Dark Erotic Fiction

Slave Bethany Gets Raided

Friday, May 16, 2008

The first indication that not everything was well: Ivana woke me up. She was one of Peter”s security guard slaves. A soft beeping didn”t even wake me up.

“House Mother,” Ivana showed me her remote control device, “we have visitors. Do you have a problem with overriding our security system before they damage something?”

I was not really awake. When I didn”t object, Ivana spoke into her remote. I heard her voice booming outside.

“This is Juanita Hall. Please stand clear of the doors while we open them for you. We will assemble peacefully in the back yard underneath the lights. There are 85 of us in here and we will not resist your lawful inspection of our home.”

My room was flooded with lights and loud, angry, amplified voices demanded that we immediately exit through the front door with our hands in the air. Ivana scowled at her remote control.

“We need to get the girls assembled upstairs. They aren”t waiting.” Ivana shook her head. “What has gotten into them?”

The building shook as something blew up.

“Come on. We can”t all panic here,” Ivana directed as she tugged at my arm. I was hyperventilating. “ICBM, House Mother. Breath with me, Bethany. In. Hold. Out. In - ”

Shots were fired. Ivana led me to the back yard. In just a few minutes all 85 of us were assembled outside under the lights. There was another explosion. Ivana and some of the senior slaves got us all into eight lines of ten and on our knees—I was in a separate line up front. Another blast sent dust out the open back door. Wind from above and a bright light played over us—helicopter? I was scared.

“Submission, girls!” Ivana ordered. I was the House Mother, but at the moment I was out of my depth. That is why there were slaves like Ivana and Ellie—they were trained to handle emergencies. I felt so inadequate as I lay on my stomach, my wrists crossed at the small of my back and my ankles crossed. I turned my head to the right and lay my cheek against the artificial grass in the exercise yard, shivering in terror. Ivana”s calming voice reassured me. “You are going to be okay, House Mother. Just do what you”re told to do and wait for help. It won”t be long.”

More gunshot. More bombs. What were they doing to my lovely sorority house? I heard the fire alarms go off inside. A few minutes later there were a pair of black boots in front of my eyes.

“Where are the guns? I know that you are all terrorists! Give up your guns!” Guns? What guns? I couldn”t tell if the muffled voice was a man”s or a woman”s. “Do you think I”m stupid? This is a neo-ab front and you are all under arrest! I”ll get the truth out of you if I have to put you all on the Ultimate Ride one at a time!”

We slaves were quiet except for whimpering, sniffing and sobbing. Master Peter had given us training in how to survive a police raid—or a mass kidnapping. Go to a clear spot. Lay down ready for being hog-tied. Offer no resistance. Speak only when directly addressed and limit responses to the question asked. Remember that I am a slave and that I have no rights.

Remember that Peter Foster cares for me. That last thought calmed me a bit. I was still so scared that I wanted to pee all over myself, but there was a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. They might hurt me. We were on video right now and as long as I did what I was supposed to they would risk legal action for hurting me. I remembered to breathe and I closed my eyes.

A few minutes later there were sirens. They got closer. Someone grabbed my arms and I felt the bite of flex cuffs on my wrists as a knee pressed against my neck.

“What the holy hell do you think you are doing?” That was a man”s voice—I recognized him! It was Oscar Cleveland, an Eastlake policeman.

“Captain Ross of the Butlerville Slave Patrol,” the voice said. “We are seizing these slaves for questioning. Do not get in our way.”

“I need to see your warrant,” Oscar said. “If you don”t have a warrant you will be placed under arrest.”

“I don”t need a warrant!”

“HANDS! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS! DO IT NOW!”

I flinched and cried when more gunfire occurred. I almost panicked when something fell across my legs. I did pee myself when something hot and sticky ran down my legs and pooled under me. A few minutes later someone was cutting my bonds.

“It”s over, House Mother. Keep your eyes closed, you don”t need to see this. Okay, just follow me.” Ivana—what did they do to you? You sounded so calm, so in control. I was shaking too much. “I am going to hose you off and take you inside. The water will be cold. Nod if you hear me.”

It was cold. After being washed off, I was led inside. The air smelled like sulfur. I opened my eyes when I was told to. I expected to see broken glass—not bits of stone. There was some sort of mat rolled out to protect my bare feet as I was led through the house.

“We are going to the school gym,” Ivana said. “I need you to put on a brave face. The danger is over, but Juanita Hall needs to be cleaned up and repaired.”

“What happened?”

“I don”t know,” Ivana hugged me and patted my back. “I think that the Slave Patrol got some bad information. We can move back in tonight.”

“But there were bombs!”

“Just something to blow in the front door and some flash bangs. They really should have let professionals handle it. Come on, House Mother.”

A few minutes later all 85 of us slaves were in Eastlake University”s main gym rolling out the wrestling mats to sleep on. We were all totally naked. Not even a control collar among us! Ivana handed me her remote control, something like a small computer and cell phone. Tiffany was on the other end.

“I”m okay, honey,” I said. “All of us are. We”re staying in the gym now and we should be back in Juanita Hall tonight.”

After I got off the phone with my daughter, I called Peter Foster. There was some administrative stuff that kept me from being terrified. Not one of us 85 slaves had been hurt in the incident. A police officer was checking us with a hand held RFID scanner. It was starting to get light outside when two naked slaves wheeled in a cart. Breakfast. It wasn”t our usual fare. I didn”t recognize the slaves, but they were scanned and passed by the police. One police officer checked the cart, sampled the food.

“Which one of you is the House Mother?” Oscar asked. “Oh, there you are, Bethany. As soon as your girls have had breakfast, send them to class or to work. Those who don”t have either until noon can stay here—just stay on the mats until noon.”

“Master Oscar, what happened?”

“Slave patrol from one of Eastlake”s suburbs,” Oscar said. “They got a tip that one of the sorority houses had a terrorist cell. They thought it was Juanita Hall. Slave patrols can go anywhere in hot pursuit of escaped slaves. They need no warrant. Counter-terrorism is someone else”s job. Too bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody is above the law.” Oscar shook his head. “Escaped slaves? No problem. That”s why those vigilantes exist. We real cops have better things to do than chasing stray slaves when their owners don”t control them. The Freedom Cell raids have everybody acting crazy. No telling what wanna-be cop organizations will go hunting terrorist next. Would you believe that the Slave Patrol was trying to hunt terrorist with only pistol-proof vests? They were either too brave or very stupid.”

“I”m confused.”

“Don”t be. Look, I have a few minutes. Could you give me some relief? All those naked women - ”

“What is your pleasure, Master Oscar?” The words were automatic. I am a slave. Master Neville trained me well. “I am required to cooperate fully with all legitimate law enforcement requests.”

“Who determines what is legitimate?” Oscar asked.

“I am a slave, Master. That is not my call.”

“Gimme head, but make it last.”

“With pleasure, Master.” I used to regard this as obscene—now I loved to. I usually preferred women—not that it matters. I am a slave. My mouth was full when another man approached. Slave etiquette is completing the task you”re on unless a free adult interrupts you.

“Sergeant Cleveland,” the newcomer said. “I”m Agent Newhall. Here are my creds. I need to ask a few questions.”

I saw Dorothy approach in my peripheral vision. She fell into the slave position that signaled submission, yet begged to be heard. She was kneeling and bowed with her forehead on the floor, arms extended beyond her head but palms up and the backs of her hands on the floor. The DEV variant of this position left the butt up and the slave was supposed to have her knees apart, ankles crossed. Not all free people understand the meaning of slave positions, but here at Eastlake U we DEV slaves were very careful around citizens—especially free women. A free woman was as likely to kill a slave as a man—perhaps more so. We slaves mortally offend some free women just by breathing. At Juanita Hall the police were not brutal with us at all—we had better rapport with the police than any other sorority house at Eastlake U.

“You want to ask a question, slave?” Agent Newhall asked.

“Yes, Master. Slave Dorothy requests permission to serve the master.”

“Stand up child. How old are you?”

“Master, Slave Dorothy is 20,” she answered. When asked how long she had been a slave, she told him that she had volunteered for conversion on Sunday. Dorothy had adapted quickly to slavery. She was more proficient at slave etiquette than I was. It was almost embarrassing. Slave etiquette depersonalizes interaction between slaves and free citizens, giving us a chance to remove ourselves from the scene. The slave is someone else, a role we play. Dorothy played that role very well. It figures—she was a theatrical art major.

“I must decline, Dorothy,” Agent Newhall said. “You look too much like my own daughter and it would bother me to fuck you. Now this slave reminds me of my missus and I wouldn”t mind fucking her at all—but you just make me feel protective.”

“House Mother Bethany would offer if she weren”t busy, Master,” Dorothy offered. I nodded as I used both hands to keep Master Oscar on the brink.

Master Oscar seized my head and shoved me down. I achieved two firsts—I managed to deep throat a real cock while it was spurting and I didn”t gag. I”ve only been a slave for two months! I slurped up everything I could and swallowed hard. Most of it was behind my tongue. I finished licking him off as he sighed and sagged.

“That was great, Bethany. Would you like a go?”

“I think I”ll try this end.” I grunted when Agent Newhall shoved his cock in my cunt from behind. It was my turn to writhe in delight. As Agent Newhall slowly pushed in and pulled almost all the way out, he kept talking to Master Oscar. Dorothy crawled under me, lay on her back and began to suck at my breasts. I had trouble hearing the conversation. “Who shot the two slave hunters? Why?”

“Our SWAT sniper did from the helicopter. Captain Ross was waving his shotgun around and he shot one of my men. It was a slug, but it hit the vest and Chuck is okay. Ross may have fired accidentally, but the sniper saw the muzzle flash and shot him. Another of the slave patrol raised his shotgun and fired on the helicopter. I think the SWAT sniper got him, too. The rest of the slave patrol dropped their weapons and surrendered.”

“Why do you think they were looking for terrorists? That”s not their job.”

“Oh, there are wanna-be cops all over Eastlake now. They are trying to be heroes.”

“Heroes? Call the FBI. Call the Sheriff. Call the National Guard. Slave patrols don”t have the equipment and training to tackle terrorists!” Agent Newhall was beginning to pant. I was fighting off orgasm and trying to make it really good for him, but he sped up too fast for my PC muscles. I really needed more time on the fuck machine! After I had exercised my vaginal muscles more, that is. “Anyway, that sorority house is a real fort.”

“It has to be,” Oscar was scribbling in his notebook. “Juanita Hall was designed to keep slaves in. The unbreakable Plexiglas walls sure held up to the dynamite.”

“Low-grade explosives. As I said, the slave patrol doesn”t have the right tooools,” I felt Newhall”s cock spasm and the warmth splash inside me. For a moment I faded out. When I regained my senses, Dorothy was cleaning me with her tongue and Ivana was cleaning off Agent Newhall”s cock. ” - so you ran a scan on all 85 slaves?”

“Yes, sir. DEV tracks all of its slaves with RFID implants. These chips have been imbedded in several free persons as well, especially children. We have been able to rescue lost or kidnapped children because of that DEV program. If we get close and there isn”t too much stuff between us and the kid, we can pick them out of a crowd or find them in buildings. Some parents are even making their kids wear a tracker locked on a wrist, ankle or neck.”

“The three slaves from Wednesday night. I”d like to interview them. What”s their story?”

“As far as we can tell, the mother caught her daughters making internet porn. She said that she converted them to protect them from their father—converted herself, too. DEV got half of the joint assets and all of the wife and kid”s assets.”

“How does that work?”

“Well, unless it is dangerous for the women, DEV tries to maintain family integrity. DEV retains partial ownership and will return the slave to her family if possible—and if it is good for the slave.”

“Sounds positively subversive.”

“It really is. Most of the Eastlake Municipal Police Department has converted their wives and daughters through DEV. It is cheaper than life insurance and the girls are taken care of. We still have our union life insurance—no getting out of that.”

“Tell me about the three women just converted. That”s what we”re looking for,” Agent Newhall glanced at me. “There is a chance that terrorist cells are going into hiding as slaves.”

“One of the first things that DEV does is implant each slave with an RFID chip. They take DNA samples, finger and footprints. The guys at the station were collecting the volumes of pussy prints—Peter Castleman was building a cunt database to see if every woman”s crotch is as unique as her ears. If a terrorist is hiding out in DEV, she”s hiding in a goldfish bowl.” Master Oscar looked at me, shook his head. I didn”t dare correct a free person about Peter Foster”s name—I”m just a slave. “It is DEV policy to run a background check on all of its slaves because many wind up in positions of responsibility. House Mother Bethany can get you the preliminary reports on the new slaves—most have completed background checks and a full dossier on file.”

“Why do you think Ross raided the slave sorority, then?” Agent Newhall”s cell phone rang. He answered it. A moment later he excused himself and briskly walked out of the gym.

Yes, why? Well, it wasn”t likely to happen again. I managed to call the other two slave sorority houses, Nancy Hall and Uma Hall—they reported that they had no problems. Someone from a federal agency had checked the slaves at Uma Hall and downloaded their files, but there were no raids. Another phone call—Summer scheduled an appointment in her office with me.

It appeared to be a misfortunate mistake. I don”t know why Juanita Hall was raided by the Butlerville Slave Patrol, but it won”t happen again. We are just slaves at Juanita Hall—not terrorists!