Dark Erotic Fiction

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster
Chapter Fifteen: Orphaned

Thursday, April 26^th, 2001 started off bad and got worse. Father began coughing up blood. He was rushed to the emergency room and immediately prepped for emergency surgery. By six o”clock, he was in the recovery room. I squeezed his hand when he regained consciousness.

“Take care of your sister, Peter.”

“I intend to, sir. I have applied for an exemption from the “no slaves” policy of this hospital. Penny would like to say “goodbye.” If they stonewall, I”m sure a bit of media spotlight will make a difference.”

“Don”t break the law.”

“I won”t.” I squeezed Father”s hand again. “I”ll try to be back this afternoon for visiting hours. The nurse is shooing me away.”

In truth, I wasn”t in peak condition myself. Jane was waiting in the car with Penny and Susan. I kissed Jane and slid in the back seat with the younger slaves. Penny was on my left and Susan to my right. Jane was buckled in behind the steering wheel. There is a reason that I”m precisely detailing where everybody was Father”s Lexus ES300. Perhaps I dozed off—I was tired. I saw a little girl in a white shift. I recognized her as April.

“Peter, you should enjoy yourself.”

I blinked. April was in the passenger seat next to Jane. Penny and Susan had their heads on my shoulders. They seemed asleep. Jane didn”t notice the little girl kneeling on the seat to her right. I wondered what April meant.

“You own slaves. You like it. Don”t lie to yourself. You like women. You enjoy making love to women. Dump your baseless guilt and enjoy yourself. Let go. Don”t worry yourself sick about turning into a monster. Just love your slaves. Use them. They will love you in return.”

Jane pulled into our driveway and parked in front of the garage. Penny and Susan stirred from their naps. April was gone.

“Brother Master, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

I kissed my sister. We all got out of the gray sedan.

“I”m tired. Let”s see what Juanita has for breakfast. Jane, you drove well this morning.”

“Thank you, Master,” Jane blushed at my compliment. “But it was nothing.”

“I see that I have much work to do,” I said. “Slaves need to learn to accept compliments and gifts graciously. I am not the right teacher. Let”s find one. With all of the women in the house, I”m sure that we can find someone.”

“What do you mean?” Jane asked. “Accept gifts graciously?”

“When a slave rejects her master”s gift, she is rejecting her master. The slave is second-guessing her master. I said that you drove well. You got us from here to the hospital safely and swiftly. You waited in the Lexus while I was with Father. You comforted my sister—I saw the puffy red eyes. You brought us back here so smoothly that the three of us were able to relax. That is the kind of driving I want from you—safe, reliable, and within those constraints, swift. No unreasonable delays. Private automobiles are supposed to provide convenient transportation. You will be my driver for the next several weeks. I am providing regenerative feedback—reinforcing desirable behavior. Why do you do that?”

“I”m not worthy of your praise,” Jane looked at the ground. “I am just a slave.”

“Slave Jane, remove your clothing. Fold your shroud up and hand it to me.” Jane”s mourning costume had no shoes. It was an elegant assembly of sheer black and sheer gray cloth. For safety, she removed her veil during driving. Jane was naked in a moment. She handed me the bundle of cloth. “Beginning on your birthday, Jane, unless I direct otherwise, you will normally be completely naked. I prefer your neck bare, but you will wear a collar with an integral cell phone when we are away from home. I will modify your normal costume for health and safety reasons—shoes might be a normal accessory. When necessary, I”ll bind you. What are your concerns? Don”t try to manipulate me—that isn”t necessary and manipulation is counter-productive.”

“Master—no, it”s nothing. I was going to say that I am not worthy of you. Master Peter.”

“Another thing, Jane—unless I tell you that formality is required, my name is Peter. You don”t need to be formal with me. You are going to be my right hand. Go round up the GVVN crew and bring them to my office. I need them all naked. You and I will talk later.

“Sisters, come with me.”

Juanita wasn”t in. Shelly ran the morning shift—the 3 AM to 1 PM shift. Her mother Nancy ran the 11 AM to 9 PM day shift. Ten hour days are really too long. There was a gap between 9 PM and 3 AM taken up by a night shift so that the kitchen was always open. The noon overlap was deliberate so that lunch could handle the big daytime crowd. Getting up before 3 was difficult, so the youngest of the three kitchen chiefs got the morning shift. It was seven and the kitchen was chaos.

“Shelly, I need you to have someone serve breakfast for myself, Jane, these two, and the GVVN crew in my office. It can be continental.”

“How many in the GVVN crew?”

“Six.”

“Master, may I suggest that Francine and Brenda and their four daughters be your servers? They really need to talk to you today.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, Shelly. I am going to have to cut into your sleep time tonight. After dinner, I need to talk with you, Nancy and Juanita. I will try to keep it short. I want all three of you naked with your hands cuffed behind your backs. You will be spending the night with me—hopefully without the handcuffs.”

“Yes, Master.” Shelly shivered. “I will have a breakfast trolley sent to your office, Master. What do you want them to wear?”

“Have them all naked.”

Two adult slaves, two child slaves (due to illegal enslavement) and two free children were far more than required to serve breakfast—but they were also there for a conference. I hoped that the conference wouldn”t take too long because I needed a nap. I was still exhausted because of being poisoned on Saturday. There”s no rest for the weary—or was I one of the wicked?

The GVVN crew was waiting for me. Lulu was still on the injured list. Doctor Kirby had cleared her for light duty. Lulu was under the influence of pain killers and was in a wheel chair.

“Penny, Susan, I want you in your karate uniforms.” Right now, that was their birthday suits. “Lulu, how do you feel this morning?”

“Lonely, Master Peter.”

“I have an assignment for you. I want you to record the karate classes. I”ll have a word with Kiki and Bonnie. Your raw video will be edited and made into an orientation for new karatekas. I”d like it if you would use Laura and Linda as your assistants to handle lights, sound equipment and extra cameras. You may wind up just directing if Doctor Kirby says that operating cameras is too much for you to handle. Kiki and Bonnie will advise you, but they have several classes today. You”ll be on your own. Rest when you hurt because I want you healthy again.”

“Yes, master.”

I hugged Lulu. Jane hugged the older slave, too.

“Jane and I are going to be spending every moment possible together,” I told the other slaves as breakfast arrived. “After her 18^th birthday, as much as possible, Jane will be naked all the time—especially in public. When I make love to my other slaves, Jane will participate. She is going to be my right hand. I hope that she will bear me a child sometime next year. It will slow her down a bit. I would like to record Jane”s years from her 18^th to her 25^th birthday in detail and make up a documentary—because many of my personal slaves and the Castleman Trust slaves will follow the same route of motherhood and schooling and working.

“But I need Ginger to put together a news crew for another visit to the hospital. I will be asking that they allow Penny to visit her father. Penny is a slave and the hospital has a “no slave” policy. We are going to use the power of the media to allow Penny to say goodbye on Sunday. It is Thursday, people. I need your input. Ideas? How can we achieve the goal of forcing the hospital to issue an exception to policy for Penny? Don”t break the law! Two last things before you brainstorm this media project—as of yesterday, all of you are asset slaves. That means that injuring you could cost someone $100,000 and possibly jail time. Killing you is a fine of $250,000 and up to ten years in prison for men—automatic enslavement and near-certain execution for women. Just beating you would bring on a potential $10,000 fine. Before you all jump for joy, read the corporate discipline policy. I may be required to kill you if you misbehave. I don”t doubt that sometime during the next five years I will have to punish you severely enough that you will wind up in the dispensary for a few days. After you brainstorm and present your suggestions, I”ll issue orders on how we”ll visit the hospital this afternoon. Follow those orders and I won”t have to punish you. I am putting you at risk. You don”t have the option of backing out. One of the things I need you to recommend is what your uniform will be for that confrontation. Remember—as slaves you are forbidden inside the hospital. ALL slaves are forbidden inside the hospital—that”s the way the notice is written. You may use the sidewalk—and as agents of a news network, you don”t have to get out of the way of free people because you are on assignment. That won”t stop someone from hurting you. I authorize you to run when assaulted—I”ll find you later. Any questions for me?”

“What do you suggest for uniforms, Master?”

“I was thinking of body painting. You”d wear nothing but the GVVN logo on your belly and back, and I”d stencil your name on your forehead. Come up with something that will work. I value your advice—even if I decide to do something else.” I motioned Jane over. “The second thing is that you five are going to be groped and kissed on the way out of this office door. Don”t forget breakfast!”

They lined up and received their hugs and kisses. Ginger sagged against me.

“I”m sorry, Master Peter,” she gasped. “I didn”t have permission to cum.”

“I don”t remember prohibiting that,” I was baffled. I just hugged and kissed Ginger. I rubbed her shoulders, and then fondled her breasts. I took her nipple in my mouth and gently sucked on it—Ginger was lactating. Doctor Granger had begun the process last week as I requested. “Be sure to nurse each other while brainstorming, Ginger. I”ll see you at lunch.”

Next, it was my two slave mommies. Francine had been judicially enslaved because she had gotten drunk, left her two small children behind, wandered into a liquor store totally naked and had stolen a bottle of gin. She didn”t leave the store until the police arrived and arrested her—she was blowing the clerk, the man who called the cops. Her daughters Amanda and Serena had found their way to my home and volunteered to become my slaves. They were too young, but they were my foster children while the adoption papers slowly processed. Francine felt that she deserved being enslaved. Brenda was another story. Brenda had sent her two young daughters to a gymnastics competition in Little Rock, Arkansas. The team manger, Mr. Eustis Crook, had taken the team to Mississippi and illegally enslaved them using the in locos parentis authority intended to allow emergency medical treatment. When he tried to extort ransom, he found out that he had to sell them through a broker—he wasn”t permitted to directly sell slaves. I had passed out last night during a meeting with the parents of the 15 surviving team members—overwhelmed by 26 venting mothers and fathers. That”s why I wasn”t with Colonel Murphy and the multi-jurisdictional task force in Mississippi this morning—I wasn”t up to it. The precedent on wrongful enslavements was that the enslaved woman remained enslaved—just the person challenging the illegal enslavement was given the right of first refusal when the wrongfully-enslaved woman was sold. My plan was to not challenge the enslavements of the gymnastics team, but instead to make them assets of a gymnastics school and contract for their manumission at age 25. Instead of wasting money fighting for their freedom, I had the options of selling them to their parents, of freeing them immediately, or keeping them. I was going to have to ask Mr. Paulson and Mr. Harrington, the Trust attorneys, what the parents were going to do. I wanted to keep them and “loan” them to their parents for long visits—but provide their food, shelter, clothing, medical and dental care, and educate them. Most of all, I wanted them to have adequate mental health care, and I thought the best way to do that was keeping them enslaved. I had been abducted, tortured, raped and left for dead at age nine—I had been there and survived. I knew something about what they needed.

“Master, I have a confession to make,” Jane wrapped her arms around me. “I”m a total lesbian. My real mother was a lesbian. Mommy Cheryl is too.”

“Oh? You don”t act like I repulse you.”

“I would rather make love to you than to any woman,” Jane said. “You just feel right. But my psychological profile says that my preferred sexual partner is a woman.”

“Mine too, Brother Master,” Penny said. Susan merely nodded.

“You seem sort of young to have your preferences set in stone already,” I said. “Besides, it is irrelevant. As slaves, your sexual orientation is “slave.” You have sex with whomever or whatever your owner orders you to.”

“There is a difference between sex and making love,” Jane said. “I”m really looking forward to making love to you on my birthday.”

“That”s not fair!” Amanda pouted. “I want to be your slave and you say that I”m too little!”

“You get to be my daughter. I plan to enslave you on your sixteenth birthday.” I knelt down and hugged Amanda. “As I told you before, I need you to be a little girl for a while. Your sister Serena, too.”

Serena trotted over to me and threw her arms around me.

“She was worried that you had replaced her with new slaves,” Francine explained. “See, Serena? Penny said that he doesn”t abandon his family.”

I felt two small pairs of hands at my back.

“That is amazing.” It was Kim—also known as Doctor Prince. “They really like you. I didn”t expect them to do that this early.”

The hands belonged to Jana and Tabi White, two of the enslaved girls that I had rescued on Wednesday. While I was being buried in girl hugs, Kim took Brenda White aside and checked Brenda”s breasts using fingers, lips and tongue.

“Brenda, you need manual stimulation.” Kim said. “It will be a few days before your milk comes in. Has Master Peter assigned you a partner yet?”

“Francine and I are partners. Francine already is making milk.”

“Just keep at it.”

“I remember when Brother Master was hurt,” Penny was feeding bread and fruit to Susan. “I was still nursing at the time. Mommy said that Peter needed to nurse again because he was hurt. Being hurt made him a scared little boy again. He needed his mommy. I was asked if I”d share. After I got Avi, how could I refuse?”

“Avi?” Kim asked. It was pronounced “aay-vee.”

“Yes,” I replied. “That”s what Penny called the helicopter pilot action figure she selected on my ninth birthday.”

“How long did you nurse from your mother, Penny?” Kim asked.

“I never stopped, even when her milk dried up,” Penny said. There were a lot of things I didn”t know. “I needed my mommy too after Brother Master went to college. I didn”t need the milk, but I did need the unconditional love of a mother for her baby. Brother Master loves me unconditionally. Just being near him takes my breath away.”

“I”ll do more than that for you on your 18^th birthday,” I told Penny.

“Mommy and you made love on your own 18^th birthday, Brother Master. Daddy was supposed to do it for me on mine, but,” Penny”s face clouded over. Susan hugged Penny.

“You fucked your mother?”
“Yes, Francine. It is a family tradition. Father gave me Mother as my slave for my 18^th birthday. Now at the time, slavery wasn”t legal. I was bothered—but not enough that I didn”t exploit the situation. Mother was already sterile at the time. Of course, I was away at college—had been for a year. I wasn”t around to be her master every day—just on the weekends. She actually was there to give me lessons in how to be a master and how to command slaves. There were some lessons that I didn”t like.”

“Yes,” Penny giggled. “Sorry, Brother Master, but your hardest lesson was whipping us. When you started babysitting me, Daddy had you spank me. The first time I didn”t think you”d ever stop crying. Mommy simply began nursing you. I was still nursing at the time—I think I was five. Did you ever have to spank me because I was bad?”

“No. I don”t remember having to. I did put you in the corner for a few time-outs,” I absent-mindedly rubbed two bare backs. “As soon as you calmed down, I could hold you for the rest of your corner time.”

“Mommy and Daddy had you spank me once every month. I liked that.”

“I didn”t Penny. I don”t like hurting little girls. I hate hurting good little girls.”

“It was a good hurt, Brother Master. It is almost time for my karate class. Thank you for having Kiki and Bonnie spank me. Sometimes I want and need a spanking so that I feel cared for.”

“Brother Master,” Susan said, “would you give me a really severe whipping for my 18^th birthday? I haven”t been whipped before, and I want you to be the first. I want you to whip me and keep whipping me so that I know that you control my life. You gave Penny a whipping. I want one, too.”

“Poor Peter,” Kim crossed the room and knelt beside me, caressed my face. “”You”ll whip her because she needs it. Not much—just enough so that Susan knows that you will do anything she needs.”

“That”s right, Brother Master. I need to know that you are in charge.”

“If I”m in charge, then I”ll beat you when I think I need to. Besides, you will be hurting more from karate. It is time for you two to go to class. When you are finished, shower and join me for a nap. I will need one.”

That left Jane, Francine, Brenda, four girls and Kim in the office.

“What happened to the other rescued children?” I asked. “Are they safe?”

“Yes,” Kim said. “They went home with their families. A few were father only—we loaned them one of our slaves. A temporary judicial order mandates that the rescued slaved remain totally naked until their status is resolved. These two,” Kim meant Amanda and Serena,” are slaves. Their status is resolved because there is no close relative to challenge their enslavement. Don”t you dare challenge it, Master Peter! You said it yourself—you can take better care of them and protect them as slaves. Besides, their mother is your slave, too.”

“I wasn”t going to challenge their status,” I said. “I”m just sad that this is all force. I voted against WSA 2000, and I had April as my slave girl! Penny and Susan were going to also be my slaves—though it would be informal.”

“I was going to be your slave-wife, Peter,” Jane said. “I would just as happily have been your slave girl.”

“See? I”m a hypocrite. I opposed WSA 2000 because judicial enslavements didn”t require a jury trial. I opposed the total loss of rights—slaves have less protection than any other domestic animal. I can”t be cruel to a chicken I”m having for dinner—but I can legally torture and kill general slaves belonging to me and I just need an excuse to do that legally with asset slaves. When AMS 2001 came on line, I had a bit of what the sociologists refer to as moral panic. That is a reaction of a group of people based upon a false or exaggerated perception that an episode or condition is a menace to society. I”m learning two things—first, the problem isn”t as bad as I thought, and second, a large portion of the victims fall under the “good riddance” syndrome. I suffer from the “missing pretty girl syndrome,” and I admit that my relationship with Penny isn”t mainstream.”

“Master Peter, please don”t punish me for saying so,” Francine gulped. “Your relationship with Penny is—well, it”s sick!”

“How many women were enslaved to provide their daughters with slave companionship?” I rephrased the question: “Kim, how many women gave up their freedom? How many of our slaves were loaned out?”

“We had one other single-mother family. Darlene has signed a deferred enslavement and will be in on Monday. She has already has received her lactation series,” Kim referred to the hormone cocktail used by Doctor Granger to induce lactation. “Her daughter is being cared for by Shawna. You know Shawna as Mrs. Murphy.”

“I thought that was Stephanie Murphy,” I said.

“It is. Shawna is her slave name. When Justin called her Shawna in public, Mrs. Murphy would become all slave—even to undressing in the public place. Shawna is a bit of an exhibitionist. I guess all us girls are exhibitionists.”

“What is your slave name, Kim?”

“I want to be called Summer and have you demand total submission from me. Because I am legally a slave—your slave—right now, you don”t have to play games with secret words. You can simply order total submission from me. If you will indulge me, Master, I need a sound whipping.” Kim choked back laughter, clapped her hands over her mouth, snorted and began coughing. “I”m so sorry, Master Peter. Your expression—” Kim sank to the floor and laughed with tears lolling down her face. It was contagious—the other three women were laughing, too, including Jane. “Oh, Master, I really do need a whipping. Look, I just peed all over myself!”

By this time the girls were giggling, too. I waited until they settled down.
“Summer,” I said after centering myself, “I am a bit too busy to chastise you right now. Tonight you are to be secured to the porch rail outside for a whipping. It won”t be as long and severe as you want. I may not be able to meet your needs. It will be a whipping—but I need you in good enough condition to sleep next to me tonight. Bound hand and foot until at least five in the morning.

“Now, how many women lost their freedom yesterday? I”m afraid that I just collapsed and had to be taken to bed.”

“We loaned out seven slaves. Shawna stayed here until Darlene gets everything taken care of. Three single dads took slaves with them. Three more slaves were loaned out to intact families. Two mothers volunteered to be enslaved. Three husbands enslaved their wives.”

“That leaves one child unaccounted for.”

“That”s because one of the volunteers had two gymnasts. I think at least one of the remaining mothers wanted to be enslaved, but has a young son and can”t be.”Kim began writhing. “Now I can”t get my mind off tonight! I don”t know if I can wait or not!”

“Women in MetroGal were always complaining about lack of foreplay. This is extended foreplay,” I looked deeply into Kim/Summer”s eyes. “So we”re going to have slow, extended foreplay. How long can you hold off on orgasm, Summer?”

It occurred to me that Kim was aroused by the thought of being enslaved. I”d have to think about that more.

“Summer, I need to tell Doctor Prince about a vivid dream I had while napping on the way back to the hospital. April told me to stop being a hypocrite and enjoy myself. I own slaves. I enjoy owning slaves. I enjoy women. I like making love to women. I can even enjoy giving my slave women pleasure. Instead of acting like a Woody Allen character, I should just “fess up and my life. I worry too much about things that I can do nothing about—about things that really aren”t my business.”

“It”s about time you did!”

“Summer, are you going to continue counseling students at UOKE?”

“Yes, Master Peter. I would like to schedule an appointment with the Dean of Students and you—with one of our lawyers along. I want to conduct all counseling sessions in the nude. My clients can be naked for the first session, but I will mandate nudity for the third session. I”d like to encourage other women to volunteer for enslavement. They have some control over their fates.”

“How about being the Defensive Enslavement Volunteer representative on campus?” I stood up and told the girls that we were moving to the couch. Jana was sucking her thumb. I don”t blame her—I had been where she was. “The university is encouraging its staff and faculty to be slaves. I”m sure that we can get Doctor Koltsov to let me out of my cage long enough to meet with the Dean of Students and perhaps the university”s president. I would rather the women enslave themselves under the DEV protected asset program than the general slave provisions. We can protect their property, the women themselves and promote their personal and professional development. Oh, listen to me! I sound like a commercial!”

The afternoon at the hospital was exciting. I was denied an appointment with the hospital administrator. Cameras were forbidden. They almost threw me out of the hospital while I was visiting Father. So I went across the street in front of the Pay-n-Grab convenience store and made a short live broadcast. Several media outlets used my live feed.

The GVVN crew was decked out in orange micro skirts and orange pasties. Their GVVN logo was visible on abdomen and between shoulder blades. I didn”t like their feet vulnerable to injury, so I had sprung for sandals—black, flat-heeled, with minimal straps. Mr. Sykes had approved the garb. The GVVN crew also wore orange wigs—Uma liked orange. Their names were stenciled in black ink above their right breasts in one-inch letters. If not for the names, they would have been identical. Amazing what a few superficial changes will do for a woman!

As I was being interviewed by Ginger, a man in an olive-colored suit exited the hospital flanked by two uniformed security officers. The security officers were unarmed—they didn”t even wear gun belts. Ginger had just finished my interview when the man in olive grabbed me, poked me with a stubby forefinger, and declared that I was trespassing.

“No slaves within 1000 feet of hospital property!”

“You, there!” It was MacGregor, the proprietor of that Pay-n-Grab. “You are trespassing! I gave Mr. Foster my permission to film here. You must leave right now. Besides, I have three slaves that have been working for me here since the first of the month. Peter Foster is their trainer. You have no authority here!”

“But I do.” It was Lieutenant Hanson of the Eastlake Metro Police Department—and a Castleman Trust Board of Directors member. “You just assaulted Mr. Foster under false color of law. You are under arrest. Are you going to cooperate with me and my men, or do I add charges of resisting arrest and obstruction?”

No bloodshed—that was a good thing. Mr. Olive Suit turned out to be Mr. Hugh Belton, security manager for the hospital. Video footage recorded that there were slaves on the hospital grounds making deliveries, assisting patients and other routine duties that used to be done by free people. Only I seemed to be the subject of a slave ban. That was a job for the future.

In the Pay-n-Grab, I said hello to the three slaves. Mr. MacGregor called them Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail—don”t fault him for his originality. I had trained the three girls in their duties. Mr. MacGregor had them tend the till and stock the shelves and keep the place clean—all in the nude. Flopsy was a cubby brunette with large, droopy breasts. Mopsy was rail thin with a flat chest and a ragged platinum hair do with black roots. Cottontail was a black woman who kept her head shaved and who had perky, cone-shaped breasts. All three had been judicially enslaved. All three had just barely escaped being impaled. Their crimes? Flopsy had been convicted of shoplifting. Mopsy was convicted of drug possession. Cottontail”s crime: concealed weapon—she was arrested for having a “realistic toy gun” in her possession. They were lucky—they had refused to volunteer for enslavement. On the last day at the last possible minute they had been bought along with four other slaves by a Mr. Brice Pickels—that same Mr. Pickels now awaiting trial for fraud committed against Hill”s Fine Meats. The other four slaves had been sold to the Party Factory, my other part-time job.

The store was clean. The three slaves were well-fed; perhaps Flopsy was too well fed. They seemed happy to see me.

“Pete,” Mr. MacGregor said, “I”d like you to take one of my girls home with you once per week. Get them away from the store for a night or a day. They”ve been very good for business. I”ve set them up with asset contracts like you suggested. I thought for sure that I”d want to get rid of one of them, but business had improved and my costs are down. I don”t have any more problems with graffiti or shoplifting. Moving the cash register helped a lot. Your idea about replicating the old fashioned general store service instead of self-service works.”

“Of course, sir. The old self-service store was to economize on labor. Making customers do their own shopping reduced headcount without compromising “service” because the only service required was cashier. Now that you can literally buy three women and provide them with food, shelter, medical care and clothing for what you paid me as a part-timer.”

“You were a bargain—you replaced three other people who just didn”t do the work. I”d come in at eight in the mornings that you worked and everything would be ship shape and Bristol fashion. I haven”t had any trouble from my slave girls—you trained them well. In fact, I”ve enslaved my wife and daughter this week. I”d like to send them to you for training, have you train them here. Gay is in school right now, but Ester is in the back.”

Ester was naked—of course—and chained. She smiled in recognition when I walked into the slave quarters at the back of the store.

“Master Peter. Master Quinn promised that you would train me and my daughter.” The former Mrs. MacGregor was in her forties and overweight. She had a roll of blubber around her middle and thick thighs. Ester”s hair was brown and lank—and wild. A thick forest of black pubic hair covered her stomach from just below her navel to her thighs. Ester”s armpits were a jungle, too. “Master Quinn had a talk with me. I enslaved our daughter and sent her to a slave school when she came in after dawn. Gay partied one time too many. Master Quinn enslaved me right afterwards. We don”t have the money to send me to a fat farm, so Master Quinn had me sign a contract while I was still a free woman—if I don”t lose this blubber, I become meat.”

“May I read that contract?”

“Sure, Pete,” Mr. MacGregor said. “I”ll get it for you.”

The contract specified that the former Mrs. Ester MacGregor had to lose 60 pounds in 18 months or be sent to Hill”s Fine Meats and butchered. There were some other provisions—Ester was going to be sent to slave school in 9 months-provided that she had lost 30 pounds—and trained in sexual pleasure. I asked some questions. There was a cheap bathroom scale in the slave quarters—Ester weighed the same as I, about 185 pounds. I was clothed and she was naked, I stood over six feet tall and Ester was just 5″3″. Otherwise, we weighed as much as each other. There was an exercise bike in one corner—Ester mounted it and began pedaling away.

It was time that I left.

“I”d like you to return next Saturday so that you can meet my daughter when she gets out of slave school. I can”t offer much—just a consulting fee of $40 for your troubles.”

It was time to leave. I agreed to return in a week. When I did, I”d take one of the three old slaves, Mopsy, Flopsy or Cottontail, with me along with the wife and daughter. I had an appointment in court with Judge Gunn. An idle thought—Rusty M. Gunn must have really made his parents angry at birth. Being named Rusty Gunn would have made it difficult to attend school.

A short time later I was before the judge swearing out a complaint. I was instructed to return at 4:45 PM, just before the courthouse closed its doors for the weekend.

At 3:00 PM I was meeting Melody and Diane for another training session. We were going to watch women being tortured and killed by the use of electronic shock collars. Ginger and a small video crew were going to record about an hour of the gruesome tests. Lana advised against my participation. Summer, aka Kim, agreed. Some master I am! Letting my slaves tell me what to do!

“Why must you subject yourself to that stress?”

“Because I will be subjecting a video crew and two slaves to the same stress,” I said. I sat down and buried my face in my arms. A few minutes later, Summer shook my shoulder. “I”m rethinking the issue. Perhaps Melody and Diane don”t need to be traumatized.”

“Master, we want to come along. You must also take Penny and Susan.”

I was fatigued—but I could see the point. Perhaps I was seeing things because I was fatigued. I agreed. By three I was at a decaying warehouse in the center of Eastlake”s decaying city center. I had an armed escort and I wondered if I had brought enough muscle—that part of town was tough! The Ellisia tour bus surprised me. Even more surprising was the number of naked women disembarking. Garret Ford disembarked and waddled my way—he had been driving. Ellis Wilson Junior lined up the naked women.

“We”ve changed some plans,” Ford said. “You have a new job—and we won”t take “no” for an answer. You will be training part of the Ellisia summer cast. You will be in competition with other trainers. If your crew out-performs the other crews, then we”ll adopt your slave training for the parks—and for Garret Motor Car, Inc.”

I sighed. Yes, I could do this, too. It was a matter of delegation and formulating training plans.

My mind was elsewhere while six women were being put through their paces. I knew something about electric shock from my work in electronics—and from using Tasers. The shock collar was crude. I said so. The women had burns from the electrodes. The battery packs lacked enough power to finish the demonstration. Yes, the collar could act as an attached stun gun—but anything more than discomfort or incapacitation was beyond the battery pack”s capabilities. The women screamed at first—but after a while, they were unable to scream. For execution, the women had to be hooked up to commercial line voltage in order to get the amperage to kill. Electrocution was almost instantaneous—the proud inventor had bettered the obsolete electric chair. Two ways existed to provide the volt-amps needed to kill: apply more power, or overcome skin resistance. The heart machines used a conductive jelly. Wetting the skin, especially with salt water, worked. Piercing the skin and sending the current through the body worked too. I was somewhat bothered that the tortured women were not real for me. I”d have to talk with Kim or Summer or whoever later. It must be part of my self-identity crumbling. It was too bad that I wasn”t able to interest the inventor in selling the doomed women to me—he wanted to kill them. As most were in their 40″s or older, I speculated that the inventor had mother issues.

The bus was silent when the Ellisia crew reboarded. Jane, Penny and Susan were comforting me on the way back to the court house. I could still smell burning flesh, ozone, and excrement when we arrived.

Outside the courthouse was a crowd. It appeared as if every media outlet had a crew there. GVVN dismounted ahead of me and videoed me as I went into the courthouse with my three shrouded slaves and the doctors in high-heeled pumps and pareo wrap dresses. We arrived about 10 minutes before my appointment. I was waved through the security check-point because of my law enforcement duties and I sat in the courtroom with the rest of the crowd while another case was being heard.

“Master Peter,” Summer caressed my shoulder, “you are quiet. I am worried about you.”

“I am tired and I feel numb about those women dying,” I replied, “but I”ll get over it. I”m also doing something goulish—those collars need to be externally powered. They can take power wirelessly, just like a radio.” I sighed and shuddered. “I can see electrical shocks being used as punishment. Correctly applied, they can punish without injury. Incorrectly applied, they kill. Ain”t I the techno-geek today?”

“You cannot save the entire world, sheepdog.”

I kissed Summer”s hand, then hugged Jane.

“Peter J. Foster, please approach the bench!” I rose in response to the bailiff”s directions. “The Castleman Trust slaves Penny, Susan and Jane, approach the bench. The slaves Kim and Lana, approach the bench.”

Mr. Harrington was there and he did the talking. I listened.

“Hugh Belton, approach the bench!”

It was quickly agreed that I and five slaves had unlimited access to Father while he was in the hospital. My slaves would be bound at all times—a chain connecting leather ankle cuffs were adequate—and they would have to be naked.

“You will shave their heads, too,” Judge Gunn said. “They are to be marked with the Castleman Trust logo and collared. You may omit gags and handcuffs as long as you have them available. In exchange, you agree to drop your suit against the hospital, drop your charges against Mr. Belton and agree to not sue the hospital should your father expire there.”

I nodded, then said, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“I need to see you in chambers after court today. Next case!”

“Will Peter J. Foster remain at the bench. Will Ellis and Diane Wilson approach the bench. Will Garret and Melody Ford approach the bench.” These were not questions—they were judicial commands. I was surprised to see that Diane and Melody were still naked and bound from their trip to the lab. “Ellis Wilson and Garret Ford will now enslave their minor daughters as provided for in the White Slave Act of 2000.”

“Court Clerk,” Judge Gunn ordered, “Trigger the enslavement as parental conversion under judicial directive.”

I began to tremble. That wasn”t what I had intended. A tear coursed down my cheek. I sniffed back some tears and swallowed, regaining control of myself. I felt Lana wipe away that errant tear.

“Your Honor, there is a prior claim. The slaves now are the assets of Defensive Enslavement Volunteers and assigned to Peter J. Foster.”

“So let the record read that the citizens formerly known as Diane Wilson and Melody Ford are now persons of limited rights owned by the Defensive Enslavement Volunteers and assigned to Peter J. Foster. Does anyone dispute their enslavement?” The courtroom was silent. Judge Gunn banged his gavel. “Court is adjourned!”

“All rise!” commanded the bailiff.

A few minutes later I was in Judge Gunn”s private office. It was crowded with Mr. Harrington, Mr. Ford, Mr. Ellis, myself, Judge Gunn”s private secretary Orin, and my seven slaves. Orin closed the door and locked it. When Judge Gunn commanded that all slaves be naked, Orin removed his clothing—except for a silver choke chain around his throat. I refrained from comment—but my face was an open book.

“Male slavery has no force of law,” Rusty Gunn said, “but Orin is my slave. We have a contract with each other to that effect—but much like your asset contracts with your personal and DEV slaves, I am not permitted to kill or abuse him.”

“Master Rusty, I”d love to ride a spit for you and have you feast on my body,” Orin said as the secretary sat at a desk.

“Not legal. Besides, I like having you around, Orin.

“But enough of my domestic situation. From your reaction in court, you didn”t want to enslave Melody and Diane.”

“No, Your Honor. I did everything I could to correct their behavior and keep them free.”

“It may surprise you to learn that they talked their fathers into enslaving them. The reason is that they will be part of the Ellisia cast that you are to train for this summer. Mr. Ford and Mr. Wilson are convinced that you will care for their daughters as if they were your own sister. I am totally gay. I don”t like women. I”m told that you are homophobic and why you got that way. As long as you respect my choices, I have no complaints about yours.” I didn”t say anything because a response didn”t appear indicated. “I require that you keep these seven slaves totally naked until June First—except for training, when required for health and safety, and your sisters and fiancé are to wear their funeral shrouds for your father”s funeral.

“Female nudity is distasteful to me, but I am commanding that these seven slaves remain naked anyway. I want your advice on a case that cropped up today. There are 35 mothers and their children currently at the Castleman Estate. They are charged with violation of the indecent exposure laws of Oklahoma and the City of Eastlake. They have all volunteered for immediate conversion. The women said that they wanted to be enslaved so that they could be naked at all times. The problem is that all 19 children are under the age of consent. I could enslave the mothers, but then the children would be wards of the state. Of the children, six are boys. I know that you are not a lawyer, Peter, but I want your input because these are nudists and because I intend to make you responsible for them all.”

“You had better sit down, Master Peter,” Lana guided me to a chair. Summer handed me a cup—hot, bitter, unsweetened tea.

“Take your time.” Judge Gunn said.

“Sir, that is the first bit of advice I have for you. We have the time to do this correctly.” I said after sipping some tea. “You can remand them all to my custody, correct?”

“I can.”

“We can wait until the children reach the age of consent before enslaving the mothers and daughters. The boys, well,” I sighed and shuddered a bit. “While they are in my custody as prisoners or whatever, they are exempt from the indecent exposure laws, correct?”

“That”s right.”

“So, except that the boys must dress when they are freed from custody, the problem is solved.”

“How do I stop this in the future?”

“How about a temporary judicial order naming nudist clubs as custodial organizations? At what age does indecent exposure apply? The Age of Reason? The Age of Consent? The Age of Majority?”

“I”m certain that it is the age of reason, but I”ll check. You”re suggesting that nudist clubs be granted the right to enslave?”

“They can use the regular channels for that, Your Honor. What I am suggesting is that those immune to enslavement but wanting to be enslaved in order that they can be naked in public be declared prisoners awaiting sentencing—a deferred enslavement. They can be released in the custody of an adult or of a club. Was this an Eastlake Bears stunt?”

“That”s the name of the club. This is very well and good as a bandaid, Mr. Foster, but legislation is the job of the legislature.”

“That”s all I intend, Your Honor. Simply patch over this until the problem goes away. The women can be legally enslaved, or the legislature will change the indecent exposure laws. There is still the bench-made law option. I”ve got the Red Woman State Gymnastics Club—children as young as age eight illegally enslaved. I”m examining my options. So far, the parents are cooperating with me. Several of the mothers and even some older sisters have volunteered to be slaves. Basically, the parents can sue and all that they will win is the first refusal option when their children go up for sale. I don”t think anybody will break precedent by judicially freeing the girls. Right now I can provide the medical and mental health care they need. Has anybody been freed when they”ve challenged their involuntary conversion?”

“No, not unless they win their case and their new owner manumits them. Where are the children now?”

“All but a few are home with their parents. Some were single-mother families and their mothers are now DEV asset slaves. Do you want to speak with them yourself, Your Honor?”

“I think I”ll have to.”

“The fix only needs to be temporary, Your Honor. The legislature can make up new laws. I am a nudist, and I”d like to suspend the indecent exposure laws for everyone below the age of consent as well as all pregnant women and mothers of children below the age of consent. That”s just me. I also agree that social nudity is only proper in a civilized society—we aren”t quite civilized, yet. I don”t expect the legislature to resolve this any time soon—at least not in favor of the nudists. Oklahoma is a very conservative state with strong Protestant values. It will take several years before most will accept naked slaves,” I sighed again. “Since naked equals sex, it may be forever before free people are legally naked in public.”

That session with the judge went well. Nothing was resolved except that I would have custody of 19 children and their 16 mothers. The mothers were required to remain naked at all times by court order. The children COULD be nude, but didn”t have to be. On the other hand, as all 35 were my responsibility and I was essentially their jailor, I could restrict them to my property.

But there was a snag. The Susan B. Anthony School for Gifted Girls had descended upon the Defensive Enslavement Volunteers office—all 117 high school students that were above the age of consent!

“Master Peter, I was the student president, Heather Volt-Haute. Several of us have been warned by our parents that we were destined for the barbeque spit. All but eight of us have volunteered for conversion today so that we don”t have that hanging over our heads any longer. I don”t have parents any more. I will miss them, but I didn”t want to die or be sold to a brothel. The remaining eight want deferred enslavements because they cannot volunteer at this time.”

What”s a sheepdog to do?

“Mr. Paulson, are they all on the standard asset slave contract?” I asked a very flustered attorney/slaver behind the desk. He nodded. He shook his head to indicate “no” when I asked if anyone was left to convert. “Then I want two things. First, I mandate that all 117 of you remain naked until I tell you otherwise. Second, I want you to call your families and explain to them what you”ve done. If they want to visit you or talk to me, they”ll need appointments.

“Doctor Kirby, do we have RFID tags in all 125 of them?”

“We ran out of Novocain,” he replied, “but we have the tags.”

“Okay. Implant them anyway. It will be painful, but I know that some of the parents will fight this. I want to be able to lay my hands on all 117 of them. What about the 35 nudists?”

“There”s more than 35. We have over 100 nudists slaves today. I sent them home after RFID implanting. That”s why we have no more Novocain.”

“You eight that are under the age of consent, I”m doing a no-no. I”m sticking my neck out for you. I am bound by law—you cannot be enslaved at this time. What I can do for you is implant you with an RFID tag. This will help me find you if you disappear. It will hurt. You don”t have to, but if you wind up going to Hill”s for your 16^th birthday, Jim Hill will shunt you back here—for a fee. The next thing, after you”ve been implanted, is that I need to call your parents and have them pick you up. It”s the law.”

There were a lot of sore butts that evening.

“So many people!” Juanita said. “How will we feed them all?”

“Two things—go to the new slaves and ask for kitchen volunteers. Then put together an on-line shopping list and e-mail it to Mr. Odell”s office manager at DiscountMart. Go ahead and request pre-cooked food if you think that will help. Put your kitchen staff in charge and make use of any talent you find to get everybody fed.

“Doctor Kirby, I”m going to hate getting your bill, but I need you to find anyone with medical skills and use them.”

We were over capacity. Juanita ordered a bunch of picnic tables—it was just warm enough to feed the several hundred houseguests outside. I stumbled into bed exhausted right after dinner.
Saturday was more of the same. I woke up when a small foot brushed my nose. It belonged to one of the gym team, Tabi. I was buried under female flesh—Jane (of course), Summer, Lana, Tabi and Jana and their mother, Amanda and Serena—their mother Francine was in the other bed. When I surfaced, most of the women woke up and tried to help me get ready to face the day.

I met with Heather”s parents. Mr. Volt-Haute demanded that I immediately release his daughter from slavery. He threatened me. I remained civil. Heather had shaved her pubic hair, I noticed. Somewhere someone had gotten a stencil that had the letters DEV on it and all 117 girls from Susan B. Anthony were stenciled on the left buttocks. Finally, I told Mr. and Mrs. Volt-Haute that Heather was above the age of consent and had expressed a desire to never see either of them again. If they wanted to fight me in court, I was going to counter-sue. Where was Heather”s property, I asked? Her trust fund? Were they going to enslave and kill their daughter just to get their hands on Heather”s money? If not, would Mrs. Volt-Haute be so kind as to disrobe and voluntarily convert? If she lost the court case, I suggested, she may not have to volunteer.

“I felt the same way,” Ellis Wilson said. “I didn”t mean to eavesdrop, but you two were loud. Mr. Foster takes too much shit from us parents. He put my little girl on a deferred enslavement and he was trying to keep her a free woman. Yesterday, Garret and I deliberately triggered the enslavement provisions. We did it after consultation with our lawyers and with our daughters. Mr. Foster is the best thing that ever happened to them.”

“I need to speak with Mr. Foster!” The new woman had regal bearing. All this time Heather had been kneeling at my left. Jane was on my right. Both women were nude. Jane was used to being naked. Heather was still embarrassed about being bare all over—but she was getting even with her parents. I permitted her act of rebellion—for now. I shared my snack of fruit, cheese, bread and tea with Jane and Heather. The new woman was tall, in her forties or fifties, and actually handsome. “I want to know what you did with all of my students!”

“I am Peter Foster,” I said. “Who are you, Ma”am?”

“I”m Ms. Carla Connor and I”m the principal of Susan B. Anthony. You have enslaved all of my students.”

“Ma”am, these two have reason to be upset. They”ve just lost their daughter. Why are you trying to be rude?”

“What did you do to them?”

“Master Peter, may I answer that?”

“You may, Heather.”

“Mistress Principal, I didn”t lay eyes on Master Peter until after I had volunteered for conversion and was enslaved. I am an asset slave of the Defensive Enslavement Volunteers now, and it is the best thing that ever happened to me. If Master Peter permits, I would like to transfer to the Castleman Trust.”

“Master Peter,” Jane said, “Heather and I request that you marry us to each other.”

“WHAT!” Mrs. Volt-Haute shrieked.

“This is getting out of hand, people,” I said. “Remain civil or I will have to terminate this conference. I only allowed you some of my time to determine what is best for Heather.” I called Penny and Susan in while Jane explained the lesbian slave marriage concept. “Now, Heather, what did you dream of becoming prior to seeking protection from being enslaved so that you could be tortured, fucked, killed and eaten?”

Gasps from the others didn”t stop Heather.

“Master Peter, I wanted to teach school. I wanted to be a principal like Ms. Connor. I know it is old-fashioned, but I wanted to shape the future. Now I”m whatever my master wants me to be.”

“What discipline were you going to study? Art? Mathematics? Chemistry?”

“I was hoping to study social science, Master.”

“There”s no reason why you can”t do both—study social science and become a teacher. I think you are more than a pretty face. In fact, why don”t you try politics?”

“I”m a slave. I can”t hold public office.”

“You are 18.” Mr. Volt-Haute got up from his chair and left the room. “The minimum age to become President of the United States is 35. Coincidentally, you will be 35 during an election year.”

“Heather will run for President only if I can be her First Lady!” Jane was only half joking.

“Why don”t you become President, Master Peter?” Heather was sincere.

“I need to think about that for a while.” I turned to Ms. Connor. “Ma”am, I have a school of sorts here. Would you like to continue educating your students? You”ve done an excellent job with those that I”ve seen.”

Ms. Connor sat in Mr. Volt-Haute”s empty chair and stared at me for a moment.

“You are serious?”

“Yes, ma”am. At present I have the resources to issue minor college degrees. This summer I need a bunch of girls to work at Ellisia in Texas.” I briefly explained my plan. “Your students—your former students would seem ideal. I”m stacking the deck in my favor. When they are not training or working or working out, I will have them in classes during the summer. If they perform well enough, I will run the Ellisia training program and all Ellisia slaves will be asset slaves.”

“That”s right, lady,” Ellis Wilson added. “Though this man is going to be spread a bit thin. He is also revising one of the DiscountMart slave programs this summer.”

“How will you find the time?”

“The usual way, Ma”am,” I replied. “Delegate.”

Mr. Paulson and Mr. Volt-Haute returned. Bonnie and Kiki were with him.

“Mr. Foster,” Mr. Paulson interrupted, “I apologize, but I have business with Mrs. Volt-Haute.”

It was like watching a train wreck. Mr. Paulson read Katheryn Allison Darby Volt-Haute the enslavement articles. She gaped at him—and promptly fainted. Bonnie and Kiki wasted no time in undressing the victim. Lana came in with a catheter and drew a urine sample. While the former Mrs. Volt-Haute was unconscious, Mr. Paulson implanted her RFID, and then tested for pregnancy. It was a husband enslavement. Mercifully, Mr. Volt-Haute had opted for the standard DEV asset slave contract. He could have dragged her off to Hills or immediately strangled his ex-wife.

“Mr. Foster, now that you have both of my women, I”d like to negotiate with you to lease them. I only need them a few days per week. Kitty has a charity function tomorrow. If possible, I would like her to wear clothes—but I”m aware that you don”t even have to allow her to attend. She is under your authority, now. There are a number of financial assets that now go to DEV.”

“Sir, why did you do that? I”m merely curious.”

“It appears that my daughter—my former daughter—is going to bear your children. I”m afraid that Kitty is past child bearing. Some time ago she had her ovaries removed. I”ll let Kitty and her doctor tell you the rest. I”m returning home now and getting the rest of my slaves. I want to turn them over to DEV and lease them from you. Just listening to what you have planned for my daughter—I wish I had met you when she was little. She could have been your slave back then.”

Ms. Connor”s eyes were bugged out as she stared at Mr. Volt-Haute.

“You realize that the penalty for illegally killing an asset slave is a quarter million dollar fine. If your daughter becomes a Castleman Trust slave, that fine increases to one million, and if she is pregnant with one of my children, it”s a capital murder offense.”

“So I”ve been told. If I may, I want to revive Kitty and introduce her to her new owner. Then the two of us, Kitty and I, must apologize to Heather.”

Kitty was in a daze when revived. She couldn”t accept that she, Mrs. Katheryn Allison Darby Volt-Haute, was now a slave. That Kitty was property of a faceless corporation, Defensive Enslavement Volunteers. I asked Summer to sit in because Kitty”s disconnect concerned me.

“Master,” Heather said, “I used DEV to escape dying. My Mom is now my sister. She cannot hurt me any more. Is there something I can do to help her?”

Heather was a keeper! Mr. Volt-Haute apologized for his harsh words. He spoke out of fear that his daughter was going through teenager rebellion. Then it was his ex-wife”s turn.

Kitty was too despondent to respond.

“I”ve seen enough,” Ms. Connor said. “If I allow these slaves to return to school, I want them to adhere to the same rules as before. Dress codes. Behavior.”

“I”ve got to leave shortly for the hospital. Would you accompany me? My father is there, and I just won a court injunction against the hospital”s “no slaves allowed” policy.”

“May I keep my clothes on?”

I was a bit slow. It didn”t occur to me that Ms. Connor was joking with me.

Father was in a lot of pain, but his mood improved when his family arrived. I left Heather with her mother and under Summer”s care. There was just myself, Ms. Connor, and three naked slaves. I wasn”t too keen about head shaving. Jane and Susan looked just fine either with or without hair. The court order specified that they would have to remain nude and bald until June 1^st. Penny was already bald—in sympathy with Father”s cancer and chemo. Ms. Connor had ridden in back and had questioned the younger women while Jane drove. I was on my laptop organizing my chaotic life.

“Penny, take good care of your brother,” Father said. “He has a long life ahead of him.”

“I will, Daddy. Would you do something for me? I need Brother Master to make as many babies as possible. I think he”s going to slack off on his mission in life!”

“Mr. Foster, I am Carla Connor,” Ms. Connor extended her hand and shook Father”s. I was massaging Father”s shoulders. “I am the principal of the Susan B. Anthony School for Gifted Girls, a preparation academy for university-bound girls. It seems that your son has stolen my entire student body!”

“Ma”am, I didn”t make a clean sweep of it. Eight girls were too young, so I had to send them home.”

“Oh, I wouldn”t bet on that! Universities are already making noises that all female students must be enslaved during their college years. Eastlake schools are already converting faculty women. Some teachers will be enslaved, too.”

“Son, will you stop that?” I started to object that I had little to do with 117 decisions—Father put his hand on mine. “You are transferring life force and your will to live to me. I want to drop this worn-out body soon.” Father smiled at me. “thanks for removing the pain. These drugs weren”t quite doing it.”

People, it was Father”s attitude. Really! I don”t fare well myself when confined to a hospital bed.

Father commented on Susan”s and Jane”s hairdos. They informed him of Judge Gunn”s ruling. Ms. Connor was astounded when she heard that all the women in the Eastlake Bares nudist club had become slaves—or near enough to it. There was gossip that I hadn”t learned before.

“I”m sorry, master and mistress,” the nurse was naked except for shoes and hat. Somebody”s fashion sense was as warped as my own. “The patient needs to rest. Can you give me three hours?”

“Back in three,” I said.

We merely crossed the street to the Pay-n-Grab. Mr. MacGregor wasn”t in—but his four slaves were. We sat in the restaurant area and had soft drinks. Mrs. MacGregor—I wasn”t mentally agile enough to think of her as Slave Ester—served us. The Pay-n-Grab was fairly busy.

“Master Peter,” Ester knelt beside me, “the hospital crowd is getting bigger. Some are slaves. My master and I were discussing expansion of Pay-n-Grab to handle the lunch crowd. We have the room. What we need are more slaves. Master Quinn asked me to give you this.”

It was a business plan to expand the MacGregor Pay-n-Grab with a larger restaurant. Two problems: no money for expansion and lack of labor. Mr. MacGregor hoped to enlist me as his partner.

“Let me run this through my attorney. I think I have a better way. The basic plan is good, but I think this should be structured as a corporation. We”re going back to the hospital this afternoon—I”ll talk with your husband this evening.”

A phone call and Mr. Harrington would meet us at the Pay-n-Grab.

“Are you thinking of using some of my prep school students here?”

“Possibly, Ms. Connor,” I said. “Just one possibility. Let me show you how I”ve structured DEV.”

Defensive Enslavement Volunteers was set up as a private corporation. That is, DEV stock was not publicly traded. Stocks and bonds were purchased by private subscription. The slaves would serve a minimum of five years, have a stipend put in escrow with an allowance made available to them, and were eligible to buy themselves out of slavery—provided that they could raise the money. I locked them into five years because Oklahoma had an age of consent of 16 years, and this would make the slave at least 21 before manumission. No parental conversion after freedom—though the slave might still require additional funds to free herself. As many of the DEV brought financial assets with them, and those assets went into escrow, they might have been wealthy before enslavement.

“This doesn”t look good. How much would Heather be worth if she were to spend five years with DEV?”

“It depends upon how valuable she made herself,” I answered. “There is the issue of tuition. Heather would be working for DEV and part of the profits of leasing her out would go into her escrow account. Part would be used to increase her value. In five years, Heather could easily be appraised at $25,000. I know that isn”t enough—her escrow account should be no less than $5,000 by then. She”d be penniless and naked—and would wind up back in chains within hours. The taxes would be heavy, too. Heather has potential.”

Not really true—Heather had a trust fund. The way DEV was structured, part of her trust fund payments would be diverted to DEV and part would go into escrow. Heather had enough money to buy her freedom and declare herself an independent adult. She expressed an interest in becoming a Castleman Trust slave—which meant that she”d either become a mother and eligible for manumission or transfer in ten years, or I”d have to kill her.

“Peter, Heather and I discussed this with each other,” Jane said. “She wants to be a Castleman Trust slave. That means a minimum of ten years—and she was hoping that you”d keep her around.”

I couldn”t very well argue against snap judgments. I had enlisted in the Oklahoma Army National Guard—and now I was a commissioned officer. My service obligation as an officer was basically until I died, my resignation was accepted, they fired me or age 62. Dying or being fired (and jailed) were likely outcomes, but resigning my commission might happen. Retirement still incurred service obligations—and I heard of officers in their late 60″s being on active duty because of unique skills. All it took was raising my right hand and enlisting.

“The purpose of DEV was saving lives. I”m guessing that most of the slaves will remain slaves for a quarter century. They can retire quite comfortably in their 40″s, or perhaps start a second career.”

“Career!” Ms. Connor snorted. “Being enslaved isn”t a career!”

“Ma”am, I opposed WSA 2000. I still think that the provisions need to be modified. You saw the protections I have in place for DEV slaves. I wish I could do more—perhaps I will in the future. How did you vote?”

“Well,” Ms. Connor blushed. “I had to vote against Governor Rush.”

“That turned out to be the right choice,” I said.

“Yes, I voted for Shore because he was for education and for labor - ” Ms. Connor peered at me as if I were something on a microscope slide. “Why aren”t you laughing at me. I though you were joking about Governor Rush.”

“Not after he roasted his daughters. I will have trouble with next year”s election because every member of Congress supports WSA 2000. Those who didn”t failed to get re-elected. It”s time to get back to the hospital. Do you need a cab?”

“No, I”ll stay with you. Mr. Foster, you aren”t what I expected.”

Father was barely conscious when we visited. We didn”t stay long—just long enough so that Father acknowledged seeing us. He mumbled something about being happy for Susan and Penny—and instructed Susan to take care of Penny.

We almost made it to the car when Penny passed out. I was ready and caught her, carried her to the car.

“Being strong all of the time takes its toll,” I remarked. “Penny should be okay in a while. I”ll have her examined when we get home.”

“But we”re at a hospital!”

“Yes, ma”am. But this hospital doesn”t consider my sister to be human. They won”t treat her.”

Penny was suffering from stress. We all suffer.

I managed to sleep well Saturday night. Sunday morning, April 29, 2001 was going to be a sad day. I picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Mr. George Foster is in emergency surgery,” the voice said. “Bring only the immediate family.”

Father was dead by the time we arrived. Penny and Susan held each other and cried. I had someone else drive—safety precaution. It didn”t take long to get the funeral underway. Father wanted to be cremated and his ashes mixed with April”s.

I had no reason to feel sorry for myself. I”d miss Father and April, but I was an adult and I was free. Penny was both slave an orphan.

This entry was posted on Friday, November 30th, 2007 at 9:57 am and is filed under Alternate Meat Source, Castleman Trust, Life under the WSA2000, Snuff, White Slave Act of 2000. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.