Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes

By Eve Adorer

Chapter 1 – The Liberal Lawyer

My name is Sherrie Nathan. I am a lawyer; a criminal lawyer; a defence lawyer and, yes, I have heard all the jokes about the similarity of the sound of my name with another far better known but, in his case, entirely fictional American defence lawyer.

I am thirty now. The story I have to tell you, the story all my friends ask me to tell over and over, is about what happened to me when I was just twenty-five and a complete know-nothing first time defending barrister in a court of law in a foreign land.

I am proud of my ability and feel no shame for what happened. A lawyer has to learn her craft. Apart from that one event, my record is second to none. Is it because I am a girl that people only want to hear of that one failure? Is it because I am a coloured girl that they enjoy it all the more? I have had to rise above petty jealousy and race discrimination to get where I am……………but I must not indulge my anger, you, I know, will understand and take my side.

You need to know more about me to understand my side of the story; especially if you have heard the version of my ex live-in girlfriend Hannah ***** whom I still love despite her bad mouthing me. It was Hannah I defended in court that day……..but once more I am starting at the end and setting a bad example, most unlike the cool calm logical and ordered lawyer I was and still usually am.

To set the scene, I must start with the jealousies. First and foremost, I am a girl with a brain. I studied law at C******** England, and passed out accepted as having been the brightest student of the decade. I went into the apprenticeship style practice that the English legal structure demands and rocketed through to become a junior barrister. And there, though I was only twenty-five, my career seemed to have stopped.

The second jealousy was my beauty. Any girl who succeeds is accused of using her body strategically to gain favour. A five-foot-six-inch 38E-22-36 English / Japanese / Afro-Caribbean curly lower-back length brown haired brown eyed “stunner”, as I have been incredibly pleased to hear some men refer to me, has more of such jealous talk behind her back than most.

As a girl at school, I had always been particularly conscious of my breasts. I knew that, compared with other girls of the same age, I was huge. As is the cruel way between children, the other girls, who called me “Tittyanna” behind my back, made me very self-conscious about my enormous chest. And then there was the way a once loved and trusted uncle began to look at me……..

But by the time I had reached sixteen, I fully realised that jealousy had been the cause of the past cruelty of my peers. I also began to appreciate I possessed two beautiful assets that would guarantee the adoration of men. For many a lovely man, a girl could never have too big a chest it seemed. I love men: adore girls.

At sixteen I was yet to discover too, my real sexual orientation. When we met later in our teens, one girl who had been particularly nasty to me when we were both children at school together, clearly longed to get her hands down my cleavage. What joy it was to be adored by her, to deny her, to realise the power of my beauty and the beauty of my stupendously huge firm breasts in particular………

Why should I not know that I am beautiful? Why should I not be proud of my beauty? Why should I not dress to show my lovely legs and superbly huge firm breasts? There is nothing, but nothing in the world as beautiful as a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl is heaven-on-earth. Why should I not be proud to be living breathing talking walking heaven?

The third jealousy I have always had to overcome, is racism. I have never ever used my charms for the gain I am accused of using them for. And I can never understand how supposedly liberal minded people can “sympathise” on the one hand with my being held back because I am one-third negro, whilst on the other hand accusing me of bedding other men to get to the top of my profession. And yet I suspect I do know why in fact. It is because they wanted me for my body and did not then know, as I had always hitherto kept it secret, that I was and still am almost purely a girl's girl.

To work as hard as I had to get to the top, even with my brainpower, you do not have much time to think about sex. And, yes, I admit it right now, when I experienced that event in the country now called ****** I was still, at twenty-five, a virgin.

I am sorry if all this sounds so angry; that is not the real me. It I just that I feel the need to put my case to you fully and forcefully, even though I trust you to have the right reaction to this. I just know that the lascivious view of my experience is not the one you will take. You are my judge and jury.

At the end of this report I would only ask you to ask yourself if what happened to me was as entirely right and proper as I consider it to have been. I was fairly tried, fairly judged and justly and properly punished. That is my view now, just as it was my view at the time of the event. And that, I fully and firmly believe, will be your view too when I have finished putting my case to you.

Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes

By Eve Adorer

Chapter 2 – Going to Court

A girl and a one-third Negress, although from a well financed family background, can be expected to hold liberal views I suppose. At university I had studied geography and politics as well as law, and had acquired a confident speaking knowledge of three foreign languages too.

Yet at twenty-five I was, I confess, a little naïf. I was wrong about many things. We all learn as we grow up. I was not fully-grown up when I was twenty-five. But I was not wrong about one thing. I knew I was being held back in my profession. I suspected I was being overlooked for further advancement because of my youth, my being a girl, and maybe, because of my light brown skin.

Obviously I talked to my senior in chambers. She assured me it was not so. But of course she would. She had done alright for herself. She (Sonia *****) had got herself a permanent judge's post in a middle-eastern country, one of the very last outposts of the British Empire, and was about to fly out there.

I had heard the talk that despite my youth my clear brilliance of mind must make me the leading candidate for her vacated place. Then they appointed Janine **** over me. I knew why they did it: Janine was a prosecutor in the same British colony our former senior was about to move out to. It was favouritism and nothing but. Janine was part time out there too. How could she hold down a job in London and keep flying out to *****?

Okay, so Janine and I had been together the once: just the once. She had been my leader in a London court case before I decided to switch from prosecution to defence. I knew that she just could not keep her eyes off me. She had let me lead in court for some of the time and told me afterwards I had been brilliant: and she meant it.

It was later in chambers when we were going over the case in readiness for the next day, when Janine had grasped me firmly around the waist, turned me gently but insistently to face her, and kissed me full long and hard on the mouth. I had just totally melted, my nipples peaked rock hard, my clit was dancing and throbbing and my girl-musk trickled uncontrollably into my semi-translucent tanga-panties, as I closed my eyes and surrendered.

And yet when her hand was gliding up my mini-skirt onto the firm soft girl-muscular bare thigh-flesh above my stockings, I was able to break away and hold my hand up to beg her to stop what we both knew I wanted and needed. It was pure mind over body. I wanted advancement and to get to the top senior's post.

I was hardly likely to get either if my present immediate senior and closest rival was known to be regularly stroking me. Janine stormed out on me hurling a frequent “bitch” as she stomped down the corridor whilst behind the slammed shut door I re-arranged by clothing, breathing deeply and literally watching the room go around and stars before my eyes, as my lust still had command over me.

All the way home that evening I noticed, or thought I noticed, men taking even more interest in me than usual. I was used to them ogling me of course. I knew I was a head-turner. I was pleased to be pleasing. I was happy to be their erotic heaven on earth. Usually I pleased breast-men as much or more than I pleased leg men.

My abundant heavy bosom was impossible to hide. I never indulged exposed cleavage. I always buttoned to the neck. Men adored my very evident hugeness. I smiled knowing they would be bowled over if they knew just how big and beautiful I really was. But that night on the subway was something different: could they smell the girl-musk saturating the gusset of the tiny white tanga-panties beneath my micro-miniskirt?

Yet over the next year, as I equalled Janine in court status and began to overtake her in the prospect of the top job in chambers, Janine seemed to have forgiven and forgotten. Even so, a lot of people have said what happened next she engineered. I don't agree. I went of my own free will.

Janine had already begun her visiting prosecutor role in this middle-eastern country. I had by then gone over to being a defence lawyer, still, at that stage, in England. Janine had regaled me with stories of the law in ***** where she now went from frequent time-to-time.

Perhaps it was to raise my liberal hackles that she told me particularly about what the cheap newspapers dubbed “the sex courts”. You know the kind of thing where such so-called newspapers, whilst sounding-off self-righteously about how disgusting it is, print every last detail of what happens, because it is titillating and what their readers, people with equally double-standard minds, buy such disgusting rags to read.

To someone trained as I was, in the western tradition of law, the practices in those courts did indeed seem almost wholly wrong. The fact that only girls could be tried for sex crimes angered me.

But the fact they were tried only by girls, seemed a definite liberal plus. The law of that country was a strange mix of the new western-like add-on to old tribal-like customs. For all crimes the prosecuting counsel was safe. Yet, from tribal custom of obscure origin, for one crime at least it was the long established practice that in a losing case the defence counsel must suffer the punishment that would have been the fate of the defendant.

No, it was more complicated than that. The girl found guilty was given the choice of taking the punishment herself or having her defence lawyer suffer it on her behalf. The reasoning behind this was that the crime in question was considered so heinous in tribal law that it was indefensible that anyone should try and defend a guilty girl.

In other words, the loss of a case of this crime in court made the defence lawyer as guilty in the eyes of the law of that land as the girl defendant who had been found guilty. And the law made this abundantly clear by laying down, even before a case began, that either losing lawyer or guilty girl could suffer punishment for this crime, just to show that they were both equally guilty in the eyes of the law. It was termed in legal circles out there, “jeopardy transference”.

The crime was lesbianism. The punishment to be suffered in a losing case by either guilty girl or girl-lawyer under the jeopardy transference law, was entirely at the choice of the judge in consultation with the prosecuting counsel and, if it were the defence lawyer that was to be punished, the losing defendant.

Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes

By Eve Adorer

Chapter 3 – Trail and Outcome

I know what you must be thinking; but I would hope that if nothing else you have clearly understood from what you have read so far, that I am no fool. I took up the defence of Hannah ***** because there was abundant evidence that she was not guilty, because she was a stunningly beautiful Jewess on trial in her adopted country, where anti-Semitism was known to be rife though hidden, because I was angered beyond measure that lesbianism should be regarded anywhere in the world as a crime and, above all, because I knew that the jeopardy transference law had not been put into practice for well over ten years by then.

Okay, so I was exceedingly ambitious. I knew I would get nowhere if I stayed with my present chambers. I had my eye on moving to the top-notch chambers in London. Okay again, these chambers would practically never have heard of me, and okay once more, they had never yet had a girl lawyer on their books. I would make sure they had heard of me. The Hannah ***** case was even mentioned at the UN. If I could defend Hannah and win, the legal world would be at my feet sure enough, or so I thought.

The judge would be my old former chambers head, Sonia *****. The prosecution would be headed by Janine *****. Where could I go wrong? With the UN pressure that nation's politicians were already berating their country's girl-police for bringing the case. And yet, the opposition in the country were pressing for the old laws to prevail.

Behind the UN condemnation the opposition saw US and British interference. The opposition stirred up protest marches. They told the populace at large that foreigners were insulting the ethnic natives of the land and challenging their freedom to live in ways thousands of years older than the USA.

The trial would be on television. Pictures of the event would be shown around the world. Television was not allowed in English courts, but the British High Commissioner found its employment in the courts of this last British colony a saving benefit. She did not need to post her personnel to report from the courts when the whole proceedings could be video taped from TV and flicked through at leisure later.

As the time came for the trial, my fear grew that I had bitten off more than I had bargained for. The opposition stirred protests were rocking the stability of a weak British-imposed government. When that government reacted by assuring the public it would have no truck with foreign interference; when a new and extreme right-wing Minister for Legal Affairs was appointed; and when she confirmed the old laws would prevail and that, by the old laws she meant all the old laws, including the jeopardy transference law, I knew I was in potential deep trouble.

And yet Hannah's trust in me had become total. I believed in her too, as much as she believed in me. I knew she had witnesses she was nowhere near the town where she was accused of having taken a bride to bed and deflowered her the night before the bride's wedding.

The bride had not been prosecuted. She could not be. She had wed a man and since borne his child: a boy. That defined her in the law of this last British colony, as non-lesbian. But there had been gossip, and Hannah, the bride's former college lecturer, had been arrested by the girl-police and was now on trial for lesbian rape as well as being a lesbian per se.

For the first time in my life I made a complete mess of matters in court. I made a bad start by ignoring Janine's clear advice to curb my style of dress. Janine and the judge wore ankle length unflattering shapeless black. I opted to show these backward stone-age thinkers what a lovely western girl could look like at her supreme best. I had the raw material in the outstanding loveliness of my face and body. I would show what a wonderful creature a girl is dressed at her sexiest.

This was a hot country. I would have no truck with black. For my beautiful coffee-coloured flesh I would wear the supreme contrast of white. A girl's underwear is her own affair. That I might choose and did choose to wear a white G-string, white suspenders and white nylon stockings, with no brassiere, was my business and my business alone. I was sufficiently fond of men to adore always having my bum bare under my skirts jeans and dresses.

I knew full-well what I did to men in the crowded London subway trains when they had to stand close up behind me smelling the fresh scented wonder of my abundant cascading brown curly hair, and feeling my gloriously firm round bum hemispheres pressing into their crutch and gyrating as the train moved and stopped and swayed.

Many were the times I felt them getting an erection despite themselves. And many were the times I would turn my head to them and smile to say that it was alright for them to enjoy me. If only they had known that beneath my micro-miniskirt my bum was totally nude, just what might have been as I would purposely, as if unaware and innocent of what I was doing, press myself a little further back so that their cocks could enjoy my wonderful bum the more.

That day that morning I rolled my white stockings up my extremely shapely legs attaching them to the suspenders. I loved suspenders too. I bought all my underwear from a special catalogue of erotic wear: “Exotic Erotic” it was titled. This particular garment had two suspenders at the front in the usual way, and two at the rear as was also standard. But the two at the rear were arranged so that they had to be stretched over my bare bottom. It was totally impractical of course; but totally sexy too.

I had already decided on no brassier and a white blouse that would button up to my neck, a blouse with abundant lacy frills dangling over my pretty hands at its cuffs, and with a lacy flowery patterned bib atop my ample bosom.

I finished with a white micro-miniskirt short enough to threaten to show my stocking tops at any time, and some white square-toed stilettos with three-inch heels. I brushed my fantastically abundant and near unruly brown curly hair and let it fall full length down my back to where it nearly touched my bottom.

I was, I knew, totally devastating as I wiggled, my natural girl gate, into the court. But I was wrong. This style of dress was so wrong for the setting and the day and the importance of the trial. Disaster!

I was to introduce the defence. The defence in a trial for lesbianism had to precede the prosecution case. The crime of lesbianism was, in this country, considered so foul, the prosecution must have the whole of the defence revealed to it and read all defence documents and interview all defence witnesses, before the prosecution took up its case.

I was well rehearsed, bright and confident at the outset. But as I spoke I became aware that hardly anyone was listening to me. They, every woman in that court, were ogling me. The judge called the court to order. She apologised for interrupting me. She reminded the court that an extremely serious crime was being tried, and that the undoubted fact counsel for the defence has incredibly lovely legs was not to distract the court from its solemn duty.

I thanked the judge, blushing deeply as I did so, at the realisation my thanks could be taken as being in response to the seeming complement about my indisputably superb legs, rather than for her bringing the court to order. I lost my place in my notes and began to lose face.

My client smiled at me comfortingly, radiating her confidence in me, and I pulled myself together. But disaster followed disaster, Hannah's witnesses, Hannah's only real defence, had not turned up in court, and would not turn up in court. They had been frightened off by death threats from vicious right wing zealots. I had final confirmation of this from a court usherette whispering in my ear. The girl-police could find neither hide nor hair of them. I knew I could bluff no more.

The defence was in ruin: total irreparable ruin. The ruin the zealots and the government of the country wanted the case to fall into. An example was needed to win over the people and prevent the government being overthrown by the opposition protests, the noise from which was a constant background to the proceedings in the courtroom that day.

By contrast, all it took for the case to be proven against my client, was for a doctor to testify for the prosecution that Hannah, though twenty-two and married for five years had borne no child. This was damning evidence. Hannah must be lesbian if she could give her husband no child in over five years of marriage: that was the primitive way of thinking in this land.

Of course judgement must go against Hannah. She was a political cause celebre in the land of her choice. The government of the day would lose power and the perks of power if it allowed the court to let Hannah off. The government in London were turning a blind eye. They let it be known that they would not interfere. (The colony had oil). I could not win this case. I knew it, Hannah finally knew it, and Sonia ***** sitting as the judge knew it.

The judgement was a formality. I could see the look on Sonia's face. She knew she had no choice as the TV cameras moved in to show her in close-up and me with my head down in shame and fear.

The continued lucrative business for foreign lawyers in these so-called sex-courts was also under threat that day. This last remaining colony of Britain might yet finally eject this one remaining vestige of direct rule from London. There would be unstoppable demands for native lawyers in all courts of the land unless the law were properly carried through there and then by these foreigners paid by the taxes of the country they were foreigners within.

All I heard was the ending of Sonia's announcement:

“…..your defence lawyer, under the law of jeopardy transference is found equally guilty of lesbianism, and under that ancient and righteous law you, as the guilty party of the first part, have the right to accept the punishment or transfer the punishment to your equally guilty lawyer. Do you accept or transfer the punishment?”

I cannot and do not blame Hannah for the word that echoed as much around my head as it did around the courtroom and every home in that land watching the TV pictures of the trial: “Transfer” said Hannah in a low whisper I only just heard.

“Speak up” demanded Sonia as judge.

“Transfer” said Hannah's sweet pretty girl-voice audibly this time, even though she lowered her head to avoid looking at where I stood.

Sonia now turned to me: “As you have lost this case unreservedly deservedly, you have equal guilt with the guilty girl you chose of your own free will, so very unwisely, to defend. Your summary position is that of being guilty of lesbianism by default. Whether by default or by full guilt, the crime of lesbianism proven in this court is punishable only by the way laid down in the law of this land. Accordingly, it is my solemn and burdensome duty to order that you be taken from this court, shackled in the manner prescribed by time honoured custom, and thereafter forced to walk back to this court to hear your sentence and begin, immediately thereafter, your deserved just and righteous punishment.”

Tears ran from the corners of my eyes as I listened to this; and yet there was a disturbing stirring in my quim. Incredibly, the thought of the brutality I knew was about to be visited upon me was turning me on sexually.

“Have you anything to say before sentence preparation is carried out on you?” intoned Sonia's judgemental voice.

“No ma'am” I answered obediently.

Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes

By Eve Adorer

Chapter 4 – Preparation and Sentence

I knew vaguely what was to immediately follow from what Janine had told me, and yet I made no protest as the two guardesses took my slender pretty wrists and let me from the court to a neighbouring room where for the next half hour the still assembled court would hear the muffled cries of my distress as I was made ready to go back before the court.

More guardesses took charge of me in that anteroom, and their eagerness to get me naked marked them out as enthusiastic lesbians as I had been warned by Janine that they were.

For the past ten years of leniency in the courts, sentenced lesbians had been required to work five years as prison guards in women's gaols without pay, and to train endlessly to ensure the perfection of their skills in girl-on-girl torture. Their alternative would have been to suffer the full rigour of the punishment usually meted out to lesbians, and no girl was going to choose that. For me though, there was to be no choice.

These girls were not allowed to touch each other. If they, as sentenced lesbians, were ever caught doing so, they would be instantly beheaded. Prisoners though were fair game and I was being girlhandled lasciviously as the girls squabbled over the chance to feel my superb 38-inch E-cup firm bare coffee brown breasts. They were fascinated too by the huge nut-brown aureole surrounding my pert nipples: my “nigger nipples” as I heard one call them.

“Get the slut in irons” came a commanding bark from a voice I recognised, as Janine entered the room. Janine, now carrying out her duty as the winning prosecutor, showed no sign of recognising me let alone of kindness or mercy as she witnessed the cruelties enacted upon me.

Naked as the day I was born, I was taken to a chair and sat strapped firmly before a mirror where I could and would be forced to watch, as with electric shears they drove huge near nude highways through the glorious soft brown curls of my stunningly beautiful full-to-the-bottom-of-my-back length hair.

My bottom-of the-back long sweet smelling wonderful dark brown curled hair was falling onto my back and my stupendous breasts like autumn leaves, as the leader among my torturesses gleefully ran the buzzing shears back and forth, back and forth and one side and then the other side of my head. I was being sheared bald as a mark of my guilt: as a mark of my lesbianism as confirmed by a court of law.

Tears ran down my face and I sobbed audibly and inconsolably as my crowning glory was falling from my head all around me. Janine lifted my chin and made me look in the mirror as my head was now being lathered with soap in readiness for its final mocking shaving.

A cutthroat razor was being stropped and another already honed to maximum sharpness was being drawn carefully across my scalp to ensure its absolute total final and full and complete and completely humiliating shaven baldness.

Then they brushed me down of loose long fallen hair locks as I sat in the chair strapped at my wrists forced to look in the mirror at my eyebrows, the only hair left on my head, through the tears still welling in my eyes.

I was next unbound from the chair and made to lie face down on a crude and dirty smelling straw-filled bed, as they held my arms to ensure I did not struggle when they fitted the torture irons to my feet.

Janine made no move to save me from further humiliation as my eager torturesses ran their hands over my superb bottom and down the girlily muscular lengths of my very shapely legs.

The first of the torture “irons”, made, in reality, of steel not iron, was a pair of seven-inch heels. Notice that they were “seven-inch heels”. There would be no shoe as such.

Quite simply, starting with my right foot, my right foot's big toe was put through a one-inch long ring, like a short pipe. Attached to the back of that ring, was a circular tie-bar and a sprung-steel plate.

Around my right ankle was tight strapped a three sided L shaped bracket. The three-sided L shaped bracket, or heel-plate, was of a size and shape to fit over and contain the heel of my foot. The strap around the ankle was of black leather and strong.

In the process of fitting the heel-plate by its ankle strap to me, my torturess had passed the round tie bar running the length of the sole of my bare foot through a bracket at the bottom of the heel-plate for that purpose.

The sprung-steel plate also now ran the length of the sole of my foot, from the ring around my toe to where the plate mated also with the heel-plate. In order to match my feet, my left foot was also now fitted with its toe ring with tie-bar, sprung-steel sole plate, and heel-plate with ankle strap.

Starting once more with my right foot, the round tie-bar that now protruded through the bracket on my heel plate, had a screw thread along its protruding length and beyond. What followed next seems initially inelegant.

A nut was fitted and turned round and down the tie-bar till it met with the bracket on the heel-plate. Thereafter, with the same treatment being meted out to my left foot to ensure evenness, the nut was tightened, latterly using a wrench.

The tightening of the nut was performed with slow care and deliberation. It was obviously an activity my torturesses enjoyed.

By tightening the nuts on the tie-bar they were, of course, bending my foot back by pulling hard and unmercifully on my big toes and bending the sprung-steel sole plate so that it forced by foot to take on the desired shape. They were arching my feet for a purpose: a cruel purpose: a painful purpose.

They checked they had the angle of bend in my feet that they sought, by using a wooden pattern between my sprung-steel forced bent arches and the tie-bar. Once satisfied, my torturesses passed second nuts down the tie-bar to lock the first nuts in place.

Thereafter, they fitted seven-inch cast steel stiletto heels to the remaining tie-bar protrusion. These screwed on like the nuts had before them.

When fully on, the inelegant nuts were hidden within a recess in the heels. Two strong split-pins through each heel and the tie-bars on which they had been screwed, ensured the heel stayed straight.

Even as I merely lay on my front on that dirty bed, being fitted with my torture irons, this bending back of my feet was more than merely uncomfortable and I cried out with cramps.

By the putting of my big toes through the rings at the end of the tie-bars, and the tightening of the tie-bars and hence the sprung-steel plates very tightly, my pretty feet were pulled back hard back bent back curved back so that my big toes would go straight to ground when I was standing.

I guessed the purpose of this. I guessed and I hoped and prayed I could withstand the pain when the time came.

The irons were now in place on both my feet, as were the seven-inch stiletto heels that would run to ground a half-inch higher than my imprisoned big toes and only two-inches behind my big toes when I stood.

Next, even before I stood, atop the straps that held my heel-brackets in place, my torturesses fitted a six-inch hobble to my shapely ankles.

The hobble they were fitting was a six-inch ratchet hobble. This ratchet hobble would necessitate my walking at its cruel dictate, because it required the girl wearing it to walk by putting one foot fully directly in front of the other.

Each anklet at the end of the hobble contained ratchets that only allowed the rigid straight bar between the girl's ankles to be taken one way.

Starting for example with her right foot, she must advance that foot till she had it directly and precisely in front of her left foot because the ratchet would not allow her to move her right foot back, and nor would it allow her to advance her left foot, until her right foot was properly placed to release the ratchets and let the left foot be used.

By properly placed meant the leading foot exactly in line in front of the trailing foot.

The preparation of my feet and ankles was completed.

They finished my binding in irons with two more devices.

Around my neck they fitted a steel cangue, through which each of my slender wrists were also placed, so as to hold my arms up with my helpless hands out level with and just beyond my shoulders.

Finally, they forced into my mouth an O-ring bit. It comprised a perfect circle “O” that was grooved like a gum-shield and curved slightly to the shape of my upper and lower teeth.

It was fitted inside my mouth, behind my lips over my teeth, and then tied by two straps that came from the sides of the O, at the back of my head.

It forced my mouth wide agape obscenely like that of a blow-up sex doll, though far more enticing and sexual.

Its purpose was to hold my teeth from threat. It was to show that this convicted lesbian was under cure. It was to show that all three of my girl orifices, my cunt, my bum-hole, and my mouth, were available for a penis or penises: the only natural and right ways for a girl to be fucked.

I was to be delesbianised by humiliation and pain.

It was not to be my fate, but I knew that many native lesbians had been tortured as I was to be, and then made to serve a year or more as male fuck-toys in men's prisons. Tied all day with all three of their orifices being used at will for male relief to prevent homosexual practices in the men's gaols. Unlike lesbianism, gay male practices were not illegal in this country, though they were still frowned upon.

My cunt became a little dampened at the thought of this, but all feeling of sexiness was about to be driven out of me by pain. I was ordered to stand.

I was ordered to stand, and they turned me over on the bed and lifted me so my legs dangled off its bottom end. Then two of my torturesses held my elbows and lifted me to a standing position.

The cries of my pain were heard in the courtroom. Tears trickled down Hannah's lovely face. Hannah was not free until she had witnessed my punishment. Hannah knew what had probably been done to me and why I was crying out.

In the anteroom from the court chamber, I stood in agony.

I stood on tiptoe. I stood on tiptoe forced by the legs irons. The tips of the toes I stood on were all but solely those of my big toes.

I stood almost only on my big toes cruelly and savagely bent with the potentially bone-breaking weight of my wonderful girl-body crushing down hard on my bent forward big toes: my big toes tiptoed by the bending back of my feet: my big toes through their individual toe rings bent agonisingly, with the seven-inch heels at the back of my foot bending irons, tipping me forward onto my naked big toes with the full 115 pound weight of my delicious teetering girl-body.

I swayed, unstable as I was steeple-legged in my seven-inch heels, knowing how I wanted to fall to take the weight off my poor toes, but not daring. My mind might be brilliant, but even a brilliant girl knows the blankness of agonising pain. My undoubtedly astoundingly brilliant mind was numb. My only thought was the pain from my big toes, which I thought must be broken, even though they in fact were not.

As a girl with lovely legs I was, of course, used to wearing high heels to best display their erotic beauty. But never ever had I been in heels as high as these. And never, I must confess, never ever had my legs looked so powerfully wonderful.

Despite or maybe even because of the pain in my crushed big toes as I stood my full girl-weight on them, the sexuality of my lovely legs being displayed on these seven-inch heels was undoubtedly arousing me sexually, and I began to feel a moistening in my girl-centre.

And now I was to be made to walk.

Wonderful rivulets of sweet smelling girl-sweat ran down my light brown perfect soft Negress' skin and stood in diamond shiny droplets on my bald shaven head and my pretty face.

The ratchet hobble came into play now. I was being made unlesbianly male provoking by my tiptoed leggy stance, and now I was to be made to slink by the six-inch ankle ratchet hobble that demanded that I put one tiptoed foot absolutely directly in front of the other before it would release the other foot to move.

The live male fuck-toy that was now me in my bondage irons, must agonisingly painfully slowly wiggle-slink her torture tiptoed way back into the courtroom before the TV cameras broadcasting to the whole nation on all 150 channels.

I twisted and turned my gorgeous brown legs as I performed the tiny six-inch ballet steps that took one enormously strong orgasmically beautiful girl-thigh affront its equally magnificent twin.

My superb stretched calves were superlatively erotic to behold, as I rotated my glorious bum, steepled on my crushed bent cruelly bent bare big toes taking all my 115 delicious and delightful pounds excruciatingly on each big toe in turn, as one of my wonderful brown girl-legs took its turn and then the other to advance my supreme girl-body, slowly to the courtroom to hear my sentence.

My stupendously huge breasts were throughout this wiggle-slink-walk swaying and jiggling independently and then in unison freely and uncontrollably as I girl-swung along in agony on my crushed big toes.

After an excruciating ten minutes slow ratchet enforced girly bum rotating extremely leggy ballet leggy wiggling slink, I at long last stood on my agonisingly bent crushed and bruised big toes, tilted forward unyieldingly on them by my seven-inch stiletto heels, to hear the judge's sentence through the extreme pain numbing my mind.

“Sherrie Marie Nathan, you have, as prescribed by the law of the land, been male fantasyised as the opening of your lesson in the perils of the lesbianism for which you have attended trial and been found guilty by the ancient and righteous law of jeopardy transference, also known as choice of jeopardy.” My judge, Sonia *****, intoned”.

“The only right and proper punishment for lesbianism in this country, has for too long now been held in abeyance.”

“It is your good fortune, that the wise government of this present day, has chosen to reinstate the full force of the law, and that you therefore have the honour of being made an example to all girlhood of the fate that must befall all young women who indulge in the totally evil unnaturalness of lesbianism.” She continued.

“In my view, this government is acting in the only responsible way and giving the world a lesson in how to stamp out an evil that threatens all girlhood, and by that fact manhood, and therefore the continued existence of the human species.” Sonia intoned.

“Every girl has three wonderful orifices. Those orifices are for men and men alone.”

“Nature has also provided you, Sherrie Marie, with a superbly provocative body.”

“You stand before this court today self evidently a truly astonishingly beautiful girl.”

“You have a very pretty face, lovely arms, breathtakingly strong and shapely legs, a gorgeous firm round bottom, a tight and no doubt warm and moist girl-centre, and the most incredibly large wonderful full firm and womanly breasts, topped by exquisite dark-brown nipples. And yet you have defended in this very court this very day the offer of this plus-perfect feminine female accomplishment for the sole use and pleasure of other girls.”

I gasped with the pain from my poor crushed toes, but also from surprise pleasure because my clitoris was beginning to throb at this abusive tirade and at the knowledge of my helpless humiliating public torture bondage and being displayed to the world in total nakedness.

Sonia all but hissed at me, sensing my arousal, I suspect, “Today in this court your hopeless defence was lost and entirely deservedly so, for lesbianism is in truth indefensible!”

“For a girl as wonderfully and beautifully made as you are, the shame and the pain of having to punish you is all mine. Yet I have no choice other than to sentence you”. Sonia paused for effect……….

“Sherrie Marie Nathan, it is the sentence of this court that you be driven from the spot on which you now stand to a place already readied for your punishment.”

“You may not know what that punishment is to be. It is part of the suffering for all convicted lesbians that they be uniquely tortured. In your case, as is her right under the law of jeopardy transference, the girl that you so spectacularly unsuccessfully defended has made her choice from those I was prepared to offer.”

“May you take your punishment like a girl…”

“…..Take her away.”

Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes

By Eve Adorer

Chapter 5 – Justice Is Served

Even as I had enforcedly girlily wiggle slinked my tortured slow walk into the court I had noted with great care and concern that my two main guardesses were armed with three-foot long platted tapering black leather whips. Now these were uncurled and held ready to beat me should I resist going to my fate, whatever that fate might be.

To walk in my seven-inch heels tipped forward onto my savagely bent big toes, the whole of my delectably feminine 115 pounds pressing unmercifully on my big toes, was absolutely excruciating. But would I resist, dare I resist? No I would not, dare not, and could not. The thought of being beaten with a whip on my totally naked flesh terrified and horrified me.

The ratchet hobble holding my legs in an enforced six-inch step made me place one dainty tiptoed foot perfectly in front of the other so as to release the ratchet and allow my next step. It caused me to swing my bum and slink my legs toe-pointedly in male fantasyised eroticised pain.

I was super-feminised thus as part of my delesbianisation.

This tiptoe hip-swinging slink-stepping, went with my O-ring gagged mouth agape with my pretty pink tongue flicking invitingly, male sexually excitingly, in my concentration on my walking.

The message from my O gagged mouth, the message it spoke without my being able too articulate a single intelligible word, so wide open was my mouth constantly held, was that this girl had all three of her delectable orifices open constantly for male pleasure. It metaphorically shouted to all the erect penises in the world: “deep shaft me”.

I worked my delectably long pretty fingers as I slowly strode my long long leggy legged way to my fate.

My arms were bent up so that my wrists were through the imprisoning cangue around my neck. The cangue held my chin up and gave even more emphasis to the pinkness of the tongue in my O gaped mouth, a bright pink that so contrasted with my light brown skin.

My tongue was constantly flicking and telling thereby without talking, without being able to talk, of the deep pleasure I could give an erect cock forced its full male length chokingly down my helplessly open throat. It screamed my need to be filled with male seed, as did my swaying bum and the soft brown curly down surrounding my deliciously tight-lipped girl-centre.

The TV crews were following my extremely slow wiggle-slink- walking progress out of the courtroom proper. Millions of TVs throughout the land showed my nude body glistening with girl-sweat. From my humiliatingly totally bald-shaven head down to my shapely ankles I shone with girl-dampness from the strain of my bondage and the heat of the TV lights.

I slow-wiggled girlily into the neighbouring room to the courthouse now. This was not the room in which I had been bound in the irons I now wore, but another and far bigger place with a very high ceiling.

Immediately I entered I saw that there was, not far from me now, a long, no, a very long ramp, rising from floor level to a height of what must surely be twenty feet from the ground.

I flicked my head to rid the droplets of sweet girl-sweat bedewing my eyelids, so that I could see more clearly.

Yes, this ramp ran in a rising curve to that twenty feet, and then there was a sheer drop like a cliff face in the middle of this huge and high room at the end of the ramp.

The end of the ramp was akin to a high diving board at a swimming bath, in that it continued out beyond the main ramp, but unlike the main ramp had no steel pillars to support it.

At either side of the “diving board” end of the ramp there were strong wooden uprights, like enormously tall soccer goalposts with a crossbar, but made of wood that was rough and ready as if not long since the tree it had been hewn from.

The “diving board” at the end of the ramp was some six feet wide. These uprights rose more than my height above the end of the ramp, and stood rigidly firm and strong about ten feet apart and six feet forward of and away from the ramp's end.

These strong thick wooden uprights were also buttressed by more tree trunk strong sloping supports, and the bases of the uprights and their supports were set in huge concrete blocks on the ground.

The concrete setting, indeed the whole structure, suggested permanence.

What on earth was this? What in heaven's name were they going to do to me to punish me?

My superbly astute girlmind was whirring as I stepped onto the very beginning of the ramp and began my slow sexy girl wiggle bum rotating long leggy steeple legged slinky mechanical doll like walk up the ramp.

My torturesses still held their whips at the ready. Despite my acknowledged brilliance, I could not even imagine what my fate was to be, all I knew as I supremely bum-swayingly advanced my super erotic way, all my superbly girly 115 pounds on my numb crushed and black bruised big toes, was that I was nearing something, and that that something would undoubtedly be horrible.

It took twenty-five minutes of my big toe crushing agonising wiggle-walking, to girl-wiggle-sway to the top of that ramp.

I now stood at the edge of a huge diving-board-like precipice, twenty feet from the floor below. My lovely pink tongue licked around my dry lips sexually invitingly. My legs, my gorgeous legs, were shaking, not only with the strain of walking tiptoed by the irons and constrained by the six-inch ratchet hobble, but also with my mounting fear.

There was a pause as cameras atop cranes with eager young girls girling them, were moved into precise position to give the millions of TV viewers a close-up view of me and what was to happen to me.

Prosecuting counsel Janine was now alongside me.

Janine was preparing to fit to me a series of white silk ropes.

I was totally horrified.

I could now see that from the top corners where the strong wooden uprights met the crossbar in the “soccer goal posts and crossbar” structure that stood six feet away from where I trembled with overwhelming fear, there ran two individual and separate white silk ropes that Janine now had in her hands, and those ropes ended, each of those ropes ended, both of these white silk ropes ended, in a noose!!

Janine held in her hands, two individual white silk rope nooses.

Even as I studied transfixed swaying on my tiptoes all but about to feint, I watched Janine skilfully and practicedly put the two nooses together.

Each of the two nooses was tied exactly as you see in cowboy films. But at the bottom of each wide-open noose, there was a leather sleeve. Through these sleeves Janine slid a two-pronged forked wooden pin. The wooden pin held the bottoms of the two nooses together. The wooden pin had a metal hoop at its top: a hoop the purpose of which would be seen shortly.

It was part of my torture to witness these final preparations so that my mind could fully absorb what was inescapably to be done to me. And so I watched with the fascination of horror, as Janine fitted two more short white silk ropes to the nooses.

Then she made me ready.

As matter of factly as if it were natural and done every day, completely coldly and unemotionally, Janine slipped each noose, joined and held together by the wooden pin at their bottom ends, individually over, one apiece over, each of my stupendous 38-inch E-cup breasts.

I gasped with horror as I realised that what my mind was trying to deny could possibly be the case, was in fact what it had been decreed by the court must be done to me.

Janine then drew the loose nooses down the full length of my gorgeous breasts until they were around the individual bases of my tits, with the wooden split-pin in my cleavage.

Next she took the two ropes she had also fitted latterly to the nooses, around my back, and fitted them together too with a wooden split-pin so that they formed the equal of, and performed the function of, brassiere straps.

I closed my girl-sweat bedewed eyes as I realised that I was now wearing what could only but only be defined as a noose-bra.

When I opened my horrified eyes once more, two more ropes had been fitted in place. Both these ropes came down from the centre of the crossbar of what must now be called my gallows. These last two ropes were tied to the hoops in the tops of the wooden pins that held the nooses firmly to my chest, the pin in my cleavage and the pin below my shoulder blades at my back.

The split-pin that was holding the nooses together at my front in my cleavage, and its sister at my rear holding the loose nooses close against my chest, were, of course only to supervene against the nooses themselves slipping from my body before they, the nooses, had had time to slip tight down and fully grip my breasts.

Other than that, to the process that was to be performed on me these pins and the ropes like bra straps one pin presently held round my back, were superfluous.

Hence the rings in the tops of these holding pins, and the ropes from the centre of the crossbar that would pull these pins out at the strategic time, to give the nooses the full cruel solemn duty of taking all the victims weight, without let hindrance or mercy for me, the poor victim.

Of course I knew what was going to happen to me.

The judge was by my side now and intoning solemnly: “Sherrie Marie Nathan, you have exactly one minute in which to voluntarily take the step to the painful and entirely deserved punishment that awaits you. If you do not take that step freely, you will be whipped until you choose to do so.”

“No mercy will be shown you. One you have dropped, you will hang unmercifully for twenty-four hours. May your suffering fully and finally delesbianise you, and may you take your punishment like a girl.”

I tried through my O gag to beg for mercy, but all I emitted was what sounded like a deeply sexy guttural moan. The next minute was the longest and shortest of my twenty-five years. I looked at the twenty feet below me and was terrified of the leap I knew I must take……

……And yet, and yet, and yet I took the leap!!

I was not forced. Even before I knew it, I had stepped forward and stepped off that enormous precipice. I could not bear to have them whip me.

My mind was coldly logical. I am a brilliantly super-intelligent girl. This was my fate. This was my punishment. I screamed as I stepped off the edge of the ramp. I stepped off with one foot only as if I had only half made up my mind, but my ankles were hobbled together and one must follow the other as night day.

I leapt because I knew I must go and because my mind had told me it was better done quickly before I became a perfectly petrified, literally petrified, a frozen target for the repeated savage kisses of the brutal whips of my torturesses.

Down and down I dropped sexy gorgeous strong divinely shapely curved and contoured girl-leg-kickingly screaming with my man-seed wanton pink tongue penis-erect from the middle of my forced O mouth as I screeched in my horror and total terror.

Down and down I fell in seconds that were hours and days to the speeded up state of my girlmind.

Down and down I plunged knowing that my fall would be broken, how my fall would be broken, and in abject total but total horror of what this would do to me, fearing, yes terrified, that it would rip my wonderful breasts from my body.

From the TV camera standpoint it was all over so quickly.

The ropes had been precisely measured. I plunged until reaching very near the ultimate end of the two nooses that lighteningly whipped themselves shut hard tight squeezingly tight brutally tight all but severingly tight around the bases of my breasts.

A split-second after they had done so, I reached the depth in my fall where the ropes holding the wooden spilt-pins in my cleavage and at my back pulled those pins out, and I fell still further, suspended now only by my poor breasts inividually noosed.

My tits were pulled up brutally hard and pulled out sideways savagely hard by my tit nooses, tied as my nooses were to the ten feet apart corners of my gallows.

And then I bounced. I reached the end of my fall. I reached the end of my two tit nooses.

The speed of my descent was taken to zero in a split second. The nooses had crush-squeezed down to near nothing the bases of my wonderful soft Negress brown girl-skinned orgasmically beautiful breasts. And now there were only two parts of my delectable female anatomy that could halt my plunge.

I screamed as my tits were pulled viciously violently hard as they took the full 115 pounds of my feminine beauty and were stretched unbearably until my body bounced up; and then down; and then up; and then down at the end of the nooses; each time a little less high, but each time testing my full 115 pounds against the elasticity of my agonisingly tortured tits as I also swung back and forth and side to side hanging hung helplessly by my cruelly unmercifully tortured titties.

I finally hung hanged.

I was finally fully hanging only and entirely by my breasts.

I was swinging helplessly screeching in my pain, pink tongue shooting out of O-gagged mouth. I was hanging by my tits. I was hanging fully and finally and only by my poor brutalised beautiful breasts. I was hanging by tits around the bases of which the nooses had pulled so unrelentingly tight that I was all but threatened with my gorgeous globes being severed from me.

My lovely feet were three-feet from the ground. The whole weight of my wonderful woman's body was pulling on my tits. My tits were squeezed down so hard they were like enormous obscene light globes light bulbs. I was horrified to see that they had turned from brown-pink, to puce, to blue, and then to a purple-blue-black as my nooses strangled them.

I was hanging by my breasts. My tits were pulled up so high I could see my nipples and my nipples stood rock hard and pointedly erect a bluer purpler black than my breasts themselves.

I was hanging with all my weight suspended from my titties, my titties pulled up hard and high and hard and wide by my nooses as I still swung at the end of my nooses helplessly hopelessly tit-hung.

I fought to free my wrists from my cangue to try and save my breasts. It was useless: I was helpless. All I succeeded in doing was to torture my titties the more as I swung and swayed and twisted, hanged by the nooses stretching my breasts hard up and hard out clear of my body.

In my pain and distress I did not even notice that the palms of my lovely hands were bleeding from where I had made fists and dug in my fingernails in the extreme distress of my drop to the end of my nooses.

My titties were stretched and pulled horrendously. Massive purple-black from their extreme strangulation they were pulled hard up and hard out with a 60 degree angle between them as they stuck up and out from my chest and my body arched back from them.

All my body weight was hanging from my poor strangled titties and even as I hung, I feared that my nooses were getting tighter still.

The absolute horror of the fear that my breasts would be severed from me, drove my mind to near madness as did the truly terrible pain.

In my extreme supreme girl-suffering, I uttered indecipherable cries for mercy and release from my O-gagged mouth. My sexy bright pink tongue was constantly flicking invitingly promising of the sexual pleasure it could yield, then and there, a throat-filling rigidly stiff penis.

If anything, within but a short time of the horrendous drop from the ramp, my breasts had swollen even more from the already immense size they had instantly become from my initial hanging.

I tried so hard not to move so as not to increase my already unbearable torture. But I had to breath and even my breathing moved my body, free hanging as it was, and even this little movement increased my pain.

My lovely dark-brown eyes opened and closed. What were mere seconds to the on-looking witnesses of my just punishment were minutes to me and minutes agonising hours. I opened my eyes again only to see my nipples had peaked at a stupendous half-inch each in the middle of my now dark purple-black aureole.

My eyes closed and opened blinking the girl-sweat from my eyelids, and I looked at the assembled witnesses of my punishment.

Those that had been at the top of the ramp were now at floor level looking up at my tit hanged body arching achingly back from my pulled up and out titties. I lifted my head. My eyes looked out seeming not to see. But I did see. As I hung helpless with all my 115 delectable and exquisitely delightful girl-pounds suspended from my beautiful strangled breasts, I looked around with my pretty pain reflecting stunned brown eyes and I saw.

What I saw and focused on was the delightful face of the lovely Hannah. Her face was so pretty as she smiled up at me.

She smiled in part from relief that it was I who hung there by my strangled breasts suffering the punishment that she would have suffered but for legal loopholes. And I knew she smiled because she was sexually aroused to see my beautiful body totally naked being tortured so delectably and unrelentingly unmercifully.

And as I drank in the delightful Hannah's pleasure at seeing me tortured, my own pleasure came suddenly upon me. The pain, the humiliation, the total and quite literal fall from grace I had endured and was enduring, and my mind reminding me I must suffer for twenty-four hours, began to arouse me sexually.

I was becoming sexually aroused by my agony and my total helplessness and by the sadistic pleasure I was giving this lovely girl, the truly beautiful Hannah. My already distended nipples peaked and throbbed and hardened even more. My girl-purse shot full of my girl-juice, and it oozed abundantly from my girl-lips. And my delicious pink tongue flicked around and in and out of my O-gagged mouth as I stared wantingly at Hannah.

And in my total agony why did I swing myself in my bonds to increase the pain; why were my helpless groans turning to deep animal moans; why was my clitoris wonderfully more rigid in my cunt than it had ever been before, and why was my clitoris throbbing and pleasure painfully pulsating; and why were my inner thighs glistening with my girl-juice, and why was my tongue, pink and sexy and sexual and demanding, licking my mouth lips and flicking to and fro showing my mind thoughts were wanton of the biggest cock in the world to be thrust unmercifully down my helpless throat so that it would choke me as it was its right to choke me, a mere girl, until it used me and throbbed and pulsed like my clitoris, until it streamed its male oyster into my body, the male oyster I needed deep down my throat, unmercifully hard up my arse, and savagely rapingly in my cunt, the man seed I would if allowed the honour savour and roll over and over on my tongue to taste its salt before I finally swallowed it delightedly into my delectable body………

…………and away from the obsessive thoughts of my girl-blown mind, before the whole world watching me hanging by my poor tortured tits, and before my torturesses my judge and the prosecuting counsel, and before Hannah that I was taking this brutal punishment in the stead of, I helplessly wholly femininely and femalely orgasmed, screaming in girl-pleasure.

I girl-orgasmed, girl-abandonedly, girl-uncontrollably, totally girl-wantonly, I girl-orgasmed and girl-screamed and girl-screeched and girl-orgasmed, dancing like a girl-dervish at the end of my tit-nooses hanged brutally savagely by my breasts mouthing with my gorgeous pink tongue flicking its tender tip in my O-gaped mouth as I stared longingly at the exquisite Hannah from my tit hung height, the inaudible words that burned my brain and tore my heart as I hung by my excruciatingly strangled breasts, my unmercifully tortured body only at the beginning of its twenty-four hours of being hung by its titties, I mouthed my desire and my longing for Hannah.

As my O-gagged lips moved the little they could, and my sexily sexual moist pink tongue flickered to make my indecipherable words, only Hannah understood, only Hannah could hear what I was saying to her and her alone, her, Hannah: the most wonderful and beautiful creation in all the universe for me as I suffered for her, there and then hanging by my beautiful breasts that day, Hannah, deep blushing Hannah, the words, my words, her words from me, my gift to her, the only-and-the-all-gift I could give her, stark naked and breast-hung for her as I was, the words, the repeated words:

“I love you!”. “I love you!” ……………

Prosecuting counsel Janine then turned to Hannah: “What is she saying?”

“Oh” said Hannah, with a sly half glance up at me, “She's saying, ‘whip me'!”