Dark Erotic Fiction

Editors note:

This takes place before the auction where Tiffay’s mother is sold. I missed the time line elements in this story so I didn’t post it at the correct time My bad.

Constance”s Conversion

Tiffany

Denial is an important coping mechanism. Just ask your mental health counselor. Denial and work kept me going during the week from hell. It began with my usual once per month stress event: Dad would decide whether or not to convert me. The deal was this: if my hymen was not intact during a monthly medical inspection, Dad would convert me on the spot. Friday was a nasty surprise. Dad converted Mom and asked me to run an auction for seven enslaved wives of the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol fundraiser. I stayed away from home for a while. I had work, school and my social life. The latter is a joke.

I was getting ready to leave Spellbook Slaves for the day when Mr. West gave me an overtime assignment. Ordinarily I would have rolled my eyes or something. Today?

“Yes, sir.”

“I”m sending Otto out with you. Just help him collect the pick-up and then you can go home.” Mr. West handed me a business card. “Tiffany, call this number. Talk to somebody. You are too good at sales to lose.”

Otto tried some lame jokes. I could only manage a smile. He drove the company van and I took my car. When we parked near my dorm I realized that I hadn”t asked where we were going.

“Your room, Tiffany.” Otto smirked at me when I asked. “You never did like Constance Remora.”

Constance was a slave? If it could happen to her, it could happen to anybody. I stumbled after Otto as we went up to my room. I unlocked the door.

“Who is that? You know the rules, Tiffany!” Brown hair, brown eyes obscured by granny glasses, long granny dress and granny boots—Constance was the perfect “goodie two-shoes.” “Get him out or I will call campus security.”

Constance made me feel better. Still the same ice bitch. There is a God!

“Constance Remora, at this time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law, to follow my instructions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my instructions. I am instructing you now to provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my statement and instructions?”

I wished that I had my camera with me. Duh! I did have my camera with me. I yanked it out and began taking photos. Constance glanced from Otto to me and back to Otto.

“You can”t take my pictures!” Constance made my day. I pulled out my stun gun and let it snap, crackle and pop. “No! Please don”t! Momma, I”ve been GOOD! Please don”t hurt me!”

A stun gun makes all of us equal. Constance was bigger and stronger than me—most people are. I pinned her against the desk and zapped her. Otto dug out the slaver kit—we were going to have to draw urine using a catheter. I was actually beginning to feel good for the first time in a week! It didn”t take long to undress Constance—even though I had to zap her again with the stun gun. Red, yellow and green areas—Constance was breaking the law and she was bigger than me. I could use whatever force necessary, including stun gun to the red areas of her body. A stun gun against the neck can kill—as can a shock directly to the heart. I already had her panties off when I stunned her over her kidneys. Luckily Otto was right there with the sample jar—the pig peed all over me, all over the room, all over!

In a few minutes I had the naked wet woman trussed up. She needed the slave dolly. I needed a shower. Constance, of course, came up clean on the pregnancy and drug screen. There wasn”t any doubt in my mind that she would. Constance may have had communion wine at mass, but other than that I don”t remember Constance taking so much as an aspirin. She didn”t eat take-out food. The only bad habit she had was being so irritatingly perfect! Otto finished enslaving her after entering the data on line. He went through his standard speech welcoming her into a life of slavery. After my partner left, I snapped a bunch more pictures to e-mail to Mr. West.

Several minutes later, Otto returned with the slave dolly.

“Close the door,” I snapped. When Otto turned around, I attacked his fly. I needed something. It didn”t take long for Otto”s eyes to roll back in his head and for him to squirt off in my mouth. Dad couldn”t prove a thing—but didn”t need to. “Now I”ll help you finish processing this pig.”

Constance was softly sobbing through the disposable gag as we strapped her to the dolly. I helped Otto cart her down to the van and waved goodbye. There I was in the parking lot of my dorm. I reeked of pee. Mom was enslaved—hell, I was going to auction her off that weekend! My roommate was gone. I was going to have to call her folks and box up her stuff. I might get another roommate, but for now I had a private room. And I was okay. I went back into the dorm, got a mop, and cleaned up the mess.

My cell phone rang. It was Mr. West.

“Tiffany, would you box up Constance”s things and have them ready for her brother to pick up tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, Mr. West.”

“If you need help, call that number.” Mr. West hung up after that reminder.

It took me about three hours. First, I finished cleaning up the room. Next, I took a shower and changed clothes. A trip to the baggage room and some empty boxes gave me a place to put her things. I broke down and washed Constance”s clothes with my own, folded her clothes neatly and tucked them in her suitcases. Stealing was an expellable offense at Eastlake University—that meant “convertible offense” for women. I was very careful to put all of Constance”s things in her luggage or in the boxes. I even removed her framed picture of the Pope and her crucifix from the wall and packed them away. When the boxes were stacked in the corner, the room seemed empty. I kept very little stuff in the dorm—just my school books, a few clothes, my war paint and a photo of Mom and Dad. Sometimes Constance joked that I was a ghost. It was a habit I developed at Dutch Hall—the fewer things in my room, the fewer demerits I got for untidiness. My roommate had been almost as neat.

Now she was gone.