Dark Erotic Fiction

Castleman Trust Chapter 53

A Cloudy Day at Ellisia

Ellis Wilson, Sr.’s birthday fell on December 5th. In 2001 that was on a Wednesday, which had been set aside as a clothing optional day. Ellisia was open from 10 AM to 8 PM that cold, windy autumn day—and there were no reported nude guests in the park. The Defensive Enslavement Volunteer work force wore their winter clothes on their walk to work. If that wasn’t enough to make even Shawna shiver, the day was overcast and threatened rain.

“I don’t get it,” Darcy said. “You are letting me wear clothes?”

“No,” I corrected. “I am MAKING you wear clothes. You don’t get a choice in the matter. I have determined that it is too cold outside for you to be exposed to the weather. As soon as we return to our trailer, you get naked and I will lock you in the cage.”

“You always were weird,” Darcy said as I took her left hand and began to examine it closely. “What are you doing? That makes me feel deformed.”

“I told you the first time—this makes you unique. I wish I could magically replace your missing finger. I’m accepting it because it is you and we can’t do anything about it. Tell me again how you lost your ring finger. Do it in French so that Annette and Marie understand. I want the Woulfe’s to practice French too—not everyone speaks English.”

Darcy was engaged to be married in high school in 1996. Her fiancé, Mark Aster, had given Darcy an expensive engagement ring. Darcy never took it off. One day Darcy was in the football stadium at Mid-Eastland High School cheering for her fiancé. She was on her way to the restroom when she was shoved. Darcy fell off the bleachers—but in a freak accident she caught her ring on the safety rail and her finger ripped off. Darcy fell fifteen feet and broke her right arm and leg. Mark disowned her because Darcy was no longer perfect. All this happened before I met Darcy at UOKE. Darcy was still bitter about her treatment by her ex-fiancé and still felt that being maimed made her worthless. Now she was a slave, too.

Clothing for a slave isn’t the same as what free women wear. Nudity is almost always acceptable even though naked slaves are still novel. Next is fetish gear—lingerie or leather or school-girl uniforms. Don’t forget the slave shift! Seldom does the slave wear underwear AND regular clothing—unless you count the SINO. Basically, a Slave in Name only is a free woman who has become someone else’s property—someone who treats her as if she were still a free woman. SINO’s are often accused of being pets—pampered playthings. SINO’s generally wear ‘normal’ women’s clothing. Work slaves frequently required clothing for protection—and that was usually just a pair of cheap shoes. Often, though, a rectangle of cloth with a hole in the center for a head was draped over the slave. Sometimes this was secured by a belt or bit of rope and sometimes the slave shift fluttered in the breeze, randomly revealing and concealing the slave’s charms. A few work slaves wore lab coats or aprons only. Some wore ‘business attire.’ It depended on the owner and the function the slave filled.

Castleman Trust slaves were normally nude because I preferred them that way. Even they needed clothes from time to time. This was usually a pair of shoes—and a short cape when the weather was foul. I insisted that they wear a flight suit when they flew in my twin-engine airplane for safety reasons. At Ellisia the slaves complied with a dress code in the park’s public areas—except on the clothing-optional Wednesdays. Today it was just too cold. Too windy, too. It might rain. Today I had everyone wear leg warmers with their shoes and capes. The capes were reversible, dark blue on one side and red on the other, with the Castleman Trust logo on the back in gold. I left it up to the women if they wore more underneath their capes—except for Darcy.

“Everyone is getting Ellisia clothing for winter,” I said. “Slave guests are not permitted in the dressing rooms—you will be changing right out in the open in front of mirrors.”

I forgot who came up with this—having slaves change in the open area on the edge of the store. Free women might be using the open dressing area—but to use the dressing room, an Ellisia passport had to be shown. There were basically season passports, adult (free citizen) passports, children’s passports and slave passports. The slave paid the child’s price to enter Ellisia. Slave tickets were about 3% of Ellisia gate receipts, children were another 20% (except on Wednesdays, when they fell to just 1%–few people brought children to Clothing Optional Wednesdays), annual season passes accounted for 4% and the rest were adult tickets. In the slow season, an ‘adult’ was 12 years old. Slave tickets were bright pink. Children’s tickets were sky blue. Adult tickets were silver. The annual pass was a gold colored card. All tickets were the size of a credit card—but printed on thick paper. Children had to be accompanied in the dressing room area by an adult. It was rare for a slave to buy the overpriced clothing in Ellisia.

“If you feel cold, tell me. This is supposed to be fun. I can’t have fun when I’m too cold. Now stay with your groups at all times. Do not separate from each other.” I had them in groups of four. “That includes bathroom breaks. When one of you uses the bathroom, all of you do.”

My group consisted of me, Darcy, Button and Lana. Heather and Jane were with Penny and Susan—they were a different group, but we’d stay together. This grouping had a purpose. I really wanted to tour with my sister. Ellisia is my favorite theme park. Where penny went, Susan went. The same with Jane and Heather—I kept them together as much as possible. It wasn’t always possible. Button and Lana were paired up because of Darcy—I didn’t trust Darcy to behave. Button and Lana were with me just in case Darcy became a problem.

We went through the main gate with the rest of the opening-hour crowd because Ellisia had opening and closing ceremonies. There was the flag thing, a band, and various Wilson Productions characters in costumes. I was a little surprised to see that Olive Pit’s two historic characters, Maid Marion and Molly the Pirate, were represented. Olive, of course, was in Cougar County teaching school. She would teach a seminar in Eastlake at the EMTC that weekend.

The first stop after all the festivities was at the Locker Room, a sports clothing shop. There we bought some warm-up suits and gloves—and hats. It was that cold. Next, I took my contingent into the bakery shop in the World War movies area. My happy slaves sat chatting, sipping cocoa and eating rolls. Darcy watched as the bake shop cast served Annette and Marie and their party of four.

“When their English is better, I might have them work down here,” I commented. “They know the real Europe.”

“Are all these workers really slaves?”

“Let’s ask. Did you notice how much service we’ve been getting? How there is no discrimination against slaves here?” I waved at one of the staff and had three girls at our table: Jean, Carrie and Selma. “This is Darcy.”

“Hi, Darcy!” the three chorused.

“She is new,” I said, “and hearing your stories will help her adjust. Don’t get yourself in trouble with the boss.”

“They won’t get in any trouble, Master Peter,” the master baker—a man—said. “We know you. Besides, you are good for morale. When you are in town all of my girls are happier.”

Note: he said ‘my girls’ and not ‘goddamned cunts,’ ‘bitches,’ ‘sluts,’ ‘slaves’ or something else derogatory. The name tag said Jacques, but that may have been for atmosphere. It was a Swiss bake shop. Marie was standing nervously behind Jacques. I used my French to ask her what was wrong. When she answered, Jacques laughed and gave her a hug.

“An import?” Jacques asked me? I nodded. Annette got near her partner and the two briefly told Jacques what happened to them. “Well! I’m glad that most of the guest don’t speak French! That tale would dampen their Ellisia Experience!”

“Darcy would like to know your stories,” I said to the three bakery shop slaves. “Keep it brief because there are other customers.”

A girl of perhaps ten shyly approached me with an autograph book.

“Are you Peter Castleman?”

“I’m often called that,” I explained briefly about the Castleman Trust show and its replacement, the Pearl Hour. “How do you want me to sign your autograph book? I’m called ‘Peter Castleman’ so often that I might have to adopt that as my stage name.”

“Master Peter, can I be your slave when I grow up?” This provoked a response—a mousy looking woman rushed up to her ‘baby’ and took the child’s hand.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Anything can happen. What is your name?”

“Penny.” I was shocked. My Penny and her partner Susan giggled.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I introduced my sister and her partner. “Would you like all of our autographs?”

The mother was quite nervous. Her name was Winifred and she was obviously very submissive. My sheepdog reflexes kicked in.

“Join us, please,” I said as I scribbled my signature and a message to Winifred’s Penny. “I know things about this park. I can make your stay pleasant.”

Meanwhile, Darcy was getting an ear full. The entire bake shop slave cast had wound up enslaved. Selma broke up with her boyfriend—who promptly PPC’d her and sold a part interest to DEV. He was actually a decent sort, but he didn’t want Selma to get away from him. They lived nearby—Selma didn’t live with the other slaves except for two nights a week due to slave schooling. Carrie had been converted for speeding in a small Texas town nearby and DEV out-bid the local AMS dealer because Carrie had been 17 at the time. She was now 18 and VERY happy to work at Ellisia. Jean was one of those Hill’s Fine Meats rescue jobs from Eastlake. Jean had failed her junior-year finals and had walked into Hill’s in June to end her life as someone’s dinner. Jean was only 17 then, so Jim called me. A bit of therapy, reconciliation with her very worried parents, an October birthday and Jean was working in Ellisia. She travelled home once since arriving to visit her family and her family would be spending Christmas in Ellisia. Darcy kept glancing my way.

“You set this up,” Darcy accused.

“Thank you, Darcy,” I replied. I told Winifred that Darcy’s remark was a compliment because think of all the coordination I had to do. “Of course, you can look up their backgrounds yourself. Either I’ve doctored the official records or I’ve stage-managed this to a T. Is it okay for Penny to go on the next ride with my Penny? We’re taking the Allied Flyer Rescue Adventure next. Besides, I think you should talk to me.”

That ride allowed the guest to experience getting shot down over Germany in 1943 and being rescued by the Underground. I was being a bad sheepdog, again—reeling in a lost sheep. Winifred reluctantly told me that she was divorcing her husband because she was afraid of being enslaved. He was behind in his child support payments—and I managed to get Winifred to admit that she really couldn’t afford her vacation here in Ellisia.

“It’s just one day,” Winifred said.

“What are your options? I suspect that you are about to lose your daughter. I think I can help—but you would have to work for me as a free woman. Penny is too young. Let her be a child for a while longer. I think we can fix your financial problems. Where do you live?”

‘Anywhere you want me,” Winifred eyed me the way a mouse eyes a cat. “You aren’t going to enslave me?”

“Not right now. It isn’t good for your Penny to lose her mother. I have a number of free women living under my roof. Some will be slaves, but not right now. Some will remain free. I don’t know which. You would actually work for a slave. Does it bother you to have to obey a slave?”

“Will you use me for sex?”

“You are a free woman. Do you want to be used? I have more than enough bed partners. If you want to become one of my lovers, there’s a line. I’m not just bragging, Winifred. Heather handles my social life.”

“Master, I had to let Penny do that,” Heather grinned sheepishly. “She wanted to, and your life is getting complicated. We coordinate your business and personal lives and keep Angelica n the loop so that you are protected at all times. Penny and Susan do a good job, don’t they?”

I didn’t know that my sister was scheduling my love life. I was afraid at times that I would fail to please my bed partners.

“You are serious, aren’t you?” Winifred asked.

“He always is,” Jane replied for me. “Summer—that’s Doctor Kim Prince—says that Master Peter is a sheep dog.”

Jane explained that some people are wolves, most are sheep and there are sheep dogs like me. We protect the sheep from wolves. All the while I was greeting cast members, free and slave alike. Nearly all the free cast members were men and nearly all of the women were slaves. There were a few child actors—free, of course—who played some Ellis Wilson Productions characters. The few free women were either not eligible for conversion or had been grandfathered. Ellis Wilson Jr. was happy to leave it that way. New hire women would normally become slaves. There were a few exceptions.

“I’m afraid to ask this, but could I stay with you while I make up my mind?” Winifred asked. Yes, I have a soft head! I agreed. I told her that she would undergo evaluation and that she would get more information that way. “I won’t have to be sex tested, will I?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I do have slaves sex tested. Free women working for me may volunteer for sex grading and I encourage them to take sex training, but slaves are not given the option of refusing. Darcy, tell Winifred your scores and what they mean.”

Darcy blushed, but complied. Darcy admitted to being a criminal, that she had volunteered to be my slave in order to avoid a trial and a very painful execution.

My cell phone rang. It was my boss. I was to immediately go to a secure area for a mission briefing. Darcy, of course, was going to accompany me. I had secrets from Darcy, but the way my alert was worded told me that Darcy was to be permitted to see everything. I left the other groups behind with Heather in charge. It was painful to leave Ellisia, but duty called. I was also in compliance with my own orders—I took Lana and Button with me.

The secure facility was just a quarter mile hike away. Angelica swept the place for listening devices and I had a minimum staff of five people: four Military Female Slave Detachment 46 Army slaves and Darcy. Colonel Murphy wasted no time when we established secure communications.

CASTLEMAN TRUST CHAPTER 52

THE NATIONAL SLAVERS’ ASSOCIATION FUTURE PROJECTIONS

I had been a bad boy. I had attended the National Slavers’ Association meeting as I had been ordered to. I dragged Neville Champion, abolitionist, to the meeting. There, our party favors were Annette and Marie, two cute women from Switzerland. I didn’t behave entirely naughty–I didn’t argue. I barely asked two questions–one was ‘how much’ for the two slaves and the answer was ‘pay the taxes and take them–they don’t speak English.’ Good boys don’t bring strays home.

Neville not only got roped into coming with me to the NSA meeting, I conned him into attending the Castleman Trust Board of Directors meeting. Saturday, November 10th, 2001 was a very busy day for April’s boy Peter! I had to leave my slaves in the parking lot–good thing, too. Some of the girls were snuffed and three were spitted and roasted whole at the NSA meeting. Annette and Marie were still in shock. Neville wasn’t much better off. Me? I was angry–but controlled it. I had to. Besides, I had practice. We left the NSA meeting as soon as it was ‘polite’ to do so. On the way out an angry man in a purple polyester leisure suit blocked my path screaming obscenities.

“Let him go, Dillon,” the other speaker was impeccably dressed in a gray East Coast banker’s suit. “Mr. Foster and his abolitionist friend will further our agenda and that is all that matters. Mr. Foster, I’ll be in touch. Here’s my card.”

“But he’s going to miss the main course!”

“Mr. Foster doesn’t eat girl roast.”

“That’s more for me, then!”

Leisure Suit Dillon waddled off to the bar.

Darcy spoke better French than I did. I told her to talk to the new girls. Button caught my signal. Darcy didn’t know that Button and Lana were hard cases. She didn’t know that both were fluent in languages other than English. I kept Darcy in the dark because she couldn’t be trusted. Darcy might act up when I turned my well-guarded back. She had already made three phone calls to her confederates and may have managed a few more that we weren’t aware of. Darcy glared at me.

“They watched their friends and classmates die. Ask them how they came into the country. I want you to tell their story to the board.”

“They would have been killed if Peter hadn’t rescued them,” Neville told Darcy. “I thought getting a white slaver license was counterproductive. Now I understand. I can buy slaves on the spot. How many lives have you saved?”

“I lost count.” I shook my head. “There’s more to it than simply getting the girl. If you free her, how will she live? Will she wind up enslaved again within hours? DEV puts women through school, makes sure that they have jobs. The ten-year contracts have provisions for early manumission–but it is mandated on the woman being more valuable as a free woman. That means money–she has to be able to earn her freedom. If the woman cannot stay free on her own, she is better off protected.”

“Protected!” Darcy spat. “As a slave?”

“Yes,” Heather spat back. “My mother promised to spit-roast me alive at her next woman’s club meeting. I ran to the Castleman Estate and volunteered to be Peter’s slave. I have never regretted it.”

Of course, that was only about seven months ago. Heather was six months pregnant now. We had left our marks upon one another. I tuned out the chatter as the other slaves ganged up on poor Darcy. True, Darcy may have deserved it, but I still pitied her. I worked on my UberSpot presentation and only caught bits of the royal chewing out my slaves gave Darcy.

“I will always remember Friday, April 20th, 2001,” Naomi was one of those doing the chewing. “It was my 18th birthday. My father had bet me and my mother and lost. I was at Hill’s Fine Meats and I was going to be spitted. I had watched my own mother die on the guillotine. Master Peter pointed at me and said, ‘how much.’ Mr. Hill gave me to Master Peter. Look–you can just make out my meat brand.”

I was in a good mood when I arrived for the Castleman Trust Board of Directors meeting. It didn’t take much to deflate my balloon. I hooked my laptop into the projector and Colonel Murphy yanked the cable back out.

“If you can’t explain it without becoming an UberSpot ranger, you don’t need to say it,” my boss pushed me to my seat. “Numbers are meaningless. Make it mean something. Now, in small words, explain what went on at the NSA meeting.”

I did. The meat of the presentation was that NSA was in it for the money. They were upset that with 8% of the ‘available women’ — less than one in twelve of those women who are eligible to be enslaved — have glutted the market and driven down prices to the point where white slavery wasn’t the gold mine anticipated. If it hadn’t been for the Alternate Meat Source Inspection Act of 2001, most white slavers would have gone out of business disposing of all that biohazard waste material–dead slaves. The porn industry and sex workers were the other thing keeping white slavers afloat. It almost wasn’t worth the effort to sell to agriculture or the mining industry. Much of the NSA meeting was exploring new markets. The NSA spokesman praised the new Garret plant, GVVN, Ellisia and the various schools that DEV was running. Yes, we were on the radar screen. Of course, we were a non-profit organization. If the truth was known, we were subsidized.

“But the real news was that the 32% enslavement rate was not taken from ALL women–just about 29% of the female population are in the age band from 16 to 55 and ’eligible’–meaning that they are not pregnant or with small children. That means only 1 in 3 women roughly speaking are targeted for enslavement. It is from this segment that the 32% enslavement rate comes from-”

“What did I tell you about numbers?”

“Sorry, Colonel. Instead of 1 in 3 women being enslaved, the actual target is 1 in 9. That is proving to be uneconomical right now. I thought that the goal was 65 million slaves, with about 45 million of the slaves coming from the prime group of 54 million women–those ages 16 through 24. The other 20 million would come from the group between 25 and 45. I feared that 5 out of 6 women in an entire generation would wind up as slaves. I was wrong. The reality is quite different because the infrastructure is still being built. Social structure will change, but social change takes time. We are looking at no more than 17 million slaves at the end of the decade, about a quarter of the slaves I had expected. There’s also going to be a lot of imports. Annette and Maria here,” I spoke to the girls in French briefly,” they are one source of perhaps 3 million slaves in ten years. It costs too much to import them–assuming that the European Union and the Asian Co-Economic Sphere adopt their own slave act and send surplus women overseas–so no more than 1 in 3 slaves will originate from outside the United States, and the expected imports will be outnumbered by domestic products because of the language barriers. The NSA analysts thought that only 10% of the slaves would come from overseas because of the language difficulties and expense–but if the domestic market becomes profitable enough and domestic slaves scarce enough, NSA anticipates no problem in filling any future slave shortages. Note that DEV has more than two dozen foreign nationals as slaves–those Canadians. Oh, yes, and now we have Annette and Marie. Right now that 29% of women is being enslaved at the rate of 8%–and that comes out to less than 4 million slaves. About 1 in 8 of those slaves has been killed so far, which means about a half-million deaths and 3.5 million surviving slaves. It is anticipated that the number of living slaves will increase to 7 million by January 2003–but the market won’t support much more right now. NSA is trying to promote greater use of slaves and is seeking assistance from several religious cults. Like ours, I guess. Most of these slaves seem to be off-market right now, circumventing the drug laws or exploiting the tax-exempt status of the person of limited rights. I have more than 100 women in DEV who converted just so that they could be naked in public. The NSA has noted that the Susan B. Anthony slave students have superior scholastic scores–but that ignores the fact that pre-WSA2000 Susan B girls were superior academically.”

I had Darcy translate Annette’s and Marie’s story from the new slaves’ own mouths. The long anticipated trip to America, land of opportunity. Landing in the impoverished US Virgin Islands and being judicially enslaved at the airport.

“They didn’t understand the signage that said: ‘cross this line under penalty of conversion.’ They claim that their tour guide told them to wait in there.”

It could have been Puerto Rico, I guess.

The situation was grim, but less than 1 in 20 women were enslaved or would be enslaved during the next 90 days. That is still millions–but not quite the holocaust I had anticipated. Not by a long shot. It was unlikely that the profit-driven private sector would achieve that modest goal of 20 million slaves on December 31, 2010.

“But that doesn’t mean that DEV or the Slave Rescue Service are just a waste of time. First, we take good women off the market and give them good lives. If they are targeted for conversion, they can very easily be enslaved. Certain career fields will be slave traps–actresses especially because of their residuals. Why pay an actress when you can buy her or trick her? Most of the sex trade will follow. Those women are considered disposable by society anyway. I’m afraid that colleges are going to become slave traps. The college coed is in the prime enslavement age range, she is smart and pretty and away from home for the first time in her life–so she is vulnerable to anyone for a bit of phony affection. Compared to high school graduates who don’t attend college, it appears as if both more college coeds and a greater percentage of college girls will be converted. The NSA was laying the groundwork for that with the ’lesser jurisdiction’ designation of colleges and universities. To cinch the deal, NSA has a model school conversion contract–they aim to enslave 1 in 3 college seniors and as many of the underclassmen women and college drop-outs as they can because the college girls make better slaves. Oh, yes–the medical field has great need of slaves–most of the nursing chores will be done by slaves. There’s housekeeping for those who didn’t make it to college but were enslaved.”

“Yes,” Neville butted in. “The NSA speaker bragged about how all those idle rich brats would be enslaved and snuffed–who needs them anyway? Well, that’s what he said. He was talking about a campaign to make enslavement chic. The idle rich tend to be more politically active and they create many of society’s problems.”

Darcy looked as if she were ready to explode. Still new to slavery and nudity, still smarting from a spanking that morning, Darcy lowered her eyes when I glanced her way. She was still furious–but calculating. I reminded myself not to underestimate her. Darcy was potentially the viper in our nest.

“I’ve figured out that the White Slave Act isn’t about money,” I said. “There’s money to be made. Slavery must turn a profit if it is to survive. But ‘making money’ is just an excuse to cover the real purpose of the White Slave Act of 2000–power. Women make up most of the population. Women are also less likely to be politically active than men–unless someone stirs them up. In the last election, only 40% of the ballots were cast by women. Yes, the voter turn-out was lower than 50%, but men out-voted women despite being outnumbered. The White Slave Act will remove many of the women most likely to vote from the voter pool. The threat of enslavement will keep wives in line–if they haven’t had kids.

“That reminds me of another career slaves will dominate–motherhood. In the old days, rich women hired other women to raise the children because the rich women were just too good for that! Fewer women are becoming mothers today compared with last century, and they have fewer children. If I wanted children, I’m better off buying a couple of healthy women than getting married. “ Darcy glared openly at me. “Of course, there is also the 20% of men who are openly and exclusively gay. Free women will be less likely to bear children than slave women.”

“Now Peter,” Doctor Granger scolded, “that dark prediction is unlikely. You were wrong about the enslavement rate. I think you are wrong about the motherhood issue.”

“Perhaps, sir,” I countered. “The Castleman Trust could have simply been a sperm bank. We whole-heartedly embraced slave mommies. I like it, and I suspect that the heterosexual man will chose slave wives and slave mommies over free women. I’m sure that free women will not willingly accept sharing their man with another woman–especially an inferior slave woman. I read about the abuse that wives of slave owners dished out to the slave women.”

The board meeting broke up after resolving to close most of the DEV offices around town. We’d hand out flyers, business cards and advertise on the net and in likely slaver hunting grounds. Some places were going to be out of bounds for DEV–slaver bars, for instance, and court rooms.

Back in his office, George Johnson was looking at Allison’s record. He had been impressed by Roger thanking her, and he wanted to look at her record. He was amazed to see that she didn’t have privileges to leave the bar, and hadn’t asked for them. When the screen told him that the record had been updated, he refreshed the view and found the supervisor’s entry about Roger thanking Allison and the tip he had left for her. He looked through the record for anything that might have caused her not to be eligible for trips out of the bar and couldn’t find anything. He looked out into the business office and saw Joan. “Joan, come in here, please.” She came in immediately. “Please, sit. I see that Allison has good customer ratings and a lot of revenue, good suck ratings, and has been praised and given a big tip by Roger just now, but has never had a trip out of the bar, and she’s been here for three years. She has never been trained for higher responsibility, and she appears to be capable of it, and doesn’t have anything negative in her record. Do you know why?”

“It may be because she’s already a waitress and hasn’t asked for privileges or training. I usually wait for them to ask, at least for a while. I agree, she has potential.”

“Let’s give her a little push.” He picked up his phone and called the main bar, then told the head bartender to send Allison to his office when she wasn’t busy.

About fifteen minutes later, Allison showed up in the office, looking extremely nervous. She saw Joan working, and said, “I was called to see Mr. Johnson. I was going to have the floor supervisor handcuff me, but she said she wouldn’t do it.”

Joan replied, “As she shouldn’t. Don’t be nervous. Come with me.” Joan led Allison into Mr. Johnson’s office and said, “Allison is here.”

He said, “Good. Both of you, have a seat.” He paused, then spoke to Allison. “I was curious about you and looked up your records. You have a very good record, with lots of revenue and good ratings, and a nice balance in your personal account. However, you haven’t tried to advance, and you have never asked for a trip out of the bar. I would like to know why.” He looked at her and waited for a reply.

She was obviously agitated. She didn’t speak for a while, then finally said, “I … do OK as a waitress, and I don’t want to foul up in a different job.” She paused for quite a while, then said, “I don’t see any reason to leave the bar. My home town is hundreds of miles away from here, and my family sold me into slavery anyway. I don’t know anyone here outside of the bar staff. I have used some of my account money to get a few things I wanted, like a TV and books, and some of the others helped me order them.” She sat still after that, and it appeared that she had said all she thought was necessary.

Joan spoke up. “When you were promoted to white-collar, did you mess up?”

Allison said, “A little.”

“What happened as a result?”

“I was taught the proper methods.”

“Were you whipped?”

“No.”

“When you were promoted to green-collar, did you mess up?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I got some education.”

“Did you get whipped?”

“No, I got a few pussy shocks.”

“Was it too extreme a punishment?”

“No.”

“When you became a waitress and got that yellow collar, did you mess up?”

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

“What happened?”

“I got some help in learning the right way to do things.”

“Were you whipped or shocked?”

“No. I think it was because I admitted my problems and asked for help.”

“That is correct. Now, given those three situations, what makes you so terrified of trying something else and possibly improving your life?”

Allison sat still for a while, then finally said, “It was a difficult thing, getting to be a waitress. It was hard enough for me that I am afraid that anything harder would get me so messed up I’d get snuffed.”

Joan said, “As I recall, the things that you had trouble with were remembering orders and balancing a tray. The first we took care of with memory training. The second was just experience. Those are common problems, by the way, and we expected them. The more difficult parts of all your jobs you mastered almost immediately. You are smart. You could be of much more value to the bar, and help yourself. I want you to try to advance.”

Allison looked even more nervous than before, then said, “Why are you so interested in my advancement?”

Mr. Johnson replied, “Good question. We have a shortage of good management and supervisory candidates. You show promise. We would like to use you in more important roles.”

Allison looked even more nervous, but got a harder look on her face. “That’s part of it. You used the word ‘use’. I’m a slave, an object that can be used. I’m supposed to do things to improve your profits at almost no benefit to me. I haven’t been all that motivated.”

Joan and Mr. Johnson looked at each other with a slight smile, which made Allison even more nervous. Joan turned to her and said, “You have a point, but are missing a great deal. It’s true, you are a slave. You have no rights. On the other hand, I’m a slave and have no rights, and I got myself into a really good position. I had more bargaining power than you do, true, but it didn’t get me to where I am now. I got what I have now by being valuable to the bar. You have already gone up three steps since you were brought in as a black-collar slave. That’s because you showed yourself to be valuable. True, it’s in the bar’s best interest to get you in a position where your capabilities are used to the best advantage.” Joan smiled as she used the word ‘used.’ “However, you also get rewards when you do more for the bar. You might not think that the improvements have been all that much, but compare your life now to how it was as a new black-collar slave. It is quite an improvement, isn’t it?”

Allison nodded. Her mouth was dry.

Joan continued, “It is much better. It may help to know that even our black collars live a lot better than a lot of bar slaves, and a lot of industrial slaves. You haven’t even taken advantage of some of the benefits your good work has earned you. I suspect that you don’t think it was fair that you got enslaved.”

Allison nodded.
“Well, you did, and you have to accept it and get on with things. We are offering you a chance for a better life. There are rewards for succeeding. If you fail, all that will happen, as long as you tried, is that you will go back to being a waitress.”

Mr. Johnson said. “To give things a push, I’ll give you an early incentive. You are now in training to be a red-collar. I suspect you already know most of what you need to know. When you satisfy Joan that you are ready, you will get a red collar. This afternoon, you will go to the department store down the street and buy yourself clothes, including at least one nice outfit. The bar will split the first $400 of cost with you. Joan will give you a debit card that you can charge things to, and after you return, we will deduct your share of the cost from your account. You can wear clothes on the trip, if you can borrow them. Just to make things a little more interesting, Joan can’t lend you the clothes; you have to find someone else to borrow them from. After your buying spree is over, you will wear some of your new clothes and take a new bar slave, Elizabeth, to the Slave Store to get her fitted for a leather helmet. She will be serving dinner at my house tomorrow evening, and I don’t want her recognized, at least not at first.” He leaned back and looked Allison over. “You will be there, too, wearing your new nice outfit. A friend of mine and I get together with each other from time to time, eat a nice dinner, then swap slaves for the night. You will be my slave to swap tomorrow.”

Allison looked both happy and afraid at the same time. “You are giving me a promotion, and also sharing me sexually?”

“You sound unhappy about that. As I recall, when you have been in the Fuck Room, you seemed to enjoy it. A lot. If you liked that, a night with my friend will keep you smiling for a week.”

Allison blushed down to her breasts. She had enjoyed sex with Mr. Johnson. She wanted the sex he was going to let her have, but was still miffed a little about it being mandatory. However, she knew better than to resist, and Joan’s statement that her thinking her enslavement wasn’t fair was true, and it had been keeping her from doing things that were to her own benefit. She finally said, “All right, I’ll try.”

Mr. Johnson said, “That’s good. You can get started as soon as Joan gets you the card.” At that dismissal, Joan and Allison rose and left his office.

Outside, Joan said, “I figured it was enslavement resentment. It seems like you have decided that you might as well accept the situation and try to make it better.”

“I suppose. You said you had more bargaining power. How is that?”

“I volunteered, with a well-drawn contract to protect me. I had my reasons to volunteer. How did you get enslaved?”

“My parents were down-on-their-luck factory workers, with the ‘bad luck’ being they drank way to much and were lousy workers. I was a good student. One day, when it looked like they were about to lose the house, they sold me out. I think it got them three months of mortgage payments, but made me miserable. I got in contact with my brother after I made white collar, and it turns out he managed to save some of my stuff in a friend’s barn. He has sent some of the more personal stuff to me.”

“Well, they are in your past. Invite your brother to visit, if you like.”

“I may do that.”

Joan got a company debit card and put $600 in the account it drew on. “Use this, and I’ll transfer money afterward as Mr. Johnson indicated.”

Allison asked, “How bad is this slave swap going to be?”

Joan smiled. “I would like to be the swap slave again, frankly. I think you will like it. Now, either go naked, or borrow clothes. I’d ask Delia, if I were you; she’s near your size. I’m not sure why he said I couldn’t lend you clothes, except maybe to show you that there are others that have better lives. By the way, the first trip out is usually nude. You are getting a bonus.”

Allison found Delia on duty in the white-collar waiting area. “I’ve been told to go do something, and that I can dress to do it if I can get someone to lend me some clothes. Could I borrow some from you?”

Delia had found Allison to be pleasant and helpful , and was glad to help. She went to the floor supervisor and said, “Allison needs some help. Can I have a few minutes to help her out?”

The floor supervisor knew what Allison was to do, because Joan had sent her a message, so she said, “Sure. Take up to an hour. It’s slow now, anyway.”

Allison and Delia went to Delia’s room. Delia pulled out some underwear, then looked at Allison and said, “My bras won’t fit you, so you’ll have to go without.” She turned to the clothes rod she had rigged up (no closets for low-ranking slaves) and took down an informal outfit and handed it to Allison. “Here you go.”

Allison put on the proffered clothes and regarded herself in a small mirror Delia had. “This is the first time in three years that I’ve worn any clothing,” she said, obviously relishing it. “I hope I can do this more often.”

“What are you being sent out to do?”

“Buy clothes for myself.”

Delia laughed. “That makes it likely that you will do it more often. I figured they were grooming you for higher authority.”

“Why?”

“Because you are smart, pleasant, and efficient. You will get more privileges quickly, I suspect.”

Allison thanked Delia for the loan of the clothes, and went to the office. “I need directions to the store.”

Joan said, “Out the front door, turn right, two blocks. Be back in two hours. Have fun!”

Allison walked to the main entrance. She felt nervous, almost as nervous as when she had been in Mr. Johnson’s office. For a long time it had represented forbidden territory. The desk slave noticed her and smiled. “It’s OK, go on out. Joan called me and told me to expect you.” Allison took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked out the door. As she stood in the sunlight for the first time in three years, she started to feel better, and wished she had tried to do this sooner. She turned right and started walking.

An hour and a half later later, she stood by the customer service desk with $600 worth of purchases, wearing a new outfit, wondering how she was going to get all of it back to the bar. One of the desk attendants came out and asked her, “Can you handle all of that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll get a few stock workers to help you carry it back to the bar.”

Allison looked sharply at the attendant, wondering how she knew about her going back to the bar. The attendant laughed. “I saw your charge card. The bar sends its slaves here to get things, so I knew whose slave you were. It’s OK. All of the women working here are slaves, too. We like it when we see another slave doing well. I’ll get you the help you need.”

Allison smiled broadly and said, “Thank you. Somehow, encouragement from another slave is better than any other.”

Allison was soon on her way back to the bar with two jumpsuit-wearing store slaves. They took her parcels into the entry of the bar and put them by the desk. Allison thanked them, and they went back to the department store. Allison took three trips to her room to get it stowed away, hung Delia’s clothes on her doorknob, then went to the bar office again. Joan looked up and said, “Very nice.”

Allison turned to show off her new clothes and said, “I gave Delia her clothes back. Here’s the charge card. There was another job I was supposed to do.”

“Yes. Wait here. I don’t want you sashaying through the bar wearing clothes. I’ll get Elizabeth and explain what you are to do.”

Joan went to the white collar waiting area and collected Elizabeth. Elizabeth was handcuffed and leashed to a chair. Joan stopped at the floor supervisor’s station and asked about how Elizabeth had been doing.

“It’s gone well. It seems that a lot of men do like attractive middle-aged women to suck them. Some even say she looks like their wives. She has gotten good reviews.”

“Excellent. Check her out to me for a while. Mr. Johnson wants her fitted for an accessory for an alternate use for her.”

On the way back to the office, Elizabeth couldn’t hold her tongue. “Accessory? Alternate use? What’s going on?”

Joan stopped, and yanked on Elizabeth’s leash. “You ask a lot of annoying questions for a junior slave. If and when you are to get more information, it will be given to you. I’ll skip the pussy shocks I should administer, but I won’t skip the next one. Got that?” Elizabeth nodded, and Joan continued to the office.

“Allison, this is Elizabeth. Take her to the Slave Store and have them fit a leather helmet on her that exposes only her eyes. Bring her back with it on so I can examine it. They know you are coming and that you have authorization to put the purchase on the bar’s account, so you won’t need a charge card. Leave her handcuffed, and keep hold of her leash, at least when you are outside. If she gives you any trouble, call me.” Joan handed her a cell phone. “The bar is rapid dial number 1 on that phone. If she gets out of line, she gets a good pussy zap when she gets back here, and you get to do it. Sassing and arguing are getting out of line.” Joan looked at Elizabeth when she said the last sentence. Elizabeth shivered. “The Slave Store is a block past the department store. Go ahead and get started, and remember that slave management is one of the jobs of a red collar.”

Allison turned and walked away, holding Elizabeth’s leash. Elizabeth followed docilely, trying to avoid punishment.

As they entered the Slave Store, a nude store slave approached Allison and ignored Elizabeth. “How can I help you?”

“I’m from Suckers. This slave needs to be fitted with a leather helmet that exposes only her eyes.”

“We’ve been expecting you. Our fitter is in the work room and ready to start. Follow me, please.” She led Allison into a room to the rear of the sales floor, where another nude slave waited.

“Welcome. Have your slave sit in this chair and I’ll get started.” After Elizabeth was seated, the fitter chose a helmet from a table and slipped it over Elizabeth’s head, She pulled it back and forth, checking the chin fit and the slack at the back of the head, then removed it. “One size smaller, I think.” She slipped a different helmet on, checked several fit points, and said, “Yes, much better. I will finish the fitting by adding padding to the chin and a little at the back so it is properly snug. It will be just a few minutes.” She took off the hood, added leather pads in various places with a mild adhesive, and put it back on. She repeated the process several times, zipping up the closure at the back on the last two tries. “That seems good. I’ll glue the pads in with the final adhesive, and we can make a final check.” Two minutes later, the taut helmet was on display, completely enclosing Elizabeth’s head except for her eyes and nostrils. “This style doesn’t have a zipper for the mouth, just as they specified when they called. It does have zippers to expose the ears so she can hear better, in a serving situation.” The fitter pointed out a feature at the bottom of the zipper closure. “Use this loop and the hole in the zipper handle to lock it on, if desired. Is it satisfactory?”

“Yes, it looks good.”

“I’ll put the bill on the bar’s tab. Thank you for your business.”

Allison strolled back to the bar, not hurrying and not dallying. She looked around at the freedom of the street as she led the handcuffed and muffled Elizabeth, and marvelled that she hadn’t thought about escaping, when that was all she had thought about in the first few months of her slavery. She realized that she could run, but had no resources, no cash, and no place to go, and that it would be a short escape, with heavy penalties. She was hoping that life would get better. When she reached the bar, she led Elizabeth in and went directly to the office. “Joan, I’m back.”

Joan rose and inspected the helmet that Elizabeth was wearing. “Very nice. This fits the requirements. I’ll take it off and get her back into the suck rotation. You get your clothes off and finish your shift.” Allison left the office to strip and return to her nude vending of alcohol.
Joan spoke to Elizabeth as she removed the helmet. “You will be wearing this tomorrow night. You will be assisting Mr. Johnson’s house slave serving dinner to his guests. Before you ask, yes, you will be nude. And now, back to suck duty. You’ve made a good amount of money today and you have a nice customer satisfaction rating. That’s good. Making money and satisfying customers is the way you establish your value and stay alive.” Joan led Elizabeth by her leash to the floor supervisor and said, “Here she is. Let her loose on the cocks of the world.”
The floor supervisor laughed as Elizabeth cringed. “We’ve had a few requests for her. Two of the customers are still here. I’ll send her out right away. I’m having Delia do some leading, and she isn’t bad at it. I was assuming you wanted her to take on a bigger role.”
“Yes, I did. Good job.”
Allison was in her room, putting away the clothes she had worn on her trip to the Slave Store. Like she had when she was a green collar, she liked the feeling of having control over another slave. It gave her a rush. Maybe it had been a bad idea not to try to advance; it would give her more chances to dominate other slaves. She thought a little more, and decided that she hadn’t been using lower-ranking slaves to give her oral satisfaction anywhere near enough. Louise, the new green-collar, had been using her new authority to do that, and wasn’t even unpopular because of it. It might have something to do with the pleasant way she went about it, or that most of the slaves she used were those she had helped become better suckers. It didn’t matter; there were plenty of white and green collars that would service Allison without complaint, and she knew it.
A few minutes later she was back on the floor. She spotted a table with a long-time customer of hers, and headed there to greet him and get his order. “Hello. What can I get for you?”
The older man smiled. “I’d like a suck, Allison, and I want you to do it.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll get ready and cuffed and be right back.”
“Please, no cuffs. My late wife did something that I want to have again. She would cradle my balls in her hands and caress, not squeeze, them while she blew me. The suckers here are always handcuffed so they can’t do that.”
“All you have to do is ask, sir. I am happy to perform it any way you like. Do you have any other preferences?”
“For this one, instead of the energetic way that’s usual around here, I would like it slower, with you just going up and down over my cock.”
“Yes, sir. A bobber, coming up. I have to inform the supervisor, and I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
About two minutes later, Allison returned, without handcuffs and leash. Louise was with her as leader, but didn’t say anything. The customer had dropped his pants and was waiting for her half-erect. Allison knelt, put her hands under his balls, and started in on sucking him. She moved vigorously to get him fully hard, then slowed and started a bobbing motion. Louise looked surprised, but didn’t say anything; the customer seemed absorbed in the experience with his eyes closed. Allison sucked him for a long time. When he finally started making sounds and moving his hips, she sped up, and he orgasmed. She cleaned him as she withdrew, then stood and looked at her feet.
Louise asked the customer, “Was the suck satisfactory, Sir?”
He took a deep breath, then said, “It was exquisite. Just like I asked for. Come here, Allison.” Allison stepped up to him, and at his gesture leaned down to him. He kissed her, caressed her breast and her pussy, then said, “Thank you. That brought back a lot of memories.” Louise motioned to Allison to follow, and the two walked back to the cleaning area.
“What was that about?”
“He asked for me to do it the way his late wife used to do it. We’re supposed to follow the customer’s requests.”
“He seemed to appreciate it. We usually frown on contact after the suck, but he was gentle and affectionate, so it was OK. Good job.”
Allison just smiled. She had done far more blow jobs than Louise had, and she knew when a customer was satisfied.
About the same time, Elizabeth was being led to a table to suck another customer, the third since she had been returned to suck duty. This one was much like the others, a middle-aged man. The younger men didn’t request older suckers, it appeared. She knelt and started the suck, coaxing him to full erection and starting the multi-speed suck that she had been trained to perform. This one was taking longer than usual. She looked out of the corner of her eye and saw Delia tap her foot twice, the signal to finish up. She sped up the suck and applied even more suction, to no apparent effect. She decided that she only had one more option, and deep-throated the customer, then used the tightness of her throat to stimulate him. It finally worked; she felt him pulsing. She slowly withdrew from him, milking him with her lips as she pulled off, leaving him clean and moist. She struggled to her feet and stared at the floor.
Delia asked the customer, “Was the suck satisfactory, sir?”
“Yeah, it was great. I wondered if I would get off, but she pulled it off.”
Delia led Elizabeth back to the cleaning station. As she handed her off to the cleaner, she said, “We get a lot of that. Someone wants a second suck, or has just had too much to drink, or whose equipment doesn’t work very well will order a suck and the poor girl who has to do it is stuck. You managed to make it work, but sometimes it just doesn’t. I’ll mention the effort you made in the comments I put in for the report.”
Elizabeth worked steadily for the rest of the afternoon and on into the early evening. Delia showed up to get her when she went off-duty and took her to the chow hall, where she locked Elizabeth’s leash to a chain anchored to the floor. “Sit here while I get some food for you.”
When Delia returned, she unlocked the cuffs from Elizabeth’s right wrist and fastened the open cuff over the leash and chain. It didn’t restrain her much, but reinforced her lack of freedom. Elizabeth ate; she was ravenous. When she was done, she looked at Delia and said, “May I ask you some questions?”
“Go ahead.”
“Was this a normal day? Will I have days like this all the time? It seemed pretty rough.”
“It was a busy day for you. People were asking for the new wife-slave. You got more sucks than you would have in a normal rotation. Most suckers are young, and I’m not sure whether they will incorporate older suckers into the regular rotation. I do know that they are planning on putting some suckers out on display in the bar to see if that sells more sucks, and the older suckers will be included in that.”
“After this, will I get to rest?”
“You look tired. I am supposed to get you showered, then take you to the Fuck Room and get you set up to fuck. You can rest until the fucking starts.”
Elizabeth looked deflated and defeated. “On top of becoming a slave, being chained most of the day, and being made to suck cocks, I’m supposed to get raped too?”
“Not raped. Fucked. You are a slave, and your owner will be using the body he bought and paid for. It would be to your advantage to make it enjoyable. Your life here could be reasonably easy, or it could get a lot worse, and your attitude and your willingness to do what is expected will make a big difference in whether things are good for you or not.” Delia paused and smiled. “On top of that, the fucking is quite enjoyable.”
Elizabeth groaned as Delia unlocked the right side of the handcuffs and again pinioned Elizabeth’s hands behind her back, then unlocked the leash from the floor chain. As she took up the leash and led Elizabeth off, she said, “Let’s go to the white-collar shower room. I can fasten a long chain to your collar and take off the cuffs and let you shower, then help you with your hair. You’ve been shaved, so that’s not a problem. Off we go.”
An hour later, they were both freshly washed. Elizabeth had dried her hair and was looking really good. Delia handcuffed her and led her by leash to the Fuck Room, which Louise had unlocked for them earlier. After they had entered, Delia locked the door, then sat on the couch and said, “We have plenty of time. Kneel and lick me. If you make me feel good, I’ll reciprocate.” Elizabeth sighed and did as she was told. Delia was impressed with how good Elizabeth was at pleasing a female. She had heard from Louise that Elizabeth favored females, and it appeared that Louise was right. After a very pleasant experience, Delia decided that Elizabeth had earned a little pleasure, so she said, “Sit in the chair and spread your legs.”
Elizabeth did so, but said, “Can I get out of these handcuffs to enjoy it?”
Delia knelt and said, “The handcuffs stay on. You must remain controlled. I could put you in a belt and leather cuffs attached to the belt, but that would take time and wouldn’t be all that much better than what you have now.” Instead of waiting for more conversation, Delia launched into pleasuring Elizabeth, and Elizabeth produced no more complaints.
After that, Delia washed Elizabeth’s face for her, then had her sit on the bed and applied wrist and ankle cuffs made of leather and a leather belt, all secured with locks. She took a chain attached to the headboard of the bed and locked it to Elizabeth’s collar, then removed the handcuffs. Elizabeth stretched her arms, then said, “Keeping me securely bound, are you?”
“Yes. It was part of my instructions, and I am obeying them.”
“We’re all alone in here. You could give me a break.”
Delia gestured to two corners of the room. “Not with those cameras. We aren’t alone. You can assume that you are never alone around here. I’m sure that the cameras are off when Mr. Johnson is in here, but other than that they are probably on, and with you in here, probably watched. Lie on you back and stretch your arms to the corners of the bed. I have instructions on the position you are to be in.” Elizabeth complied. Shortly after that, Elizabeth was fastened down, with the belt secured to the lower corners of the bed and her wrists and ankles secured to the upper corners. Delia asked, “Have you ever been bound for sex before?”
“Never.”
“A shame. It can be so much fun. This position may seem difficult, but your butt hasn’t been pulled off the bed, and the leg chains are reasonably slack. I’ve enjoyed this situation greatly.”
“Will you be in here with us when I get fucked?”
“I don’t know. He may tell me to stay, and he may not.” As she spoke, Delia rubbed Elizabeth’s clitoris and noticed that she was wet. “It seems like you are ready for a good fuck.”
“The licking and the rubbing helped. George — Mr. Johnson — said he had always wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to, but never told him. It’s funny that it takes being enslaved and made to suck cocks to get it to happen.”
“Louise told me you don’t like things put into your pussy, but you don’t seem to be too worried now about Mr. Johnson fucking you.”
“It’s mainly things other than cocks that bother me, even though I’ve been less fond of cocks in the last few years.”
Delia moved her fingers from Elizabeth’s clitoris down to her vagina, and slipped a finger in, full-depth. Elizabeth gasped. “You don’t seem too upset about fingers.”
“Female fingers, I’ve had.”
“Well, when your owner arrives, you’ll be getting seven inches of good, hard, thick cock. He goes really slow most of the time. He’s one of those guys that wants to be inside you for a long time.”
“Will he gag me?
“I don’t know. He hasn’t gagged me, or Louise, or anyone else I’ve heard talk about it. Be pleasant and I doubt that he will.”
Just then, there was the sound of a key in the door, and Mr. Johnson walked in, closed the door, and locked it. Delia stood and faced him.
“Hello, Delia. I see you have her ready. Help me with my clothes.”
Delia did as ordered, taking the clothes as he handed them to her and hanging them. When he was nude, he looked her over appreciatively, then said, “You will be staying. Stand by the bed.” He went to the bed and sat on the edge, then looked down at Elizabeth and said, “Well, Lizzy, I never thought this would happen, but here we are.”
She looked back at him and said, “Well, I’m in an awkward position here.” They both laughed. “You told me that you had wanted to fuck me. I always wanted you to ask. The position I’m in isn’t asking, but I get the point.”
“You are about to get the point, and the shaft too.” He rose and said, “Delia, put a condom on me.” Delia efficiently rolled a condom onto his erect member. He said, “You may sit while I’m busy,” and turned to the bed to climb onto Elizabeth. He slipped inside easily, seated himself deeply, and pressed into her hard, then stayed there motionless. It was a long, extremely slow fuck, with him remaining motionless for quite a while between long, slow strokes. Elizabeth wanted more movement, but his weight was concentrated on her pubic bone and was stimulating her clitoris, and it started to make her more aroused. The longer it lasted, the shorter the time between stroked, until he was continually slowly stroking away. Elizabeth was using her vaginal muscles to clench his member and was using her extremely limited freedom of movement to thrust back at him, despite her referring to her impending fucking as rape. He sped up, and Elizabeth came with a loud moan and shivers. He didn’t come, however; he just kept it up. Finally, he sped up to a rather brisk pace and came, just as she came again. He lay still atop her, breathing fast. Neither had spoken since he had penetrated her. He finally rose and stood, then said, “Delia, clean me off.”
Delia came to him, knelt, and carefully took him into her mouth and cleaned his cock. When she was done, she looked up at him. “Unlock her and take off all the restraints. You two can use the bathroom after me. I’m sleeping here tonight, and you two are sleeping with me in case I get horny in the night.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “I enjoyed that a great deal. I hope you did.”
She replied, “Yes, I did. Two orgasms. Those were the first from sex with a man in years. Will you be doing this a lot?”
“Probably not with you. We get requests from customers to let them have sex with some of our bar slaves, and we sometimes rent them out. I think you will be getting some of those requests.”
Half an hour later, they were all asleep. Delia was unrestrained, while Elizabeth was chained to the bed by her collar.

(This is a the continuing story of Easnestine Royal and follows on from George’s First meeting with her. It is also the first part of Earnie’s demise at the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village)

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Monseurs. On behalf of today’s Hosts, the Mistresses Cov and Hun, the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is both happy and proud to welcome you the last night of Earnestine Royal!

“As you will have seen in your programme, we have a busy schedule ahead of us, designed in part by our hosts. In approximately six hours time, we look forward to offering you a most succulent roast, well stressed, tenderised and seasoned with the Fades Lotus’s own patented blend of spices and flavour enhancers.

“As a reminder, at the request of the Hosts, today’s festivities are being covered by a crew from Fade Out Films. If you do not wish to be recognised on that film, please stay behind the yellow floor markings in all areas. Hoods and Masques are, of course, available for those wishing a closer, but still discrete, view.

“And now, I present to you the star of today’s entertainment. Earnestine Royal!”

The Master of Ceremonies waved a flourish at the curtained alcove at the back of the stage, which opened to reveal the soon to be late Mrs. Royal nude and gagged, bound only by her hands above her head to a mobile frame.

Two attendant slaves escorted it out on a circuit through the audience as the MC continued his introduction.

“Earnestine Royal, formerly the wife of Mister Edward Royal, was one of a group of slaves recently sold by the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol. That’s quite all right Sir; handle the merchandise by all means. We just ask that at this point you not cause any damage to either Earnestine or her attendants. There will be plenty of time for that later.

“Until very recently a staid and very vanilla housefrau, Earnestine has had her horizons, and other orifices broadened considerably, and has been delivered into our hands to provide the highest form of entertainment in her final hours. Her sores from the reputable F&S Testers were a dismal 50 for vaginal intercourse, a workable 85 for oral - I can confirm, folks, that she does give a mean blowjob - and the default ten for anal virginity. No, Mistress Winters, I’m afraid that that has already been taken care of. We have kept a couple out the back that you can help us with later, if you like.”

The platform wound its way through past the tables while the MC continued his patter and Earnestine was poked, prodded, slapped, groped and pinched to a variety of muttered comments. It was obviously a well practiced performance and he wound down as the platform made its way back to the stage.

He leaned forward as she disappeared behind the curtain again and the audience quieted. “In a few minutes, we’ll adjourn to the courtyard for the first event, something we like to call ‘The Running’. Everyone knows that the meat is at its most tender after being exercised. I’m sure you’ve all heard the farm kids boast about chasing the spring lamb around the field before it was butchered for dinner. This is our version of that.”

He waved a slave over from the wings. She was fitted out with a number of metal cuffs, heavy looking nipple clamps and a heavy chastity belt, and handed him a chain with a number of remotes.

“Earnestine is backstage right now being kitted out exactly like Sarah here, with ten separately controlled shock devices. Ten? you ask. Yes indeed. You can see most of them already, but let me demonstrate.”

He started triggering the remotes seemingly at random, and the slave flinched as she was shocked at both ankles, both wrists, her neck, and both breasts in quick succession.

“That’s only seven you say? Of course, I saved the best for last. Number eight is a butt plug - ” the slave grunted as he activated that one. - ” Number nine is a dildo” - another grunt, and the slave bent forward - “and the last one arcs straight across her clitoris.” The slave struggled to maintain her balance as the last one went off, but managed and stood straight, with her hands behind her head as the crowd murmured appreciatively.

“Our hosts have kept some of these for themselves, but they have kindly offered five - chosen at random, I might add - to us here at the Faded Lotus to auction off for the benefit of the Sierra Club.”

* * *

“Come on,” I told Noreen as the auction started. She was kneeling on a cushion beside me and I helped her up as I stood. “You’ve got a role to play here.”

She followed me quietly as I headed toward the courtyard where they were nearly finished setting up the electrified maze that poor Earnie was going to have to navigate while total strangers zapped her most sensitive places.

“One of the chasers,” I told the attendant, who nodded and waved us toward the starting position. On the way, I maneuvered her over to the wall and pressed her into it, reaching around to fondle her breasts.

“You’re doing very well,” I whispered over her shoulder. And she was. This was the most public outing I’d yet taken any of them on and I’d tried to impress on her the importance of remaining in control and, putting it bluntly, not embarrassing me in front of my new peers. I’d picked Noreen for this because I figured that she was the most stable of my three ‘house’ slaves. The ‘basement slave’, Debbie, didn’t count, of course, except as an object lesson.

I felt her relax a little under me and let her go and led her over to the starting gate.

There were two slaves already there, doing stretching exercises as we arrived, although they leapt to attention and made short bows as they noticed me. “One of the Chasers,” I said, nodding for them to carry on, as I took a step back and compared them with my own slave.

There was a significant contrast. The two slavers were much younger than Noreen, for starters, and they were obviously extremely fit. There were two differences that really stood out, though, and those were their attitudes and their skins. Noreen was slightly hunched, still apparently overwhelmed by everything, if less so than before, while these other two stood tall and straight, proudly displaying their marked and scarred skin. Watching them gather Noreen in and examine her, I saw that they both wore patterns of scars from floggings that were almost artistic, and must have been excruciatingly painful when inflicted. One of them even had her hair styled to reveal rope scars up the side of her neck. They must be two of the “Dolcett Dolls” that Hun had been talking about.

I left them to it and wandered around the courtyard taking in the facilities. For starters, it was larger than I’d imagined, nearly a hundred feet square. The main hall where we’d stated took up one side, and there was in industrial-strength kitchen on another near the currently covered barbeque pits. Larger apparatus had obviously been pushed aside, and while I could recognise some of it - like the gallows, and two Jessica 3000 auto-spitting machines - some of the other pieces were more mysterious.

The third wall looked like storage sheds, but even they were adorned with bondage and torture equipment, even knife throwing wheels.

The fourth side of the courtyard was open, and led past several pillories whipping posts to a large pool. Given the rest of the decor, I suspected that that, too, had ominous and sinister uses. And, apparently, a very serene Tea Garden. For ‘Capital T’ Tea, according to Hun, with appropriately trained servitors.

The maze itself took up most of the open space in the courtyard. There were a couple of covered spaces where there must have been other pits, and several more whipping posts have been incorporated into the structure. The walls were only a little over waist high - enough so that bouncing into them wouldn’t tip you over, but low enough not to obstruct the view. They were made of panels of regular looking chain link fence, though the bundle of cables running along the base was only the first clue that they were electrified.

The pattern of the maze was simple: long stretches that ran along three sides like a “U” before twisting inside itself, getting tighter and tighter before popping out in the middle of the same side as the entry. Hmmm, I thought. A clever slave could -

A familiar yelping screech brought my attention back to the start of the maze, where Noreen stood rubbing her ass where she’d obviously just been shocked with the cattle prod in the hands of the Doll behind her. The other one pointed at her own breast and barked “DO IT, BITCH, or we’ll run you before the meat gets here!”

Just inside its range, I used my remote to set up a slight tickle in Noreen’s collar, just to remind her that I was around. She looked around wildly, and when she saw me, I increased the power, shutting it off when she nodded and bent down to pick up the prod she’d dropped when she was zapped.

She reached out tentatively toward the other woman and jerked as the second one grabbed her hand and triggered the prod. The first Doll barely flinched and then pointed insistently at her other breast. Even with he second still holding her hand from behind, I could tell by the way she screwed up her face that Noreen triggered the second shot herself. A quick shove-and-grab and Noreen had been spun around to repeat the process on the second Doll, who then zapped her again in return.

They did this several times before stopping to refresh themselves from the drinks table provided. The first Doll, somewhat to my surprise, even brought Noreen a cup of water, laughing - but not unkindly, from what I could tell - when Noreen half-raised her prod defensively.

People had been trickling into the courtyard over the last few minutes, but the flow suddenly increased, just as Cov and Hun came out of a side entrance leading a kitted out Earnestine.

I headed for a prime spot between the two exits of the maze, where more fence segments stood ready to loop them together and was quickly surrounded when the Master of Ceremonies began again.

“Welcome to ‘The Running’,” He announced.

“We like to consider this event a mere appetizer, something to whet your appetites for later activities. The concept is simple. Earnestine will run through the maze you set up before you, being careful to avoid the walls.” He threw something into the middle of the maze, causing one of the fences to arc. “For the obvious reasons.”

“To encourage her, we have three ‘chasers’ who will pursue her through the maze, menacing her with their cattle prods. And lastly, we have those remote controls. None of them are powerful enough to do much more than distract the runner, but two or three such ‘distractions’ at the wrong time, should provide all sorts of fun.”

“The overall aim is to get all of those delicious ‘fight or flight’ hormones running through her system, tenderising her and adding that piquant flavour we’ve become so famous for here at the Faded Lotus. Given her age and general fitness level, we’re going to aim for two complete circuits of the maze. If she makes it, she gets a rest before the next stage while we devise a … creative penalty for our chasers. If she doesn’t, the chasers get the reward.”

I was close enough to hear one of the Dolls hiss to Noreen, “You don’t want to this lot getting creative, understand?”

“I think we’re ready to start. Chasers, are you ready?” The two Dolcett Dolls, followed quickly by Noreen, raised their prods to ’salute’ and the tips crackled. “Very good. Masters and Mistresses, if you could test your remotes please.” Earnie jerked and shuddered as all of her various attachments fired. “Excellent!”

He turned and addressed Earnestine for the first time. “Earnestine, when I say ‘Go’ you will have a ten second head start on the Chasers -”

“You better run, Bitch. As bad as today’s going to be for you, we can always make it worse!”

The MC frowned slightly at the interruption from Cov. “Yes, indeed. Earnestine. Your run begins in Three … Two … One … GO!”

Earnestine Ran.

Ten seconds later, the MC nodded at the chasers. One of them thumped Noreen on the shoulder and pointed her down the start channel. “After her!”, while the other headed straight for the exit channel.

Earnie fell twice in the first straight as her ‘equipment’ was triggered, but she still got to the first corner before Noreen caught up with her. Just as she got in reach and swung her prod, someone dropped Earnie again, and caused the two of them to fall in a tumble.

With my attention fixed on my own slave, I almost missed what was happening virtually right in front of me as the Doll who’d pointed Noreen into the maze took a very short run-up and vaulted the fence into the next loop. The fence arced as she used one hand for balance, and she shook it out when she landed, like a bad case on pins & needles. Picking up her cattle prod, she started walking back through the maze, toward where Earnie would be coming toward her.

I recalled my earlier thoughts. Yes, a clever slave indeed.

Meanwhile, Noreen and Earnie had untangled themselves, and Noreen was helping the other woman to her feet. Earnie leaned on her former friend for a moment, before she was pushed away. Noreen waved the prod at her and hissed something before slapping her on the ass and firing the prod a couple of times. Earnie started to shuffle onward, until Noreen yelled “RUN!” and zapped her in the back with the prod. She picked up the pace, with Noreen trotting along behind and helping her up every time she was zapped from the audience.

At the ‘top’ of the next loop, the Dolcett Doll was waiting.

She, too, menaced Earnie with the cattle prod, but didn’t zap her, merely falling in behind them and exhorting both to greater speed.

The MC picked up the commentary, although thankfully low key, not like someone commentating a horse race. “Joining Earnestine in the second loop is one of our own Dolcett Dolls, Rachel. Rachel is one of our senior Dolls, and the current record holder for The Running, both in terms of speed for a single circuit, and number of circuits completed. Neither of which look to be at risk here today.”

Between the two chasers, they managed to keep Earnie moving at something above a trot until the very end of the circuit where the last Chaser was waiting.

All three chasers zapped at her same time as she cleared the exit and headed around to the start again, dropping her to her knees. Cov once again shouted from the sidelines, threatening dire consequences if she didn’t complete the course.

The chasers picked up the pace again, and it was as if it was two chasers and two runners, because Noreen caught almost as many jabs of the prod as Earnie did. Or, at least, she did until she remembered her own prod, and swung it back and zapped one of the Dolls, to the amusement of everyone.

By this time, Noreen was starting to flag, and with the pressure taken off, slipped behind the Dolls. One of them, Rachel, Looked back at her and took mercy, sending her back to the start/finish area, where she took up a guard position at the start of the final straight.

With her out of the way, the Dolls sped up again, really pushing Earnie, who was suffering badly enough from the Run, and the frequent zapping of her attachments, let alone the prods of the chasers. She eventually collapsed about three quarters of the way through the second circuit, and multiple shocks couldn’t motivate her to get up again.

“I believe that’s the end of The Running,” the MC announce formally. “Earnestine has been well run, but she didn’t make it to the end, so our Chasers have earned their reward. To our guest chaser, your Master is well pleased, and will reward you when you get home. To our Dolcett Dolls, your usual award awaits you. In fact, yes, Rachel has qualified Terminus. I’ll need to discuss it with our Hosts, but you are now on the Short List. Congratulations!”

The Regulars and staff burst into applause and Rachel’s companion Doll hugged her fiercely. I was somewhat confused as to what was going on, but put it aside as a bone weary looking Noreen plopped to ground at my feet. I crouched down beside her and hugged her tight. “I am well pleased. You have done me proud,” I whispered in her ear. She turned her head into me and started weeping. I lifted her to her feet and moved out of the crowd as the staff started to disassemble the maze. Soothing her, I guided her down the length of the courtyard toward the pool area, and sat down on one of the benched by the wall.

“Hush,” I told her as I settled her in my lap and wiped at her tears. “It’s over now.”

She looked at me and said with utter conviction. “They’re going to kill her, and it’s just a game to them.”

I nodded. “I know. But your part is over now; you don’t have to help them.”

“I don’t want to watch, either. Master, my reward?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go home now? I’ll cook, and then we can play, just the four of us.”

Damn, I thought. I really wanted to stay, but if I made her stay, god knows what damage it would do. I brought her along to this, just like I’d taken Tia to last night’s ‘Private Party’ where Cov and Hun had enacted a brutal orgy of humiliation and sexual degradation upon their slave. My plan had been to strongly imprint upon my slaves that whatever I might do to them, there was always a worse option. It might have backfired, I thought, and it definitely would if I pushed too much now.

“No,” I said, and felt her go rigid. “I will send you home, but I’m going to stay until the end.”

She nodded ad pulled away, using the wall for balance as she stood. “Thank you, Master.” she murmured.

I stood, and together we walked back to the reception area, where I had the staff member call a taxi. Noreen stood further away from me than usual and stood with her head down, refusing to look at the art on the walls, or to meet my gaze.

As I ushered her into the cab, I made another decision.

“Noreen. Cook a good dinner for all of us. Tracey as well. It will have been a long time since lunch.”

Bridget resting after her first day of classes.

It’s going to be an interesting 2 years for Bridget and ECC

But all of that is in the future, today she is getting used to being in public nude and getting her schedule of classes set up.

Bridget is only slightly aware of Terry’s increasing amount of excitement over torturing her, so it is going to come as a shock to her when she brings home any thing less than straight A’s.

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?”

Terry is becoming more and more sadistic in his treatment of Bridget, which means, of course, that any thing less than perfection will result in her torture.