Dark Erotic Fiction

CASTLEMAN TRUST CHAPTER 51

OH CANADA!

It was a cold October just south of Vancouver, the site of the reunion between those naughty Canadian protestors and their families. Yes, they had visitors while in Cougar County. These slaves had exposed themselves while free women on international television, yet when they met with their families at the Bar BQ Ranch every one of them blushed.

But it was too cold and wet to force them to be naked. Besides, the Canadian government had expressed its reservations about ’exposing’ my property to the public. That’s right, MY property. DEV named me the primary owner of these women. It may have been punishment for rescuing them. No good dee goes unpunished. Just when I thought I was rid of them, getting them to the border and preparing to manumit them all on the other side, I was met by a group of four uniformed and one plain-clothed Mounties and Mr. Woulfe, the Canadian Ambassador to the United States.

My first thought was that I had just been hit with a truck load of filled grain sacks. Political stuff! When I got around political stuff, people died. It was going to happen sooner or later. I was news. “The people’s right to know!” Yeah, right–some people’s right to exploit the bizarre for profitable advertising revenue. That was the principle at stake here. Well, as long as nobody shot at me…

“Good morning, Ambassador Woulfe,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage. “Are you here to see the manumission and hand-off of 17 Canadian citizens?”

“Not really.” It was worse than I thought! “Come inside. We will hold a pres conference shortly. Let your slaves stay in the bus for now. “

Inside the building was the ambassador’s family–his wife and seven daughters. They were naked except for chains.

“Canadians cannot own slaves,” Woulfe explained. “NAFTA demands that we honor your property rights. We would already have our own White Slave Act if not for your barbaric Alternate Meat Source Inspection Act of 2001.”

“Yeah, ain’t it funny how the most draconian government measures have such innocuous names? The Committee of Public Safety in Revolutionary France, for instance.”

“Quite. Well, I’ve enslaved my wife and daughters here in the states, but I cannot own them. So I have to sell them to you. I want one dollar for the lot of them and I want you to personally train them. I’d like to borrow them for Christmas, but otherwise they are your slaves.”

I sighed. What’s a sheepdog to do?

“What about the rest?”

“You are granting them a furlong. If they fail to show up on the second Tuesday in January, well, we can’t interfere with any legal property recovery activities that you Yanks do. Just remember that –oh, dash it all, Peter. Just pick up your slaves. You’ll have about three times the slaves when you do. When we finally get our own White Slave Act they will be the first Canadian slaves. We owe the press a show, so I need you to bring in those protestors naked, what? The Mounties can provide you wit zip ties–all livestock must be restrained.

The bus contained people that I had to supervise directly–Darcy among them. I also had a protection detail along from MFS Det 46. I had not intended to cross the border. Now I had to. In a few minutes I had marched 17 naked women into the customs office. They had gotten used to being naked most of the time. The majority thought being naked and bound for the cameras was a joke–and they were right.

First, the media feeding frenzy. The hungry news cameras devoured naked female flesh as if they were cannibals at a girl roast. I fielded questions with standard DEV answers. When the slaves were asked questions, I intervened with ’slaves are supposed to be seen and not heard.’ That got a laugh from the men. I had the usual hate-filled monologues poorly disguised as questions. Those I answered with a simple ’No. Next question.’ After twenty minutes in the chilly customs office I called a halt to the media circus. I filled out the paperwork and was told that I would meet them in person at the Grand Lizzie Hotel in 90 days. I escorted the 17 naked slaves to the Canadian side of the border and handed them off to their families. When their bonds were released, all 17 hugged and kissed me–and they remained naked in the cold drizzle until they got into their cars. I returned to the American side of the border and then I took my seven new nude slaves to the bus and climbed aboard.

“Well,” Mrs. Woulfe said with a shiver, “that wasn’t too bad.”

“Who’s hungry?” Penny asked. She was passing out sandwiches and cups of hot soup assisted by Susan as the bus pulled out of the customs post. Jane, Heather and Darcy passed out blankets.

It wasn’t what I expected. I went into default mode as I unlocked the chains.

“What do you want to do with the rest of your life?”