 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 9. The Verdict
I had spent the night naked in jail after my ill-fated escape attempt. By morning I was shivering with cold as I wrapped myself in the one blanket I had been allowed. The cellblock, which had been dark, suddenly was full of light and sounds as guards came through banging their batons on the bars to wake up all the prisoners. Soon a male guard unlocked my cell and jerked me to my feet, handing me at the same time some jail-issue clothes.
“Prisoner 4306! Use the toilet if you need to. Then put on these clothes and comb your hair. You are coming with me. Now make it quick! I haven’t got all day!” He kept idly banging his baton on the bars of my cell door.
I badly needed to urinate but had never done such a thing in front of a man before. Still it was clear that right now would be my only chance, maybe for hours. So I sat on the stainless steel toilet bowl that had no seat and let go with a loud tinkling sound while he watched. There was no toilet paper so I splashed water from the sink on my vulva and dried myself with a corner of the blanket. He looked bored, probably had seen hundreds of women relieve themselves in much the same way. I picked up the clothes he had brought. They were standard summer jail issue – orange short shorts, a sleeveless white tee shirt, bulky white socks and sneakers. The tee shirt was emblazoned with the words “Manhattan City Jail” in bright orange letters. A bra was provided and a very used threadbare pair of panties. I pulled everything on as quickly as I could.
“We have no time to waste. I’m to present you in court in twenty minutes for your trial.”
He first cuffed my hands behind my back, then led me down the jail cell corridor and into a waiting van that took me to the courthouse. I was soon seated at counsel table with my defense attorney, but still cuffed. I looked around and saw that Mr. Jenkins, my nemesis and former employer, was in attendance, as well as others I had known who had probably come to gloat at my misfortune. The courtroom was only about three quarters full, though the back row, reserved for non-citizens, was entirely full. My attorney told me quite a few non-citizens had been turned away after the back row filled.
“All Rise!” Judge Morelock entered the courtroom and took his seat at the bench and began his usual opening remarks.
"The Third District Court of the State of New York is now in session. We are here today on the matter of an enslavement petition filed by the corporation known as Richmond SlendaBond against an alleged debtor identified in the petition as Stephanie Glenn. Trial having been completed and all parties being present, we will proceed.”
“Miss Glenn, your foolish attempt to flee the jurisdiction of this Court will not go unpunished, regardless of the outcome of this trial. It will be necessary to make a public example of you to discourage other defendants from trying the same tactic. I will more fully address this matter at a later time.“
“For the record, the jurors have not been told of the attempted escape, but only that the case had to be adjourned because of ‘schedule conflicts’. If there are no motions at this time, I will call the jury back in and give them an opportunity to ask any questions they may have, before releasing them back to continue their deliberations.”
The jurors all filed solemnly back into the juror’s box and were seated.
“Have you chosen a foreperson?” the judge asked.
“If it please the Court, my name is Robert Rickson and I have been chosen”, a tall distinguished looking man had risen to address the judge.
“Have any questions for the Court come up in your deliberations so far?”
“Yes, your Honor. We wanted you to go over the instructions again as to how we are to formulate our verdict.”
“Very well”, the judge said, “You are to decide the following questions:
“Your verdict must be unanimous on all five questions or I will send you back for further deliberations until you are unanimous or until I deem there is a hopeless impasse. You may prescribe any disposition of the case, including complete freedom for the debtor, regardless of your findings on the first four questions. You may also make any additional recommendations to this Court concerning sentencing.”
“Thank you, your Honor. That clears up our questions”, the foreman said and took his seat.
“You may return to your deliberations at this time, and Court is now in recess until further notice.” The judge banged his gavel and left the courtroom.
My lawyer and I then retired to the lounge to await developments. A guard accompanied us to keep an eye on me and my handcuffs were not released this time. I wanted a cup of coffee so my lawyer had to make it for me and present it to my lips. I did not have the use of my hands. Time passed slowly, but after about two hours we were summoned back to the courtroom.
At 11:30 am the judge banged the Court back into session.
“This Court is now in session in the matter of Richmond SlendaBond v. Glenn. The jury has sent me a message they wish to report a verdict at this time. Bailiff, show them in please.”
Jurors filed in solemnly as before. I noticed several of them were looking directly at me. My lawyer whispered to me that that was usually a good sign.
“Will the jury foreman stand. Has the jury reached a verdict in this matter?”
“Yes we have, your Honor” Mr. Rickson stated.
“Bailiff, will you collect the verdict form from the foreman at this time.” There was a hush in the courtroom as we all forgot to breathe while this took place, and the judge studied the form for a minute. His expression gave nothing away.
“Mr. Foreman, I will read the questions one by one and ask you to answer as to the jury’s verdict. “ the judge intoned.
“On the first question: Do you find that this defendant owes the creditor at least ten thousand dollars and is unable to pay?”
“We so find, your Honor.”
“On the second question: Do you find that this defendant is in any way at fault for contracting this debt or for her inability to pay it?”
“We find this defendant to be without fault, your Honor.” I breathed a sigh of relief at this, and heard my lawyer do likewise. I also thought I heard some expression of disappointment from the gallery. The judge banged his gavel for order.
“On the third question: Do you find that this defendant has shown a willingness to do everything possible to discharge this debt while retaining her freedom?”
“No we do not, your Honor!” My heart was in my throat at this announcement.
“On the fourth question: Would enslaving this defendant likely result in extreme psychological duress or trauma?”
“Yes, we believe it would, your Honor.”
“On the fifth question: What shall be the disposition? Shall the defendant be freed, indentured for a limited time, or enslaved for life?”
“This defendant shall be indentured to this creditor for a term of ten years, your Honor.”
At this, there were murmurs of glee from some spectators in the gallery. One whistled. Others were openly weeping for me. The judge banged his gavel for order.
“So say you all? If any juror does not support this verdict, let him speak now.” Silence.
“Does the jury have any special recommendations, before I pass sentence?”
“We have two, your Honor. First, we believe that since Miss Glenn is a professional person and is not at fault in this matter, that she should be permitted, while under the complete control of her creditor, to pursue her profession with all earnings from professional or other work to be the property of creditor. Second, we believe that due to Miss Glenn’s delicate nature, there is risk of trauma, and that creditor should be required to provide psychological counseling for her so that she can survive this indenture with her mental health intact.”
“My thanks to the jury”, the judge said. “There is one final duty for the jury, and that is to be present for the reading of the sentence and bear witness to the actual reduction to indentured slavery of the defendant. As jurors you will be asked to sign as witnesses that this has been done in your presence. Prior to sentencing, however, I am required by Public Law 96-012 to order that baseline physical and mental tests be performed upon the defendant for use in monitoring her subsequent well being under the indenture. Accordingly Court will be in recess until 9am tomorrow morning so that this can be accomplished. I will confer with counsel now in my chambers and consider the sentence to be imposed. When we reconvene at 9am we will have sentencing and the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’ that is open to the public and will complete this proceeding.” With that, he banged the gavel and people started to file out of the room.
***************************************************************************************
My attorney whispered to me that we were wanted in judge’s chambers along with Mr. Steelforth and the StendaBond attorney. So I followed him to chambers, still handcuffed, and the guard followed me. I was conscious of my scanty attire as the building was highly air conditioned and I could feel a cool draft on my bare legs and arms. As we entered chambers I noticed that Mr. Steelforth hung back for a while to make a phone call. He rejoined us just as the judge came in. I quickly dropped to my knees before the judge’s desk at a signal from my attorney. I was no longer a free person and no longer entitled to be treated as such.
“The reason I wanted to see you all in my chambers is to discuss this surprise recommendation of the jury that Miss Glenn be allowed to practice her profession while under indenture. This is rather unusual since it is normally thought that the characteristic unquestioning obedience required of a person under indenture is not compatible with the kind of discretion normally needed by a professional person to carry out professional responsibilities.”
“Your Honor, we object to this …” the SlendaBond attorney started to say, but got cut off by Mr. Steelforth.
“I have just spoken with our client, your Honor, and he is quite amenable to working out something consistent with the jury’s recommendation. He is prepared to allow Miss Glenn to work in her field as an accountant, to exercise professional discretion and work under minimal supervision in her professional work, while yet being under slave discipline and the need for instant and unquestioning obedience in her, er …other duties!”
“You mean her sexual duties, counselor?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your Honor. I did not want to state it so baldly, but yes.”
I sat and listened to all this from my lowly position on the floor. All these men were discussing me as though I were not even in the room.
“You have been quite an advocate for allowing slaves to continue their professional careers, have you not Bill?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your Honor, I gave a talk on that very idea just last Saturday at the symposium.”
“I heard something about that. I take it defense counsel has no objection to this rather unusual arrangement?”
“No, indeed, your Honor. It sounds as though she will have a much less degrading experience during the ten years of her indenture if this can be worked out!”
“And the counseling?”
“My client is willing to provide for that also”, Mr. Steelforth agreed.
“Then we are all in agreement”, the judge summarized. Meeting adjourned.”
For lunch my guard handcuffed me in front, so that I could have limited use of my hands for eating and drinking. In the restaurant I was shivering with cold in my jail short shorts and sleeveless tee shirt so I asked the waitress if she could provide me a tablecloth to drape over my legs. She obliged.
“Can’t we appeal?” I said in a pleading tone to my attorney.
“Stephanie, I need to explain something to you. Appellate courts only will hear arguments alleging that the trial judge made an error in applying the law. They will not second guess juries on questions of fact. In your case the judge has done everything by the book, so I don’t see any error of law.”
“But couldn’t we at least try? What could it hurt to try?” I wailed.
“It could hurt a great deal Stephanie. Appellate courts don’t like their time wasted with frivolous arguments. On cases like yours, if they felt we had no real argument of law, they would very likely increase your sentence, perhaps by as much as two or three years.”
“Then is there no hope at all?” I said in a very subdued voice, tears running down my face.
“Trust that I will be following your case as further developments unfold, and if I see facts developing that would warrant it, I can call for an evidentiary hearing on those facts.”
My attorney went on to explain to me that this “professional slavery” as he called it, might well be saving me from spending the next ten years as a public prostitute. He quickly added that there might still be sexual services demanded of me by the owner of my indenture, in addition to professional services. But these services would likely be only for the entertainment of my owner and perhaps a few of his friends, rather than the general public. I would not be turning tricks for money.
After lunch my attorney and the guard escorted me to Examination Services on the sixth floor of the courthouse. There I received a standard medical examination and was interviewed by a psychologist and took a standard IQ test and a standard test of general knowledge. Then it was back to the jail for the night.
Promptly at 9 am the next morning the judge banged the Court back into session. My guard brought me to court in the same jail shorts and tee shirt I had worn the day before and had again cuffed my hands behind me. The bailiffs had allowed even more spectators in so that it was standing room only. Word about the “Ceremony of Indenture” had evidently gotten around, and many had come to witness my humiliation. The jurors had all filed back into the jury box.
“This Court is now again in session in the matter of Richmond Slendabond v. Glenn. The jury having rendered its verdict, we are here now for sentencing and for the ‘Ceremony of Indenture’.”
"IT IS THE ORDER OF THIS COURT THAT THE ALTERNATIVE PETITION BY THE PLAINTIFF, RICHMOND SLENDABOND, TO INDENTURE THE DEFENDANT, STEPHANIE GLENN, BE AND HEREBY IS GRANTED FOR A TERM OF TEN YEARS, AND THAT OWNERSHIP OF HER INDENTURE AND PHYSICAL CUSTODY OF HER PERSON BE CONVEYED BY THIS COURT TO SAID PLAINTIFF, ALONG WITH A DOCUMENT OF TITLE TO ANY AND ALL PERSONAL PROPERTY OR REAL ESTATE THAT SHE MAY POSSESS, AT THE CONCLUSION OF THIS PROCEEDING."
“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT PLAINTIFF SHALL ALLOW THE INDENTUREE OPPORTUNITY TO PRACTICE HER PROFESSION UNDER HIS GENERAL SUPERVISION AND CONTROL, IN ADDITION TO ANY NON PROFESSIONAL
DUTIES HE MAY PRESCRIBE, AND SHALL ALSO PROVIDE FOR HER MEDICAL DENTAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL CARE DURING THE TERM OF HER INDENTURE.”
“IT IS FURTHER ORDERED THAT THIS ENSLAVEMENT SHALL BE NON-PUNITIVE IN CHARACTER PURSUANT TO PUBLIC LAW 96-012, AND THAT PLAINTIFF, OR SUBSEQUENT PARTY HOLDING INDENTURE SHALL MAINTAIN RECORDS SUBJECT TO AUDIT BY ANY CERTIFIED SLAVE ADVOCACY ORGANIZATION.”
"At this point there is a ceremony”, the judge continued, prescribed by law for judicial indentures which requires that certain things be done in open court and that it is the final duty of the jury to witness that these things have been done and to affix their signatures as witnesses to the ceremony’”.
“The law also prescribes, that a person about to lose his or her freedom to indenture for a term of years, shall present himself or herself humbly to the jury. It is a sign of servility that the one about to be indentured must show to the Court, to his or her jurors and to his or her betters in the courtroom.”
I was then made to face my jurors, kneel to them and thank them for indenturing me! While in this position a machine was wheeled up behind me. I stole a quick glance and saw what appeared to be a giant hypodermic needle and means for strapping a person’s head into a harness. The judge sharply ordered me to only look forward toward the jury and to make eye contact with jurors. I felt hands strapping my neck to the machine and clamping my head in place so that I could not move. Then a bailiff was swabbing my neck with some cool liquid that smelled like alcohol. I felt a sharp sting in my neck, searing heat and a loud report like a gunshot echoing in the courtroom. The room swirled around me for a moment as some of the jurors looked on sympathetically and many in the gallery smirked. I felt a bandage being applied to the back of my neck.
I knew that my neck had been penetrated by something! Then my head cleared in time to hear the judge saying something to the jurors to the effect that "if she ever tries to run now we will have no difficulty tracking her!" I later learned that they had injected a bio-implant in my head that would transmit a unique serial number to satellites for the term of my indenture that would make me always identifiable and locatable by police agencies all over the world! This bio-implant would also monitor my vital functions and radio transmit that information as well, and was capable of receiving a coded transmission initiated by my owner that would do various things to my body!
If the judge had meant to break my spirit right here in front of jurors and spectators he had done so. Every shred of dignity had been taken from me in this proceeding! Soon all my bonds were released and I was spun around to face my jury in a standing position that they might enjoy the sight of me broken, my body wracked with sobs, and tears streaming down my face! I could not face the jury. I just could not! I hung my head and closed my eyes! One of the bailiffs dried my tears. Then the judge ordered me to stand erect, hold my head high, open my eyes and make eye contact with each and every juror! When I was slow to comply I felt a paddle slam into my buttocks! I straightened up and opened my eyes. I did not want to be hit again! I saw smirks in the eyes of some spectators who, I suspected had much enjoyed my humiliation a moment before and further enjoyed seeing me slammed upright just now!
"Young lady,” the judge intoned, “this is as good a time as any for you to begin learning that instant obedience is required of you in your new life as an indentured slave."
There were titters of amusement everywhere and I saw more smirks and knowing smiles! God! Did no one care about my dignity as a human being who had just been stripped of her freedom? Even my own lawyer seemed amused.
“THE FINAL PART OF MY ORDER TODAY CONCERNS THE MATTER OF YOUR WILFUL ATTEMPT TO FLEE THE JURISDICTION OF THIS COURT. IT IS THE LAW THAT ALL SUCH ATTEMPTS MUST BE PUBLICLY PUNISHED TO SET AN EXAMPLE TO OTHERS WHO MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO FLEE. THE COURT ORDERS THAT YOU BE TAKEN TO THE NEAREST PUBLIC SLAVE AUCTION PLATFORM AND WHILE AT THAT PLACE HAVE YOUR SLAVE NUMBER BURNED INTO YOUR NAKED BUTTOCKS. THIS IS NOT ONLY TO PUNISH YOU FOR FLEEING, BUT ALSO TO IMPRESS UPON YOUR MIND THAT YOU ARE NO LONGER A FREE PERSON, BUT THAT YOU ARE, FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS UNDER THE ABSOLUTE CONTROL OF ANOTHER.”
The judge ordered me to thank the jury again for indenturing me. This time I was to prostrate myself on the ground before the jury, holding my forehead in contact with the floor until given permission to rise. While I remained in this position he had the bailiff pass the witness form to the jurors for their signatures, certifying that they had personally witnessed my fall from freedom.
“At this time I thank the members of the jury for their service. The jury is discharged. Go home!”
The jurors filed out one by one, casting glances at the former free girl who now lay enslaved, and prostrate on the floor.
“Court is now adjourned."
****************************************************************************************************
The judge had not said I could rise from the floor. But Mr. Steelforth came to get me and bade me rise. He put a steel collar around my neck and attached a leash.
“You belong to us now, Miss Glenn! Regrettably you have a date with the branding iron now that must be gotten out of the way before we can begin introducing you to your new life.”
He led me, still handcuffed and in my jail shorts, out to the public corridor and down the elevator to the courthouse garage, where a van was waiting to take me to my rendezvous on the public slave platform. I soon found myself on that same sawdust covered stage in front of a crowd where my lawyer had taken me before trial to show me what slavery meant.
Mr. Steelforth presented me to the master of ceremonies along with a copy of the judge’s order for my branding. While the M.C. read the order I looked out upon the crowd. To my horror there was my nemesis again, Mr. Jenkins, and several of the same coworkers from that company who had watched my trial. Here they were to gloat again. The Master of Ceremonies then announced to the crowd that there was to be a bit of extra entertainment that afternoon. I saw and heard smirks and guffaws from the mostly male crowd. Then the M.C. noted that the order called for me to be branded naked abd signaled to a guard to strip me.
“Guard, since she is handcuffed already, you will need to assist her in meeting this requirement.”
The guard stooped down in front of me as I remained seated and removed my shoes and socks. Then he made me stand, removed my jewelry and used a pair of scissors to cut off first my tee shirt and bra, then my jail short shorts and panties. There was laughter, some jeering and more guffaws and wolf whistles from the crowd. I was glad that I at least could keep my legs together. I knew they could see very little of my vulva with all that pubic hair down there and thighs close together.
The guard bent me over a bench atop the stage, with my buttocks toward the crowd, my back horizontal at approximately eye level for the crowd, and my feet well apart. I was secured in this obscene posture by various devices. Looking over my shoulder I could make out the faces of the first couple of rows of spectators. Several of the men were smirking at my predicament. I was quite certain those in the first two or three rows could see not only my bare ass but also my labia, clitoral hood and pubic hair between my legs. It seemed particularly degrading to be forced to put on such a display while restrained in such a demeaning posture. A fat woman in this posture would show little or none of her sexual anatomy because her fat thighs and fat ass cheeks would mercifully conceal those parts. But I, with my so slender thighs and so compact ass ovals, knew that I would be showing everything!
I could sense every one’s eyes focused on my crotch! I started to cry! Tears streamed down my face at the irretrievable loss of my modesty. They had all SEEN my most intimate and sexual parts displayed for their amusement. They could all choose to keep that vision among their best memories for life and experience the pleasure (at my expense) forever. I could not take any of that vision of me back from them.
Just before I felt the searing pain they told me that it would be my slave number that would be burned into my flesh marking me as what I now was. I began to cry uncontrollably as soon as i knew what they were about to do to me. It was so degrading and so final and so humiliating that these things were done to me in the presence of my enemies. An instant later humiliation was the least of my problems. I thought pain was a stubbed toe. This pain was so intense and I screamed so loud I felt sure that I had shattered some of the beer glasses in the crowd. Then I was sobbing uncontrollably not just tears but my whole body wracked with convulsions.
Mr. Steelforth then stepped up to collect me, re-attached his leash and placed a cape around my shoulders as he led me away to my new life.
|
|
|