourself, for example, during your house arrest, weren't free, but you weren't enslaved, either."
Janice just looked at the man, utterly bewildered.
"Another complication that arises," Robley went on, "is that current law under the Revised Constitution does go on to define a slave as having received both the dollygirl agent, or its equivalent, and the dollygirl brain surgery, or its equivalent. But you only received the former, not the latter. So, whether or not you're property is further complicated by the fact that you're not clearly enslaved either."
"But . . ."
"In other words, there's a needless level of ambiguity that needs to be addressed in case a situation like this ever comes up again."
"But . . ."
"And all that doesn't even begin to address the original problem. Did the Republic have the right to give you that eroticizing agent in the first place?" He shook his head. "Our position, obviously, is no."
Janice held her hand to her face, shaking. "I want to be a dollygirl," she repeated. "I have to be a dollygirl now, damn you." She looked Robley in the eye again. "Why can't you let me go?!"
"I can't. I have an obligation to my client not to do so."
"But I am your client!"
"Strictly speaking, you are evidence in the wrongful enslavement case of Mrs. Janice DeChamps, but that case can't go forward until the State actually rules whether or not you are a slave."
Robley tried to project a sad countenance toward Janice. He failed. He was obviously too excited by his case. "I'll be honest with you, Mrs. DeChamps. The State will likely rule that you are. The question will rise then, whose slave are you? At the moment, the law could be interpreted as supporting either the claim of BioTrust, that you are their property, or the claim of Mrs. DeChamps' estate, that you are the property of Mrs. DeChamps."
"But I am Mrs. DeChamps!" Janice said heatedly. Talking about herself in the third person, she found, was a little hot. She shook her head. "Wait . . wait. What happens if Mrs. . . if I win my case?"
"Then the evidence, you, will go to the estate of Mrs. DeChamps, who is no longer a Citizen of the Republic of America but a piece of property. Your estate is being held in escrow, too, pending a determination of whether you, meaning the former Mrs. DeChamps, should have been enslaved or not."
"And then what happens?" She hated lawyers. She wanted to fuck them. But still she hated them.
"Well, that depends on the court's decision. If the court rules that you, meaning the former Mrs. DeChamps, should have been enslaved, then all your financial holdings will be confiscated under the provisions of the Forty-Third Amendment, Section Ten, while your person, so to speak, because, as it will likely be established, you aren't a person, but a piece of property, will fall under the province of Section Twelve, whereupon you will be claimed by the state and sold to BioTrust.
"On the other hand, if the court rules that you, the former Mrs. DeChamps, should not have been enslaved, then you, as a piece of property, will then become the property of Mrs. DeChamps, who as a legal entity is nearly bankrupt and facing a large tax debt. As a piece of property, and no longer Mrs. DeChamps, obviously you would have no say in making decisions regarding your estate. Eventually, in fact, almost immediately, I would hazard to say, the state would press a claim on your holdings, and person, or lack thereof, and sell you to its corporate partner, BioTrust."
"Then," Janice said slowly, trying to take it all in, "no matter what happens, I still wind up at BioTrust, to be turned into a dollygirl." Robley agreed that this was likely so.
"Then why are you still representing me!? Why are you still participating in this farce!?"
"I'm not representing you. I'm representing Mrs. DeChamps."
"I AM MRS. DeCHAMPS!!"
Robley sighed. "I explained that. There's also that little legal ambiguity that needs to be clarified. Are you an imprisoned person, or are you a slave? Until the court rules otherwise, you're likely a slave."
"I can't pay you."
"Well, obviously, Mrs. DeChamps. You have no property. You very likely are property."
"Then, why . . . ?"
"The opportunity to make new law in a case like this, to better define slavery and citizenship into the next century: that's important in and of itself, Mrs. DeChamps, don't you think?"
No, as a matter of fact, she didn't, but she didn't think he'd care. "Why are you even bothering to brief me on all this?" She wanted to go back to fucking a toyboy, or masturbating, or something.
Her attorney looked uncomfortable for the first time. "I am required by law to brief my client, Mrs. DeChamps. I have a responsibility as an officer of the court. Granted, from a legal standpoint, you as my client no longer exists, but still, I have to brief someone, and you are the closest equivalent."
He tapped at the holograms in front of him. "Shall we go on, Mrs. DeChamps? There's some truly fascinating stuff here." He sounded excited, like a boy eager to start on an exciting field trip.
She didn't care. She wanted to fuck someone. "When . . how much longer do I have to stay here?"
She didn't even try to keep the desperation out of her voice. Everyday was a torture. The prospect of even one more day in this golden cage, without completion, without total enslavement, was horrifying.
"Until the court makes a ruling, Mrs. DeChamps."
She closed her eyes. "And how much longer will that be?"
"No more than a year or two, I should think," he said, guilelessly. He might have said other things after that, but Janice had begun screaming and at that point was no longer really listening.
. . . to be continued (Part 1 of 2)
thanks to Black Ice who is interviewed here for sending these great photos from The Torture Garden's birthday ball back in the spring which he shot in stereoscopic three-D with a large and expensive camera.
