Dark Erotic Fiction

Normally, when I arrive at a home to do a pick up, I find the slave or slaves in one of two conditions. Totally naked, or dressed in casual street clothes. Naked, of course, normally means that they know they are about to be converted, and have started to adjust to the idea. Clothed could mean either they don’t know, or if they do, they wish to hold on to some amount of modesty or dignity. The exceptions to these broad general rules tend to be a bit odd.

For example, a Mr. Wayne Prichard had arranged with Spellbook Slaves and Games to have his wife, Charlotte, picked up while he was away on a business trip. As I didn’t process the paper work, I wasn’t really aware of what type of sale this was, just the it had been approved. Boss man just sent me out to go get her. When arrived,I found Charlotte was nude and collared, with a rawhide “bone” in her mouth, waiting by the door when I arrived.

I assumed that this meant that she knew she was about to be converted, or this was a re-sell of a slave.

Silly me.

It took 3 zaps with the stun gun to get her to stop fighting.

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I changed the database server that this blog runs on. This should, repeat, should, make both comments fast and more reliable and the whole site run better.

Yeah, any way, quite a lot of “damage” happened in the movement, mainly to “Smart Quotes” and the like. I did a database based search and replace for the main problems, but there may still be a few random odd bits of 8 bit binary that doesn’t display right scattered about.  One issue I know about is that some “smart” ‘ marks were replace by ” marks.     My fault, and I’m not going to go thorugh and fix them.  Authors, if you really think they need to be fixed, well, you should be able to edit your own posts.  If not let me know via the authors mailing list.

One of my best ways of getting “prime” slaves is to get on the good side of the RA’s at Eastlake Universities Freshmen dorms. A surprisingly large number of incoming co-ed don’t fully understand what “In loco parentis” means. First hint, it doesn’t mean “My ‘rents are crazy”. Of those that don’t understand this concept, a fairly high number of them are on one form or another of student loans. Between the two of these concepts, lays a large amount of conversion possibilities for the unwary co-ed

This means that pissing off your RA with loud drunken behavior is a sure fire way to meet me or one of my staff. Guess how many of these girls were introduced to me in a professional setting last night.

Unfortunately, or not, depending on your point of view, the co-ed with the white tee shirt was a full payment student, with no loans and one who’s parents had not signed over their full rights. This saved here from conversion, due to the fact that their party had not quite made it to the violation of the city ordinance level, just the pissed off RA level.

Her topless friend was not quite so lucky.   She and the other girl were double whammed, in that their parents had fully signed on to the “In loco parentis” system of Eastlake University and that they were both on some form of student aid.

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I see them as I drive around town.

Young, pretty women.   Girls, really.   They may be over 18, or even 21, but they are still girls.

I know 2 things about these girls. The first is that they are free today. The other is that they are doomed to become a slave.

The only questions left are “when and how.” The “why” is because it’s seems to be their nature. It’s their natural role. They may not think it, but it is. They may be in denial about their nature, some even saying they are, in fact, natural mistresses, not natural slaves.   They are wrong.

Not all women are by nature slaves.   These girls are.

I often wonder how they will be converted.     Some of them will come recognize their nature and will volunteer to convert.   Most will not.   Most will under go betrayal by some one they thought they could trust.   That’s also natural.   A short time ago, this was called “breaking up” or “ending a relationship”, it might even be called “a divorce”.   It was full of noise and drama.   It was a normal part of the becoming an adult, or so people thought.

Today, it’s different.   Instead of calling a moving company or a lawyer, men come to me.

And after that, the girl discovers her true nature.

I see them.   I see slaves.

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“OK, boys, you say you’ve got papers and proof of personal contact on both of them? Let me see the tits. OK, sure, I’ll give 400 for the blonde, and will toss in a keg and tap.”

“Man, we need a little more than that.   What about Michele?”

“Well, I can offer 200 for her. Not much call for flat chested mousy browns around these part. Markets way down on them, being as how we get so many from cross the border. Brown haired that is. The no tits is a different bag of catfish.”

“Damn.   I can see where your coming from. Told you guys a pair of blonds was a better idea.   Well, I guess that will have to do then.   Bye bye, girls.”

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It seemed like such a good idea.   I needed some work done around the house.   I wanted a play toy.   So I went and bought me a play toy, then got tools and told play toy to work on the project list I left for her.   Seemed like a perfect mix.     I got a fuck and suck toy for a night, and while I was at work, all those “honey-dew” list things that the wife wanted done would get done.   Wife was even OK with the idea.   She even help me pick out the play toy.

First project was fixing that damn plant stand in the sun room.   Why we need a tri-level display for various green growing things is beyond me, but it seems to be important to The Wife, so it’s important to me.

Sigh. Play Toy, it seems didn’t think that she needed to take the plants off the damn thing before she started bashing at it it make it level and add some support elements.

Do you have any idea how much some of those damn green fuzzy things cost?   I had no idea.   Wife did, of course.   She informed me about it when I arrived home from the office.     Seems that they cost more than Play Toy did, in total.   I had no idea.

So, The Wife took the tools away from Play Toy and spent some quality time with the hammer.     Play Toy’s hands are going to be a bit useless for a while, what with the tip of each finger smashed flat.   But that’s OK.   I’m not all that into hand jobs and The Wife didn’t do any thing to her mouth, ass or cunt, so she’s still good to go as Play Toy.   Wife says she even does well at the carpet cleaning thing.

Learned an important lesson.   If you want a play toy, buy a play toy. If you have two things that need to be nailed together, hire a carpenter.   Lots cheaper in the end.

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So, what do you think?

I love doing pickups.

The look on most women faces when they realize who you are and why you are there.   That look of hopelessness.   That look knowing that some one that they know, maybe even loved and trusted, sold them into a life of slavery, or maybe even worse, sold them to be snuffed.   Killed.   Murdered, possibly by tortures to vile to think about. Someone they thought they could trust sold them.   Sold them to me.   And I get that look as they see me.

It’s why I got into this business to start with.   In an other age, I would be one of those men that the TV crew would have the neighbours say “He was a quiet man, keep to him self.”   But I don’t have to be that sort of man now.   I can go about my passion in the open.   I’m a licensed business man.   Doing a public service.     But i still get that look.   The look of helplessness and fear.   Oh yes, I get that look.

While the volunteers are fun, and make for an easier dollar, it’s the conversions, the involuntarily ones that I love to pick up.

It’s just that look they some times give you.   That look of knowing that their life, as they know it, is over.   That all that they have to look forward to is a life as slave, if they are lucky.     A painful and humiliating death if they are not.

Oh, yeah, i love doing pick ups.   It’s what i do.   And the look is a good part of why I do it.

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Thoughts in a suck club.

Some times, you look down a the young woman that is sucking you off, and you realize, she doesn’t want to be doing this. She probably had other dreams and hopes for her future. Hopes and dreams that had nothing to do with sucking off dozens of men a day, and praying that they wouldn’t want to snuff her as part of the experience. You can tell by the lost look in her face, what they used to call the 1000 mile stare.

As you think about this, it comes to you.     You don’t care.   Then you think about it a little more.   You do care.   But not the way that would help her.   The idea excites you.   Her hopes and dreams don’t matter.   What matters is that, for the moment, she is yours. to do with as you will.   You think about ordering a snuff, just to see what that would feel like.

As you blast into her mouth, you decide not to, but maybe next time…

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