Dark Erotic Fiction

(Following on from “The Whipping“, we return to George Page’s PoV)

I chatted briefly with Cov and Hun and didn’t rise to their semi-snide comparisons of the way we treated our respective Wheaton Heights Wives.

With Claire Winters looking on, I complimented them on the event so far, and thanked them for introducing me to Monsieur Avignon.

I let them go as they went over to Ernestine to join the camera crew for a more intimate interview.

All the while I’d ignored, as much as possible, the slave that I’d ordered to lick the ‘basting’ paste from my hand.  I’d noticed her movements slowing down, and an increasing warmth in my fingers, but I’d been determined to show the women that I could be as callous as they could.

I may have done better than I’d known, because as soon as they were out of earshot, two slaves hurried over to us.

“Master,” the first one to reach us said urgently, “That paste is mildly acidic, ah, it contains some chemicals that break down the skin to further tenderise the meat.  Ah, it can cause permanent damage if we don’t get it cleaned off quickly.”

I quickly held out my hand for her to wipe down with a wet towel, while the other one hovered nervously. If they were so concerned about my hand … Fuck!

“Can you neutralize it?  For her?”  I nodded at the slave who’d been licking my fingers.

“In the clinic, Master, can we?”  They looked over to the back corner of the courtyard, where one of the arms joined the cross at the kitchen.

“Lead on” I ordered, helping my slave to her feet. I nodded as one of the others had her rinse her mouth out before taking a long drink of water.

The ‘Clinic’ they lead me to was a well set up little facility in the back corner of the complex, almost a mini-hospital, with several treatment rooms as well as a couple of small ‘recovery’ type wards.

The thickness of the doors on the ‘treatment’ rooms should have been my first clue, but it wasn’t until I saw a slave - well, a presumed slave - strapped to the table in the last room, with what looked like a dozen surgical clamps attached to her breasts that I realised that this was as much of a torture facility as the courtyard or the dungeon I’d looked into.

Some of it may have been psychological, but by the time we reached the sluice area, my hand - my dominant left hand, of course - was beginning to sting quite badly.  I didn’t want to think about how the slave’s mouth and throat felt.

I very quickly had the paste washed off, and a cooling anesthetic (and antiseptic?) gel smeared over it.  When it was offered, I accepted a thin gauze glove as well.

Looking at my victim, I watched as she was made to rinse her mouth some more and then gargle a sharp smelling liquid.

“You’re both medics?” I asked as her attendant shone the expected device down her throat, looking for damage.

The one who treated me snorted.  “I’m an MD, and Kate’s a registered nurse, or she was.”

“Ah.  This place would keep you fairy busy, then.”  Another snort.

“How is she?” I went on as she didn’t offer any more information.

“Tongue and lips are the worst,” the other one - Kate - answered, “But then you’d expect that.  Throat’s inflamed, but I don’t think it’s too bad.  I doubt she swallowed very much.”

“Good.” I knelt next to my victim and took her hands.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” I told her, very much to her surprise, I imagine.  “I didn’t mean to, but that’s my fault for leaping before I knew what I was putting my hand into.”  She nodded when I finished. “Is there anything I can do?”

“She’ll get points for this,” the MD said.  “Not many, because there wasn’t all that much damage, but I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone eat the paste before.  And her obedience was perfect, too.”

I pulled a card from my shirt pocket and handed it to her.  “If there’s ever anything, give me a call.”

***

Jesus, I thought as I wandered back out to the courtyard.  I’d thought that I was riding the rough edge of my personality when I beat on my Debbie, but half the things I’d seen here were giving my ideas.  I amble past some of the displays that had been set up while the queue basted poor Earnie.

Most of it was low key stuff - girls in whipping posts, or getting fucked in pillories, that sort of thing.  But there were a couple that stood out.  They were winding up before the main event, so I couldn’t watch them for too long.

One was a ‘human dartboard’:  A slave was strapped to a wheel like an old knife thrower’s assistant and the wheel was spun while the ‘players’ threw oversized darts.  When the board spun to a stop, I was surprised to see the slave wearing a hard plastic mask over her fast and throat.  I would have expected her to have to take her chances with getting a dart in the eye, but it soon occurred to me that it was Cov and Hun who weren’t taking any chances:  It wouldn’t do to have some mere slave upstage their show by dying by accident.

That explained some of the urgency of the two medics, as well, I supposed.

The other interesting exhibit was more complicated.  This time the slave was suspended by her feet from a gantry that extended out from the rooftree.  With her hair just sweeping the ground, the swing arm must have been something like twenty feet.  That part of it alone, I could see possibilities for - thank you Foucault - but it didn’t stop there:  on each swing, she swung between two large metal domes.  As she did so, fat, juicy sparks leapt out from the Van der Graff generators.

She must have been well gagged, or very well trained, because I didn’t hear anything over the Hummm-Zap! of the generators.

Like the dartboard, though, this one was also coming to an end.  The swinger was slowed till she hung still, directly between the domes!  The discharge rate went up dramatically until they were turned off.  She was left hanging, but the machines were quieted so as not to distract from the main event.

While I’d been away, Ernestine had been moved from her upright frame to the ‘kneeling supplicant’ restraints of a Jessica 3000, her neck and spine held rigidly in place, her arms stretched out in front of her.

I worked my way to the front of the onlookers, up by her head, almost despite myself.  I was damned sure I wasn’t going to enjoy this anywhere near as much as I’d thought I would.

There was absolutely no expression in Earnestine’s eyes as the tip of the shaft, the spit, was seated in her anus, and I wondered if I had hurt her more than I’d helped when I’d brought her back - if I’d brought her back - earlier.  If she’d found some place inside herself, I’d probably not done her a favour.

Still, I was hardly the demon of this piece.  The spit may have been ready, but Cov & Hun weren’t ready to let their Earnie go quite yet. They stepped up to where her hands were splayed against the metal frame of the Jessica and rapped the machine hard with bulb-headed metal rods.

Earnie blinked at the sudden noise, but that was it:  she didn’t track her tormenters the way I’d seen her do the night before, or even as recently as her whipping.  From the look of it, if they wanted a live spit roast, they’d better get on with it.

I was wrong.  Earnestine focused and started tracking again the instant Hun brought her baton down to smash one of her fingers.  Then it was Cov’s turn, and they alternated until her hands must have been shattered.

I could understand why they did it - it was like Winters had said earlier, there was no point tormenting someone who wasn’t aware of it - but there was something beyond callous in the way they did it.

Finally, they were done, and with a flourish, Cov pressed the button that started the machine.  Earnie didn’t react much for the first several inches, but I wasn’t surprised given they way she’d been reamed out the night before, starting with myself and graduating up to Cov’s fist. God only knew what they’d got up to after Tia and I left.

I could tell when it hit the first serious resistance by the way her eyes widened and the slight pause in the shaft before the sharpened point pushed through whatever membrane or intestinal wall it had hung up on and continued its remorseless inch-per-second progress.

Her breathing changed as it punctured her diaphragm, and then she spasmed - despite the rigid restraint - as the spit forced its way into her esophagus.

I watched her throat bulge at the end, just before it appeared between her teeth.

The shaft continued to come out until a full yard had passed completely through her before stopping.  Earnestine’s ragged heartbeat thumped out over the PA system as the MD slave I’d spoken with earlier held a microphone to her chest before bowing deeply to Cov and Hun and announcing solemnly “She is alive, Mistresses.”

The two Hosts grinned hugely as the whole compound burst into applause.  Bowing themselves, they reached forward and pressed the next button on the Jessica, causing the gutting blades to sweep out and disembowel their slave - their meal, now - in a gout of blood.

They walked hand in hand the length of the machine until they reached the offal tray at the end.  Hun reached in and picked up something - I figured that it was probably the liver - and cut a long slice.  She seared it quickly on a prepared hotplate and offered one end to Cov.  Taking the other end between her own teeth, they embraced and nibbled down the virtually raw slice of meat.

I could barely hold down my gorge as they met in the middle and sank into a deep soul-kiss to renewed applause and a couple of cat calls.

That was it, for me, I had had enough.  ‘Friend of Jamis’ I might have called myself, but at least Paul Atreides never had to watch the deathstill in action.

Earnestine Royal had expired, at last.  I reached out and closed her eyes, only to look up into the smirk on the face of Claire Winters.

“Staying for Dinner?” she asked.

(Carrying on from ‘The Whipping‘, Earnestine’s Owners have a message to pass on)

Cov and Hun: Faded Lotus Events (Fade Out Films Transcripts)

Eleanor:  Fade Out Films is producing ‘Earnestine’s Last Supper’ here at Faded Lotus Dolcett Village in Stepford.  This is a DVD bonus section, an interview with Mistress Covington.  I’m Eleanor, your host and a GVVN person of limited rights.  Mistress Covington has a statement for the Wheaton Heights ladies.

Cov & Hun image 1

Cov: (blows cigarette smoke in Eleanor’s face—Eleanor coughs) They are bitches—snooty, bitchy, whiney, cunts that never worked hard in their worthless lives.  (Cov puffs on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground, lights another).  This is how to make dinner, bitching cunts.  Start with one stupid snooty socialite.  Broaden her horizons—and as the man says, other orifices.  Beat well.  Run her until she collapses.  It doesn’t take much.  Earnie baby was so lazy that shopping was hard for her.  Next, we whip the shit out of her.  We fix her to the grill and spice her up.  The moment of truth is when we let Earnie in on the joke.  She’s the joke!

Eleanor: I see that you have her trussed up already.

Cov: Now Hun is going to inject the special flavoring into Earnie’s brain.  It will make her feel every little thing magnified a thousand times.  She has only a few hours to live—and she will be very grateful when the pain stops.  Taking away her oxygen won’t kill her.  The stuff breaks down at 140 degrees so it is safe to eat her brains.  We will.  This DVD is to put all those spoiled rich bitches of Wheaton Heights on notice. (takes a last drag on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground) Earnie was a Royal pain in our ass from Day One.  When Hun and I worked at the Bargain Hunter Supermarket, her complaints got us fired.  Every day she showed up was a day the manager got a complaint about me or Hun or both of us.  We were rude to her, she said.  We reeked of tobacco smoke. (lights up another clove cigarette, puffs on it) Finally, after being put on probation without pay for a week, we were told to never return.

Hun: Yes, Earnie is ready now.  It’s payback for the restaurant when Earnie dumped that soup all over me. (dumps a bowl of red paste on Earnestine and spreads it around with her gloved hand) This would really burn if I didn’t have gloves.  See?  Earnie here is trying to get away from the burn.  The flavor enhancer is working its magic.  Earnie can’t make a squeak anymore.  She’s dead.  She is just stuck in her body for our amusement until the flavor enhancer burns out of her system over the coals.  About that restaurant—there was a little waviness in her wine glass.  Earnie bitched so much about that little blemish that we didn’t get any tips from either table that night.  We got fired again because Miss Perfect here said that we had put pubic hair in her food.

Cov & Hun image 2

Cov: Rich Bitch kept showing up wherever we worked and caused us trouble.  We lost a pet grooming business we started because she and her friends boycotted us.  We finally had to leave for our current location, Fort Jones, Arkansas, because we kept getting harassed by Earnie and her brunch bunch.  I bet she regretted that.  We were out of state when WSA 2000 was passed or Earnie might have gotten us enslaved.  Her bad!  We left our problems behind and started a dude ranch.

Hun: Yeah.  (Finished with Earnestine Royal, removes gloves) When we saw Governor Rush roast his daughters, it was Hello!  Why not start a live roast dude ranch?  We knew food.  I was a butcher in the Bargain Hunter Meat Department.  Cov knew the spices.  Cov, may I have a cigarette?

Cov: Sure, Hun. (lights two and passes one to Hun).  Don’t forget Earnie’s anti-smoking crusade.  She got us tossed out of our trailer court for smoking too much!

Hun: As if she would know.  (long drag and exhales) She and the other Wheaton Heights bitches never knew.  We are going to be buying other Wheaton Heights bitches and even roasting them in their own homes.  Isn’t that right, George?  You bought three of them and you want to be part of this scene.

Cov: That bitch Bethany is forted up in that Eastlake University Castleman thing—but she won’t be there forever.  We’re waiting.  Sharon is on our list, so is Alex.  And don’t think your spoiled brats are safe, either!  Tiffany had better watch her back.  She could be sent out on a fake slave pick-up and wind up here.  We have been bugging Ben about what a slut his daughter has been!  It doesn’t matter if Tiffy slut is really a good girl or not—what matters is that lovey dovey daddy loses it and slaves Tiffy bitch so that we can roast her too.

Cov & Hun image 3

Hun: The only thing is that we regret is that Earnie cunt won’t see that.  We have an option to buy Sandra next.  There is supposed to be a two-girl roast in Wheaton Heights next week.

Cov: Anyway, Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is the premier dining experience in Stepford, just 90 minutes away from lovely Wheaton Heights.  Look us up on the World Wide Web. (finishes her cigarette in a long drag)  Look out, rich bitches!  We will have our vengeance.

Eleanor: Whew! (Fans herself) Mistress Covington!  That was quite the message!

Cov: What do you mean by that?

Eleanor: You made it clear that you have been wronged, Mistress Covington.  You have put the ladies of Wheaton Heights on notice.  At least the free women of Wheaton Heights.  They will never know if they are going to lunch or going to be lunch.

Cov: That’s right!

Cov & Hun image 4

In the morning, George Johnson rose and went into the bathroom, leaving Delia and Elizabeth on the bed. Delia wasn’t restrained, but Elizabeth remained tethered by a chain to her collar. Elizabeth asked, “Why am I chained when you aren’t?”

Delia responded, “Because that’s the way your owner wants it. They usually keep new slaves restrained more than slaves that have been here for a while. I was restrained a lot when I was new here.”

Elizabeth seemed to accept this explanation. “Well, at least he didn’t wake us up for sex.”

Delia laughed. “Either you were exhausted, or you can sleep through anything. He mounted me about 2 AM and gave me a good, solid fucking, which I enjoyed.”

Shortly after that, he came back into the room and told Delia, “Let her loose. You two do what you need in the bathroom. The three of us will shower together in five minutes.”

As he said, they were all in the large shower in five minutes. The water was pleasantly warm, and Elizabeth was feeling a little less put-upon, until he took two pairs of stainless steel handcuffs from a hook on the wall of the shower and said, “Here, Delia, put a pair of these on Elizabeth, then cuff yourself. In front.”

Elizabeth found that Delia was quite accomplished at cuffing girls. She was almost immediately bound, as was Delia. Delia was smiling, and Elizabeth couldn’t figure out why. He interrupted her thoughts by saying, “OK, girls, wash me.”

She had resented being called ‘girl’ for years, but she decided that making a scene about it was unwise. She took some soap and started rubbing it over his body, while Delia washed his short-cropped hair. The two of them washed him starting near the top and working their way down. Delia took extreme care to wash his pubic region thoroughly, rinsing it several times, then giving it a final once-over with her mouth. When they were done washing his feet, he said, “Wash each other.” Elizabeth washed Delia’s hair, and Delia washed Elizabeth’s hair, then they both washed each other’s bodies. Elizabeth didn’t spend any extra time on Delia’s breasts or pudenda, but Delia spent a lot of time on Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth was gasping in pleasure when Delia finished. Mr. Johnson grinned; Delia noticed his erection. “Delia, you need more washing. Elizabeth, wash Delia’s breasts and pussy the way she washed yours.” Elizabeth did so, obviously giving Delia pleasure. Mr. Johnson’s erection was even stiffer when she was finished. He reached up and brought down a chain with a snap hook on the end. Elizabeth hadn’t noticed it before, but she noticed several of them up there now, along with several rings on the walls, apparently to attach slaves to. He snapped the chain onto Elizabeth’s cuffs, then put her against the wall and pulled on the other end of the chain, forcing Elizabeth’s arms above her head. The chain seemed to be on a ratchet device; when he let go, it didn’t loosen up. He grabbed Elizabeth by the hips and raised her so her pussy was at the right height, the told Delia, “Pull the chain.” Delia did so, taking out the slack. He let go of Elizabeth, letting her hang from her handcuffs, and turned to Delia. “Put a condom on me.” She put on the condom. He asked her, “What’s wrong with you and that pout?”

“You are going to fuck her rather than me.”

“It’s not the most comfortable way to get fucked.”

“No, but it is being fucked.”

“I’ll be sure to get you fucked again soon, Delia.” That seemed to make her happier.

He turned back to Elizabeth, grabbed her hips, and told Delia, “Guide me in.” Delia deftly aimed his cock at its target, and he buried himself within the pussy, then started slamming away, making a loud slapping sound at each impact. Elizabeth was not comfortable, but still found the sex exciting. She wondered why; she hadn’t been all that excited about sex with her husband in years. She decided to think about that later and tried to respond to his hammering. The only way she could was by trying to squeeze his cock with her vagina. She couldn’t tell whether he could feel it. Soon, too soon for her, he climaxed and stood still in the shower, still embedded within her. He soon caught his breath and pulled out, leaving her hanging by the handcuffs again. At least, she thought, he had let her down easy so that her wrists didn’t absorb the impact of her weight stopping. He reached up to some mechanism that she couldn’t see and unlocked the ratchet, letting her slide to the floor. He removed the snap hook from the handcuffs, then turned to Delia. “Take off the condom and clean me.” Delia immediately dropped to her knees and pulled off the condom, then used her mouth to clean off the remnants of the sex. She rinsed him with water after that.

“Very good, ladies. Get me dried off and then you two can dry each other.”

Shortly after that, he was out of the bathroom getting dressed. The two slaves dried each other, taking longer than usual because of the handcuffs. They came out of the bathroom and stood in front of Mr. Johnson as he was finishing dressing.

“You are looking good, ladies. Here, Delia, let me help you.” He unlocked Delia’s handcuffs. “Be sure to put those special handcuffs back in the shower. Get her cuffed and leashed and then go on to breakfast. Check in with Joan for your assignments.” He drew Elizabeth to him and rubbed her pussy with his hand. “You did very well last night, Elizabeth. I enjoyed the encounter, and the one we had this morning. I could also tell that you were upset with some parts, but kept still about it. You may settle in faster than I thought to slavery and working here. You got good reviews yesterday and made quite a bit of money for the bar. Keep it up.” He kissed Delia on the cheek and said, “As always, Delia, it was a delight to be with you.” He left the room, and Delia got her handcuff key from the table by the door to replace Elizabeth’s in-front handcuffs with the regular ones behind her back.

During this transition, Elizabeth said, “You would have liked to take my place in the shower, hanging from handcuffs?”

“For another fuck, sure. I would have wrapped my legs around him to pull him into me.”

“I would think you would get enough of sex, sucking cocks all of the time.”

“No, I don’t. Sucking them only makes me want them in my pussy more. It’s funny, but it’s true. The slaves in this bar are the horniest bunch I’ve ever been around. We suck, we play with each other, but most of us crave being fucked. I can’t explain it. I’d willingly go on an ass-pipe to get fucked.”

“An ass-pipe? What’s that?”

“The slave stands with her feet spread apart and strapped down. They shove a big dildo in her rear and force it in deep, then put a pipe between the dildo and the floor, usually pushing her up. After an hour or so, the man comes in and fucks her standing up. Her hands are usually bound above her head for all of this. The waiting time is what makes it painful, I’ve been told.”

“Someone here has been on that?”

“A slave he bought from another bar. No matter what you think about being a slave here, it’s better than almost any of the other suck bars. Even our black-collar slaves live better than suck slaves at other bars. Slave brothels are even worse for most slaves in them. That reminds me — Mr. Johnson is going to expand the bar and start a fuck business. If there is a market for attractive older women doing sucks, there is probably a market for attractive older women doing fucks. You may be in line for that. I expect that his fuck slaves would do better than other fuck slaves.” After imparting that wisdom, Delia led Elizabeth to the chow hall by her leash. Elizabeth was chewing on what she had heard about it being better here than other places slaves, then started thinking about how much she hated being led around on a leash.

“Will I always be on a leash?”

“Probably not. I was for a while after my arrival, but I behaved myself and did what I was told, and soon enough I was uncuffed and off leash most of the time, except when I was sucking. I hadn’t been a slave long before I came here, so it was an introduction to slavery as well as an introduction to being a suck slave in a bar. It will be the same for you. I’m sure that if you behave and suck well, they will ease up in a few weeks. I know that if you don’t behave or don’t suck well, you will be punished, and the punishments are real punishments that hurt and degrade you. You don’t want them.”

“Worse than that shock dildo on the suck trainer?”

“Far worse.”

“I’ll try to be good, then.”

Delia again left Elizabeth attached to a floor chain while she got them food, then gave Elizabeth one hand free to eat with. Elizabeth saw another slave handcuffed behind her back being fed a meager breakfast by another black-collar slave. “What’s up with that?”
Delia looked over at the scene and said, “I don’t know. She probably broke a rule and is being cuffed all of the time for a while. One black-collar tried to get away once, and I saw her being fed like that, and then I saw her whipped.” Delia didn’t go into how she herself had been whipped just after that as part of her introduction to slavery. Elizabeth just shuddered. After breakfast, Delia cuffed Elizabeth again and took her to the nearly-abandoned white-collar waiting area and locked her leash to a chair. “Sit here while I find out what to do with you.”

Delia walked into the office. She realized that just a few weeks before, she would not have been able to come here. As limited as her freedom was now, it was better than it was before. Several green collar slaves that ran black-collar security had seen her and didn’t interfere with her walking through the bar. She saw Joan and said, “Mr. Johnson told me to find you and get my assignment and Elizabeth’s assignment for the day.”

Joan looked up and smiled at Delia. “Have a seat. I’d like to talk with you.” Delia sat, thinking that Joan looked relaxed and happy. “Have you read the green-collar book and the floor operations guide?”

“Yes. Louise lent them to me and I read them each several times. I’ve also read the waitress guide and the red-collar guide.”
Joan grinned. “Horrors! The top-secret red-collar guide in the hands of a white-collar! Call the FBI!”

Delia and Joan both laughed. “I’m a secret agent from another bar, trying to get the secret of the perfect suck.”

Joan laughed even harder. “There’s no secret there. One man’s perfect suck is another man’s waste of time. We just play the percentages. The reason I asked is that we have a shortage of leadership and brainpower around here, and you are progressing nicely. You were in college, in business courses, and you have adapted well to life and work here. Your leading worked out well.”
“That’s just hauling suckers out and bringing them back, with a little data entry.”

Joan looked serious. “Not really. The leader is almost as important in the process as the sucker. She sets the respectful mood, provides a female body for the customer to look at while being sucked, since the sucker is mostly out of sight, and thanks the patron for his business. Most suck bars don’t use leaders; they just send suckers out on the floor for waitresses to guide to customers. That neglects both the serving of drinks and the delivery of sucks. Believe it or not, sucks are not the big profit center of the bar. Alcohol is the profit center. Sucking is used to bring people in. Sucks do provide revenue, and good revenue, but the biggest benefit to the bar of offering sucks is to sell more alcohol.”

Delia mulled that over while Joan consulted some papers. “I want you to continue working like a green collar today, leading suckers. I would also like you to talk to green-collars and waitresses to understand the jobs they do, as an extension of your education. Where is Elizabeth?”

“She’s fastened to a chair in the white-collar waiting area.”

“Good. How did she please Mr. Johnson? For that matter, how did you please Mr. Johnson?”

“He didn’t have any complaints about either of us. He seemed really happy with Elizabeth, and he liked his one episode with me.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“Yes. He told me he’d get me fucked soon.”

Joan grinned. “I’ll help on that one. Do you remember me giving you Neil’s phone numbers?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“When I took them from him, I told him there would be a price. He came in last evening, and since you were busy, I had him pay me. Boy, did he pay me. I’ll arrange for you to have the Fuck Room or the Service Room when he is available.”

Delia didn’t know whether to be happy about getting access to Neil, or angry about him fucking Joan. Joan knew it. “Don’t get upset about it. I shared my boyfriend with you when I went off with Mr. Johnson. You were with Mr. Johnson, I was horny, and he was horny. You like Jim fucking you. I proposed that Neil and you join Jim and me as a couple and that the men could share slaves. I know that Jim wouldn’t mind. I figure that after you have had Neil for a while, you won’t mind either. He is a really good fuck.”
Delia finally grinned. “He really is a good fuck. So is Jim. I’ll go along with your plan, as if I really have any choice in the matter.”
Joan looked at Delia with a serious expression. “You are a valuable slave here. If you were unalterably opposed to it, I would have to take your objections seriously. It would be likely that Neil would refuse if you didn’t want to. It is an important part of slave management to realize when pushing too hard is the wrong thing to do.”

Delia was taken aback. “Yes, Joan.”

“Did you have any other questions or problems?”

“What should I do with Elizabeth?”

“If she has had breakfast, take her to the white-collar dorm and get her a bunk. She can stay there until mid-afternoon, when we’ll put her back on suck duty. The dorm supervisor will see to her needs, and Elizabeth can see to the supervisor’s needs.” They both smiled, knowing that the dorm supervisor’s needs always involved a female tongue.

“I also thought about the RFID implants. I heard about it when that black collar was whipped before me. Elizabeth isn’t covered by the slave-detection system, even if it only covers a few doors.”

Joan smiled. “Good thinking, both in asset protection and in the limits of that asset protection. We’ve put the sensors in a few more places since then. We will catch almost all runaways now. Not you, of course, seeing as you don’t have the RFID implant, but almost all. I’ll take care of Elizabeth later today.”

“Why didn’t you shoot one of those things into my butt?”

“You aren’t our property, and you weren’t considered likely to try to escape. If you ran off, you were your father’s problem, and he could deal with whipping you. You didn’t run, and you’ve been a good girl. So far. I need to have you lick me more.”

“Well, the bar doesn’t open for a few hours. Your room or mine?”

Joan replied, “My room.” She rose and headed for the door. “Meet me there after you deliver Elizabeth to the white-collar dorm.”

“Will you cuff me?”

“Do you need to be cuffed?”

“Not really.”

“Then probably not.”

Delia got Elizabeth and led her to the white-collar dorm. “This will be your living area. The bathroom and showers are over there,” she said, gesturing, “and the sleeping rooms are over there. This is the common room, where we have a television, books, magazines, newspapers, cards, and games. White-collar slaves that are in good status can use this room when they are off duty. We’ll show you the workout room later. All slaves are required to work out and maintain a sexually appealing appearance. The room I’m taking you to is the dorm supervisor’s office. She is in charge. She will assign you a sleeping room, where you will have a small storage area for belongings. During your off-duty time, you may converse with or play games with other white collar slaves. Feel free to engage in sexual behavior with them, as long as it is consensual on both sides. No white-collar slave can require you to engage in sex or other activities without authorization from an authorized slave. All green-collar, yellow-collar, and red-collar slaves can make you do just about anything, as of course Mr. Johnson can. The dorm supervisor is well known for requiring white-collar slaves to perform for her sexually. I expect that you will be doing so today before you go on duty.” Delia walked into the office, where she found a green-collar slave sitting in a chair with a white-collar slave performing oral sex on her. “Hi, Laura. I hate to interrupt, but I have a new slave for you.”

“You’re not interrupting. She can go right on with what she is doing while we talk. Who is the new one?”

“Laura, this is Elizabeth. We just got her yesterday. She’s been doing good work sucking. She is to remain cuffed or otherwise restrained until further instructions from Joan.”

“Just like you were. Where was she last night?”

“In the Fuck Room, with me, being used by Mr. Johnson.”

“I’d like to get some of that.”

“That’s not my department. Joan sent me to turn her over to you and have you deal with her until she goes on duty later in the afternoon. She needs a bed assignment, and, of course, lunch. She’s bathed already today. I think that Louise may get her to put her on the suck trainer sometime. And I heard that Mr. Johnson was going to have a different job for her this evening, but I don’t know when.”

“Okay. I’ll deal with her. They probably have a schedule set up on the computer and I’ll find it, or call Joan.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Sit in that chair and wait until I talk to you again. Delia, snap her leash into the hold-down.” After giving those instructions, Laura leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and gave all of her attention to the oral sex she was receiving.
Delia left Elizabeth to watch. Elizabeth was sexually aroused by the scene. Both Laura and the slave licking her were attractive women, and the caliber of the oral sex was quite high. Elizabeth found herself getting wet, but figured that she was unlikely to get any licking, and much more likely to be compelled to provide it. It didn’t bother her.

Finally Laura shook, then dismissed the slave. “Go to the gym and work out. You aren’t scheduled to suck until 7PM.”

She looked over at Elizabeth and said, “I’ll get you a bunk. We’ll set it up with a leg chain for now. Your roommates will be in charge of locking you down for the night. Do you have any belongings?”

“The only things that came with me were tennis shoes.”

Laura looked at a shelf at the rear to the room and said, “Those shoes?” She pointed at a pair of shoes on the shelf.

“Yes.”

“We’ll put them on your shelf in your room later. Most white collars that come in have more stuff than that.”

Elizabeth thought, my husband is probably throwing out all my stuff. What she didn’t know is that most of her stuff was either stored in the basement of her old home or sitting in boxes in the dock area of the bar. Joan didn’t feel the need to let her know about it until she was settled in.

Laura continued, as she stood and walked over to release Elizabeth’s leash from the hold-down, “Anyway, you have something else to do now.” She towed Elizabeth over to her chair and sat with her legs wide apart. “Get started.” Elizabeth knelt and started the licking without asking any questions.

Delia walked up to Joan’s room and stuck her head inside. “Hello, boss. Ready for me?”

“Yes. Come in, shut the door, and get started. I decided against handcuffs for you, by the way, as long as you please me.”

Delia smiled and got between Joan’s legs on the bed. This had turned into a ritual for them. Joan appreciated Delia’s style, and Delia didn’t mind doing it. She thought Joan was beautiful and she liked pleasing her. Delia also realized that making Joan happy was in her own best interest. It was a leisurely episode. Delia took half an hour to bring Joan off.

When it was over, Joan stretched and said, “When are you scheduled to be on suck duty?”

“This evening at 6.”

“You can get clothes on and leave the bar until 5, if you like. Go visit Neil and give him a nice present at lunch. You know where he works, right?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you.”

“If you don’t have any other place to go, bring him back here and use your room.”

“Wherever I have to go.” They both laughed, and Delia high-tailed it out of there to go to her room.

Half an hour later, she walked into an office and asked the receptionist to speak with Neil. Delia suspected the receptionist was a slave, but wasn’t sure why she suspected it. The receptionist directed her down a corridor, where she found a cubicle with Neil’s name on the wall. She poked her head in and found him staring at a spreadsheet displayed on a computer monitor. “Hi, honey,” she said.
Neil turned to see her and smiled broadly. “Hi yourself.” He stood and embraced her and kissed her. She melted into it. When it was over, he asked, “How long are you out?”

“Until 5.”

“I can take off now for a long lunch, but I have to be back here. It’s a shame I can’t be with you the whole time you are out. How did you manage to get out?”

“Joan liked what I did with her this morning, and I know she liked what you did with her last night.”

He looked sheepish, and she hugged him and said, “It’s OK. I got a good one last night, too. How many did you get?”

“Three.”

She looked at him and said, “Will you be able to pull a fourth one out of a hat?”

“Yes, but I won’t walk for a week afterward. Come with me.”

They walked out of the office building. He took a brisk pace down the sidewalk, away from Sucker’s. She asked, “If you like, Joan said we could use my room at the bar.”

“No need.”

“What? You want to do it outside in the park?” They were across the street from a nice downtown park that had no place for discreet trysts.

“No, unless that turns you on. This is my apartment building.” He opened the door and escorted her inside and up two flights of stairs, then into a nice apartment with a view of the park.

She asked, “No elevator?”

“There is one, but it is very slow, and I wanted to be in here with you, not inside a creaking metal box.”

“You really want to be inside some other box, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Then drag me off to a bed, get my clothes off, and get cracking.”

He led her to a room down a corridor from the living room, opened the door, and bowed for her to enter. He closed the door, then stripped off his clothes as fast as he could.

She wasn’t far behind him. When she was naked, he threw her on the bed and jumped on top of her. After an intense round of kissing and groping, she managed to gasp out, “Condom, please.”

He dragged his body over to the side of the bed and grabbed a box of condoms, ripped one out, and handed it to her. She sat up, unwrapped it, and started to put it on him. He gasped out, “Maybe we should ignore these things and take a pregnancy as a freedom call for you from that bar.”

She had the condom all the way down on his cock. She gasped out, while pulling on his engorged cock to get it to her portal, “Would you accept the slave woman’s child?”

“As my dearest child, yes. To have you with me and to have a child would be great.”

She pulled him to her nether lips and guided him in. “Brave words from someone with no obligation.”

He stopped, cold, and pulled out of her.

“If that’s the way you feel about me, forget it.”

She was shocked. He was inserted into her, then pulled out over a disagreement?

“Please, Neil, please… I need you. I know you would accept a child. I’m still hurting over my previous .. male encounter. Please get back inside me! I need to be with you!”

He looked down at her, then kissed her, hard. She responded. He finally broke off the kiss and said, “Yes, I would accept a child. It seems that you aren’t ready for one, though. That’s OK. We need to establish our relationship further, it appears, and this is one way to help it along.” He pushed his penis against her, and somehow managed to aim it perfectly. He drove down into her in and slapped his torso against hers hard. She gasped, then grabbed him with her arms to keep him close, and wrapped her legs around him. She wasn’t going to let him out this time.

As she expected, the previous night had taken a lot out of him, but he rose to the occasion. It took a long time, and several orgasms for her, but he managed his own orgasm. It was a rather sweaty pair that made a nude trip to the kitchen to warm up leftovers for lunch. As they ate, she asked, “When do you have to be back?”

“I need to be there in 45 minutes. You can stay here as long as you like. When the meeting is over, I’ll rush back here, probably at about 4. Unless you want to go shopping or just look at the world outside the bar, stay here and take a long bath or something.”
She said, “I think I’ll take you up on the bath.” She hesitated, then continued, “I was afraid I was losing you when you stopped in there.”

“It irritated me when you dismissed my statement. I was going to stop the sex and have a discussion, but you mentioned your previous man problems and I realized that experience probably made it hard for you to take important statements as true. That, and those puppy-dog eyes you made, convinced me to go ahead. I’m glad I did.”

“Thank you. We suck a lot of cocks in that bar, and lick each other’s pussies, but most of us don’t get any cock where we want it. On top of that, it was you, who treated me well and wants me. It made me feel bad.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. Eat up; that place keeps you too skinny.”

“I like my figure, thank you very much. I limit my eating and work out a lot. Why do you say I’m too skinny?”

“Well, usually when a man says a woman is too skinny, he’s complimenting her on looking good.” Neil was furiously backpedalling.

She smiled. “Got ya. Thanks for noticing. I will eat up; the food isn’t bad at the bar, but it doesn’t vary much, and these leftovers are a great break.”

When they were done eating, Neil went to dress, and Delia followed him. He finished, gave her a long kiss and groped her breasts, and said, “I’ll be back around 4. There are some bath things in the bathroom closet that you might like, a present for a girl that I ended up not giving her. I hope it’s still good. Damn, I hate needing to go to that meeting.”

“Go. You need to have a good job to support me in the way I hope to become accustomed to.”

They kissed again, and he left. She locked the deadbolt behind him, then went in search of that bath.

George Johnson called his house slave, Penelope. “Hi. I’m bringing someone from the bar to help you serve dinner tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She will be nude and wearing a helmet that covers everything but her eyes. I don’t want our guests figuring out who she is, at least not right away. You might recognize her, too.”

“Who is she, master?”

He didn’t require her to call him ‘master’, but it gave him a kick when she did it, and she knew it. “I won’t tell you. We’ll see how good the hood is at hiding her identity. You’ll be interacting with her, so you have a better chance. The guests may wonder why she’s hooded, but won’t have the clue I gave you. After dinner, we will withdraw as usual, and you and your assistant can eat and clean up, and you can have her for the night. Chain her when you might fall asleep; I’m not sure she won’t try to take off.”

“Yes, master. Who will be your swap slave?”

“You haven’t met her. She’s a waitress named Allison.”

“Oh, I have met her. She was the waitress for several of the sucks I did at the bar for your experiment. She’s gorgeous.”

“That she is. Billy will enjoy her, as I will enjoy Pamela.”

After he hung up, he saw Joan walk into the office. He called out to her. “Joan, come on in and sit down. We need to go over the latest financials.”

She walked in and sat. He noticed the smile on her face and the air of relaxation, and said, “You got yourself some, didn’t you?”

“Just a female tongue. After she was done, I let Delia out for the afternoon. Elizabeth is scheduled to suck from two to four, when you said you wanted to go home. Allison will be dressed then, and I told her that she can be in charge of getting the helmet on Elizabeth.”

“When should we tell Delia about her promotion?”

“I’m not sure. We can always use another good green-collar. The way you promoted Louise was fun, but it scared her half to death.”

“Yes, promotions should be fun. They are a reward. Well, think of something. Maybe her boyfriend could come in and announce it.”

“And screw her in front of the assembled slaves.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Or you could.”

“That might be fun, but it might not be a reward as far as she is concerned.”

“Delia? Once she got over the nudity, she has shown herself to be brazen. If it involves being fucked, she’ll be first in line to volunteer.”

“Well, think something up that she will enjoy and that won’t make her father or boyfriend mad.”

“OK. On other topics, how long are you going to sit on your new, high-priced acquisitions before starting to make money with them?”
“How is Doris coming along?”

“She has calmed down a lot, but she hasn’t turned the corner into being a proper slave. Continual punishment and discomfort are taking a lot of time to get there. I don’t have the time to deal with her as much as she needs. I think we need outside help on this one.”

“All right, you choose someone and get things going. How is Cherise?”

“We could have started using her as a sucker the first day she was here. She has been working with Louise and set up classes where they work with small numbers of suckers. The first class was better white-collars, and their satisfaction ratings went up. Then they tried it on the lowest-rated white collars, and now most of them are almost as good as the first group. They finished up the white-collars, then went on to black collars. They started with two classes of the best suckers and produced some amazing results. They are continuing to work with the black collar groups and we hope to have all of them through Suck School in the next couple of weeks. Customers are already noticing that sucks are better, and my biggest worry is that someone will get a few good suckers, then someone who hasn’t been through the class yet.”

“That’s a problem, but it’s a problem I like having, instead of unsatisfied customers. So, should we start her sucking without Doris?”

“Once people find out she’s here, we will be getting bugged about Doris. I suggest we just say ‘no comment.’ The only question is whether we advertise or just let word-of-mouth ramp up first.”

“Let’s try word-of-mouth. When the press gets it, we will get plenty of free advertising for a couple of days, and then we can put it in some ads. We do need to get Doris on board soon.”

“OK, tonight, Cherise starts to suck.”

“No, wait until tomorrow. I’m out tonight, and I want to be here to watch the first night.”

“What about sex school teaching?”

“Not until our suckers are all trained. Let’s be careful who we let them teach, too; no other suck bars near here.”

“OK, boss. On the financials, you will see that sales are up. All categories are up: bar, sucks, food, punishment, rental. We are up when almost everything else, including the other suck bars in town, is down. We must be doing something right. Informal polling of customers tells us that they like the service, the drinks, the atmosphere, the women. Our customers like that the women smile and are upbeat, as opposed to most other suck bars where they are bedraggled and sullen. Maybe some people are drawn to darker atmospheres, but we are picking up those with lighter hearts and thicker wallets.”

The financial dissection that followed could have been bottled and used as a sleep aid.

(Continuing Straight on from ‘The Running‘)

I got back to the courtyard as the end of the maze nearest the pool had been cleared and the MC’s little podium had been moved to the side, near the row of whipping posts.  Earnestine - and her owners - were nowhere to be seen, but the crowd was gathering again near that end of the courtyard.

I wasn’t paying too much attention as I wondered along with them.  Noreen’s reaction to the first event was troubling.  As far as I could remember it was the first time she’d actually asked me for anything, and gone so far as to impose on the supposed debt of a promised reward.  Sending her home was the right decision, I thought, along with the implicit promise that I wouldn’t partake of the meal.  The question was, whether I had gone far enough?

The MC broke me out of my revere as he cracked a whip over our heads.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!  While we give Earnestine a brief respite - in order to catch her breath - it is my very great pleasure to introduce to you our master leatherman, our artiste with the crop, Henri Avignon!”

A tallish man came out of the end of the building at the far side of the pool, trailed by five slaves.  He was dressed in the same smart casual as the MC and some of the other staff members.  The slaves, nude save for their collars and scars, were each carrying a different style of whip or flogger.  They were all relatively well marked, although I didn’t recognise either of the two who’d taken part in the first event.

They followed Avignon in a procession across the courtyard, one stopping at each of the five whipping posts, where they placed their implement on the ground, and were locked into shackles hanging from the top of the post.

“Mesdames et Monsieur’s,” he started in a moderately strong French accent.  “For this brief interlude, I shall demonstrate the proper - ze artistic - use of some of the minor tools here. Oui, oui, I know most of you already know how to use them, but we have some new friends here, and even the best of you can learn some new tricks, no?  Frankly, Madam Winters, your technique has gotten stale.  I should add you to my dolls here, to remind you what a good whipping is.  But No!  We shall save that for another time.”

He paused to allow the light laughter to die out, while a tall blonde in a dress suit waggled her finger at him.

“Zis is Sophia,” he said as he stepped to the first of his ‘dolls’, who was facing us, “And zis is a riding crop.” as he bent down to pick up the implement.  “It is ze basic tool of the slave owner, used both for guidance, and for correction.  It is painful, oui, but does little serious damage.  As such, it can be used with impunity on the sensitive parts of a slave, such as the nipples and the clitoris.”  He struck her strongly on each nipple to emphasise the point and then waited as she lifted her right leg in a standing split.  She managed to catch her heel behind her wrist just as he unloaded on her clitoris.  She gasped, but managed to hold the position until he motioned her down.  “It is also light enough that you can make ze amusing patterns with it.  Turn around my cherie.”  He laid down a rapid flurry of strokes on her back, and then stood aside to reveal a stylised, but recognisable Fleur de Lys.

He bowed slightly to the applause, then waved it down and moved along the line of posts.  “Now we come to Mercy, and her leather strap.”  The strap he picked up looked to be about six inches wide and half an inch thick.  “This tool, also is painful for ze recipient, and does not do too much damage to the skin.  It is wide enough to spread the impact out, you see.  It is much heavier, of course, and so, it can leave deep bruising that will take days to fade.  Ze trick is to overlap your blows, so that the damage compounds.”  He looked at the strap.  “With a fifteen centimetre strap like this one a skilled user can get fifteen strokes in side the mark of the first.”

“How many have you done?” someone heckled from the audience.

Avignon gave a very Gallic shrug.  “Thirty-two.  Ah Rachel, Cherie.  I do hope you let me help in your Grand Finale.”

“Like fuck!” called a voice from the back.  “If I’m going to spend that long letting you paddle my ass, I want to be around afterward to appreciate it.”  Rachel, the Doll who’d helped chase Earnie came through the crowd to kiss the Frenchman on the cheek.  “I literally couldn’t sit for a week.”

He shrugged again as everyone chuckled.  “So crass.  You can see why she needed to be ‘paddled’, as she says, no?  One last thing about this strap.  It can damage the soft tissues, so it is safest not to use it on the stomach, or around the kidneys.  Unless you wish to cause such damage, of course. Now cherie, you will help me with young Mercy here, oui?  Count my strokes, and make sure that I stay within the first mark.”

He laid his first stroke across the top of her ass, and then proceeded to lay eleven further strips before Rachel announced that he’s gone outside the first.  Mercy yelled and jiggled in place with each one, but didn’t break her basic position

He shook his head sadly.  “A poor effort.  You have upset me, cherie.  Shall we try again?”  Everyone laughed at Mercy’s groan.  “Non,” he said smiling.  “Mercy is her name, and mercy she shall have.  Let us move on.”

I watched rapt as he went on to describe the characteristics of the cane, the full sized maritime cat’o'nine tails and the single-tailed stock whip.  I’d started on my own torture slave with the crop and the cane and had picked up some of the technique from my reading, but this was a master at work, enjoying his work.

Once he was finished he announced that there would be a brief opportunity for members of the audience to try out the tools he’s demonstrated.

I quickly stepped to the queue for the strap.  So far I’d focused on causing my Traci - my Debbie, rather - intense pain, rather than anything long lasting.  I’d obviously not been completely aware of the possibilities short of permanent injury.

When my turn came, I took the strap from the previous guest and hefted it gently.

“Ah, le sinistre.”  I jumped to find Avignon standing beside me.  “Bien, it will do her good to have some balance.”

I looked from the strap to Mercy’s backside and back.  Given that the strap was a foot and a half long, I couldn’t see any sign that one side had received any less punishment than the other.

“Monsieur Avignon,” I started, wondering, “What would be the effect if I were to, say, whip only one thigh with this strap?”

“Ah?  You like the asymmetry?  Like ze Picasso abstracts, oui?  This is not really the position - it is best if you isolate the target you want.  Hmmm.  If you do it well, the bruising is like a pulled muscle, yes?  It restricts movement, and she cannot put the weight on it when she sits.  She will lean, to put her weight on the other side.  Mercy, turn around, and give the master your left foot.  If you would hold it level, monsieur, at about waist height.”

With me holding her leg out straight, he struck her evenly down the thigh about ten times, with a little bit of overlap each time.  They weren’t gentle blows - as well as feeling the weight through her foot, I watched her knee lock up each time.

“Like that, two or three times.  Better if you hit the muscle down the back directly.  Watch her this afternoon, but it might be the knee rather than the thigh.”  With that he handed me the strap and headed off to the next post.

Likewise, I handed the strap over to the next person in line and went in the other direction; to watch the tall blonde - Mistress Winters - offer advice to another woman on the use of the crop.

A little while later, the MC rapped sharply on his microphone.  “If I could have your attention, please!”

When he had all eyes - and staff members were letting the Dolls down from their posts - he continued: “It is now time to welcome Earnestine back to Center stage.  For this part of the festivities, we like to prepare our stars for their final showing.  After tenderisation, we need to season our star.  Henri will assist us in that process by applying his delicate touch to her skin, and then our hosts will baste her in our own special blend of herbs and spices, and letting them soak in.”

As he spoke, Earnestine was wheeled out to the area of the whipping posts.  She was stretched tightly between the corners of a vertical frame that was cleverly designed so as to be able to rotate in both the vertical and horizontal axes:  Earnie could be spun backward, forward and even upside down.  From what I’d seen of Henri’s work he wouldn’t bother.  He would just make the tip of any whip he chose curl around and hit whatever part of her he wanted.

Cov and Hun escorted her out, and greeted Avignon surprisingly formally, both bowing as they presented their slave to him.

The Doll Rachel brought out a wooden case, and some of the audience members sighed reverently as he opened it and withdrew a long single tailed whip.

“For those of you who haven’t seen her before,” the MC ‘whispered’ over the public address system, “that is an eighteen foot bullwhip that Henri has named Marie, after both the French noblewoman Marie Antoinette, and the first woman he ever killed with it.  It has a reputation here at the Faded Lotus of being capable of the most exquisite pain, and the most stunning artwork.  Many of the Dolls here today have had their major patterns created by Marie.”

Henri finished shaking the whip out and swung it gently a couple of times to make sure he had room.  He bowed briefly to the Hosts and then began.

It was a virtuoso performance.

He started at the extremities: Clever bindings presented both her palms and the soles of her feet and he hit all four with the first four blows, leaving bleeding welts.  The fifth, he placed around her right side, just below the ribs, the popping tip leaving a gash under her left breast.

Earnestine shrieked with each blow, and gasped between.  Cov and Hun looked satisfied as they watched, expressions very like those I’d seen the night before as they tormented their slave.

Back to the outside, now, and Henri laid three welts around the bound woman’s calves and forearms before stopping.

One of the staff members ran up to Earnie during the pause and quickly checked her pulse and responses before injecting a hypodermic of something into a shunt taped to the side of her neck.

I was surprised - I would have thought that this place wouldn’t ’shoot up’ its meat, that they’d insist on her stewing purely in her own juices - Organic Slave Meat, so to speak.

I mush have been obvious in my surprise because a quiet voice beside me said “It’s a mixture of adrenaline, stimulants, some other anti-shock compounds and a nasty little nerve toxin.”

I looked and saw the tall blonde I’d noticed earlier, one of the obvious regulars.  I nodded for her to go on.

“Generally, it keeps you awake, alert and responsive.  There’s little point in whipping a woman who has passed out, after all,” She explained.  “The nerve toxin is an added extra.  I’m told it increases the sensitivity of the pain receptors.  Greatly.”

“Ah,” I said, intelligently.  “George Page,” I added, holding my hand out.

“Claire Winters.  That was your slave with the runners, wasn’t it?”

“Noreen. yes.  I’m afraid that was a bit much for her though, so I sent her home.”

The eyebrow she raised made me feel about two inches tall, because I couldn’t manage my slaves.  “She’s new,” I added defensively, “and I didn’t want to make a scene.”

Winters nodded knowingly and looked back toward where Avignon was getting ready to continue.

He started with a shot at her thigh that clearly wrapped right around, causing Earnie to howl piteously.  This time he went around in a circle, slowly spiraling inward toward her body.  Earnestine never really got a chance to catch her breath, each new mark would cause her breath to hitch and then she’d howl again.

I though back over what little I knew of biochemistry.  It wasn’t enough, but that shit they’d shot her up with must be something really awful.

Another pause, and another hypodermic, and Henri went on to the body, laying a cris-cross pattern across her back - the first time he’d crossed his strokes - that bled at every intersection.  Left to heal, I was sure that they would leave terrible scars - scars much like those on the various ‘Dolls’ that were watching, and moving through the guests.

After the back, he added half a dozen or so rings around her waist, and then he got fancy.

With a combination of backhand and forehand strokes, he snapped the tip of the whip around Earnestine’s front to the applauded approval of the people watching on that side.  I looked, later, and he’d laid those strokes blind, right up and down the valley of her cleavage, without touching her breasts proper.

The last three strokes were the most skillful.  One choked off her howls as it wrapped itself around her neck, incidentally tearing out the shunt, and the others laid open the skin of her face, across the cheekbones and just touching her nose.

Everyone applauded, and Avignon bowed as he coiled his ‘Marie’ and placed her reverently bank in her case.

When he was finished, and two of the Dolls ceremoniously carried the case back into the building, the MC returned to his stand.

“Now that she has been prepared, it is time to baste our star, and once again, our Hosts have graciously allowed us to share that with you.  Please, form a queue, so that everyone who wants one gets a chance to help apply our special blend.”

I managed to get into the line near the front, so I was able to get to Earnestine before she was too splattered with the strong smelling paste.  Heavy on both the spices and the garlic, I decided.  I felt eyes on the back of my neck, and looked over to see Mistress Winters whispering to Cov, while the two hosts watched me.

On impulse, and to show that cow Winters something, I forewent the brushes everyone else was using and scooped up a small handful of the mess. and rubbed it into the side of her neck and jaw.  She flinched away from me and whimpered, an animal look of hurt in her eyes.

I was surprised how level we were.  I’m not an overly tall man, but even stretched in the frame our heads were at the same height.  That made it easy to cup her chin and cheek and murmur ‘Tina’ before I had to move on.  I fancied saw a glimpse of awareness return, just as I turned away.

“I, too, was a friend of Jamis,” I whispered as I approached the slaves holding towels.  Aware that Winters and co were still watching, I waved away the towel and beckoned to one of the slaves instead.

“Come with me and lick this clean,” I ordered as I wandered over toward the hosts.

Joan was in the office late in the evening after Mr. Johnson had gone to fuck Elizabeth in the Fuck Room. As she worked, she found herself thinking about being in there with him, and she realized she was getting the chair she was sitting on wet.
She looked up when someone walked into the office. It was Neil, Delia’s boyfriend.
“Hello, Joan. I was thinking about you and the price I needed to pay for your delivery service. Thank you for giving her the card.”
Joan smiled at him and stood up. “I’m glad you came by. I’m feeling very horny tonight. Mr. Johnson took a new slave and Delia to the Fuck Room, so I’m not getting any action.”
“A girl like you shouldn’t have any problem finding companionship.”
“I don’t, but he’s out of town.”
“Well, then, it’s my lucky night.”
She rose and took him by the arm. “Come with me and we’ll find out. Aren’t you bothered that Delia is in with Mr. Johnson?”
“I’ll admit that I would rather be with her, but that’s the way it is and I knew it going in. On top of that, I have a companion for the night that makes up for it.”
She led him to the Service Room. “This isn’t as nice as the Fuck Room, but the bed is good, and there is plenty of equipment in the cabinet.” She helped him with his clothing, then hung it up while he looked in the cabinet.
“This is all bondage gear. You want to be bound?”
“That’s up to you. You’re the man. I’m the slave. I want sex. I like bondage.”
“You barely know me. Aren’t you afraid that I might go too far?”
“You are related in some way to John Thompson, and Delia trusts you. That’s good enough for me.” She sat on the bed and looked at him expectantly. She didn’t tell him about the surveillance system and how the security office would be watching. She wanted the tape they were almost certainly making of this for her.
He looked at her and appreciated her beauty. He considered just taking her without bondage, but decided that a woman that likes bondage should be provided with bondage. He was a newbie at bondage, and he knew it, so he decided to try something simple. He found leather cuffs and locks, then took them to the bed and fitted them on her wrists and locked them on. he had her lie down and locked the cuffs to chains from the upper corners of the bed. As an afterthought, he locked a chain from the headboard to the leash loop of her collar. He looked her over, then removed the belt she wore that had keyrings and handcuffs attached to it. He cuddled in next to her body and ran his hand over her breasts. She shivered as he toyed with her nipples.
“You like the simple bondage?” she asked, shivering a little more as his hand drifted lower.
“I’m just getting started at it, so I’m not getting fancy.”
“That’s good. I like to use my legs, too.”
He reached her labia and stroked the inside of the outer lips. She gasped as he took long, slow strokes, staying away from her clitoris, and teasing her slowly. She wanted him to speed up, to rub her clitoris, to bring her to orgasm, but she also was glad he had bound her so she was unable to interfere with his slow teasing. He kept up the strokes, occasionally visiting the entrance to her vagina to harvest a little lubrication. When he finally circled her nub, she shuddered. It was very close to an orgasm, but it didn’t take her where she wanted to be. He backed away, approached again, and kept up the teasing for what she thought was an eternity. When he finally rubbed her clitoris directly, she groaned loudly.
“That’s where you wanted me to get to, isn’t it?”
“Yesssssss……”
He played with her lightly, then withdrew his hand. She moaned in frustration until she saw that he was lining himself up for penetration. “Condom, please…” she managed to gasp out. He smiled, then looked around and saw the box of condoms on a bedside table. He retrieved one and put it on, then started a slow rubbing of her clitoris again. She started bucking against his hand. He stopped and lined up again, then drove himself into her. It went all the way in in one smooth stroke.
“It seems like you were ready for this.”
She didn’t speak; she just pressed up against him and clenched her vaginal muscles. He started a long slow stroke that she knew was meant to keep him from climax as long as possible. He moved to press his pubic bone against her clitoris, which gave her a great deal of pleasure. She pushed back at his thrusts and contracted her vaginal muscles every time he bottomed out inside her. Time lost its meaning to her as she let the pleasure flow over her and she abandoned awareness of the rest of the world. He finally sped up his thrusts, then came. He lay still on top of her, breathing heavily. He finally said, “Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for the wild ride.”
He kissed her and said, “Thank you.” He remained still until his cock softened enough to fall out of her. He rose, discarded the condom, and unlocked the wrist cuffs and removed them. He left the chain to her collar locked on, and put the key on the restraints cabinet, well out of her reach. He lay down next to her and said, “Is this an all-night event, or just for the recent festivities?”
She smiled at him and said, “It seems you want all night, given that I’m locked to the bed and you put the key out of reach.”
“Yes, you are chained here, and I want you to stay here, but I will defer to your wishes if you want to be let loose. You are a slave, but you aren’t my slave, and you invited me.”
“Don’t let me loose. Please feel free to wake me up at any time and use me again.” She snuggled up to him. “Did you like the sex?”
“I loved it. You participated and wanted it.”
“I like sex. I like my boyfriend’s sex, and Mr. Johnson’s, but yours is special too. My boyfriend likes Delia’s sex, too. Maybe we can arrange to meet as couples and swap from time to time.”
He was astounded. Joan was just as good-looking and good at sex as Delia, and he had been happy when she said that the price of getting information to Delia was sex with her, but this was beyond his wildest expectations. He realized that he was thinking like she was a free woman, but then he realized that he had been treating her like a free woman, regardless of the chains (she had asked for those). “I would like that. I wonder if Delia would mind.”
“She’s your slave, and she likes my boyfriend.”
“Well, she isn’t my slave, at least not yet. Her father, and owner, told her to obey me, though.”
“I think she will be fine with it. She’s almost as horny as I am, and she is beginning to get the slave mindset.”
“Well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, you’ve worn me out, and I need some sleep.” He pulled the sheet up over them, cuddled up to her tightly, put his hand on her breast, and fell asleep.
About three in the morning, Joan woke from a light sleep to find Neil playing with her pudenda again. She pressed herself against his hand. He said, “So you do want to do it again.”
“I told you to wake me up any time and use me again.”
“Then grab a condom and let’s get going.”
Joan took a condom from the box and with well-practiced dexterity rolled it over his erect member, then lay flat. Neil rolled over her and pressed himself in slowly, with her hand guiding him in. This sex was much faster and more energetic than the first, but took almost as long. Joan came twice. When he shuddered and stopped moving, she held him to her tightly, keeping him inside her. After he softened and fell out, she said, “Thank you, master. Thank you for using me.”
He rolled off of her and held her, then said, “I’m not your master.”
“While you have me locked down and at your disposal, you are my master. Thank you for using me.”
He was taken aback by her words. “Why do you say ‘using me’?”
“Because that’s what you are doing. You are also making it good for me. It’s a slave thing. You may not think of it that way when you use Delia, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she thinks.”
“So I should stop?”
“Of course not! I liked you using me, and I’m sure Delia does. You can think of it as ‘making love’ or ‘having sex,’ and it’s good that you do and take the slave’s feelings into account.”
“And what if I marry her?”
“A slave wife is still a slave, and can’t say no and have it stick. I know this upsets you, but it is part of being a slave. She became a slave because of bad decisions. I became a slave to protect myself by getting a protected situation. Either way, we are slaves. We appreciate good treatment and we like being used in a pleasant manner. Please, keep doing it.”
Neil lapsed into silence. Joan pulled the sheet up over them, cuddled up to him tightly, and they soon fell asleep.
In the morning, about 7 AM, Neil woke up. Joan woke as he sat up. He rose and got the key to her neck chain, then unlocked her. He lay back down on the bed and said, “You are free to go, unless you want to take care of this.” He motioned to his erection. Joan smiled, reached for the chain, locked it back onto her collar, then put a condom on him and sat down on the erection and proceeded to ride him. It was a fast and furious fuck. He rubbed her clitoris while she bucked up and down on his penis. She came first, but kept up the furious motion until he came. He reached up and pulled her down to him and kissed her hard. She melted into the kiss and kept it up.
When the kiss ended, she lay next to him and said, “See? I appreciate a good fucking. Thank you.”
“You are welcome. I don’t know if I will be able to walk today,” said Neil. It was only a little facetious.
After a few minutes of cuddling, he rose again and unlocked Joan from the chain. He started to dress and said, “I have to go home, shower, and change, so I can get to work.”
She said, “You can shower here, with me, in the red-collar shower room.”
“That would be nice, but I have to change into clean clothes, too, and I’m short on time. Maybe next time I’ll bring clean clothes with me.”
She hugged him and said, “That’s a great idea, having a next time. Next time you come here, though, I want you to use Delia. She deserves it. Like I said before, I want you again, too.”

CASTLEMAN TRUST CHAPTER 56 – CANADIAN CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

Peter J. Foster

December 24th fell on a Monday in 2001. I wanted to go to Ellisia for Christmas. I was there with a plane load of slaves. The slave work force compound had been expanded, winterized and all the other contracts had been absorbed by DEV. There was an odd incentive for the slave workers—the top worker of the week would get used by me for sex. The top worker of the month would get a weekend with me where ever I was. Stocking up on vitamins seemed like a good idea.

Speaking of having to stock up on vitamins, Ambassador Woulfe parked his wife and six daughters with me. The roster (from eldest to youngest) was:

Elizabeth (wife)

Alina (eldest daughter)

Brielle

Claire

Destiny

Evelyn

Fallyn (youngest daughter)

A federal white slaver, Mr. Mitch Herbert, the same Mr. Herbert who enslaved the First Lady almost a year ago, handed me the ownership documents.

“This is my commitment to Canada’s White Slave Act,” Ambassador Woulfe told me. I must have looked bewildered. “When we finally pass our own Act, I will request that you form a DEV Canada and transfer ownership of my wife to that organization. I love my daughters, but I’m quite content with you owning them. I can live with you owning my wife. You can’t help yourself, Peer. You will do what is best for these women.”

“Besides, Peter,” Elizabeth Woulfe said, “Look at us. What do you see? Randolf wants a son or two. If you would consent to use us, Randolf could have a grandson to carry on the name.”

“I’ve tried six times already,” Ambassador Woulfe said. “You can see the results.”

“It’s okay,” Shawna told me. “The Woulfes share our religion, Peter.”

“After they return from holiday with their families, every woman on the Embassy staff has been converted,” the ambassador told me. “You own them. We looked at setting up an American corporation or trust so that our women would be protected from your Yank enslavement laws. Canadians can’t currently own slaves—or companies that own slaves. We’re working on that. You should be getting calls from the New Zealand, Australian and British embassies after the New Year. Your Mr. Harrington is working on establishing an American trust specifically for managing non-American slaves. Canadian families who send their daughters to live, work and attend school down here have been advised to seek DEV conversions and have their daughters attend college on an education asset contract.”

“I’m not that big,” I said.

“That’s why the new trust is being formed. All Canadian citizens will have a clause that will transfer ownership to the Canadian edition of DEV as soon as the Canadian slave law passes. Oh, by the way, Canadians look down on exposing slaves in public. We have federated all of our police forces, so go ahead and expose your slaves when you like. I know that many of your slaves no longer want to wear clothes. I just had a delightfully productive appointment with your Carla to map out my daughters-er, your Canadian slaves’ education. The younger ones will start attending the Susan B. Anthony School for Gifted Girls next month. Alina has already graduated and she would like to teach at Eastlake University.”

“Sir, why not simply get diplomatic immunity for your staff?”

“Not every staffer rates diplomatic immunity. My wife gave up hers in order to set the example. We won’t risk those rather brutal slave laws you yanks made up. If they are already slaves, they can’t be made slaves.”

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was not quite right.

“There is another reason, Peter,” Shawna added. “Master Randolf and Elizabeth share our religion. They share our belief that all women should be slaves, too. Some cultures won’t allow this—not yet.”

“So, how will this affect your political career when you become Prime Minister?” I asked.

Randolf Woulfe smiled and gazed vacantly out the window. “Prime Minister. I only hope. “

He shook himself out of his reverie and faced me.

“I would feel much better if you were to brand or tattoo my wife and daughters and the other five staffers. If you mark them as yours, you will more likely protect them.”

“Me?”

“Canada has barely 56,000 men and women in its military establishment. We have another 18,000 Mounties. Our thin red line is really thin. You are more likely to investigate the disappearance of one of your own. Heaven help the people who hurt your charges!”

Yeah, right. As if I could do more than sue. As if I would. Using force always has consequences. What really bothered me was the probability that I would pull a Don Quixote and tilt at imaginary giants—getting tossed by windmill sails!

“I’m still young enough to have children,” Elizabeth was saying. “I’d like to have some of yours, if you would let me. I understand that this is the custom in cougar County, too—us old hags taking a young man as a lover.”

“Old hag?” I asked, looking Elizabeth right in the eye. “How old are you? I need to know because I’ll check the records.”

“38, Peter,” Randolf said. “The records will say 41, but Elizabeth is actually 38. You’ll have to take my word over the official record.”

“I’ve lied to you, too,” Shawna said. “I’m actually 13 years older than my official record. You may snuff me now, if you wish.”

“No,” I said, glancing at Shawna. “I’ll stick to the official records. Thank you for being candid.”

“You don’t believe me?” Shawna asked.

“I am so busted,” I muttered. “I don’t believe you, no. I need to act as if I do, yet I need to also pretend that the official record is correct. Elizabeth, for example, could be 38 or 38 or 41—I can’t tell. You, Shawna, could pass for late 20’s too. If you have a fountain of youth or something, we need to either share it or keep it secret.”

“Genetics, healthy living and hormone therapy,” Shawna said. “Those are our secrets. Long ago we had the ability to renew our bodies. When the world became modern, we gave it up. Too much danger of being burned at the stake for witchcraft. Right now, the easiest and safest way to get a new body is to be ritually sacrificed and born in a new body. Yes, you don’t believe that either, dear boy. It is possible to live forever. Who would want to? It is like never being able to forget anything. You have forgotten your previous lives or you couldn’t do what you must.”

Hey! This was the land of make-believe: Ellisia. I just had to willingly suspend my disbelief, enjoy myself, and remember to re-engage my disbelief at the end of my vacation. I could have punished Shawna for lying to me, but I was sure that she believed every word she told me. I’d rather have Shawna tell me what she believed than what she thought I wanted her to say.

“Facinating,” Randolf watched me closely. “I can see you thinking. I have no idea what is going on inside your mind, but I can see that you are thinking.”

“He’s always thinking,” Shawna said. “Sometimes dear Peter forgets to have fun because he is always thinking. That’s just Peter—and it suits his destiny. Peter is supposed to rule from the head and not the heart. He has us pearls to provide his heart. We just have to earn his trust—and remain trustworthy.”

That reminded me—I’d have to check my personal assets some time. I didn’t really own much—I just managed things for other people. There is the new business paradigm that your employees should be empowered so that they regard your company as their private property. I disagree—but perhaps I’m old school. I always treat borrowed property better than something I own—if I break my stuff, too bad. Breaking someone else’s stuff is breaking trust. They trusted me to return the borrowed property in the same condition that I received it in. Is the stewardship concept dead? Do you see why I have my attitude towards slavery? Especially Defensive Enslavement Volunteers—Persons of Limited Rights, or Pearls. They are loaning me themselves during their prime years. Yes, I will use them. I will give value for value, too. Perhaps they can do better for themselves as free women. Perhaps not.

“As long as you are my slaves and when you are with me, then I’ll have you follow my dress and grooming code. That means total nudity when practical, no body hair, and I’ll have to decide on a case-by-case basis on your scalp hair. Does anybody here need a slave boot camp so that you can accept being a slave? No? Good. I won’t have you shave your head. Sometimes I do that so that the woman can leave her old identity behind. Being naked all the time helps—she is either so aware of being exposed that she can’t think of anything else until she gets used to being nude, or she leaves her obsolete free-woman identity behind with her old wardrobe. There is another adjustment that you need to make—recognition that you all are no longer in control of your lives. Never were—though most people never figure out that they didn’t control their lives. That’s how many women wind up enslaved. That’s how they get into a bad slavery situation. You’ll find out that most of the family member enslavements are more or less voluntary, but those that aren’t will overwhelmingly be due to attempted manipulative activities on the part of the woman. Whining. Self-destructive behavior. Withholding sex.” I almost laughed—I had so much sex that I was hard-pressed to keep up. Fortunately, I’m not the jealous type. How can I be? She has to be happy, too. “All sorts of childishness. The woman reverts to childish when under stress because she survived that behavior in the past. Just like a lot of men revert to brutality—when they were younger, brutal spelled survival. We human animals tend to revert to what worked for us before. Well, we THINK that worked for us. More likely, we just survived our own folly and mistook the source of our own misery for a way to survive.”

“I see what you mean, Shawna,” Randolf sounded in awe. “When is he going to run for President?”

That’s all I needed—a life sentence as a politician!

“I do believe that you’ve scared the poor boy,” Shawna hugged me from behind. “Peter is not the Caesar type. He would rather someone else take the spotlight.”

Yea, verily! Look at what happened to the Caesars! Speaking of Caesars…

“Shawna, how do I screen and monitor women for the Caligula Syndrome?” I saw Randolf’s puzzlement and explained, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely, Ambassador. Sometimes I hesitate to act because I fear becoming another Emperor Caligula. He acted out of warring emotions. Caligula may have been mentally ill. I have only read what his enemies wrote, but it could happen to me. I have established checks and balances so that I don’t destroy myself. But I will depend upon women—slave women—to run DEV and other programs. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“I don’t have a solution,” Shawna said. “You are the primary balancing agent for us. When you discover a slave abusing her power, take it from her. That is what you are supposed to do. That is also why you are going to sacrifice me. Any woman who becomes the high priestess of our order must sacrifice her life. We are only allowed a few years. We priestesses select the next high priestess, the Great Mother, and you are charged to remove her at the end of her reign. You also remove her when she commits treason against the order. That is why we are forbidding any of your sisters or children or those who you designate as wives from holding that office—it is too much to ask for you to kill a part of yourself.”

“Peter,” Elizabeth had undressed by now, “I noticed that many of your women have permanent hair removal. Would you do that to us? All of us? My daughters and me?”

“Yes, do!” Randolf said. “Like I said, I want you to mark them as your own. Doctor Prince explained to me about sheep and wolves and sheepdogs. I see. You are afraid that you will let everybody down. Let me tell you a secret, my lad. You will rise to the occasion. You can do far more than you think you can. How does a college student party all night and then go to class the next morning?”

“Mostly, they don’t,” I said.

“What? Poor example. No wonder so many of your co-eds wind up dropping out. Now they can get enslaved for that.” Randolf glanced at his daughters. “That’s why I enslaved them. Two let themselves get into a dangerous demonstration.

“No, the secret to rising to the challenge is that you must. Husbands and fathers work long and hard when they’d rather not because their wives and children depend on them. Housewives live as poorly as slaves do because their husbands and children depend on them. Soldiers shake off fear on the battlefield. Fire fighters rush into burning buildings. We do what we have to do.” Randolf looked into his wife’s eyes. “Slavery will be good for the majority of women in it because they will be forced to be better people—or they will be killed. Most owners will be decent people. Those that aren’t decent to their slaves may escape justice for a while—but that Caligula disease sounds devastating. Having the power of life and death over another changes people. I’ve been to war. I was a subaltern in Princess Pat and I saw soldiers become indifferent brutes. One thing I fear about slavery is that being able to use women for sex will destroy the capacity for love. That’s not going to be a problem for you.”

“No,” I agreed. “I have an attachment disorder. I get fond of people.”

“But Peter,” Shawna observed, “you will do what is best for people you are fond of whether they like it or not—whether they like YOU or not. That’s your nature. You won’t change.”

I wasn’t going to argue. Perhaps if I kept telling myself that I HAD to, I could. The things I did to women I could rationalize—but I did things like permanent depilation, implanting RFID’s, messing with their minds by keeping them naked…

“The park will open soon. Part of the Ellisia experience requires wearing clothes—so get into your touring costumes, ladies. You’ll lose them as soon as we return here. It is just too cold—and except on Wednesdays there is a strict dress code for plying in the park. I even have the slaves that work here wear winter coats to work. It is just too cold to bare skin today.”

It was a cold, blustery day. I had fun anyway—as always. Of course, my visit to Ellisia wasn’t all fun and games. My primary responsibility was to make sure that the slave cast and crew functioned well. Was I creating an observer effect? How would I counter that?

“Master Peter,” Fallyn asked just prior to the daily Christmas parade, “I have some friends that would like to work here. Can you help them?”

“What are you asking for?” I leaned in closer. “I can get them an interview if they meet all the requirements. Are they 18? They need to be 18 first. I want them to be high school graduates—or they can take classes until they qualify. They have to pass an audition here—and I’m not going to interfere with the audition panel’s selection process. Most of all, the female cast has to be slaves. I can send someone for an interview and audition, but it will be up to her to do well and get selected. Many very fine women don’t get picked because someone else did better.”

“I want to work here,” Fallyn said. “I know seven other girls, too. We will be 18 some day.”

“I can stack the odds in your favor,” I said, “by helping you to get ready. It begins with doing well in school. I can show you what to study to improve your chances. It will be up to you to measure up.”

“Okay.” Fallyn giggled. “I have one advantage over the other girls. I get the Best Cast/Crew prize—time with you. If I am hired here and win that prize, can I share it?”

“You can ask that another be given that prize in your place,” and actually, sometimes the winner DID get to share. Like the audition process, how they picked that week’s winner was mysterious to me. Winner? I enjoy my weekly Ellisia girl so much that I thought I consider myself to be the winner. “You have given me an idea, and I need to work on it some more. What would you like as a reward?”

“Telling me that I gave you an idea is rewarding.” Fallyn looked me over. “If I can give you enough ideas, maybe you’ll keep me?”

That evening I took a blushing cast member, the winner of that week’s Best Cast/Crew contest, to the visitor’s quarters with me. Her name was Gemma and she was very enthusiastic in bed. It was hard to let her return to work the next day. She gave me the impression that she wanted to stay with me. But there were no tears from her when she did return to work—Gemma said that she was going to work harder so that she could have a second night with me.

What a wonderful Christmas for me.

CASTLEMAN TRUST CHAPTER 55 — NAUGHTY NINJA NEGATED

Peter J. Foster

May I never grow complacent! Cougar County is a remote section of Oklahoma. “Remote” means that the road network is sparse and that few people live there. I had lots of eyes watching for strangers—the place wasn’t deserted. For some reason everybody in Cougar County was friendly to me. When strange people showed up, the grapevine told one of my slaves and I was notified. It was better than radar.

That grapevine was important at the moment because governor England was staying at the Bar BQ Ranch with her grand niece, Darcy. My former classmate and lab partner had avoided being arrested for treason and terrorism by volunteering for conversion to Person of Limited Rights status. Governor England signed a warrant for the arrest of one Citizen Darcy Freedman—but slave Darcy was off the law enforcement radar screen. Off until after the next election, that is. No telling what the new administration was up to.

“Oh my God!” Governor England exclaimed. “Are those coyotes?”

“Suzie adopted them. They’re still pups. I found a dead female coyote about a mile away.”

“Who is Suzie?”

I called over my grizzled German Shepherd, the pack alpha.

“Father got her from the Air Force five years ago. Suzie had puppies,” I explained. “She used to guard the B-52 fleet. She has a reputation as a biter. When she came to live with us I was only 16—and at first, she was in charge! Now she lets me be in charge—she runs my dog pack, but she lets me be in charge.”

“He is not joking,” Colonel Murphy said as Montana, one of my Army slaves, rushed up to me and saluted. It looked a bit strange, a nude slave standing at attention and rendering a hand salute. As Colonel Murphy told how Suzie trained me and the other dogs, Montana informed me that a black Garret Motors SUV with Oklahoma vanity plate TRN123 with three men and a woman had stopped for gas and asked direction to the Bar BQ Ranch. “That’s the secret to Peter’s dog training success. Suzie does the training and Peter takes the credit.”

“How typically male,” the governor dryly observed. “You men take the credit for making babies, too.”

“We help,” Colonel Murphy pouted.

“Governor, Colonel,” I reported, “Professor Morrison’s truck has been spotted and is about 30 minutes away. I need to alert your protection detail, Governor.”

“No, I’ll do that,” Governor England said. “My orders are that you attempt to capture them. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, of course, but give them a chance to surrender.”

“Ma’am, I need clarification,” I said. “I have combat arms people with me. Do I ask them to play cop or soldier?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Cops arrest criminals and gather evidence for trial. Cops use the minimum force necessary to control the situation and effect capture.” I glanced at Colonel Murphy for moral support. “Soldiers, especially combat arms soldiers, destroy the enemy. We will use our most powerful weapons at maximum ranges to minimize our own casualties. That group is equipped for close combat and is very skilled. If they don’t surrender, we cannot handle them with anything less than concentrated rifle fire. Your protection detail needs to guard you. If you need it, my pilot can fly you to safety.”

“I’ll be safe here, young man,” the governor’s eyes were hidden behind thick glasses. “Flying isn’t safe. You do what you need to. One question—won’t dead bodies raise eyebrows?”

Colonel Murphy laughed.

“See that building?” Justin Murphy pointed at a squad bunker-like concrete shelter with a tall chimney. “Peter has a lot of slaves. He doesn’t eat them when they die and he really doesn’t have room here for a cemetery. That’s his private crematorium. Four bodies? No problem. The car—I know people who will make it disappear.”

“Good. We don’t need publicity. Take care of it, Lieutenant. And get me my niece.”

Darcy was working out in the gym under Bonnie’s watchful eye. I left her there with instructions and got suited up. It was getting dark.

The actual operation was anticlimactic. We were able to keep tabs on the car by simply flying a single-engine light plane at 8,000 feet, high enough so that it was lost in the night sky (we cheated and didn’t use navigation lights—a no-no) and high enough that the engine noise wasn’t readily discernable. The night was crisp and clear. I was in the plane with radios and a pair of night vision binoculars. The hot engine showed up as a green blob that made the rest of the truck stand out. The truck parked on the gravel road and three figures got out. Their black ninja costumes gleamed in the half moon’s light—somebody washed their clothes with commercial detergent containing brighteners! I was able to follow them from there because the three talked to Professor Morrison in the car using ordinary ‘family-band’ walkie-talkies. Their radio security was lousy! They even talked about kidnapping the governor and ‘rescuing’ Darcy over the radio. I had Michelle, the pilot, pull an orbit of about six miles in diameter, placing me about five miles from the car—close enough to see something with the binos and far enough away to keep from spooking them. On the radios was a new girl, Maya. Her name means ‘princess’ in Arabic—ironic for a slave.

“Heather,” I said into my radio, “have Darcy call them.”

I didn’t need to say anything more. I monitored the cell phone call in the cramped cockpit.

“Professor Morrison, this is Darcy. Listen carefully, please. You are being watched. I am commanded to ask you and the others to surrender. Peter is running the show and he won’t let you get away. Don’t give him an excuse.”

When Professor Morrison started the engine, Montana began firing an M-14 rifle into the engine compartment of his truck. Yes, the rifle had a silencer—and with the Starlight scope Montana couldn’t miss at 60 yards. Don’t think that the shots were totally silent. For one thing, they still broke the sound barrier. For another—well, have you ever thrown rocks at a metal shed? Imagine the racket when faster bullets strike a metal truck and punch pieces out of its engine. Professor Morrison didn’t even get to shift into gear before his engine quit working. He got out of his car and began running down the road. He was on his radio telling the others to get England.

Complacency kills. I found it difficult to believe that the neo-ninja walked up the road. Okay, there was a lot of brush along the sides. When Professor Morrison called, the trio had just entered the ambush. I saw the floodlights come on. Those rifles didn’t have silencers. I was able to see some muzzle flashes. I ordered Michelle to land.

“Ramrod, we have three horses corralled,” my radio crackled. I was using simple voice codes that wouldn’t attract suspicion when overheard. Another voice reported “The fourth horse is on his way to the corral.”

So much for prisoners. If they were alive, the code phrase would have been: “Cows in the barn.” Corral meant dead. I left no ambiguity in my orders—if the neo-ninja resisted, they were to be shot. Once down, they were to be shot again, then the dogs would check them for explosives. I got out of the plane as soon as it stopped at the hangar and I boarded the pick-up truck with the remainder of my team. In a few minutes my girls brought the bodies into the crematorium for inspection.

My caution was rewarded. Between the three of them, the neo-ninja warriors had seven fragmentation hand grenades and two demolition charges made from ten pounds of dynamite. They also had three crossbows—no match for rifles, but quiet. Professor Morrison was caught with a machine pistol—I didn’t know anybody still carried that little Czech Skorpion. It has itty bitty 20 shot magazines and a high rate of fire—and a cheap detachable silencer.

Darcy promptly threw up dinner when she saw the four bullet-riddled naked bodies.

“I suppose that was necessary,” Governor England said as she surveyed the dead. Tough woman. I was feeling green myself because the four stank. Gut shots liberate fecal matter and intestinal gases. Darcy was escorted inside. “This didn’t happen, gentlemen. If it were known that organized rebellion to the White Slave Act existed, it would encourage more rebellion. Are you finished with the bodies, Lieutenant?”

“He’s finished,” colonel Murphy said. “Burn them, Lieutenant.”

Ordinarily that would be illegal. What made it legal was that I operated under a sealed executive order. These people had given up legal protection by making war—and they could have regained those protections by simply surrendering. While actively fighting, they were an immediate threat to my soldiers. The neo-ninja trio foolishly fired crossbow bolts at the spotlights. Professor Morrison emptied a magazine of .32 ACP—that Skorpion fires really fast—and he was hit by fire from two rifles and two shotguns. The actual shooting took less than three seconds—eight women fired about four shots each. Then there was that second volley to prevent grenade attack—the Viet Cong and North Koreans liked to do that. They also liked to rig bodies with explosives.

The crematorium was designed to burn up to two bodies at a time. Professor Morrison and Hamilton Bridgeport were the first two down the memory hole. I left the crematorium in capable hands and attended the debrief. Yes, the soldiers were naked. I joined them. Attending the debrief was one of the protection detail.

“This place is more secure than the White House,” Captain Martin remarked.

“Safer, too,” Governor England remarked. “Sunday evening I need to go back to the capitol.”

It was Friday, December 7th.

A short time later I was showering with 18 naked soldiers. There were another four still on duty, but I needed to spend some time with my women warriors. The debriefing took longer than the gunfight—of course. Officially, the gun battle never happened. I regularly held life-fire exercises, so a few gunshots were nothing out of the ordinary. The four people were never here. Evidence from the shot-up SUV included written plans to kidnap the governor—or assassinate her if that proved impossible. Perhaps the neo-ninja warriors could have silently penetrated the governor’s security screen—we will never know. Given those explosive, they could have succeeded.

Not only the governor, but Darcy was to be killed if she couldn’t be rescued.

“I’m taking my niece with me,” Governor London told me as she walked into the shower. “Peter, you are cute and all, but it still bothers me to see you naked. Oh, don’t get dressed on my account. Do I have to keep Darcy naked all the time?”

“Your call, Governor. My doctrine is nude unless circumstances dictate otherwise. It is cold outside. You don’t have any slaves.”

“I’m getting them. Weren’t you told? You will lease some slaves to me for housekeeping duties at the Governor’s Mansion. If I win the next election, I will have an all slave staff. If I lose, two things will happen. I plan to move here if I lose the election and volunteer to be my husband’s slave. The new governor will want reliable slaves to run the mansion. He might ask you to provide them.”

Angelica had commanded the ambush party and was first. Montana was also with me that Friday night. Heather was eight months pregnant and Jane was four months pregnant—they liked sex even while pregnant, but Doctor Granger advised them to take it easy. Not so with the two soldiers. They wanted it rough. Montana fastened Angelica spread-eagle on the bed and allowed Jane to strap Montana’s wrists to her own thighs. Both soldiers were dripping lubrication—there’s something arousing about surviving sudden violence, especially when you are on the winning side. It is something that rape victims aren’t told—they can get sexually aroused because