Welcome to Slate City
Part 2- Eliza goes to court.
The Slate City police station was a blocky, multi-leveled building that managed to convey modernism and conventional utilitarianism in the same architectural statement. Simple, strong lines projected a stolid presence that made it feel like the building could withstand a direct assault indefinitely. Large block letters along the roof line identified the structure as simply SCPD.
Drenched in sweat and exhausted, I was miserable by the time we arrived. The absolute burn for release was no longer a horribly unattainable fiery yearning, but was now a dull, throbbing ache of heat and need. I had no idea if I could even orgasm yet, considering I was unable to do so earlier when I had been trying so desperately, but the point was moot, as my arms and wrists were still completely secured behind me. The rubber gag remained in my mouth as well, preventing any talking on my part. Or retention of dignity.
The spacer bar was unlocked, freeing my ankles. The Slate City officers had assumed- rightly- that I was in no condition to run away. An officer stood on either side of me and, each with a grip on my upper arms, guided me from the car toward the station. My legs were weak and even this relatively short walk was an extreme effort for me.
I stumbled through the subtle neon lights outlining the door into the station. Slate City apparently took its cyber-city standing seriously. Whatever. Bulletin boards lined both sides of the entrance, with various announcements and advertisements layered, fighting for position. The front desk thankfully wasn’t far from the entrance.
A tall, athletic-looking officer with a tie and single silver bars pinned to the points of his spread collar stood behind the booking desk, speaking with a grizzled older beat cop. The officer turned as we got to the desk.
“Good evening, Sergeant Nolan,” he said, nodding. “What do you have for us?”
“Evenin’, Lieutenant Evans,” said the burly officer holding my right arm. “Trespassing, suspicion of breaking and entering, impersonating a bunny, fleeing from officers, resisting arrest…”
The lieutenant’s eyebrows rose. “Impersonating a bunny? You’re sure?”
Sergeant Nolan spun me around for some reason. “Yessir. See?”
The lieutenant grunted. “All right. Who is she, anyway? Got an I.D.?”
The sergeant shook his head. “No idea who she is. Been very uncooperative. Wildcat. Had to pop her with some heat.”
The grizzled booking officer standing next to the lieutenant grunted his approval. “Took the starch right out of her, looks like.”
Nolan barked a laugh. “Yeah, it did.”
Lieutenant Evans glanced at the monitor. “Is this the one who broke into the tattoo shop?”
Nolan nodded. “Yeah, pretty sure. The shop owner is coming by later for an official I.D.”
“How’d you find her?”
“Anonymous caller, sir. Said the person we were looking for was hiding in the back of Gregory’s Pub dressed as a bunny. We showed up to check it out, she saw us and bolted. I had Waters and Turko posted by the back door, though, and she plowed right into ‘em. She still managed to get away, but they popped her with heat and that was that.”
That was that. Cute. Things weren’t looking good at all right now. And it wasn’t hard to figure out who the ‘anonymous caller’ was. Fucking Blondie.
Satisfied, the lieutenant turned to the grizzled desk sergeant. “Get her booked, Sergeant Greggs.”
The booking sergeant moved to the computer. “On it, sir.”
Despite my body’s utter exhaustion, my mind was racing as I watched the lieutenant walk away. I had to handle this next part carefully.
Greggs typed several notations on the computer, then he called over his shoulder, “Kersey!”
A tall, muscular black woman with short bleached blonde hair appeared next to Evans.
“Yeah, Sarge?”
The booking sergeant tilted his head toward me. “We’re booking this one.”
She walked around and took me by the upper arm, freeing Nolan and the other cop to go for the coffee machine. Her grip was every bit as firm and strong as theirs had been.
Greggs grunted and looked at me. “Name?”
Kersey reached up and took the rubber gag from my mouth. My chin was wet with drool. I gave Kersey a glare, then looked at Greggs. “My last name is Drinke. With an ‘e’.”
Greggs typed a notation. “Drinke. Got it. First name?”
“Anita.”
Greggs typed it in. “Anita Drinke. All right, got it. What’s your-“
He stopped and looked at me in a way suggesting he had seen it all before and hadn’t been impressed then either. “Anita Drinke. Real cute. Let’s try again.”
I smirked. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Besides, my real name embarrasses me.”
Greggs grunted. “Worry about your hurt feelings on your own time. What’s your name?”
I gave him a very sincere look. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
He sighed. “Cross my friggin’ heart.”
“Yukon.”
He gave me a dubious look. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Told you it was embarrassing.”
He typed a quick notation. “All right. Yukon. Got it. That your first or last name?”
“Yukon is my first name. My last name is spelled ‘B-i-g-h-t-m-i-e’.”
Greggs typed it in. “All right. Name is Yukon Bightmie. You’re right. That is a weird-“ Then he stopped again and gave me a look.
I gave him my most innocent big-eyed look.
Greggs backspaced and spoke to Kersey. “Jane Doe. Get her processed. She can see the judge in the morning.”
“On it, Sarge,” said Kersey. She pushed the rubber ball gag back into my mouth and then, before I realized what she was doing, she snapped a grey metal collar on my throat. Then she marched me toward the back.
*****
The processing area was so chlorine clean that I felt grimy by comparison. The surfaces were shiny, the chrome gleamed and the electronic equipment looked static-free. It was like they were so bored by lack of people arrested that they had nothing better to do than clean stuff back here.
I managed to get through the process without getting popped with fucking heat, although that was probably because Officer Kersey opted to leave the ball gag in my mouth for most of the procedure. Which was probably just as well, as it kept me from overplaying my hand. Still would have been nice, though, as my cleavage was drenched in drool. That and the fact that they didn’t even give me a change of clothes from the ridiculous bimbo outfit did nothing to improve my mood. Courtesy wouldn’t have a been a strong consideration on my part.
Strange as it sounds, I wasn’t overly worried. Playing the stupid game with my name during booking wasn’t done out of some silly urge to tweak authority. I’d done that for a very specific reason.
That reason was Slate City’s justice system. More specifically, their lack of an extradition policy.
Back when I’d first joined the Alley Cats, two of our members pulled a job that went bad. There was a lot of heat and they decided it was time to check out the weather in Slate City for a bit. While that probably wasn’t a bad idea, getting busted in Slate City for a break-in was.
During their booking, they found I.D. on Natalie, so they ran her name and found she had a standing warrant in Chrystal Heights. Natalie got a free ride to the Heights courthouse, where Judge Hanover tripled her sentence out of courtesy for Slate City’s help. She ended up as the office blowjob girl at a computer software company located in downtown Heights. One of the perks for the employees working there was morning or evening blowjobs, depending on what shift you worked. Natalie was blowing geeks all day, as well as licking a few. And because Judge Hanover had implemented a semen addiction to her sentence, she was even blowing guys on what little off-time she had.
But Gem didn’t have I.D. on her and Gem refused to give her name, so she stayed in the Slate City system. I had no idea what happened to Gem after that, but street chant said she was out in almost no time. I didn’t know for sure, but at the very least, she certainly wasn’t on her knees giving daily blowjobs to geeks.
I was well aware there was still a standing warrant for me in Chrystal Heights. I’d never been fingerprinted in the Heights, so my getting fingerprinted here in Slate City wasn’t going to raise any flags. Giving my name, however, most certainly would. Granted, getting arrested was inconvenient as all hell and I had likely lost my chance at the Beast commission, but they really couldn’t get me for much more than trespassing. The breaking and entering certainly wasn’t going to help, but I didn’t get caught with any stolen goods and I was a pretty girl, so worst-case scenario, I’d end up with probation for a couple months. Irksome and inconvenient, but I could deal.
Getting fingerprinted actually proved to be a bit of a relief, since being handcuffed and having my elbows pressed together inside the stupid leather sleeve holding my forearms together behind my back had left my shoulders screaming. Having them take a blood sample, however, seemed a bit extreme.
“Mmpphh?” I said, trying to speak though the rubber ball in my mouth. “Mm mpphh mpphh?”
Officer Kersey typed some information into the computer. “Blood test. A DNA sample, to be more precise. We keep it on record here.”
I wasn’t happy about it, but being so close to Chrystal Heights and Darkview, it made sense. The University of Chrystal Heights keeps every student’s DNA on file for identification purposes, in case of accidental or malicious gender changes. Having an arcane study track apparently has its drawbacks.
It took a surprisingly short time. The only delay was when Cosmo showed up to I.D. me. He wanted to know where his papers were and I denied everything. Other than that, as I was the only one in the station, there wasn’t anything else to interfere with the process. Officer Kersey typed a few final things into the computer, then stood up.
“Let’s go,” she said, taking me by the shoulder. “You’re going to your cell now. I suggest you get some sleep. You’ll be in front of the judge first thing.”
I kept my face neutral, but her words were a complete relief. My arms had never ached so much and my legs were still weak from getting popped with that fucking heat.
She escorted me to a bare cell that had one other occupant- a short-haired redhead sleeping on one of the cots. The officer removed the restraints and stepped back out of the cell. The barred door slid closed and locked. I acted nonchalant- I wasn’t about to let Kersey know my shoulders were killing me- but as soon as she left the area, I was rotating my arms like crazy, trying to work out the stiffness.
And then I went to work on my crazy-wet, still overheated pussy.
*****
It took hours to force out enough orgasms for me to finally relax enough to drop unconscious, my clit raw and fiery. It felt like I had been asleep for 5 minutes when I heard a voice saying, “Rise and shine, Doe. Court in thirty.”
I sat up, sandy-eyed. Despite my exhaustion and aching, throbbing pussy, a part of me managed to exhale in relief at the realization that they still didn’t know my name. They were still calling me Jane Doe.
The officer left two food trays on the floor. I got to my feet and padded over to grab some breakfast.
My cellmate rolled to her feet as well. “Doe? Your name’s Doe?”
I managed a brusque laugh. “Nah. They’re calling me that ‘cuz they don’t know my name.”
She gave me a look. “Ten out of ten for balls, but it’s really not a good area for screwing around. They’ll bury you in the system.”
I shrugged and scarfed down my breakfast, then splashed some water on my face. I had a date with the judge in a few minutes. “Are they going to give me my shoes or am I supposed to go to court barefoot?”
The redhead shook her head. “You go barefoot. Prisoners don’t get the privilege of footwear. I assume you haven’t been in a Slate City jail before?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head, “and I like it that way. Once I’m done here, your city won’t have to worry about me darkening their fucking doors again.”
My cellmate gave me a ghost of a grin and went back to work on her breakfast.
*****
Twenty minutes later, I was seated in the courtroom waiting for the judge. The room was stark and cold. There were four other men in suits in the courtroom. I was the only female in the room and I was still dressed in nothing but the stretchy mini-skirt and tube top from the pub. And since Blondie had tricked me out of my panties, I didn’t even have the benefit of underwear.
I sat between two officers with my wrists cuffed behind me. My forearms were again sleeved together, pulling my elbows close together, causing my breasts to jut out. Not that I had a huge amount to display, but it was still a very weird sensation, being barefoot in court with my breasts pushed out. I was nearly naked and on display.
“All rise!”
The men rose to their feet. I hesitated for a moment, just for effect, but one of the officers grabbed the top of the leather sleeve behind me and pulled me to my feet.
A tall, broad-shouldered man of middle years entered the room with an efficient stride, his black robe swirling around his legs. His block jaw was covered with a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard. He made his way to his chair and sat down. His presence filled the room.
The bailiff (or whoever he was) said, “The honorable Sir Anthony now presiding. Be seated.”
Sir Anthony ignored me as he looked over the paperwork in front of him. Then he set down the papers and looked at me. “All right,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. “What do we have?”
One of the suits spoke up. “Jane Doe, your honor. Breaking and entering, theft. Impersonating a bandmaid. Resisting arrest. Non-compliance.”
The judge looked at me and raised one glorious eyebrow. “Jane Doe? She refused to give her name?”
“That’s correct, your Honor.”
Sir Anthony glanced at the paperwork. “And the evidence has been confirmed?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Who was the witness?”
“Sir Cosmo, your Honor,” said the suit. “He personally witnessed Miss Doe’s transgression and signed a statement.”
“Was Sir Cosmo present when Miss Doe impersonated a banded individual?”
The suit shook his head. “No, your Honor. That occurred at Sir Gregory’s Pub. Sir Gregory was not present at the time, but his manager Jeremy Korsi was. It was he who identified Miss Doe. Miss Doe fled the premises, but ran directly into the officers who were waiting just outside the door. The two officers in the restaurant were able to maintain unbroken line-of-sight during the attempted escape.”
“I see,” said Sir Anthony. “How was the connection made between the break-in and the pub?”
“An anonymous tip, your Honor. The police had already been contacted by Sir Cosmo and were in the process of responding. They received a tip while en route that the person responsible for the break-in was hiding in Sir Gregory’s Pub disguised as a bandmaid.”
The judge nodded. “A bit odd, but not overly so. So the defendant was positively identified by a witness of Quality and again by officers. I assume this is the clothing she was wearing when she was apprehended?”
“Yes, your Honor. She had no other clothing or items besides what she’s wearing.”
Sir Anthony absently tapped his desk with a pen. “Interesting. And you’re sure she’s not banded?”
The suit nodded. “Yes, your Honor. Her band was actually just a belt she crafted to look like a collar for the sake of her disguise. She’s not tagged or marked with any identifying code.”
The judge glanced around. “All right. We have a Jane Doe committing multiple transgressions in direct sight of witnesses, Quality and otherwise, and refusing to cooperate with officers. Are there any other facts which might alter this perception of events?”
I looked around. Everyone was silent, so I looked back at Sir Anthony. “Do I get to speak, your Honor?”
Sir Anthony turned and truly looked at me for the first time. “No, you do not. You had your chance to speak with the officers earlier during the fact-gathering stage and you elected not to do so. Now be silent.”
I blinked. What the fuck?
Sir Anthony looked around the silent room, then nodded. “Very well. Jane Doe to be banded and auctioned. Proceeds assigned to the city to cover legal costs. Coding and imprinting to be arranged by officers of the court, with Sir Cosmo, should he desire, to be granted right of imprinting, and to be determined by a court officer should he decline. Doe to perform one week’s service at Sir Gregory’s Pub prior to auction. This ruling is complete.”
There was silence for several heartbeats as I processed his words. Then the words banded and [/i]auction[/i] hit my brain like a wet, heavy sandbag. “Wait…what?!”
The suit looked at the officers. “Get her tagged and processed. Let me know when she’s ready for transfer.”
I jumped to my feet. “No fucking way! This is bullshit! Nobody is putting a collar on me! NOBODY! I will fuck up the person who thinks I’m going to be their stupid little bimbo, you patriarchal fuckheads!”
Despite my torrid rant, nobody even flicked an eyelid. The judge lifted his gaze from his paperwork and gave me a look so direct that I was momentarily struck speechless.
“You will be silent,” said the judge, and the grey collar around my throat suddenly warmed. “Furthermore, as you have shown disrespect, you will assume consequences. Leniency granted due to ignorance of custom, but transgression will still be addressed.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The grey band around my neck felt imperceptibly tighter, like a hand around my throat. Heart pounding, the strength drained from my legs and I found myself dropping to my knees. I tried to speak again and only managed a barely audible squeak.
The warmth from the collar grew, radiating through my shoulders, filling my upper body. My chest and shoulders felt tighter. There was a tension inside my chest, a slowly increasing pressure. My nipples were tingling maddeningly and I badly needly to itch them, but with my arms restrained behind my back, I could only clench my teeth in horrible frustration.
The pressure continued growing. I could barely breath. My tube top was too tight. I opened my mouth to complain, to berate, to scream, but nothing came out. More pressure, tighter, until I didn’t think I could take any more…and then there was the sound of cloth tearing and the pressure eased.
My heart was still racing, but I had finally realized what happened.
The judge had somehow made my tits grow.
I was breathless, still trying to fully process what had just happened. The pressure and the tearing were the result of the stupid pub-wench top I’d been wearing not being able to handle my suddenly humongous melons. The judge had somehow given me a fucking Chrystal Heights bimbo rack.
And even worse, he had given me sensitive nipples. Thick, sensitive nipples that were now powerfully rigid. And completely on display. I was fully topless in a courtroom, my tits available for anyone to see.
I tried to twist out of the hold of the officers on either side of me, tried to hide my bare chest from sight, but they had no trouble holding me in place. I looked at the judge and opened my mouth to unleash a string of obscenities, but nothing came out. All I could do was glare impotently into his bored gaze.
Sir Anthony looked down at his paperwork, dismissing me, and spoke to the officers on either side of me. “Carry on.”
The pressure around my throat eased and the officers took my arms, lifting me to my feet. The weight of my now-huge breasts eased for a moment as my breasts bounced gently up and down before settling. The sensations from my nipples were causing me to helplessly lubricate and I still had little strength in my knees. My topless state had me furiously blushing from the waist up and I couldn’t do or say a single thing about it.
Then the two officers carried me out of the courtroom, my bare feet trailing on the floor.
*****
My cellmate was lying on her cot when they dropped me to the bare floor of my cell. She took one look at my bare inflated chest and laughed.
“Wow. You ran your mouth, didn’t you?”
I opened my mouth to answer angrily, but nothing came out. I crossed my arms over my bare melons.
She rolled her eyes. “Nice tits. You really don’t know shit about Slate City. You’re getting banded, aren’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I nodded sullenly.
She rolled to her side and propped herself on an elbow. “I tried to warn you. Hope your act of defiance or whatever you want to call it was worth it, because everything changes for you now. Do you know anything at all about being banded? Becoming a bunny?”
I gave another curt shake of my head as I worked myself to my feet.
She swung her legs over the edge of the cot and sat up. “All right. I’ll give you a quick primer. You might as well sit down while you’ve got the chance, since you’ll probably be spending more time on your knees than sitting in the near future.”
I would have given just about anything to be able to speak right then, but I couldn’t, so I stomped over to my cot and plopped down. My ridiculous boobs jiggled under my crossed arms with every step and the electric jolt of me dropping onto the cot made me gasp.
My cellmate leaned back against the wall, her legs stretched in front of her. “The short version is that Slate City is a city of men and power. A patriarchal jungle, really, where the strong rule the weak. You either have the power or you’re used by someone who does.”
She continued. “A number of women end up banded. The ones who aren’t are often part of the power structure and can be just as bad as the men. Necessity, I suppose, since showing weakness is a good way to find yourself stripped and banded.”
I shifted, trying to process the information while ignoring the sensations from gently bobbing boobs. My clit still burned and I was so fucking wet. I would have kicked an orphan for some underwear.
My cellmate shifted into a marginally more comfortable position. “Being banded is more than just wearing a collar, though. It’s an indication of social standing, yes, but it’s also shows ownership.”
Wait a minute. Banded? Collar? That got my attention as I made a sudden mental connection.
She casually pointed a manicured finger at my throat and nodded. “Yep, that’s a band. Your legal status will be ‘bandmaid’, but that’s kinda formal and way archaic, so you’ll usually just be called a bunny. Technically speaking, for purposes of taxation, bandmaids are known as ‘bonded exceptions’. On the old-timey tax forms, that was shortened to ‘Bon-E’, which became ‘bunny’ in slang vernacular and it stuck. Sort of like calling your kids Exemption A and Exemption B.”
Bunny?! Son of a bitch. I had seriously miscalculated. I needed to start doing some damage control. I opened my mouth to launch, but all that came out was an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak.
My cellmate grinned. “Your voice is already coming back. Sir Anthony must have felt sorry for you. Running your mouth in his court usually costs you your voice for at least a couple days.”
I was really getting tired of this stupid city.
My cellmate continued. “Anyway, you’re gonna be learning the structure soon enough, so I’ll leave that alone for now. But you do need to understand a few things about Slate City.”
I tried to give a growl to show exactly what I thought about Slate City, but all that came out was a squeak.
My cellmate chuckled. “It’s for your own good, all right? Now, for starters, the ‘slate’ in Slate City is a thing, and it’s not just any kind of slate. It’s called crystal slate. Crystal slate is actually a metallic compound consisting of slate, quartz, titanium, crystal and some kind of organic element. It’s extremely rare. In fact, this city is built on the only known deposit of crystal slate.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Organic?” I squeaked.
She nodded. “Hey, I actually understood that! And to answer your question, yes, organic. And to be even more precise, it’s sentient to a degree. Nobody understands how or why, but the stuff is able to intuit certain things.”
Sentient? What the hell?
She continued. “You need to know this because that stuff gives the men of this city- and some women- different abilities. The stronger the person, the stronger the abilities. You saw what Sir Anthony did to you. He’s able to do that because he’s not just a judge, he’s a Master.”
I flushed and crossed my arms a little bit tighter. Yeah, I’d seen.
She knew she had my attention now and she settled into lecture mode. “All free men have abilities, but they vary in degree. You’ll learn to tell the difference. Or at least you’d better. You’ll be referring to your owner as ‘Master’, but if you’re addressed by anyone with a title of ‘Sir’- like Sir Anthony- he should be addressed as Master as well…or Mistress, if they’re female. The Masters are the city superstars, like big industrialists or powerful politicians. They’re nobility. Any man you encounter should be addressed as ‘sir’. Free women as ‘ma’am’. Don’t screw up on that one. Free women are very touchy about their status.”
I closed my eyes, trying to process everything. This was sounding more and more ridiculous. There was just no way I was going along with this crazy system.
My cellmate intuited my inner monologue and shrugged. “Look, I’m just giving you the information. What you do with it is your own business.”
I squeaked. Not much I could say to that.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you’ll learn the rules as you go along. Knowing some of them ahead of time might get you punished less, though.”
Grrrr. “What rules?”, I managed, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched, but at least audible.
She shrugged. “Rules, customs, norms, mores, whatever you want to call them. Most of them are obvious- like don’t mouth off to judges or Masters- but some might be less obvious to someone unfamiliar with Slate City. Things like understanding that footwear for bunnies is considered a privilege. Yes, I’m serious. Depending on your owner, you might not even be permitted to refer to yourself in the first person.”
I blinked. “What?”
She nodded. “It’s an anachronism, but there are still some older Masters who don’t permit bunnies to refer to themselves as ‘I’.”
What?! “How the hell is a bunny supposed to ask for anything?”
She shrugged. “May this girl be excused? or Can this bunny do this? or whatever.”
“That’s stupid!” I squeaked.
She shrugged again. “As a bunny in Slate City, you don’t have much by way of rights. About the only form of currency you have are blowjobs and that’s not going to get you far. You can rebel all you want, but it’s just going to end with you being punished.”
“What kind of punishments?”
My cellmate gave a tight grin. “Depends on the Master or Mistress. Spanking is common. Loss of privilege, like footwear, for light transgressions. If you’re disrespectful, you might end up with a pacifier strapped in your mouth. A drugged pacifier, if they’re particularly annoyed with you. Chastity belts. Piercings. Butt plugs. Act like a brat and you may find yourself stuck in a diaper for a couple days. You could be caged. You could be impregnated. You could be turned into a bimbo.”
I blinked. “A bimbo?”
She nodded. “Yep. Even here in Slate City, bimbos are the lowest social tier. Many banded girls have talents that make them useful, which puts them on a different bunny tier. Still a bunny, yes, but they entail a bit more respect. A bunny without skills or education usually defaults to a personal house bunny. Cleaning, sex, that kind of thing. A bimbo is complete fluff. Even other bunnies will laugh at you because it means your only worth is that of a cum-slut. Why do you think Sir Anthony gave you that silly rack? Bimbo boobs. You haven’t even been auctioned yet and you’re already at a disadvantage.”
Fuck.
“Anyway,” continued my cellmate, “I’m not saying that will happen to you, just that it could. A lot depends on the Master’s personality. And their strength. The stronger the Master, the more control they have over your body. They can control your fertility, put you into heat, make you lactate, sense your emotions…some can even override your body or voice control. Which may not sound that bad, until you find yourself mooing or meowing every time you try to talk.”
Holy shit. She had to be fucking with me. No way this was real.
“Yes, I’m serious,” she said, sensing my disbelief. “You’re a bunny dealing with a bunch of Alphas now. This is what you are. This is what you do. And for the record, had you asked me earlier, I would have recommended that you tell them your name.”
With that, my cellmate lay back down on her cot and turned toward the wall.
*****
My mood hadn’t improved by the time they returned to get me. In fact, I was feeling downright uncooperative.
“Leave me alone,” I said, my arms crossed over my bare chest.
My cellmate rolled her eyes.
“Aren’t you a sweetie,” said the first guard, an older, heavier, bearded man whose uniform pin identified him as Higgs. “Let’s go.”
“Bite me,” I squeaked, slapping at their hands as they reached for me. All my frustration from the trial, from the city system, from my whole situation came out and I just screamed and threw everything I had at them, but trying to fight them off with one arm while keeping the other arm across my breasts was embarrassingly ineffective and even using two hands made almost no difference. In almost no time at all, my arms were behind my back and stuffed into that long leather sleeve again. The sleeve tightened, pulling my forearms together and pushing my bare tits out on display.
I tried to kick out at them, but my bare feet had little effect. My bare boobs were bouncing everywhere, the sensations leaving me embarrassingly wet. “Let me out of these cuffs, dammit!”
“Should we pop her with heat?” asked Blackmoor, the younger guard. His voice was bored.
“Nah,” said the older guard, his voice equally droll. “She’s going to get banded. Heat’ll interfere. She might end up quilled, though.”
I didn’t know what getting quilled meant and I had no intention of finding out. I let out a yell, but the two guards just lifted me by my underarms and ignored me.
Completely topless and exposed, I was carried down the hall and brought to a room. The walls were bare, except for one wall containing shelves stacked with various containers. There was a desk against the far wall and what appeared to be a padded barricade or construction horse in the middle of the room.
A tall, barrel-chested man was waiting inside the room. He was greyed around the temples, but that was the only indication of his age. He appeared relaxed, but he moved like a predator. Judging by the man’s casual confidence and the respectful manner the two guards with me were addressing him with, it wasn’t difficult to identify him as a superior. An officer sat at a nearby desk, a computer monitor in front of him.
“At ease, gentlemen,” said the superior officer. He looked me over in the same manner he might have looked over a piece of industrial equipment he was considering purchasing. “I take it this is Jane?”
Higgs nodded. “Yessir, Captain Zachary. She’s a handful.”
When the captain spoke, his voice was firm with casual, long-held authority. “Well, quite the spirited brat, aren’t you? Anyone who can throw a tantrum vivid enough to make my guards exert themselves is making an impressive effort indeed. But we have work to do and don’t have time for your foot-stomping, so be a good girl and cooperate.”
I glared at the big officer. “Bite me.”
He regarded me for a moment without expression, then looked to the two guards. “Strip her. Get her strapped in.”
Higgs and Blackmoor gripped my upper arms and lifted me off the ground. Their free hands gripped my elastic pub bunny skirt and slid it down over my hips and off my legs, leaving me struggling naked. I was calling them names and screaming obscenities in my squeaky voice, but the older guard suddenly pressed a red rubber ball gag into my mouth and secured it behind my head. Infuriated and mortified in equal parts at being suddenly and embarrassingly naked in a roomful of dressed officers, I continued to fight and struggle.
The officer sitting at the desk hadn’t moved. After watching my struggle for several seconds, he said, “Captain, do you want to quill her?”
The captain was already moving in my direction. “Yes. She’s getting too worked up.”
The two guards were struggling to get me under control. The captain stepped behind me and suddenly I gasped, eyes wide, as the captain’s big hand grasped the back of my neck over the collar. He lifted me easily, my feet dangling above the floor. Then he stepped forward and bent me over the padded horse, pressing my cheek firmly against the padding.
I blinked, shocked at the sudden display of physical power, unable to move as the captain held out his free hand. The officer at the desk opened a drawer and drew out a small pistol that appeared to be little more than a tube with a trigger mechanism. He walked over and handed it to the captain, who took it and aimed it at my backside. I heard a phhht! and felt a sudden sharp pinch in my left ass cheek.
I squealed through the ball gag, furious. Then my limbs became heavy and I found it impossible to struggle. My muscles went slack. Blinking took all my available energy.
Son of a bitch! The bastard had tranqed me.
The captain’s heavy hand lifted from my neck. The two guards moved in and strapped my ankles in place, slightly wider than my shoulders. My arms were still enveloped in the leather sleeve behind my back, my elbows nearly touching, my wrists shackled together. A strap was wrapped around my neck, keeping me firmly in place, bent over the horse, my bare ass high.
I wanted to fight, but the quill dart the captain had shot into my ass cheek had sapped all my energy. I was drooling around the ball gag and my eyes were glazed. The guards were handling my naked body, their hands on my bare hips, shifting me into position. I was strapped in place, bent over and naked, with a room full of dressed men. And I couldn’t even call them names. My cheeks burned.
The sleeve binding my forearms together was loosened, releasing the pressure. Surprisingly, my wrists were unshackled as well, but it didn’t matter. My arms dropped to the sides, dangling. I was too sedated to use them. It turned out to be a moot point anyway, as the guards Velcro-strapped my wrists to the legs of the padded horse I was lying on.
An Asian woman in a lab coat entered the room. The captain turned toward her.
“Hello, Dr. Shell,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
The woman stood directly in front of me and glanced at her clipboard. “I presume this is Jane?”
The captain nodded. “Yes. We had to quill her.”
Dr. Shell leaned down and used her rubber-gloved fingers to widen my eye. She looked at my pupils, then released my face and straightened. “She’s fine. The banding serum will burn the sedative out of her system, but it won’t matter by then. I don’t see her marks, however. Is she registered?”
I wanted to protest, to tell her nobody was putting anything inside me, but all I could do was drool around my gag.
“She’s in the system,” said the captain, “but she hasn’t been marked yet. She’ll be coded after you tag her. We’ll send you the updated documentation when it’s available.”
Dr. Shell frowned. “That’s unusual. The judge ordered this?”
The captain nodded. “It’s all in order, doctor. Our normal scripter is an aggrieved party and will be involved in her activation, so we’re bringing in a different contractor for this one. They won’t be here until later, though, so we’re putting in the tracking chip now to save time.”
“I see,” said the doctor, nodding. “That makes sense. Please be sure to send me a copy of the judge’s order, sir, so I can include it in the file. I’m not supposed to inject a tracking chip into an unmarked bunny.”
The captain inclined his head. “Of course, doctor.”
Dr. Shell walked behind me. I felt her gloved hand on my butt cheek. Then I let out a small gasp around the ball gag as I felt something sliding into my ass.
“Relax,” said the doctor. “Just a thermometer.”
Blackmoor snickered. “I’d say she’s already relaxed, doctor. She doesn’t have a choice.”
“True,” sniffed the doctor. “Quill has that effect.”
I heard a beeping and the thermometer was pulled from my rear passage. A moment later the doctor was standing in front of me again, screwing what appeared to be a cylinder full of green fluid onto the back of what looked like a pneumatic piston.
“I’m going to pneumatically inject you with a tracking chip,” said Dr. Shell, apparently speaking to me, “so that your owner, whoever that may be, can easily track you if you try to run away. This serum being injected concurrently to receiving your chip actually has a dual purpose. It acts as a slight stimulant to your dopamine production under certain conditions, as well as serving as a vehicle for carrying a liquid form of crystal slate into your bloodstream. The crystal slate properties will replicate, making it easier for-“
“Dr. Shell,” said Captain Zachary, “please just get on with it.”
Dr. Shell flushed. “Of course, Captain. My apologies, sir.”
The captain sighed and shook his head. “I’m not knocking modern technology, doctor, but these kids today have it easy. In my day, we didn’t have electronic chips or fancy serums. If a bunny ran away, we went after her and brought her back the old-fashioned way. We kept our bunnies in line without some new-fangled serum. Back when Slatian men were real men.”
Blackmoor whispered to the older guard, “Barefoot through the year-round snow, uphill both ways.”
But Captain Zachary’s hearing was apparently quite good. He turned to the younger guard.
“I’m sorry, Officer Blackmoor. Did you have something you wanted to add?”
The young guard paled and straightened imperceptibly. “Sir, no sir!”
The captain took a step closer and looked down at Blackmoor, who stared straight ahead into the captain’s chest. “Quite sure?”
“Positive, sir!”
The captain remained in place for several heartbeats, then turned away. He looked at the doctor, who had waited through the exchange. “I beg your pardon, doctor. Please continue.”
Officer Blackmoor exhaled, his relief obvious.
I felt a coolness on my bare skin as the doctor brushed on some cool alcohol, followed by the weight of the doctor’s hand on my hip. Then I sensed the cool metal of the pneumatic injector hovering just above the top of my ass cheek. I still couldn’t move.
The doctor said, “You’ll feel a pinch.”
CHUNK!
I felt a sudden intense pressure and a sensation of fluid whooshing into my hip, but whatever the doctor had rubbed onto my skin beforehand must have worked, because there was surprisingly little pain. I felt the doctor press a cotton ball to my hip and then tape it into place.
“Getting a signal,” droned the officer at the computer terminal, sounding bored. “She’s live.”
Dr. Shell stepped back. “She’s all set. It was a clean insertion. Full infusion of the slate serum as well.”
“New-fangled tech,” said the captain.
Dr. Shell nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Captain Zachary glanced over to Blackmoor, who was still staring at the floor. “Take the bunny back to her cell. Since Sir Cosmo can’t do the coding on this one, Max will be here later to take care of it. Let me know when it’s done. Cosmo will be by afterward to do the imprinting. And perhaps I’ll help.”
The officer at the desk chuckled. “Taking time from your busy day to imprint a bunny, sir? Your dedication to duty is admirable.”
Captain Zachary actually gave a dry laugh. “It’s good to be the captain.”
“Truly, sir.”
Higgs and Blackmoor stepped forward and unstrapped me from the padded horse. They lifted me by my underarms and carried me, still naked, from the room. Still quilled, all I could do was hang in their arms, my cleavage wet from drool.
As we exited the room, both guards relaxed. Higgs looked at Blackmoor and shook his head.
“You might want to perform some self-evaluation,” he said, “and see if you can figure out why you are so determined to self-destruct. You do realize how close you came to true trouble back there, right?”
Blackmoor chuckled abashedly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a stupid joke. Didn’t realize it could cost me my job.”
Higgs sighed. “If all you lost was your job, you’d be lucky. Wondering when you’d get to eat solid food again could have been your more immediate concern. Captain Zachary is no one to fuck with.”
The two guards continued talking, but I was sore and tired and too quilled up to follow their conversation. I was being carried naked down a hall by two dressed men who barely noticed me. My nipples were embarrassingly hard, my pussy was strangely wet and I couldn’t stop drooling. Even the blood pumping through my body felt strangely warm.
I had seriously miscalculated. I was going to have to do some serious damage-control to get myself out of this mess.
NEXT: Part 3- Eliza gets imprinted and coded.
Part 2- Eliza goes to court.
The Slate City police station was a blocky, multi-leveled building that managed to convey modernism and conventional utilitarianism in the same architectural statement. Simple, strong lines projected a stolid presence that made it feel like the building could withstand a direct assault indefinitely. Large block letters along the roof line identified the structure as simply SCPD.
Drenched in sweat and exhausted, I was miserable by the time we arrived. The absolute burn for release was no longer a horribly unattainable fiery yearning, but was now a dull, throbbing ache of heat and need. I had no idea if I could even orgasm yet, considering I was unable to do so earlier when I had been trying so desperately, but the point was moot, as my arms and wrists were still completely secured behind me. The rubber gag remained in my mouth as well, preventing any talking on my part. Or retention of dignity.
The spacer bar was unlocked, freeing my ankles. The Slate City officers had assumed- rightly- that I was in no condition to run away. An officer stood on either side of me and, each with a grip on my upper arms, guided me from the car toward the station. My legs were weak and even this relatively short walk was an extreme effort for me.
I stumbled through the subtle neon lights outlining the door into the station. Slate City apparently took its cyber-city standing seriously. Whatever. Bulletin boards lined both sides of the entrance, with various announcements and advertisements layered, fighting for position. The front desk thankfully wasn’t far from the entrance.
A tall, athletic-looking officer with a tie and single silver bars pinned to the points of his spread collar stood behind the booking desk, speaking with a grizzled older beat cop. The officer turned as we got to the desk.
“Good evening, Sergeant Nolan,” he said, nodding. “What do you have for us?”
“Evenin’, Lieutenant Evans,” said the burly officer holding my right arm. “Trespassing, suspicion of breaking and entering, impersonating a bunny, fleeing from officers, resisting arrest…”
The lieutenant’s eyebrows rose. “Impersonating a bunny? You’re sure?”
Sergeant Nolan spun me around for some reason. “Yessir. See?”
The lieutenant grunted. “All right. Who is she, anyway? Got an I.D.?”
The sergeant shook his head. “No idea who she is. Been very uncooperative. Wildcat. Had to pop her with some heat.”
The grizzled booking officer standing next to the lieutenant grunted his approval. “Took the starch right out of her, looks like.”
Nolan barked a laugh. “Yeah, it did.”
Lieutenant Evans glanced at the monitor. “Is this the one who broke into the tattoo shop?”
Nolan nodded. “Yeah, pretty sure. The shop owner is coming by later for an official I.D.”
“How’d you find her?”
“Anonymous caller, sir. Said the person we were looking for was hiding in the back of Gregory’s Pub dressed as a bunny. We showed up to check it out, she saw us and bolted. I had Waters and Turko posted by the back door, though, and she plowed right into ‘em. She still managed to get away, but they popped her with heat and that was that.”
That was that. Cute. Things weren’t looking good at all right now. And it wasn’t hard to figure out who the ‘anonymous caller’ was. Fucking Blondie.
Satisfied, the lieutenant turned to the grizzled desk sergeant. “Get her booked, Sergeant Greggs.”
The booking sergeant moved to the computer. “On it, sir.”
Despite my body’s utter exhaustion, my mind was racing as I watched the lieutenant walk away. I had to handle this next part carefully.
Greggs typed several notations on the computer, then he called over his shoulder, “Kersey!”
A tall, muscular black woman with short bleached blonde hair appeared next to Evans.
“Yeah, Sarge?”
The booking sergeant tilted his head toward me. “We’re booking this one.”
She walked around and took me by the upper arm, freeing Nolan and the other cop to go for the coffee machine. Her grip was every bit as firm and strong as theirs had been.
Greggs grunted and looked at me. “Name?”
Kersey reached up and took the rubber gag from my mouth. My chin was wet with drool. I gave Kersey a glare, then looked at Greggs. “My last name is Drinke. With an ‘e’.”
Greggs typed a notation. “Drinke. Got it. First name?”
“Anita.”
Greggs typed it in. “Anita Drinke. All right, got it. What’s your-“
He stopped and looked at me in a way suggesting he had seen it all before and hadn’t been impressed then either. “Anita Drinke. Real cute. Let’s try again.”
I smirked. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Besides, my real name embarrasses me.”
Greggs grunted. “Worry about your hurt feelings on your own time. What’s your name?”
I gave him a very sincere look. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
He sighed. “Cross my friggin’ heart.”
“Yukon.”
He gave me a dubious look. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Told you it was embarrassing.”
He typed a quick notation. “All right. Yukon. Got it. That your first or last name?”
“Yukon is my first name. My last name is spelled ‘B-i-g-h-t-m-i-e’.”
Greggs typed it in. “All right. Name is Yukon Bightmie. You’re right. That is a weird-“ Then he stopped again and gave me a look.
I gave him my most innocent big-eyed look.
Greggs backspaced and spoke to Kersey. “Jane Doe. Get her processed. She can see the judge in the morning.”
“On it, Sarge,” said Kersey. She pushed the rubber ball gag back into my mouth and then, before I realized what she was doing, she snapped a grey metal collar on my throat. Then she marched me toward the back.
*****
The processing area was so chlorine clean that I felt grimy by comparison. The surfaces were shiny, the chrome gleamed and the electronic equipment looked static-free. It was like they were so bored by lack of people arrested that they had nothing better to do than clean stuff back here.
I managed to get through the process without getting popped with fucking heat, although that was probably because Officer Kersey opted to leave the ball gag in my mouth for most of the procedure. Which was probably just as well, as it kept me from overplaying my hand. Still would have been nice, though, as my cleavage was drenched in drool. That and the fact that they didn’t even give me a change of clothes from the ridiculous bimbo outfit did nothing to improve my mood. Courtesy wouldn’t have a been a strong consideration on my part.
Strange as it sounds, I wasn’t overly worried. Playing the stupid game with my name during booking wasn’t done out of some silly urge to tweak authority. I’d done that for a very specific reason.
That reason was Slate City’s justice system. More specifically, their lack of an extradition policy.
Back when I’d first joined the Alley Cats, two of our members pulled a job that went bad. There was a lot of heat and they decided it was time to check out the weather in Slate City for a bit. While that probably wasn’t a bad idea, getting busted in Slate City for a break-in was.
During their booking, they found I.D. on Natalie, so they ran her name and found she had a standing warrant in Chrystal Heights. Natalie got a free ride to the Heights courthouse, where Judge Hanover tripled her sentence out of courtesy for Slate City’s help. She ended up as the office blowjob girl at a computer software company located in downtown Heights. One of the perks for the employees working there was morning or evening blowjobs, depending on what shift you worked. Natalie was blowing geeks all day, as well as licking a few. And because Judge Hanover had implemented a semen addiction to her sentence, she was even blowing guys on what little off-time she had.
But Gem didn’t have I.D. on her and Gem refused to give her name, so she stayed in the Slate City system. I had no idea what happened to Gem after that, but street chant said she was out in almost no time. I didn’t know for sure, but at the very least, she certainly wasn’t on her knees giving daily blowjobs to geeks.
I was well aware there was still a standing warrant for me in Chrystal Heights. I’d never been fingerprinted in the Heights, so my getting fingerprinted here in Slate City wasn’t going to raise any flags. Giving my name, however, most certainly would. Granted, getting arrested was inconvenient as all hell and I had likely lost my chance at the Beast commission, but they really couldn’t get me for much more than trespassing. The breaking and entering certainly wasn’t going to help, but I didn’t get caught with any stolen goods and I was a pretty girl, so worst-case scenario, I’d end up with probation for a couple months. Irksome and inconvenient, but I could deal.
Getting fingerprinted actually proved to be a bit of a relief, since being handcuffed and having my elbows pressed together inside the stupid leather sleeve holding my forearms together behind my back had left my shoulders screaming. Having them take a blood sample, however, seemed a bit extreme.
“Mmpphh?” I said, trying to speak though the rubber ball in my mouth. “Mm mpphh mpphh?”
Officer Kersey typed some information into the computer. “Blood test. A DNA sample, to be more precise. We keep it on record here.”
I wasn’t happy about it, but being so close to Chrystal Heights and Darkview, it made sense. The University of Chrystal Heights keeps every student’s DNA on file for identification purposes, in case of accidental or malicious gender changes. Having an arcane study track apparently has its drawbacks.
It took a surprisingly short time. The only delay was when Cosmo showed up to I.D. me. He wanted to know where his papers were and I denied everything. Other than that, as I was the only one in the station, there wasn’t anything else to interfere with the process. Officer Kersey typed a few final things into the computer, then stood up.
“Let’s go,” she said, taking me by the shoulder. “You’re going to your cell now. I suggest you get some sleep. You’ll be in front of the judge first thing.”
I kept my face neutral, but her words were a complete relief. My arms had never ached so much and my legs were still weak from getting popped with that fucking heat.
She escorted me to a bare cell that had one other occupant- a short-haired redhead sleeping on one of the cots. The officer removed the restraints and stepped back out of the cell. The barred door slid closed and locked. I acted nonchalant- I wasn’t about to let Kersey know my shoulders were killing me- but as soon as she left the area, I was rotating my arms like crazy, trying to work out the stiffness.
And then I went to work on my crazy-wet, still overheated pussy.
*****
It took hours to force out enough orgasms for me to finally relax enough to drop unconscious, my clit raw and fiery. It felt like I had been asleep for 5 minutes when I heard a voice saying, “Rise and shine, Doe. Court in thirty.”
I sat up, sandy-eyed. Despite my exhaustion and aching, throbbing pussy, a part of me managed to exhale in relief at the realization that they still didn’t know my name. They were still calling me Jane Doe.
The officer left two food trays on the floor. I got to my feet and padded over to grab some breakfast.
My cellmate rolled to her feet as well. “Doe? Your name’s Doe?”
I managed a brusque laugh. “Nah. They’re calling me that ‘cuz they don’t know my name.”
She gave me a look. “Ten out of ten for balls, but it’s really not a good area for screwing around. They’ll bury you in the system.”
I shrugged and scarfed down my breakfast, then splashed some water on my face. I had a date with the judge in a few minutes. “Are they going to give me my shoes or am I supposed to go to court barefoot?”
The redhead shook her head. “You go barefoot. Prisoners don’t get the privilege of footwear. I assume you haven’t been in a Slate City jail before?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head, “and I like it that way. Once I’m done here, your city won’t have to worry about me darkening their fucking doors again.”
My cellmate gave me a ghost of a grin and went back to work on her breakfast.
*****
Twenty minutes later, I was seated in the courtroom waiting for the judge. The room was stark and cold. There were four other men in suits in the courtroom. I was the only female in the room and I was still dressed in nothing but the stretchy mini-skirt and tube top from the pub. And since Blondie had tricked me out of my panties, I didn’t even have the benefit of underwear.
I sat between two officers with my wrists cuffed behind me. My forearms were again sleeved together, pulling my elbows close together, causing my breasts to jut out. Not that I had a huge amount to display, but it was still a very weird sensation, being barefoot in court with my breasts pushed out. I was nearly naked and on display.
“All rise!”
The men rose to their feet. I hesitated for a moment, just for effect, but one of the officers grabbed the top of the leather sleeve behind me and pulled me to my feet.
A tall, broad-shouldered man of middle years entered the room with an efficient stride, his black robe swirling around his legs. His block jaw was covered with a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard. He made his way to his chair and sat down. His presence filled the room.
The bailiff (or whoever he was) said, “The honorable Sir Anthony now presiding. Be seated.”
Sir Anthony ignored me as he looked over the paperwork in front of him. Then he set down the papers and looked at me. “All right,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. “What do we have?”
One of the suits spoke up. “Jane Doe, your honor. Breaking and entering, theft. Impersonating a bandmaid. Resisting arrest. Non-compliance.”
The judge looked at me and raised one glorious eyebrow. “Jane Doe? She refused to give her name?”
“That’s correct, your Honor.”
Sir Anthony glanced at the paperwork. “And the evidence has been confirmed?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Who was the witness?”
“Sir Cosmo, your Honor,” said the suit. “He personally witnessed Miss Doe’s transgression and signed a statement.”
“Was Sir Cosmo present when Miss Doe impersonated a banded individual?”
The suit shook his head. “No, your Honor. That occurred at Sir Gregory’s Pub. Sir Gregory was not present at the time, but his manager Jeremy Korsi was. It was he who identified Miss Doe. Miss Doe fled the premises, but ran directly into the officers who were waiting just outside the door. The two officers in the restaurant were able to maintain unbroken line-of-sight during the attempted escape.”
“I see,” said Sir Anthony. “How was the connection made between the break-in and the pub?”
“An anonymous tip, your Honor. The police had already been contacted by Sir Cosmo and were in the process of responding. They received a tip while en route that the person responsible for the break-in was hiding in Sir Gregory’s Pub disguised as a bandmaid.”
The judge nodded. “A bit odd, but not overly so. So the defendant was positively identified by a witness of Quality and again by officers. I assume this is the clothing she was wearing when she was apprehended?”
“Yes, your Honor. She had no other clothing or items besides what she’s wearing.”
Sir Anthony absently tapped his desk with a pen. “Interesting. And you’re sure she’s not banded?”
The suit nodded. “Yes, your Honor. Her band was actually just a belt she crafted to look like a collar for the sake of her disguise. She’s not tagged or marked with any identifying code.”
The judge glanced around. “All right. We have a Jane Doe committing multiple transgressions in direct sight of witnesses, Quality and otherwise, and refusing to cooperate with officers. Are there any other facts which might alter this perception of events?”
I looked around. Everyone was silent, so I looked back at Sir Anthony. “Do I get to speak, your Honor?”
Sir Anthony turned and truly looked at me for the first time. “No, you do not. You had your chance to speak with the officers earlier during the fact-gathering stage and you elected not to do so. Now be silent.”
I blinked. What the fuck?
Sir Anthony looked around the silent room, then nodded. “Very well. Jane Doe to be banded and auctioned. Proceeds assigned to the city to cover legal costs. Coding and imprinting to be arranged by officers of the court, with Sir Cosmo, should he desire, to be granted right of imprinting, and to be determined by a court officer should he decline. Doe to perform one week’s service at Sir Gregory’s Pub prior to auction. This ruling is complete.”
There was silence for several heartbeats as I processed his words. Then the words banded and [/i]auction[/i] hit my brain like a wet, heavy sandbag. “Wait…what?!”
The suit looked at the officers. “Get her tagged and processed. Let me know when she’s ready for transfer.”
I jumped to my feet. “No fucking way! This is bullshit! Nobody is putting a collar on me! NOBODY! I will fuck up the person who thinks I’m going to be their stupid little bimbo, you patriarchal fuckheads!”
Despite my torrid rant, nobody even flicked an eyelid. The judge lifted his gaze from his paperwork and gave me a look so direct that I was momentarily struck speechless.
“You will be silent,” said the judge, and the grey collar around my throat suddenly warmed. “Furthermore, as you have shown disrespect, you will assume consequences. Leniency granted due to ignorance of custom, but transgression will still be addressed.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The grey band around my neck felt imperceptibly tighter, like a hand around my throat. Heart pounding, the strength drained from my legs and I found myself dropping to my knees. I tried to speak again and only managed a barely audible squeak.
The warmth from the collar grew, radiating through my shoulders, filling my upper body. My chest and shoulders felt tighter. There was a tension inside my chest, a slowly increasing pressure. My nipples were tingling maddeningly and I badly needly to itch them, but with my arms restrained behind my back, I could only clench my teeth in horrible frustration.
The pressure continued growing. I could barely breath. My tube top was too tight. I opened my mouth to complain, to berate, to scream, but nothing came out. More pressure, tighter, until I didn’t think I could take any more…and then there was the sound of cloth tearing and the pressure eased.
My heart was still racing, but I had finally realized what happened.
The judge had somehow made my tits grow.
I was breathless, still trying to fully process what had just happened. The pressure and the tearing were the result of the stupid pub-wench top I’d been wearing not being able to handle my suddenly humongous melons. The judge had somehow given me a fucking Chrystal Heights bimbo rack.
And even worse, he had given me sensitive nipples. Thick, sensitive nipples that were now powerfully rigid. And completely on display. I was fully topless in a courtroom, my tits available for anyone to see.
I tried to twist out of the hold of the officers on either side of me, tried to hide my bare chest from sight, but they had no trouble holding me in place. I looked at the judge and opened my mouth to unleash a string of obscenities, but nothing came out. All I could do was glare impotently into his bored gaze.
Sir Anthony looked down at his paperwork, dismissing me, and spoke to the officers on either side of me. “Carry on.”
The pressure around my throat eased and the officers took my arms, lifting me to my feet. The weight of my now-huge breasts eased for a moment as my breasts bounced gently up and down before settling. The sensations from my nipples were causing me to helplessly lubricate and I still had little strength in my knees. My topless state had me furiously blushing from the waist up and I couldn’t do or say a single thing about it.
Then the two officers carried me out of the courtroom, my bare feet trailing on the floor.
*****
My cellmate was lying on her cot when they dropped me to the bare floor of my cell. She took one look at my bare inflated chest and laughed.
“Wow. You ran your mouth, didn’t you?”
I opened my mouth to answer angrily, but nothing came out. I crossed my arms over my bare melons.
She rolled her eyes. “Nice tits. You really don’t know shit about Slate City. You’re getting banded, aren’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I nodded sullenly.
She rolled to her side and propped herself on an elbow. “I tried to warn you. Hope your act of defiance or whatever you want to call it was worth it, because everything changes for you now. Do you know anything at all about being banded? Becoming a bunny?”
I gave another curt shake of my head as I worked myself to my feet.
She swung her legs over the edge of the cot and sat up. “All right. I’ll give you a quick primer. You might as well sit down while you’ve got the chance, since you’ll probably be spending more time on your knees than sitting in the near future.”
I would have given just about anything to be able to speak right then, but I couldn’t, so I stomped over to my cot and plopped down. My ridiculous boobs jiggled under my crossed arms with every step and the electric jolt of me dropping onto the cot made me gasp.
My cellmate leaned back against the wall, her legs stretched in front of her. “The short version is that Slate City is a city of men and power. A patriarchal jungle, really, where the strong rule the weak. You either have the power or you’re used by someone who does.”
She continued. “A number of women end up banded. The ones who aren’t are often part of the power structure and can be just as bad as the men. Necessity, I suppose, since showing weakness is a good way to find yourself stripped and banded.”
I shifted, trying to process the information while ignoring the sensations from gently bobbing boobs. My clit still burned and I was so fucking wet. I would have kicked an orphan for some underwear.
My cellmate shifted into a marginally more comfortable position. “Being banded is more than just wearing a collar, though. It’s an indication of social standing, yes, but it’s also shows ownership.”
Wait a minute. Banded? Collar? That got my attention as I made a sudden mental connection.
She casually pointed a manicured finger at my throat and nodded. “Yep, that’s a band. Your legal status will be ‘bandmaid’, but that’s kinda formal and way archaic, so you’ll usually just be called a bunny. Technically speaking, for purposes of taxation, bandmaids are known as ‘bonded exceptions’. On the old-timey tax forms, that was shortened to ‘Bon-E’, which became ‘bunny’ in slang vernacular and it stuck. Sort of like calling your kids Exemption A and Exemption B.”
Bunny?! Son of a bitch. I had seriously miscalculated. I needed to start doing some damage control. I opened my mouth to launch, but all that came out was an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak.
My cellmate grinned. “Your voice is already coming back. Sir Anthony must have felt sorry for you. Running your mouth in his court usually costs you your voice for at least a couple days.”
I was really getting tired of this stupid city.
My cellmate continued. “Anyway, you’re gonna be learning the structure soon enough, so I’ll leave that alone for now. But you do need to understand a few things about Slate City.”
I tried to give a growl to show exactly what I thought about Slate City, but all that came out was a squeak.
My cellmate chuckled. “It’s for your own good, all right? Now, for starters, the ‘slate’ in Slate City is a thing, and it’s not just any kind of slate. It’s called crystal slate. Crystal slate is actually a metallic compound consisting of slate, quartz, titanium, crystal and some kind of organic element. It’s extremely rare. In fact, this city is built on the only known deposit of crystal slate.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Organic?” I squeaked.
She nodded. “Hey, I actually understood that! And to answer your question, yes, organic. And to be even more precise, it’s sentient to a degree. Nobody understands how or why, but the stuff is able to intuit certain things.”
Sentient? What the hell?
She continued. “You need to know this because that stuff gives the men of this city- and some women- different abilities. The stronger the person, the stronger the abilities. You saw what Sir Anthony did to you. He’s able to do that because he’s not just a judge, he’s a Master.”
I flushed and crossed my arms a little bit tighter. Yeah, I’d seen.
She knew she had my attention now and she settled into lecture mode. “All free men have abilities, but they vary in degree. You’ll learn to tell the difference. Or at least you’d better. You’ll be referring to your owner as ‘Master’, but if you’re addressed by anyone with a title of ‘Sir’- like Sir Anthony- he should be addressed as Master as well…or Mistress, if they’re female. The Masters are the city superstars, like big industrialists or powerful politicians. They’re nobility. Any man you encounter should be addressed as ‘sir’. Free women as ‘ma’am’. Don’t screw up on that one. Free women are very touchy about their status.”
I closed my eyes, trying to process everything. This was sounding more and more ridiculous. There was just no way I was going along with this crazy system.
My cellmate intuited my inner monologue and shrugged. “Look, I’m just giving you the information. What you do with it is your own business.”
I squeaked. Not much I could say to that.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you’ll learn the rules as you go along. Knowing some of them ahead of time might get you punished less, though.”
Grrrr. “What rules?”, I managed, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched, but at least audible.
She shrugged. “Rules, customs, norms, mores, whatever you want to call them. Most of them are obvious- like don’t mouth off to judges or Masters- but some might be less obvious to someone unfamiliar with Slate City. Things like understanding that footwear for bunnies is considered a privilege. Yes, I’m serious. Depending on your owner, you might not even be permitted to refer to yourself in the first person.”
I blinked. “What?”
She nodded. “It’s an anachronism, but there are still some older Masters who don’t permit bunnies to refer to themselves as ‘I’.”
What?! “How the hell is a bunny supposed to ask for anything?”
She shrugged. “May this girl be excused? or Can this bunny do this? or whatever.”
“That’s stupid!” I squeaked.
She shrugged again. “As a bunny in Slate City, you don’t have much by way of rights. About the only form of currency you have are blowjobs and that’s not going to get you far. You can rebel all you want, but it’s just going to end with you being punished.”
“What kind of punishments?”
My cellmate gave a tight grin. “Depends on the Master or Mistress. Spanking is common. Loss of privilege, like footwear, for light transgressions. If you’re disrespectful, you might end up with a pacifier strapped in your mouth. A drugged pacifier, if they’re particularly annoyed with you. Chastity belts. Piercings. Butt plugs. Act like a brat and you may find yourself stuck in a diaper for a couple days. You could be caged. You could be impregnated. You could be turned into a bimbo.”
I blinked. “A bimbo?”
She nodded. “Yep. Even here in Slate City, bimbos are the lowest social tier. Many banded girls have talents that make them useful, which puts them on a different bunny tier. Still a bunny, yes, but they entail a bit more respect. A bunny without skills or education usually defaults to a personal house bunny. Cleaning, sex, that kind of thing. A bimbo is complete fluff. Even other bunnies will laugh at you because it means your only worth is that of a cum-slut. Why do you think Sir Anthony gave you that silly rack? Bimbo boobs. You haven’t even been auctioned yet and you’re already at a disadvantage.”
Fuck.
“Anyway,” continued my cellmate, “I’m not saying that will happen to you, just that it could. A lot depends on the Master’s personality. And their strength. The stronger the Master, the more control they have over your body. They can control your fertility, put you into heat, make you lactate, sense your emotions…some can even override your body or voice control. Which may not sound that bad, until you find yourself mooing or meowing every time you try to talk.”
Holy shit. She had to be fucking with me. No way this was real.
“Yes, I’m serious,” she said, sensing my disbelief. “You’re a bunny dealing with a bunch of Alphas now. This is what you are. This is what you do. And for the record, had you asked me earlier, I would have recommended that you tell them your name.”
With that, my cellmate lay back down on her cot and turned toward the wall.
*****
My mood hadn’t improved by the time they returned to get me. In fact, I was feeling downright uncooperative.
“Leave me alone,” I said, my arms crossed over my bare chest.
My cellmate rolled her eyes.
“Aren’t you a sweetie,” said the first guard, an older, heavier, bearded man whose uniform pin identified him as Higgs. “Let’s go.”
“Bite me,” I squeaked, slapping at their hands as they reached for me. All my frustration from the trial, from the city system, from my whole situation came out and I just screamed and threw everything I had at them, but trying to fight them off with one arm while keeping the other arm across my breasts was embarrassingly ineffective and even using two hands made almost no difference. In almost no time at all, my arms were behind my back and stuffed into that long leather sleeve again. The sleeve tightened, pulling my forearms together and pushing my bare tits out on display.
I tried to kick out at them, but my bare feet had little effect. My bare boobs were bouncing everywhere, the sensations leaving me embarrassingly wet. “Let me out of these cuffs, dammit!”
“Should we pop her with heat?” asked Blackmoor, the younger guard. His voice was bored.
“Nah,” said the older guard, his voice equally droll. “She’s going to get banded. Heat’ll interfere. She might end up quilled, though.”
I didn’t know what getting quilled meant and I had no intention of finding out. I let out a yell, but the two guards just lifted me by my underarms and ignored me.
Completely topless and exposed, I was carried down the hall and brought to a room. The walls were bare, except for one wall containing shelves stacked with various containers. There was a desk against the far wall and what appeared to be a padded barricade or construction horse in the middle of the room.
A tall, barrel-chested man was waiting inside the room. He was greyed around the temples, but that was the only indication of his age. He appeared relaxed, but he moved like a predator. Judging by the man’s casual confidence and the respectful manner the two guards with me were addressing him with, it wasn’t difficult to identify him as a superior. An officer sat at a nearby desk, a computer monitor in front of him.
“At ease, gentlemen,” said the superior officer. He looked me over in the same manner he might have looked over a piece of industrial equipment he was considering purchasing. “I take it this is Jane?”
Higgs nodded. “Yessir, Captain Zachary. She’s a handful.”
When the captain spoke, his voice was firm with casual, long-held authority. “Well, quite the spirited brat, aren’t you? Anyone who can throw a tantrum vivid enough to make my guards exert themselves is making an impressive effort indeed. But we have work to do and don’t have time for your foot-stomping, so be a good girl and cooperate.”
I glared at the big officer. “Bite me.”
He regarded me for a moment without expression, then looked to the two guards. “Strip her. Get her strapped in.”
Higgs and Blackmoor gripped my upper arms and lifted me off the ground. Their free hands gripped my elastic pub bunny skirt and slid it down over my hips and off my legs, leaving me struggling naked. I was calling them names and screaming obscenities in my squeaky voice, but the older guard suddenly pressed a red rubber ball gag into my mouth and secured it behind my head. Infuriated and mortified in equal parts at being suddenly and embarrassingly naked in a roomful of dressed officers, I continued to fight and struggle.
The officer sitting at the desk hadn’t moved. After watching my struggle for several seconds, he said, “Captain, do you want to quill her?”
The captain was already moving in my direction. “Yes. She’s getting too worked up.”
The two guards were struggling to get me under control. The captain stepped behind me and suddenly I gasped, eyes wide, as the captain’s big hand grasped the back of my neck over the collar. He lifted me easily, my feet dangling above the floor. Then he stepped forward and bent me over the padded horse, pressing my cheek firmly against the padding.
I blinked, shocked at the sudden display of physical power, unable to move as the captain held out his free hand. The officer at the desk opened a drawer and drew out a small pistol that appeared to be little more than a tube with a trigger mechanism. He walked over and handed it to the captain, who took it and aimed it at my backside. I heard a phhht! and felt a sudden sharp pinch in my left ass cheek.
I squealed through the ball gag, furious. Then my limbs became heavy and I found it impossible to struggle. My muscles went slack. Blinking took all my available energy.
Son of a bitch! The bastard had tranqed me.
The captain’s heavy hand lifted from my neck. The two guards moved in and strapped my ankles in place, slightly wider than my shoulders. My arms were still enveloped in the leather sleeve behind my back, my elbows nearly touching, my wrists shackled together. A strap was wrapped around my neck, keeping me firmly in place, bent over the horse, my bare ass high.
I wanted to fight, but the quill dart the captain had shot into my ass cheek had sapped all my energy. I was drooling around the ball gag and my eyes were glazed. The guards were handling my naked body, their hands on my bare hips, shifting me into position. I was strapped in place, bent over and naked, with a room full of dressed men. And I couldn’t even call them names. My cheeks burned.
The sleeve binding my forearms together was loosened, releasing the pressure. Surprisingly, my wrists were unshackled as well, but it didn’t matter. My arms dropped to the sides, dangling. I was too sedated to use them. It turned out to be a moot point anyway, as the guards Velcro-strapped my wrists to the legs of the padded horse I was lying on.
An Asian woman in a lab coat entered the room. The captain turned toward her.
“Hello, Dr. Shell,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
The woman stood directly in front of me and glanced at her clipboard. “I presume this is Jane?”
The captain nodded. “Yes. We had to quill her.”
Dr. Shell leaned down and used her rubber-gloved fingers to widen my eye. She looked at my pupils, then released my face and straightened. “She’s fine. The banding serum will burn the sedative out of her system, but it won’t matter by then. I don’t see her marks, however. Is she registered?”
I wanted to protest, to tell her nobody was putting anything inside me, but all I could do was drool around my gag.
“She’s in the system,” said the captain, “but she hasn’t been marked yet. She’ll be coded after you tag her. We’ll send you the updated documentation when it’s available.”
Dr. Shell frowned. “That’s unusual. The judge ordered this?”
The captain nodded. “It’s all in order, doctor. Our normal scripter is an aggrieved party and will be involved in her activation, so we’re bringing in a different contractor for this one. They won’t be here until later, though, so we’re putting in the tracking chip now to save time.”
“I see,” said the doctor, nodding. “That makes sense. Please be sure to send me a copy of the judge’s order, sir, so I can include it in the file. I’m not supposed to inject a tracking chip into an unmarked bunny.”
The captain inclined his head. “Of course, doctor.”
Dr. Shell walked behind me. I felt her gloved hand on my butt cheek. Then I let out a small gasp around the ball gag as I felt something sliding into my ass.
“Relax,” said the doctor. “Just a thermometer.”
Blackmoor snickered. “I’d say she’s already relaxed, doctor. She doesn’t have a choice.”
“True,” sniffed the doctor. “Quill has that effect.”
I heard a beeping and the thermometer was pulled from my rear passage. A moment later the doctor was standing in front of me again, screwing what appeared to be a cylinder full of green fluid onto the back of what looked like a pneumatic piston.
“I’m going to pneumatically inject you with a tracking chip,” said Dr. Shell, apparently speaking to me, “so that your owner, whoever that may be, can easily track you if you try to run away. This serum being injected concurrently to receiving your chip actually has a dual purpose. It acts as a slight stimulant to your dopamine production under certain conditions, as well as serving as a vehicle for carrying a liquid form of crystal slate into your bloodstream. The crystal slate properties will replicate, making it easier for-“
“Dr. Shell,” said Captain Zachary, “please just get on with it.”
Dr. Shell flushed. “Of course, Captain. My apologies, sir.”
The captain sighed and shook his head. “I’m not knocking modern technology, doctor, but these kids today have it easy. In my day, we didn’t have electronic chips or fancy serums. If a bunny ran away, we went after her and brought her back the old-fashioned way. We kept our bunnies in line without some new-fangled serum. Back when Slatian men were real men.”
Blackmoor whispered to the older guard, “Barefoot through the year-round snow, uphill both ways.”
But Captain Zachary’s hearing was apparently quite good. He turned to the younger guard.
“I’m sorry, Officer Blackmoor. Did you have something you wanted to add?”
The young guard paled and straightened imperceptibly. “Sir, no sir!”
The captain took a step closer and looked down at Blackmoor, who stared straight ahead into the captain’s chest. “Quite sure?”
“Positive, sir!”
The captain remained in place for several heartbeats, then turned away. He looked at the doctor, who had waited through the exchange. “I beg your pardon, doctor. Please continue.”
Officer Blackmoor exhaled, his relief obvious.
I felt a coolness on my bare skin as the doctor brushed on some cool alcohol, followed by the weight of the doctor’s hand on my hip. Then I sensed the cool metal of the pneumatic injector hovering just above the top of my ass cheek. I still couldn’t move.
The doctor said, “You’ll feel a pinch.”
CHUNK!
I felt a sudden intense pressure and a sensation of fluid whooshing into my hip, but whatever the doctor had rubbed onto my skin beforehand must have worked, because there was surprisingly little pain. I felt the doctor press a cotton ball to my hip and then tape it into place.
“Getting a signal,” droned the officer at the computer terminal, sounding bored. “She’s live.”
Dr. Shell stepped back. “She’s all set. It was a clean insertion. Full infusion of the slate serum as well.”
“New-fangled tech,” said the captain.
Dr. Shell nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Captain Zachary glanced over to Blackmoor, who was still staring at the floor. “Take the bunny back to her cell. Since Sir Cosmo can’t do the coding on this one, Max will be here later to take care of it. Let me know when it’s done. Cosmo will be by afterward to do the imprinting. And perhaps I’ll help.”
The officer at the desk chuckled. “Taking time from your busy day to imprint a bunny, sir? Your dedication to duty is admirable.”
Captain Zachary actually gave a dry laugh. “It’s good to be the captain.”
“Truly, sir.”
Higgs and Blackmoor stepped forward and unstrapped me from the padded horse. They lifted me by my underarms and carried me, still naked, from the room. Still quilled, all I could do was hang in their arms, my cleavage wet from drool.
As we exited the room, both guards relaxed. Higgs looked at Blackmoor and shook his head.
“You might want to perform some self-evaluation,” he said, “and see if you can figure out why you are so determined to self-destruct. You do realize how close you came to true trouble back there, right?”
Blackmoor chuckled abashedly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a stupid joke. Didn’t realize it could cost me my job.”
Higgs sighed. “If all you lost was your job, you’d be lucky. Wondering when you’d get to eat solid food again could have been your more immediate concern. Captain Zachary is no one to fuck with.”
The two guards continued talking, but I was sore and tired and too quilled up to follow their conversation. I was being carried naked down a hall by two dressed men who barely noticed me. My nipples were embarrassingly hard, my pussy was strangely wet and I couldn’t stop drooling. Even the blood pumping through my body felt strangely warm.
I had seriously miscalculated. I was going to have to do some serious damage-control to get myself out of this mess.
NEXT: Part 3- Eliza gets imprinted and coded.