‘Greg Norman, and Hype in Back Door Maine

 Involuntary servitude as a sentence for prisoners, set up by the courts, was accepted by everyone but a fringe bunch of fanatics, by the time I was forty. I was not a farmer, nor did I have a death wish so I read about human auctions of criminals in the papers. Also I saw some orange dressed men or women at work in various local firms.

Of course people like me had no use for criminals, especially dangerous criminals.  Even dishonest criminals were useless in any business I could think up, and dream of prospering from.  Most of those who were made slaves by the various superior courts and sold at auction, might be beyond dangerous, even vicious.

The papers had stories daily of ax murders of masters by slaves.  I was rather in the upper-middle class of my town and area, and saw little reason to do anything chancy with my life.

My business was selling small products using the internet.  I didn’t invent the products, I just got good boxes, and flashy wrapping paper – to display my little treasures.  Often my picks for inclusion were useful, or decorative, and small.  I just got a goodly supply, hyped them and mailed them out.  We mailed from lists that were prepared in Vegas, a sexy place where the calls came in, and an agent got one-quarter of one percent of the profits.  We negotiated that every year or two.  Where I lived we did the package preparation, and sent out the products.  I had 90 people do the day-to-day sending.  They worked in three shifts of 30 each.

My wife died when she was just forty, my exact age.  For the 5 years before she died we traveled as much as we could.  She knew she was dying and we did everything possible to not think about blood disease.  Everywhere we went we saw doctors, but none of the treatments cured her.  My two twin sons were in the army and came home when she died.

So I was left after her death the richest man in my small town Back Door Maine.  I knew it’s a crazy name for a town, but I didn’t name the town.  It’s a little odd to buy something in Vegas, and get shipment from Back Door Maine.  It was sort of my Little Abner joke.

Even before Sally’s death, of the blood disease, I was contacted often by women.  I was very rich, and only had one wife.  There was no limit how many wives a man in Maine could have, of course if poor, no woman would sniff you out.  Even one friend of my wife Sally, Carrie Jayson, talked my wife into recommending her before Sally died.

Carrie was divorced, and although good-looking was also 40, and I was friendly, but cool with her.  I had recently been to beaches in Brazil where 18-year-old girls swam and sunned without clothes.

There were 18-year-olds in Back Door who I could probably marry, but I knew I could not control.  I tried to put such perfect figures out of my mind.

One week after my wife died I went down to Fasten Street where my processing plant was.  I just wanted something to do.  I planned to sit in my office and watch my do-dads be wrapped, stamped and lifted into mail trucks.  That is exactly the boring thing I was doing for a half hour when one of my employees, a blond girl of, I thought 20 tapped on my office door and said, “Mr Norman can I come in?”

“Sure Jean,” I said, her name was Jean Sizeboro.  I had seen her around town all her life.  I figured she was coming to see me for a raise.  I paid the best wage in Back Door and was ready to tell her that.  She, I figured was going to tell me a sad story about her little boy, and how he needed an operation, or something. 

She stood at the foot of my desk, and was a picture of beauty.  I tried not to look hard and long, like I was busy with the meaningless papers on my desk.

“Mr Norman,”  she said, “I’m so sorry to hear your wife died.  It was because of her I got the best paying job in town.  I’m thankful every day.”

“You do a great job here Jean.  I’ve read Mr. Lanex’s reports.”

“I really appreciate that, but it’s been hard living alone Mr. Norman.  In a way when Bobby ran off to Canada and left me pregnant, it was about like your situation, your dear wife dying and leaving you alone.”

“You have your son, and your mother.” I said.

“What do you thing of dreams Mr. Norman?”

“Well I enjoy my dreams.”

“Well every night Mr. Norman I dream about you.  It was hard for me to come in and tell you, and you probably think I’m like Carrie Jayson and want to marry you.  Well I know that your wife just died, and besides I’m mot worthy to marry a man like you.

I’m a spoiled female because of hooking up with a boy in high school, and getting knocked up.  I never wanted to date any more boys after Bobby left, and if Bobby came back I would spit on him.

It will take me a few minutes to explain what I am proposing Mr Norman, can I tell you?”

“Sure, anyone who dreams about me I can surely listen to.” I said.

“Good, first I know that mature men wouldn’t want a screaming two-year old around them , unless it was theirs, and would reject a female who had baggage like that.  I have a little boy, but my mother has moved back to Centersville where she grew up, and took Bobby Jr.  I saved all my money here so I could give her for the move.  She’s going to raise my baby as if it was hers.  It was all revealed to me in my dream of you.”

“So you don’t want marriage Jean, what do you want?”

“Well I don’t know how to explain any faster, but your right I’m not worth to marry a man like you.  You’re the leading citizen of Back Door, and I’m Jean the slut who got knocked up at age 15.”

“Are you only 17 now?”  I said.

“I’m mature for my age — was then, am now.”  She sort of stuck out her breasts proudly.  Like saying they were nice big ones.

“Do you look and read the computer much Mr. Norman?” she asked.

“Sure I design sites so I can sell all my do-dads.”

“I mean do you read about whats going on in the world?”

“The war in China, and beef prices in Argentina, sure.”

“Do you follow the Supreme Court, and their rulings about voluntary servitude?”  I means that citizens have the free right to contract their freedom away, and become a slave for life of another person.”  She lowered her head, took a breath then looked up with her very blue eyes.

“I went to see Lawyer Cohen yesterday and paid him 10 credits to draw up a contract so I could become your slave.” 

She pulled out a paper that was folded in her pocket, and handed it to me.  It said:  VOLUNTARY INDENTURE

This free female citizen, namely Jean Sizemore who resides in Back Door Maine does this day sign away all her constitutional and human rights to become the animal property of a citizen Mr. Greg Norman, who also resides in Back Door Maine.

With her motorized signature at the bottom of this document Jean Sizeboro agrees to have no access to the courts, or be treated in any way as a citizen.  She will become upon signing a farm animal in a category with female pigs or cows.

Mr. Greg Norman can hereby sell, barter, mark or punish said female animal in any manner whatever.  Any issue from said female will be the sole property of her master Mr Norman.

This indenture is not for a term of years, but is for the life of the animal.’

The contract was signed by Jean, and by Cohen as the witness and a woman at the bank I didn’t know.  The bank notary put her seal on the document.

At first I was really left without words.  I kept reading the document, I must have looked foolish to her then,  but she finally said, “Do you accept me?”

“This is not anything like a marriage.” I said, “You seem to understand that?”

“Yes sir, I would be your belonging not your wife.  You don’t need to love me, but I love you.”

“I don’t want people to think your anything but my slave.”  I said, and I wasn’t saying these things rapid fire.  It was like a new idea.  A type of chicken that was gathering feathers.

“I could wear a metal collar, you could even lead me on a leash  I hope I won’t wear the yellow dress that convict women wear, but your my owner,a nd I’ll wear, or not wear clothing as you instruct me.

As you can see by the document I didn’t want to be a conditional slave, or be indentured for 20 years.  Attorney Cohen suggested that, but I wanted to belong to you totally.  I thought that would induce you to accept me.”

For an owner it is the easiest of relationships because there are no rules except the ones he sets.  I had been a husband for 15 years, and I remembered my courtship with Sally painfully.  There were slow understandings, and others — parents, brothers and sisters in both families that had to approve before there was much touching or sex.  Sex came after many months, and of course the elaborate ceremony.

During all the time before sex with my wife I sought out prostitutes, not many, but I always went out of Back Door for that.  I used the same three girls, a fifty mile drive away.  That was all about money and credit notes.  I tried paying more to have better satisfaction, but real whores are just that.  They were as much about time as money.

My wife got more and more about time.  At first sex was all important.  Then there was ‘enough sleep’ and fear of having more babies.  Sex got less often, then with her sickness it became no more.  She finally said, ‘Marry another woman, and have more children Greggie’.

Oh, the children, she had twins, and a difficult time having them.  Then they, the twins, screamed their way into all her non-sleeping hours.  Sex was delayed for a year, and she then resumed her service to me out of duty.  She was really clear about that, she wanted what sex we had to be short, and just until I had a single release of sperm.  I used my hand to masturbate before screwing her so my time would be extended.  She seemed to guess that, without really verbalizing it, and sometimes would push me off, and say, ‘Enough!’ or ‘Really honey.  I’ve now had as much as I can stand.’

“Bow here,” I said pointing to the floor right at my feet by the desk.

Jean quickly got on her knees there with her head bowed.  I put my hand in her hair, it was clean hair, I know because I bent down and smelled it.  When I messed my fingers thru my former wife’s hair she was afraid it would be ‘Messed’.  From my desk I could see the work floor, but no one working would be looking in my office, or not often.  Jean couldn’t be seen where she was bowing. 

“Does it mean master when you folded up the slave indenture and put it in your coat pocket that I’m accepted as your slave?”

“Yes, your my animal now.” I said.

“Thank you master for telling me.”

I still was thinking as I felt her hair.  It was the fine blond, really light, the kind that was never dyed or sort of brown, type.  It was long and soft.

“Tell me slave,” I said, “did you include the passages about farm animals in the indenture, or did Colen?”

“That was in the sample contract he had.  All he had were involuntary contracts, and he converted that.”

“I like the part,” I told her, “think of yourself as my animal,”  Just handling her hair and telling her she was my slave gave me a huge erection in my pants.

There was a knock on my door, and Jean looked up, I guess for orders.

“Come in,” I said, and it was Josh Lamex my manager at the facility.

“So what can I help you with Josh?” I said.

“Well my postal clerk was missing and I see she’s in here.”

“Yes someone will have to double up until we hire another girl.  Jean has become my voluntary slave, she will have different duties now.”

“Are you going to travel again now, like you did with Sally?”

“It’s not like a marriage Josh, she’s signed an official document and become my property, like an animal.”

“And what an animal, now my production line will be 10% more effective, not thinking about her moving about.”

Jean had her head bowed again.

“Did you know when we hired Jean she was just 15 years old, now she’s only 17?”

“I think she put 18 on the application, so I figured she was now 20.”

“Well that doesn’t matter, but do you have maybe a six-foot piece of rope around?”

“Sure boss, sometimes packages come in tied up,  a thick rope or a thin one?”

“Oh something about as thick as your thumb, I want to leash her to take home.”

“I have it, but I’m sure she’d go willingly.”

“I want others to know, and her to understand her new position.”

“Well that will really clue them in.”

I tied her hands and her neck, and she made no comment about that.  I’m sure it was a topic in my plant because they all saw her as we walked to my car.  Some had really puzzled looks on their faces, but Lanex would give them the details, and everyone in Back Door who knew me would know in a day.

My experience with Sally was that she was always talking, but all women are not the same, I guess.  Jean didn’t talk during drive home.  When I got to my street I said, “Did you know where my house is?”

“I drove by in my car, but sold it when my mother and little boy needed money to go away.  I planned to throw myself at you since I started work at Novelty Industries.  I only developed a real plan when I found out about voluntary indentures.

You have the best house in town.”

“It’s not the towns most expensive.”  I said

“That’s because you didn’t just buy it, but it is the best.”  she told me.

In my circular driveway was a familiar car, my wife’s friend Carrie Jayson.  It was an expensive, unusual car, a Zen.  She had not been to my house after my wife died, but had sent me invitations to two social events — I had declined both dates.

Now she was sitting in her car in my driveway.  I did not activate my garage door, and go directly into my garage, but stopped in the driveway and got out of the car, leaving my slave Jean sitting in the front seat.  I told Jean, “Wait here.”

Carrie got out  and walked around her car to embrace me.  Before Sally died she had begun to hug me every time we met.  The hug at the car was a little frantic, and she said, “I got a call that you took a twenty year old employee as your slave?”

“Yes, that is rather accurate.”  I said wondering who had called her so quickly?

“Jean my slave is in the car.”

“I see her, pretty thing, but you went to college.  What can you have in common with a girl like that?”

“She volunteered, and she’s not a wife.  She will be useful.”

“In less than a year she’ll be popping out children.”

“I like children, but that won’t alter her slavery situation.” I said.

“You say that now, but this girl has a son already.  I know of her.”

“That child is gone with Jean’s mother.”  I said, and I saw tears were streaking her makeup.  That’s what women do when they don’t have their way — cry.

“Look we talked about this before, and I thought I explained.”

“You did, but I never really gave up hope.  Greg, you see Sally told me all about your needs before she died, and I’ve been so extremely lonely in my big empty house.  In Back Door there is the art club, the garden club, and all the church social clubs, but there are no other men under seventy who don’t need to work all day.”  She was blubbering out the words., “I dream about you every night.”

“So does Jean.  For two  years she has planned and dreamed.”

“But you have a rope around her neck, you led her to your car with her hands tied?”

“I want her to understand her slavery.  I only accepted her as my slave.”

“Oh, I see,”  she said, getting sober looking all at once, “you want women who submit more than a normal wife would.”

“You could say that, really I loved and respected Sally, but 90% of the tim I wanted sex, she had excuses.”

“She said she begged you to take other wives.”

“She suggested it, but if I chose a much younger one like Jean, and men are attracted to young flesh, well how would I know I would not have the same 90% new situation?”

“You would do better with a woman your own age, who wants you, like me.”

“Sally wanted sex a lot until she had our twins, then it was like the faucet was turned way down.”

“Your slave girl Jean may change about sex after a while.”

“I don’t think so,” I said

“Why not?”

“I have a strap.”

“Oh, you would beat her?”

“Yes I own her,”  I pulled out the slave paper in my pocket and let her read it.  She was not crying anymore.

“She signed this on her own, and brought it to you?”

“Yes today in my office downtown.”

“You find me attractive don’t you Greg?”

“Of course, but you did divorce your other husband.”

“Yes, and I can see that as a problem for you.”

“Well you could change your mind again, it’s possible.”

“With this girl with the rope around her neck she can’t change her mind,” she said.

“That’s precisely the point.” I said, “with slave submission there is perfect submission.”

“Is anything perfect?”

“Slaves have to please their masters perfectly.  They have to please us as instructed of be punished.  That girl will sit in my car, until I decide what to do with her next.  Of course you and I know that I will take her in my house and fuck her until I’m so tired I can hardly move.”

“Think you Greg for talking so plain to me.  You have given me some hope about the rest of my life.  Let me explain.

That girl, Jean has certain assets, bodily assets, that I had at about 20, but try to preserve at 40.  Anyway I have other assets.  I have inherited money, a house as nice as yours, and money I got in a lump sum from my divorce.  My assets are in excess of 3 million credits.

I can see how a ‘in charge’ man like you wants to ‘own’ his woman.

If I could be your secret slave companion.  I mean in private you could beat and fuck me as you please, but if you took me to a play I would appear to others to be your mistress, not a slave, I would not have my hands tied or a rope or chain around my neck outside.”

“Yes you can be my slave companion with the deal you explained, but first let me go inside and call a lawyer, and while I talk to him about your slave paper, you can bow at my feet and give me a suck.  You are familiar with that ritual aren’t you?”

“What about your other slave in the car?”

“She can wait there until we formalize our relationship.  You can tell her to come inside after you suck, and I call.  Then you drive to Attorney Colen’s office, and sign the necessary papers.  Your slave indenture will look exactly like hers, I just won’t brand you, like I’m going to mark her.”

“I know Allison Cohen, the wife of that lawyer.  Their very young.  Won’t he tell someone?”

“Not if he wants to keep his law license.  This will be a deep secret, and I will explain that fact to him, you will hear the threat.”

It was the easiest 3 million I ever earned.  Carrie Jayson took off her blouse so as not to stain it, and bra.  She was well-preserved, but had produced no children to suck shape out of her tits.  I just unzipped, and said to the lawyer,  “This is Greg Norman, Mr. Cohen.  I know you from the Black Bear Club, but today I got the slave paper and the slave Jean Sizeboro.  Do you remember drawing up her paper?”

“Yes sir,” he said, “is everything all right about that?”

“Just excellent,” I said, “but I have another slave woman I want you to process for me.  This transaction is so very confidential that I want you to dismiss your secretary for a couple of hours and process the document yourself.  Call a notary from Chester and pay him 50 credits and fuel costs or taxi fare to come to your office.  I will pay you 500 credits to prepare a document just like the one you gave Jean Sizeboro, which she delivered to me.  Also I want a document transferring all this woman’s assets to me.  Including her homes and bank accounts, bonds and everything else.

Make sure your wife doesn’t even know that this woman is my slave, because your wife knows this woman.  Is this deal acceptable?”

“Oh but yes.  My wife is my secretary, so I’ll give her the rest of the day off, and tell her to go shopping in Chester.”

“Good idea, but remember your law license is on the line with this secret, OK?”


The suck went on for another 5 minutes.  Carrie seemed practiced in her efforts.  She swallowed without being told to.  Then she looked up and said, “Master you didn’t give him my name.”  She sat still on her knees.

“He will know you by my two checks, one for him and one for the notary.”

“Yes of course,” she said as I put away my dick and zipped up.

“Here at the house Carrie you will call me Greg so that other slaves will know you as my mistress, and not as another of my slaves.  You will wear free clothes, and other slaves will wear slave apparel.  I will even punish you gagged.  It will be our secret.”

“Yes Greg you already own me.”

“Yes I do Carrie.  Go to the lawyers office, and come directly back here with my papers.”

“Tell my slave in the car to come right in, nad you know why.  I’ll tell her that your her mistress.”

“Thank you Greg.”

She put her clothes back on, and quickly went out after fixing her face.


Comment here about the story, or send comments to Ray Cates at rcates2@cox.net  fax him at 1-352-629-1573

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