Dark Erotic Fiction

Castleman Trust Chapter 46 — Eastlake Snuff Shop Gets Snuffed

Peter J. Foster

The meeting of the Castleman Trust Board began at nine in the morning on Saturday, August 25, 2001. In addition to the board, there were two federal law enforcement agents present. Color me paranoid, but having feds sit in on a meeting isn”t usually a good thing. I was accompanied by my two new slave-brides Jane and Heather, although they were both gagged. The gags were ceremonial–both women wore only those gags–no other bonds.

I had brought two more proposals to the table. After the minutes of the last meeting had been read and “old business” cleared, I brought up two items of new business: a proposed slave retirement trust that I called R.E.S.T. and a status change for the slaves of MFS Det 46.

“Retired Elderly Slave Trust will be a means of caring for deserving slaves who cannot live as free women,” I said. I passed around copies of the proposed Trust.

“You aren”t trying to get out of snuffing my wife, are you?” Colonel Murphy asked.

“No, sir. I know when I”m licked. Shawna would quit living anyway or she would commit suicide. My killing her would make everybody happy.” Except me. Jane nuzzled my bare back and Heather squeezed my hand. The alternative to killing Shawna would create more unhappiness for me, but it was the best of several unpleasant options. “In the near term I will prepare her ritual sacrifice as she desires–and fill my part of the Castleman Trust contract. She does want to die on Halloween, a bit in advance of her 50th birthday.”

“What about the waste of resources used to keep useless old women alive?” Mr. Moses Rogers asked. “You have an obligation to use Trust funds productively.”

“Just because a woman is no longer physically able to work a 12 hour day doesn”t mean that she is useless,” I countered. It may seem silly that the entire board was naked, as was I–the only two clothed people in the place were those two federal agents, a man and a woman. I argued that the slaves would use their manumission funds for living expenses–they earned it! Their continued presence would encourage younger slaves to work harder because hard work would be rewarded. “Never make promises–but if you do, keep them.”

“To a slave? Slaves aren”t people anymore.” I knew that Dennis Marcus Harrington was merely needling me.

“Psychologist claim that animals have no feelings, despite evidence to the contrary,” I said. “Something is going on in those furry little minds. Are we masters or are we children? Let”s keep our promises–we will benefit. Slaves are intelligent. The retired slaves of R.E.S.T. can help smooth out relationships between us and the younger slaves. The retired slaves can help with teaching and with child care and even serve as our conscious–and if you are worried that R.E.S.T. will fill with useless mouths attached to vegetables, don”t. I”ve included the same snuff provisions in R.E.S.T. as in the Castleman Trust–with the exception of the 50th birthday snuff. Oh, yes, the R.E.S.T. slaves will decide if a retired slave will be laid to rest or will continue living according to objective criteria and with the slave under discussion involved in that decision. Some slaves will want to die. I find it hard to fathom, but some will die rather than live a useless existence. Some will obviously be incapable of making any decisions. The latter will be released from their flesh prisons with the safeguards I”ve built in. Penny told me that she wants no part of R.E.S.T. If I deem it necessary to retire her, Penny will ask for my permission to die instead of being warehoused or put out to pasture. R.E.S.T. will not be a warehouse! That will be a way for slaves who are not productive but still have something to offer to keep living. They will live off their past labor–true–but it will be their labor.”

“You over-complicate things,” Paul Paulson commented. “Simply free the slave. Retirement communities won”t be going away any time soon.”

“That is a point–but when all women are enslaved, then what? Kill them all off? When? At what point? Just age-based? This will provide for that eventuality.” I put my arm around Heather and Jane. “Besides, going from slave to resident of a retirement home is no promotion. Some women will never be free again. If being free puts them in danger of prosecution for acts committed as a free woman, she would be enslaved anyway.”

The second proposal was to effect manumission of the MFS Det 46 women, those Army slaves, but put them in a protected status that amounted to enslavement in all but name. There was justifiable concern about giving slaves the power of life and death over free citizens. Slave armies could revolt. Never mind that free armies also revolted–and rebelled in greater percentages than free armies–there was the perception that slave armies would be more prone to rebellion. I was concerned that free women were susceptible to being enslaved almost at a whim. By being in a semi-slave status and answerable only to their agency or to a higher authority, I thought that the female soldier would be more effective.

“Besides, in a semi-slave status the woman can still be used as if she were a full asset slave,” I said, “limited only by department policies and oversight mechanisms. She would be a slave–except for those elected positions. Members of Congress are exempt from most laws. A judge is exempt from almost all laws in his own court room–the checks and balances are the flaming hoops a lawyer must jump through in order to become a judge and the appeal process. In Texas, judges are elected officials, too.”

“The Castleman Trust Board doesn”t have anything to do with that,” Marcus Banks said.

“Not quite true,” I responded. “You can put bugs in ears. Caroline Umbermort is in such a semi-slave status right now. Formalizing that status will give me peace of mind and protect Caroline.”

“She would be classed as a non-productive asset if she were a Castleman Trust project asset,” Doctor Harrison Kennedy Granger commented. He was referring to the eugenics project intended to reverse the male/female imbalance created by the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. I was producing sons already, if you could believe the ultrasound evidence. If a Castleman Trust project asset didn”t bear one of my children within ten years of being inducted into the program, I was obligated to snuff her–so that the Trust would not be loaded down with “useless eaters.”

“But Caroline is productive in other ways,” I argued. “If her department put all of its women–except for the department head–in a “slave in all but name” status, they would be exempt from enslavement by other government agencies but could be converted in accordance with internal regulations at any time. As the departments are government agencies, I”d exempt them from paying the slave tax–unless, under approved guidelines, those agencies were to sell “surplus slaves” to the public. Transferring slaves between departments would be tax exempt.”

The meeting adjourned soon after. Colonel Murphy closeted me with the two agents. Heather and Jane were excluded from this post-board meeting. The man I will call Winston Smith after Orwell”s character. He had a decided British accent. The woman was to be called Button and she had the same Midland accent that Mr. Smith did. They might not even have been US citizens–their credentials may have been as phony as their names. First, I was shown a store surveillance video. It was silent and only took a few frames per second so that the VHS tape would last. The images were grainy and jerky–and black and white. I recognized Eastlake Snuff Shop, a slaver establishment specializing in immediate conversions to meat. There was an abattoir in back, and the surveillance videos showed that the place had expanded to include a torture chamber complete with helper slaves. They were naked and wore leather harnesses–and thick collars. What else could those women be? Business was booming at the Snuff Shop–there were several men in line with bound and naked women–and one clothed woman with a bound and naked woman. I didn”t hear any sound.

“There was another camera that recorded the actual transactions,” Mr. Smith said. “That video was taken. Watch now.”

Four people in Ninja get-ups poured into the shop, swords flashing. In seconds the clothed woman and all the men were on the floor, decapitated. A few more seconds passed and the helper slaves, those harnessed women, were also slain. After an argument or discussion, the rest of the helplessly bound women were killed. The bodies were searched and I watched as the safe was emptied.

“This isn”t just a robbery,” Colonel Murphy said. “We have no interest in presenting your comments as evidence, Lieutenant Foster. Just give me your impressions. It is intelligence work, not law enforcement.”

“That”s because of the graffiti left behind, Leftenant,” Button chimed in. “They used big markers and wrote Death to Slavers on the walls.”

Great. Well, at least this would be kept away from the media. Four people was two more than required to call it a conspiracy.

“I think I recognize all four of them,” I said. I was aware that I was pronouncing a death sentence on four innocent people if I were wrong. “They are Darcy Freedman, Darrel Hunterfield, Carman Lacy and Hamilton Bridgeport. I recognize Darcy from her costume, her missing left ring finger, her ornate Sai and that Wakizashi–not a Ninja sword, the hand guard is too small. The door has a height scale just for things like this and the suspects are a female 5 foot 4 and 110 pounds, a male 5 foot 6 and 170 pounds, a female 5 foot 10 at 130 pounds–I said that Darcy has a missing finger– and a male 6 foot 2 at 210 pounds. Darrel likes that Kama. Hamilton is enamored of the Shuriken. Carman prefers the axe–but the Wilson Shodokan Academy doesn”t consider that to be a “real” martial arts weapon and she plays around with throwing spikes instead. You can see that they have used all their weapons–Darrel doesn”t throw very well. It hurt his football prospects.”

“We certainly can”t use that in your courts,” Winston said. “I take it that you know these people well?”

“Yes,” I said. “We were lab partners and I competed against them in karate tournaments. The Wilson Shodokan Academy has a “take no prisoners” attitude that often gets them banned from competitions. Carman barely escaped being enslaved for assault. The witnesses vanished before her trial.”

“Sounds like a tough bunch.” Colonel Murphy commented. “Perhaps we should mobilize MFS Det 46.”

“No,” Winston said staring at my crotch. I”m pretty, but I”m not vain. He was just thinking deep thoughts and I was in his sight line. “I want to roll up their entire network.”

“They robbed the Eastlake Snuff Shop for a reason,” I said. “It would have been helpful to have that missing video tape.”

“Benny Halder kept those tapes on file to prove that his conversions and snuffs were legal,” Colonel Murphy informed me. “He was cheap or he could have had a better surveillance system. The good video equipment recorded the snuffings in the torture chamber. Mr. Halder was glutting the market with snuff videos.”

“It seems you yanks can”t get enough of snuffing pretty girls,” Button commented. I half expected a “what” out of her–but that is Cockney, not Midland accent.

“You”ve been of great help, Leftenant Foster,” Winston said. “You wouldn”t happen to have the last known addresses of those four, would you?”

“I can do better than that.”

“Splendid!” Winston tore his eyes off my dick and turned towards Button. “Get your kit off. I”ll be in touch.”

“She will remain a free woman, Lieutenant,” my colonel was telling me, “unless you enslave her. Button had a choice–she would act as your slave and remain a free woman, or she would be enslaved.”

“A matter of several infractions,” Winston said as Button hesitantly disrobed. “It was up to Button, really–be enslaved or pretend to be your slave. She risks being really enslaved, of course. I think that the charge would be indecent exposure.”

“Section 21-1021 paragraph A. Every person who willfully either: subparagraph 1. Lewdly exposes his person or genitals in any public place, or in any place where there are other persons to be offended or annoyed thereby: subparagraph 2. Procures, counsels, or assists any person to expose such person, or to make any other exhibition of such person to public view or to the view of any number of persons, for the purpose of sexual stimulation of the viewer: Shall be guilty, upon conviction of a felony and shall be–”

“Enough! We get it!” Colonel Murphy raged./ “Forget about your nudists for a minute!”

“I have over four dozen slaves that just want to be naked,” I countered. “Enslavement allows them to.”

“Well!” Button huffed as she covered her breasts with her hands. She was still wearing panties and garter belt with stockings.

“Nobody will bother you, Lieutenant,” Colonel Murphy said. “You have a lot of slaves. One more naked woman won”t trigger any interest.”

“Luv,” Winston spoke to Button, “all the way. Don”t cover up or you”ll be wearing stripes too. I can still enslave you for your infractions. Or you can have the Leftenant enslave you. This way you will walk away a free woman. It is just for three months. Leftenant Foster will teach you everything he knows.”

Button pulled off her panties and blushed. She was about 5 foot 8 and 130 pounds with brown hair and eyes. She had small breasts and a full bush and her armpits were hairy. I would make her fit in with my own slaves even if she were a free woman.

“Are there any limits on my using Button?”

“You can kill her, if that”s what you mean,” Winston said carelessly. “Button will not survive long if she cannot please you. Killing her would be a merciful act.”

I wondered what Button had done to warrant such contempt.

“Your proposal to treat all government employees as if they were slaves has some merit,” Colonel Murphy said, “but for obvious reasons we cannot officially enact that right now. In the mean time, have fun with Button. Just e-mail me her tag number for reference purposes only.”

“If you get her pregnant,” Winston sneered, “you may keep her. She is not my cup of tea at all, but she does look like your Jane and Heather.”

After Winston and Colonel Murphy had departed, I was left with a sniffing Button.

“This is more difficult than I had imagined,” Button said. “Now what?”

“All my slaves have been depilated. Since you aren”t permanent, a wax job is in order.”

“You jest!”

“Look at me. I don”t like hairy bodies. I even did my own–permanently. Two wax jobs should do for your three months. The permanent solutions take about a year right now. Research is working on one-treatment permanent depilation but we don”t have FDA approval yet–except it doesn”t matter what one does to a slave. But you are not a slave.”

I processed her almost exactly as if she were a DEV slave–except no paperwork. Button was medically examined. She was photographed so much that Button had no more secrets–at least not from the camera. Her hair was done up in a pony tail–though she would have looked good with shorter hair, I could tell that she needed it longer. The wax job was painful for her, but she shed few tears. She balked at the RFID tag.

“I”ll plant it shallow and have it removed at the end of your time with me,” I said. “When the Slaver database is queried, you will come up as a slave. Colonel Murphy told me that he had fixed things.”

“I don”t recall that conversation. ”

“”Just e-mail me her tag number for reference purposes only,”" I quoted. “He has the number. You will be identified as a MFS Det 46 military slave if anyone accesses the slaver data base. When your assignment is finished, we can burn out the tag or remove it. Or I can legally convert you. It isn”t any of my business, but you must have given your boss serious grief for him to treat you like this.”

“As you say, that isn”t your affair.”

“Your hands, please?” I felt the callus patterns on her palms and fingertips. “What Kung Fu school do you follow?”

“My instructor had no school,” Button quickly ran down the list of fighting styles taught to her. She wasn”t Kiki, but she was at least as proficient as I. “I do miss my revolver. It was a Wesley .380 with short barrel.”

“I think I have something that will work for you,” I said. I wondered what a Wesley .380 was. I thought I knew NATO small arms. “You”ve been groomed and the next step is sexual orientation. I will not only fuck you shortly, but you will be servicing women as well. You have no privacy. When you shit and piss, someone will be watching and will clean you up afterwards. You will do the same for others. Unless there is a health or safety issue, no clothes anytime. In a few hours I will take you out in public. Heather will see that you have something on your feet because the sidewalks would injure your soles. Kiki, my sensei, never wears shoes–but she and Bonnie have built up thick calluses. You don”t have them. You have shoe calluses.”

“I don”t suppose I have a choice in the matter,” Button said as I rubbed her vulva. “Girls don”t turn me on.”

“Then you”ll just have to fake orgasms,” I countered as I fingered her hard nipples. “You wouldn”t want your sister slave whipped for failing to pleasure you, would you?”
“Slaves are not human anymore,” Button said.

“I am authorized to conclusively demonstrate how false that is to you,” I countered. “I hope I can prove it to you without making you a slave in the process.”

Button shivered. I couldn”t tell if it was fear or if I were turning her on. It didn”t matter in the grand scheme of things anyway. I took Button by the hand and led her to the basement, to the bondage room. In a few minutes I had her strapped face-up on the massage table, thighs open.

“Your medical said that your hymen has been ruptured,” I commented. “Have you had sex before?”

“Yes,” Button hissed and arched her back, shivering as I slipped a finger in her vagina. That was the last articulate word from her for about an hour. Heather and Jane joined me after my first ejaculation. Jane was supposed to be exclusively lesbian in her sexual orientation–but since our wedding a few weeks ago, I had no evidence of that. Heather and Jane demonstrated enthusiasm for everything I suggested to them. Fake? I didn”t worry about it. Button finally came back down to Earth with Heather sucking her left nipple and Jane the right one. I was buried in Button”s cunt to the hilt. “How long will this go on–argh!”

A few moments later I released Button and left her with Jane and Heather for clean-up. Button was ordered to tongue Jane”s snatch from the time cleanup was completed until I returned.

“During clean-up you will lick Heather,” I said. Button”s expression suggested that she was ill.

A few minutes and a quick shower later I was in the kitchen wolfing down a sandwich. Penny brought me a phone. It was Sergeant First Class Archer.

“Sir, those people you talked about are still in town. The boss told me that you are to stay away from them unless they contact you, then you call him immediately.”

“Roger,” I acknowledged. “Anything else?”

“Not officially, but I”d like to fuck Olive Pitt,” Archer told me. “I know she”s pregnant, but I like them that way. I”ll be careful.”

“Sure. How long before you can be here?”

“I”m right here,” William Archer strode into the kitchen naked, his wife Heidi on his arm and also naked. Heidi was exempt from being enslaved because her children were too young–but I was encouraged to use her as if she were a slave. “I want a three-way with Heidi present.”

“Don”t hurt her. May I send in Ginger and a camera crew?”

“I won”t let Bill hurt her,” Heidi promised. “I wouldn”t mind being on video, but Bill is shy.”

“Just camera shy.”

“Master,” Olive Pitt was right behind them,” if I may suggest Ken? He prefers to watch anyway. Or Master Bill can use Ken.”

“No thanks!” Archer said.

“I like an audience,” Heidi pouted. “Besides, Ken can fuck me while you do Olive, and then we girls can 69 each other.”

I finished my sandwich after they had gone upstairs. Olive seemed eager. Was it hormones or was Olive faking enthusiasm? She was an award-winning actress. If there were parts for pregnant women, she would have had a role. That got me thinking–GVVN had the studio facilities. Ken wrote plays in his spare time -

Slave Bethany Is Questioned

Monday, May 19 2008

Agent Newhall met me in the parking garage beneath the federal building. Mercy was with me as a legal advisor. Slaves do not have rights. Mercy was there representing DEV to protect the property rights of that trust. Naturally, both Mercy and I were naked except for our collars. Mercy carried a computer case.

“Agent Newhall, I”m from DEV,” Mercy began.

“I know why you are here. Can you both remove your collars? I have replacements.”

“If I may phone our office, I can get them off in a moment,” Mercy was fibbing a bit. DEV officers are slaves, but we generally can remove our own collars. I have very low pain tolerance, but when ordered by one of the DEV trust or a senior slave, I”ll put my own collar on immediately and program punishment without question. The collar can be locked by remote control, but us officers, we “asset slaves” are trusted to do things like that. I don”t even want to consider not obeying! Mercy used her remote and informed the office by text message and unlocked our collars by using her remote. She collected both collars and put them in her bag.” Anything else, sir?”

“I”ll need you to leave your computer in your car, too,” Agent Newhall said. “We are a secure office. No outside electronics.”

“Yes sir. I may need to phone out because my authority to act for DEV is limited.”

“I”ve discussed this with Captain Foster. You are here primarily as a witness for your trust.”

Agent Newhall bade us to remove shoes and jewelry as well. The DEV van had a keypad on the door so we could lock the keys in the glove compartment and still enter the van. The parking structure floor was smooth and clean, thank god! In a few moments Mercy and I were being examined at the security point. There were two more examinations. We ended up in a small room with a table and four chairs. The room had a heavy door and a large mirror on one wall.

“For the record, this is Agent Alexander M. Newhall, badge number 887,” Agent Newhall began. “Witnessing this interview for Defensive Enslavement Volunteers is the trust attorney, Slave Mercy. This interview of Slave Bethany, housemother for Juanita Hall, the DEV slave sorority house at Eastlake University, is part of an investigation into the misconduct of the late Captain Carson V. Ross of the Butlerville Slave Patrol. This interview is being recorded.

“Bethany, tell me what happened on Friday morning from your point of view. Tell me only what you know and how you learned it.”

It took me only a few minutes to relate what I knew (see Slave Bethany Gets Raided). It wasn”t much. Agent Newhall asked me a lot of questions. When he started asking me about the EU Pool Pikes, he had to explain that it was a group of Eastlake University college boys who preyed on stupid coeds. The Pool Pikes would make a list of girls that they wanted to PPC and then they”d stalk the girls and trick them into having sex on camera. With sufficient evidence, the Pool Pikes would take the girl to a white slaver and sell her. The gang had only 17 members—to gain membership a boy had to enslave his girlfriend and let the Pool Pikes sell her. I had met with one of them when all of the EU sorority house presidents and housemothers met last week. His name was Billy and he told me to stay out of his business. Billy slapped me—and the other girls at the meeting made him leave.

“The pike is also known as the freshwater barracuda,” Agent Newhall explained. “This gang has done nothing illegal. Their activities are in line with official slave bureau policy—get sluts and stupid girls into slavery. They have lodged formal complaints that DEV is stealing their slaves.”

There were more questions. Mercy had to answer some of them. The official score for the Pool Pikes was 83 slaves. Another 51 women had sought defensive conversions listing the Pool Pikes as the reason why. Not all of the Pool Pike-inspired protective enslavements went through DEV. The gang was in operation for just a little more than two years.

“Master—”

“The proper form of address is “Agent,” “Agent Newhall corrected me.

“Agent Newhall, if neither of us are doing anything wrong, why the investigation?” I was puzzled.

“Two members of the Butlerville Slave Patrol wound up dead raiding your sorority. Slave patrol members are not law enforcement officers, but Eastlake Municipal PD SWAT did the shooting. We found out that you were raided because a William Harper phoned in a tip that Juanita Hall was a front for the Underground Railroad the night before you were raided. He called every slave patrol within 100 miles. Several recorded the call. Harper used his own cell phone, too.”

“Agent Newhall,” Mercy raised her hand as if she were in class. She waited until after the agent nodded. “That was no crime. Slave patrols are not law enforcers. At best they are private investigators, like bail bondsmen.”

“That”s the rub,” Agent Newhall said. “Mr. Harper didn”t commit any crimes, yet two men died because of him. We can”t even charge him with a crime. My office is investigating the incident because it involved slaves and law enforcement.”

Mercy and I glanced at each other and then we glanced back at Agent Newhall before respectfully returning our gaze to the tabletop. The moments stretched on.

“This is unofficial,” Agent Newhall told us. “This afternoon you two will be at a mandatory assembly with fifty-four free women. They are required to be there. You will convert several of them because they are under a conversion contract. A few have parental conversion documents. The rest—you”ll ask them to volunteer because the Pool Pikes are trying to trap them into slavery. Use the standard contracts. My office cannot endorse one white slaver over another and officially we support the Pool Pikes for their public spirit. Personally, I think that William Harper and those like him are loose cannon. What we are asking you to do is to put yourself on his enemies list. It will put you in danger—but you don”t really have a choice. You are slaves. When you leave here, Captain Foster will order you to attend the assembly and convert as many of those women as possible. It”s finals week at your university—anybody you convert this afternoon will finish out the year naked because of increased security concerns. It used to be that the slave”s owner determined if the slave wore clothes or went naked to school. School dress codes didn”t apply to slaves, though most universities did want slaves to be decently attired so that they wouldn”t disrupt the academic environment.

“We expect the Pool Pikes to try something stupid. Captain Foster will tell you what to do about it,” I caught Agent Newhall”s smile and it made me shiver, “but when the Pool Pikes interfere with the property rights of slave owners, they will have committed crimes and we can do whatever we want to them.”

I met Master Peter for lunch. Juanita Hall had been repaired with remarkable speed. When Master Peter looked at the damage, he laughed. I guess soldiers look at things differently that regular people. Master Peter told me to convert as many women as I could and to warn the rest. He said that there would be more drills at Juanita House and that most of the student slaves would be gone for the summer.

“There will be more danger and I can”t avoid it,” Master Peter kissed my hand. “Be brave—I can”t keep trouble away, but I am free to act when someone violates my property rights.”

Mercy whispered to me that she thought every Pool Pike”s phone was being tap

Slave Bethany Gets Raided

Friday, May 16, 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

The building shook as something blew up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don”t need a warrant!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

“But there were bombs!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Master Oscar, what happened?”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“I”m confused.”

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

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

“Who determines what is legitimate?” Oscar asked.

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

“Gimme head, but make it last.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stand up child. How old are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How does that work?”

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

“Sounds positively subversive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a Little Drink!

Slave Tracie

My name is—or was—Tracie Bothwell. I was born 23 years ago. Last week I was Reverend Jesse”s personal secretary. Yes, we were intimate. It”s a miracle that I wasn”t enslaved already, but Jesse never even mentioned it. Jesse was my life. Not only did I handle his affairs, but I was a valuable member of his staff. The Revival Bible Fundamentals Network is very much a 21st Century church. We believe in enjoying life. That includes sex and alcohol—in moderation. Jesse is so masterful that I would do anything for him. Anything. But my life is over, now.

As a hobby, I sang alto in the Revival Bible Fundamentals Network Choir. That led to my undoing. My solos intoxicated me. I already know that I”m a follower, one of the sheep. When several of the girls went out for drinks, I didn”t have it in me to refuse. We all put on bathing suits under our clothes and the five of us headed into Eastlake to bar hop. We”d be careful to stay away from slaver bars—they”re clearly marked on the outside. We were careful to get just one drink, and to drink only half of it. I lost track of the time and how many bars we went to. Yes, I got drunk. The rest of the night was like a bad dream. Some guys told us that they were cops and that we were under arrest. Don”t quote me—I”m a slave now, and I was so drunk that I peed all over myself. The next morning I was naked and in a cage by myself. That evening I was given some dog biscuits. I was hungry enough to gnaw on them. I wanted more water—one of the men used a garden hose to spray me down. He laughed at my sputtering and hosed me down some more. I lapped up the water on the floor of my cage because I was so thirsty! Then a girl came in and asked what was going on. I think she was called Crystal or Muffin or something like that. Anyway, she got me some more water and got me dried off.

A man calling himself “John” got us out of the cages and the girl Trixie or whatever helped us clean up. “John” scribbled down some notes as Trixie took some photos. He said that all five of us were prime, whatever that means. Muffy herded us back into our cages. I never knew we were wearing those horrid collars until I fell to my knees after asking Muffy when we were going to be fed. I keep calling her a girl—she was a short, skinny, cute little thing. Poor girl!

After we were left alone I tried talking to the others. Anything other than a whisper and our collars would shock all of us! I tried to talk and all five of us yelped—which shocked us and we cried and we”d get shocked -

The little girl came in again and told us that we had to be quiet. She explained about our collars. It was able to shock us by remote control. If we talked too loudly, it would shock us. If we left the garage, we”d get a strong shock—enough to knock us out, all of us. The girl demonstrated by shocking all of us.

“Your collars are set so that if one of you misbehaves, you all suffer. Tonight you are going to be visited by the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol. They are the ones who caught you tearing around the neighborhood and arrested you. Neville took your voluntary conversions.”

Traci tried to say something—we were all given another shock.

“Girls, get used to it! Your lives are in danger. Dad will have you barbecued if you don”t sell at auction this weekend. You don”t get it—you are slaves. Mr. Robinson came by and put in a meat bid on you. If you don”t sell, you will be slaughtered here and your lifeless bodies sold to the highest rated long pig BBQ place in Eastlake–Roberson’s Fine BBQ and Party Supply. If the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol can”t beat Robinson”s meat price, they can kill you without paying a meat tax and Robinson”s can buy you. All they have to do is push a switch on this collar remote and you”re all dead! I need your help to sell you for a high price. If you”d rather be meat, just give me some grief. Follow my instructions and you might be bought by a good master.” The girl”s voice dropped to a whisper. “I sold my own mother last week. She brought $3800 and I”ve seen her since the auction. Mom is working at the slave sorority house at Eastlake University. Her owner told me that Mom was going to be taking classes and working at the sorority house as house mother. The more I sell you for, the more likely your new owner will treat you well. Be glad that the minimum bid is $1000. You could wind up sold as farm labor. You could become a miner—working under conditions so bad that they won”t use a robot. It”s better that you be put down than some things that happen to slaves. How do you think they test new medicines now? Those kinds of slaves are bought for as little as possible. I haven”t seen them buy anyone for those jobs at higher than $400. Now, cooperate with me and we can get a good price for you—a good home. Otherwise, after the auction Dad will push the button and you will die.”

The little girl looked right at me and her next words chilled me to the bone.

“Don”t think that I”m a pushover just because I”m small and cute. I like watching stupid bitches writhe under the whip. I don”t hate you, but I”m jealous that you”ve got those big tits. I”m jealous that you are going to have sex. Dad promised to enslave me and sell me to Robinson”s if he ever catches me acting like a slut. I”m not going to give him that excuse. If I have to fry every one of you big titted bitches, I will. I know what can happen and I will do whatever it takes to remain a free woman. Anything!”

There were some old mattresses in a corner. Buffy brought us some tasty bread bars. The little loaves were stamped with a castle thingy—like a chess piece. They were good. I whispered my thanks as I was given another bottle of water to wash it down.

“Mistress,” I whispered, “what are these? The food we got earlier tasted like dog food.”

“Slave bars. Mom gave me a few. They are good, aren”t they?”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you. This fills me up better than the dog food.”

“Mom made them. Shelly Clark gave me a bag when she heard that I had more slaves to sell.”

Later we were let out of our cages to bathe one at a time. Terrie had us move some mattresses from a corner of the garage to the middle and tied us up. She told us that we”d be used for sex all week. The better we performed, the better we”d eat. A while later, a bunch of drunken guys had their way with us. Another girl named Connie brought blankets and put us back in our cages after untying us. She must have been a slave, too. She was naked. Connie had old welts and new and was still crying.

My other cage mates were Tracie and Josefina and Melba and Jeannie. We all looked up to Jeannie because she was our composer and choir director. Jeannie had been leading us in prayer. When we were left alone for the night, Jeannie led us through a prayer that Reverend Jesse would raise the money and bid on us. We prayed to Jesus for His mercy. It got cold in the garage lying on the concrete cage floor with just one thin blanket. I thanked the Lord for that thin little blanket.

Over the next several days we were sex tested by Melvin or Marlin—I”m really bad with names. I actually enjoyed myself. Even the pain testing was fun. Don”t get me wrong—I don”t like pain. Marvin made it fun. Connie was there all of the time and little Buffy visited us once a day. There was even a Mark East, a slaver—he looked us over. I guess he didn”t like what he saw. We ate dog food, left-overs that Connie brought us, and some of those good slave bars, but there was never enough. Jeannie led us in our prayers of thanks. Three times a day Connie took us to the bathroom. Prayers, feeding, getting fucked by the men, going to the bathroom—those were the high points in a boring existence. Finally, Zoe or Ziffy got us ready for the auction. We prepared the auction stage and we cleaned up. It was hard to get presentable with just soap and water and a shared hair brush. Connie and what”s-her-name got us cleaned up and the crowd arrived. When we were displayed at the start of the auction, I looked around for Reverend Jesse. He wasn”t there! I felt so low that I didn”t notice the start of the auction.

The good news was that nobody went to Robinson”s.

I was bought by Peter Castleman! That”s one name I remember—I catch all the reruns. I even had the unrated “too hot for TV” DVD”s. Jesus had mercy on me.

Master Peter asked me what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. As we went to his home outside of the city, other naked slaves asked me questions. I didn”t know. My life is in Jesus” hands. Master Peter is those hands. Whatever he tells me to do.

Upon arriving at the Castleman Ranch I was medically examined, photographed, something was put in my butt so that I could be tracked and I was questioned about my past. Master Peter said that my close contact as Reverend Jesse”s personal secretary was private information—that those were not my secrets to share. Me? Secrets? I don”t know any secrets. I did get my first real meal in a week. No clothes, though. Everybody here runs around in their birthday suits—even Master Peter. I guess I can get used to being naked all the time. The Castleman Trust DVD”s showed that everyone was naked, so it wasn”t a surprise. I”m making friends. There”s somebody called Ginger—I recognize her from television, too. As for the rest, I”m going to make up a spreadsheet so that I can tell who is who. There are a lot of people here!

Oh, yeah, Master Peter is going to Ellisia. Penny, one of his slave wives, made sure that I have something to wear—Ellisia has a dress code. Clothes are required.

I do wonder what the rest of my life will be like. It isn”t bad being a slave here. I”d like to wear clothes, but that”s okay. Nobody else does around here. I don”t want to be out of place.

Jeannie told me that I should have dyed my hair blonde. I didn”t know that was a put-down until Susan told me different—I do need that spreadsheet! Susan is another slave wife.

Just think—all this occurred because of a little drink.

Slave Bethany—Business as Usual

Tuesday, May 14, 2008

It was a few minutes past midnight when the buzzer rang. The nice thing about perpetual nudity is always being appropriately attired for company. I saw three women at the door. Two were naked and bound. The third was wearing a coat. I answered through the intercom.

“Mistress, I am slave Bethany, the sorority house mother. How may I serve you, Mistress?”

“I caught these two making porn on their web cam,” the speaker was older than the other two. “I have three conversions. Wait a minute.”

The woman took off her coat. She was naked underneath except for shoes. Master Peter has briefed the house mothers at our meeting about the terrorist attacks on Spellbook Slaves and Games. He said that they had used three naked slaves as a Trojan horse to gain entry. The key points were a clothed woman, baggage, and the naked slaves were unbound. I buzzed them into the first door of the foyer, effectively trapping them. In the aftermath of the Eastlake raids, everyone was on edge. Three nude and only one free—I felt safe. I still woke up six other women to assist me. Our next step was to pass through three slave control collars. The woman buckled the collars on herself and the two slaves. These were not locked down to the low levels normal for DEV slaves—Master Peter warned me that they could kill. There was an automatic setting that would cycle through increasing levels of shocks until either I overrode them or the victim lost consciousness. There were several ways to start the shocks—if they left the room without me telling them that they could leave, or if the video monitor in the office showed that I was having trouble, or if I gave the collars a voice command the collars would shock.

Something told me that I wouldn”t need the collars.

“I”m Megan Wilde,” the woman introduced herself.

“Honored to meet you, Mistress.”

“No, not “mistress,”" Megan said. “Here are the appropriate documents. I have downloaded the standard DEV indefinite contracts - the contract that requires we remain slaves for at least ten years but doesn”t require DEV to free us. I plan to be a slave for the rest of my life. The standard asset transfer contracts and our slave papers have all been properly notarized. Your organization will have to pick up our things—your things now. The car is in the parking lot. Where are the pee bottles?”

All three came up clean. No red flags on the data base. Mother Megan was drug free and not pregnant. Neither daughter was pregnant, though both registered a BAC of .03. As they were under 21, that was enough to get them converted for public drunkenness. If they had been driving -

“Are we slaves yet?”

“Just as soon as the tax is paid,” I replied. It took only a few seconds—the white slaver site seemed quiet tonight. “Megan Wilde, Jennifer Wilde, Danielle Wilde, as of 12:56 AM Central Daylight Savings Time on this Tuesday, May 14, 2008, you are persons of limited rights.”

“Thank God we”re safe now. I didn”t want John to find out because I was afraid that he would kill the girls. I was afraid that he would enslave the three of us and have us live roasted this Saturday. I picked the indefinite conversion contracts because I don”t want my daughters to be free women again unless they earn it.”

I yawned. I was tired.

“Let”s pick this up in the morning. I”m putting you three on a water fast until your medical screening at noon. You can sleep late. Do you want to e-mail your ex-husband and let him know where you and the girls are? I”ll even let you phone him, but it is late. Or early. We can even have a telegram delivered. DEV can sever your ties entirely, but unless there is some physical danger to you, we prefer that you work out your new relationships with your friends and family rather than never see them again.”

“An e-mail would be fine.”

A few minutes later I got to read her e-mail. Slave e-mails are sent out differently from free citizen e-mails—we have to gain permission first. I had permission, but I was supposed to read outgoing e-mails prior to sending them. Megan”s was short and simple.

“The girls and I are DEV slaves, Master John. We are safe and well off. Please reply to this e-mail address if you wish further contact. Slave Megan.”

“Your daughters were making porn?”

“They had their web cam on and were doing strip teases on camera. I tied them up and looked over what they had sent. They confessed everything. I was afraid of how my husband would react, so I downloaded and filled out the forms, took them to a notary, and came here. What are my orders?”

“I have to put you in quarantine until after the medical exam,” I yawned again. “I am required to keep that collar on you until someone above me unlocks it. I”m sorry, but I have to put you three in the dungeon tonight. If you give me no trouble, there is no need for you to be tied up. Use the bathroom attached to the dungeon and do not try to leave or your collars will shock you. It is warm down there and there are plenty of mats and pads to sleep on. Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No, that”s it.”

A few minutes later I was crawling into bed beside a softly snoring Dorothy. My other bed partner for the night was actually a security slave named Kelleigh—sometimes nick-named “Killer Kelleigh” for her hard muscles. I felt safe in her strong, gentle arms. Kelleigh came in a few minutes later and barely made the bed move.

“They are okay?”

“There was a comment about blankets and pillows. I told them to hug each other if it got cold.”

Except for the hour, that was a fairly routine DEV conversion. I”d seen more than a dozen like it—women needing an immediate protective enslavement. Their lives wouldn”t be easy now, those three new slaves, but they would be safe. They”d be as safe as a woman can be in modern day America.

Slave Bethany and the Baker”s Dozen Lunch

Sunday, May 11, 2008

“Dorothy, invite your white slaver to lunch. I have another 13 slaves for her. We”ll bring our own notary and we”ve downloaded the forms from DEV”s site.”

This was going to change my plans!

I had just converted Dorothy Orlando. It was almost a spur of the moment decision for the 20 year old woman. Almost. The Eastlake Raids by those Freedom Cell terrorists had panicked slavers and college girls alike. I was to meet with a representative of the national Greek sorority system to resolve some issues predating the raids—such as the fact that the three DEV houses were not part of the Greek system. The problem with that was a gang of wanna-be white slaver boys were PPCing every girl stupid enough to sleep with them. The three DEV House Mothers had a meeting with the national Greek System representative to resolve the issue of the EU sororities being involved with a gang of boy slaver wannabes. This evening we”d meet with the assembled house mothers of Eastlake University and University of Oklahoma at Eastlake.

Why should DEV care about stupid chicks? It is impossible to save the whole world. Even I know that not everyone is worth saving. What DEV planned to do is approach the boys” club, a “secret society, and offer them a deal—if they caught a girl, they”d sell her to DEV. The rewards? For one, Juanita Hall had a lot of horny women! For another, DEV might be able to salvage the fallen women. Third, we could keep the guys from doing something illegal. Fourth, we”d even set up a conversion lottery among the sororities during Rush Week—girls would take their chances of being converted while attempting to join a sorority. Juanita Hall would provide the sorority house slaves—and care for them. Now there was a chance that the sororities wouldn”t accept that because several houses had girl roasts—not DEV”s style at all.

“I”m so flat,” Dorothy snapped me out of my reverie. “I was thinking about what you asked me. What do I want to do with the rest of my life? I want to find a man to love me and I want to have his children.”

“I can make that happen. Let me call someone,” I said as I dialed the Castleman Estate. The phone was answered almost immediately by Penny. “Can you see her? She”s a new conversion and she wants to have children. What do you think? She looks like you.”

“Yes. Peter will be there Saturday. I”d do her myself.” That Penny was a tiger in bed! She and her partner Susan did things to me that make me wet when I think about them. I felt my vaginal muscles flutter and my clit swell. And Peter - “BETHANY!”

“Sorry, Penny. I just had an orgasm. I remembered the last time we met.”

“That was because most people don”t know how to make love,” Penny said. “They don”t know how to have sex and they can”t let go and make the other person happy. You learned how last time.”

“I”m on my way to convert a dozen women, a church choir, I think,” I said. “Their Pastor Gapperson is bringing the notary public, and they all want the standard DEV package. That means that they”ll turn over ownership of all their assets and DEV will negotiate with their families afterwards. I have Mercy with me.”

“Mercy specializes in criminal law.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I can do contract law,” Mercy said from the front seat. “Hi, Penny.”

“Who else is there?”

“Nurse Ellie and Denise,” I said. “Denise is my driver. She was one of the police daughter conversions two months ago.”

“Denise, Denise,” Penny”s voice issued from my collar. “Oh, yes, I see her on the spreadsheet now. Denise Hibler. Hi, Denise.”

Denise blushed.

“Its” okay, Denise,” Penny said. “I have your personality profile in front of me. We can talk when Brother Master visits on Saturday. I know that you get tongue-tied on the telephone.”

“She”s camera shy, too—unless she”s fucking someone.” Denise”s blush deepened and Mercy and I giggled when Ellie made this observation. “We love you, Denise.”

“Remember, Denise, you will be sleeping with me tonight.” Denise gasped at my words. Did she soak the seat like I was doing? It was a good thing that we were sitting on towels and that the seats were washable. The atmosphere was heavy with musk. I noticed that Dorothy”s delectable nipples were hard little bullets again. A peek at her splayed-open legs showed a hint of redness in her slit and her chest and shoulders were flushed again. “You, too, Dorothy.”

“I wish my tits were as big as yours, Bethany.” Dorothy said.

“Believe me,” Penny said from my small cell phone speaker at maximum volume, “Peter will love you just as you are. Have you had a man before?”

“No,” Dorothy said. “You are the second person to ask. Does Master Peter require virgins?”

“Not at all. If you have someone special in mind for your first time with a man, offer yourself to him. Peter would like you either way. Do you want to try for the Castleman Trust? If so, you must be pregnant with Peter”s child. Think it over. It is even a bigger step than enslavement. Believe me; bringing a new life into this world is no small thing.”

“I”m a slave,” Dorothy stated. “I don”t have a choice. Whatever my owner wants is the law.”

I laughed. Mercy laughed. Penny”s laughter came out of the speaker. I think even mousy Denise chuckled, but I couldn”t be sure.

“Honey,” Mercy said, “there is being fucked and dropping Master”s bastard, and there is being loved, bearing and rearing his and your child. I will never know that. I ruined my body with drugs trying to be the top defense attorney in the nation. Now I am far better at that job. When I volunteered for conversion seven years ago, I just wanted to make up for defending the woman who murdered three other women—two of them slaves. I gave myself to Master Peter in partial restitution. He gave me my life back. I am an example of empowerment through enslavement.”

“May I speak?” Denise asked in her mousey soprano. I assented. “I didn”t like school. Everybody was always picking on me. They hated me. I was so frightened when I came to Juanita Hall. Now I am safe. Everybody loves me. I am still shy, but being naked all the time and being handled all the time has made me feel wanted. I feel empowered, too.”

It was a good thing that the FCC prohibits the real “Pearls” of DEV from exposing themselves on broadcast television. We are more frightening than those Freedom Cell terrorists!

“You know,” I said after Penny had hung up, “I was discussing plastic surgery options with Ellie. I wanted to do something with my tits.”

“They”re fine, I tell you,” Ellie said.

“They sag. It”s not just a little droop!”

“I”ve learned this the hard way,” Mercy said. “Don”t try to be anything other than you. Did you know why Peter bought you?”

Master Bill Hanson had actually purchased me at auction.

“Yes. Master Peter and I had a long talk about my daughter. He said that he would like her to be part of his harem, but he didn”t need her and being one of his slaves may not be her best option. He said that there were four lists in Eastlake. These lists had all of the women—the slaves, those that needed to become slaves, those that could be slaves, and those that shouldn”t be slaves. Peter said that the last three lists were from the perspective of society and not necessarily for the woman”s welfare. The goal was to have 36% of the women enslaved by January 1, 2011—but here it is 2008 and we are running about 21% nation-wide. Two years ago we were at 16%. Peter was told this by some slaver cabal at one of his Castleman Trust board meetings. He was told that if he managed to enslave every woman in the United States and Canada, the slaver cabal would advise him on which women he should manumit—and they”d all be on the “do not enslave” list. The “need to enslave” list should be 100%, but 80% from that list would be adequate. The middle list should be about 50% enslaved. Each list was broken down: about 60% of the women were on the “need to enslave list” and if 80% were enslaved, that would be 42% of the women. The second list was about 30%–so 50% adds another 15% or 57% of all women. The last list was only 10% of the women, and if 20% were enslaved, it might improve the other women”s attitudes on that “don”t enslave” list. Anyway, by January 1, 2021 the goal is that 60% of the women in the United States will be slaves. The remainder will be wives—not slave wives, but free women—their daughters, and some high-caliber women. My Tiffany is in that latter group. Master Peter says that the only visible threat to Tiffany”s freedom is Ben. I almost enslaved her myself.”

I told the others how obsessed Ben was that Tiffany save herself for marriage, that she not be a slut like Ben”s mother. I didn”t even know her name, but she was a prostitute in Nevada in the days prior to the White Slave Act. Dead, now, the poor thing.

“Anyway, if Ben converted Tiffany, Peter was going to buy her. Peter told me and said that I should tell Tiffany that I was safe. I”m doing well as House Mother for Juanita Hall, Ben is letting Tiffany get her monthly virginity inspections by herself, and Tiffany assures me that she will be okay. I still worry about her.” I still felt bad about mistreating her. Not enslaving my daughter was the correct decision so far.

“All this talk of enslaving women has made me horny!” Ellie confessed. “I got horny processing more than thirty conditional and delayed conversions this morning. I had a small orgasm when I helped convert three at once. Bo and Jo were so frightened!”

“There”s going to be more of that,” Mercy said from the front seat. “Where will DEV put them all?”

“Not everybody wants DEV,” Dorothy said. “It is still slavery. Yes, the web site offers 30-day trial enslavement, but the standard 10-year package scares many girls. Ten years is half a life-time for us. Then there are those awful DEV ads. When you DEV girls talk, it is like a cult! The only thing is that DEV has a very high survival rate—over 90% of the women converted in 2001 are still alive. I read all the figures. The one-year survival rate is over 98%. The first year survival rate is actually higher for DEV than for free women! The manumission rate is very low, and that scares people, too.”

“Well, dear,” I said, “it has only been seven years. The ten-year contracts of 2001 won”t run out for another three years.”

“They”re 10 to 25 year contracts,” Mercy corrected. “Slaves must be released by the 25th anniversary of their conversion, but they cannot be released until the 10th anniversary of becoming a slave. If she is chosen for the Castleman Trust, she signs on for a minimum of ten years beginning at the time she is transferred to the Trust, and Master Peter doesn”t have to release her, but if she reaches age 50 he must either snuff her or have manumitted or transferred her. He had to kill some of the Castleman Trust slaves already because they were in their late 40″s when they volunteered. There is also a provision that if the woman has been a Castleman Trust slave for 10 years and hasn”t given Master Peter a child, he has to snuff her. Master Peter got around that by requiring that Castleman Trust slaves already have his child. Oh, just so you know, in the near future the Castleman Trust will go away. It has served its purpose. Master Peter has lots of sons, now. The Board wants to run it through the end of the decade and then close entry into the Trust—and let the women finish up their ten years before being transferred out or manumitted. When entry is closed, the Trust will close no later than the 50th birthday of the youngest woman in the Trust. Penny wants to be the last Castleman Trust slave.”

“This is a cult!” Dorothy was in tears.

“Its” okay,” Mercy cooed in Dorothy”s ear. “Master Peter wound up with the first legal slaves in Canada. Their version of the White Slave Act went into effect on Canada Day in 2004. Canada says that they based their WSA on the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Slaves rules for slaves. Except that Master Peter can be accused of exposing and degrading us, he was the author of that movement. He”s a nudist and he doesn”t think it degrading to have us naked all the time. Most of us like it after a while. Did you know that Neville is an abolitionist?”

“Neville?” I was astonished and I may have been shrill.

“Yes,” Mercy asserted. “Neville was bitterly opposed to slavery. One day he came home and his wife and secretary were naked. Neville says that he was tazed because he just lost it. When he woke up, he was in the hospital. Queenie and Rachel were his first slaves. They are jointly owned by DEV and Neville Champion, along with his third girl, Martha. The four of them went through the same sex college, the Bates and Jackson Institute of Sexology. Now Neville specializes in family conversions and his three slave-wives provide slave training on the side. He will do other conversions sometimes, but he prefers to convert wives and daughters. Most are SINO conversions—”

“What”s a SINO?” Dorothy asked. “I hear about it, but I don”t know what it means.”

“Slave In Name Only is what the letters stand for,” Mercy continued. “There are a number of contracts that Neville holds where the family has agreed to enslave the daughters when they reach the age of consent. When the youngest daughter reaches age 16, the mother will be converted as well. A lot of wives are stepmothers and do not have legal custody of the daughters—they almost always enter slavery immediately. Most of these contracts are SINO, with the daughters becoming educational asset slaves. The daughters are not used for sex until they are adults—then they are trained in the things slaves need to do sexually in order to stay alive and happy. Those who were converted at age 16 in 2002 are now 21 or 22 and most all of them have earned bachelors” degrees and a few of them have been manumitted. At the first of this year, Peter manumitted a dozen over the objections of the Trust Board. The first one returned to slavery in three weeks—the last one lasted five months. They all had money and good jobs. They were secure from enslavement. Three returned because they wanted to marry and they decided that a contract marriage with conversion was safer for them and their daughters. If the husband goes broke or dies, his slave-wife reverts to full DEV ownership and she immediately gets counseling. All the daughters will be converted by age 18 for a minimum of seven years—and if they convert earlier than age 18, it is for ten years or age 25, whichever comes last. The boys can”t be enslaved, but Master Peter will care for them until they reach adulthood and if they agree, he will get them through college and start them in a professional career. Anyway, there were two reasons why all 12 returned. Denise hasn”t been here long enough to know—”

“I do know,” Denise said. It was uncharacteristic of her to interrupt anyone. “First, Master Peter loves us. Second, we get more respect here than we did as free women!”

“I would have said that we get more power as Peter”s slaves than we got as free women,” I said. “Love? Sex, definitely. Yes, I guess I feel loved. I managed to patch up things with Tiffany.”

I surprised myself with the thought that I would love to live the rest of my life as a slave, as long as I could stay with DEV. I had everything I needed. When life was no longer any fun, I could ask for a painless release—to be euthanized. If I had to return to that awful garage for the rest of my life, being snuffed would be a welcome escape. As House Mother for Juanita Hall, I had direction and purpose. I was helping young women to make something of themselves. Sex with those women was great, too. Actually, even the occasional bad sex was okay—Neville always made sure that I had a couple of great sex sessions afterwards. As a free woman I couldn”t risk that behavior. Even if there was no risk of being enslaved, in the pre-WSA days a number of women were killed or mutilated by their boyfriends. I got both sex and love as a slave.

“I didn”t believe the Cinderella stories,” I said. “Now I”m living one. It all started when my husband enslaved me in front of my daughter. No, actually it began when I married. Oh, I don”t know where it began! Master Peter as Prince Charming—isn”t that a laugh? He frees women by enslaving them!”

“Cinderella,” Mercy mused. “I saw an X-rated edition, very old, made in the seventies. Peter would have been more like the fairy godmother, I think.”

“I saw the same movie,” Ellie said. “Peter was better than everybody. The prince was a spoiled brat and the fairy godmother was a fraud.”

We had arrived at the Orlando place. We had to park well away from the house because there were cars all over the place. Dorothy was humiliated to be totally naked except for a control collar—not even shoes. She had insisted. Denise was shy—she no longer objected that she was naked, but she just was afraid of other people. I was sending her to Cougar County for two years of adult education in a friendlier environment at the Susan B Anthony School for Gifted Girls, in the special education department. I figured out quickly that Denise wasn”t stupid—she was just so shy that she couldn”t learn in a conventional school setting. The rest of us were sluts! Mercy was a trial lawyer when she was a free woman, and she rarely wore clothes from the first night that she was converted. I didn”t know Ellie”s story, but she only wore clothes when she was working—when somebody made her. I guess it was the same for me. Tiffany had me wear something when we were out on the town. I did wear something when I was doing my share of the kitchen chores or other dirty work. It occurred to me that I was the only one wearing shoes!

Mrs. Orlando met us at the door. She was naked. I bowed and began formally greeting her.

“Stop that,” Dora Orlando scolded. “In a few moments I will be a slave too. Come inside and meet Pastor Gapperson. His secretary Mary will notarize the documents.”

Inside were more than a dozen slaves! Neville warned me to bring supplies for three times the expected conversions. He said that once someone converted a woman to “person of limited rights” status, they got a taste for the power to take control of a woman”s future and sought another fix. Neville said that he got that rush, too, but the strongest rush was when he could give a woman a good enslavement. He admitted that he was ashamed of enjoying enslaving women even when they met a bad end shortly afterwards. I hadn”t done that many conversions yet, but I think I know what he was talking about. It helped that I had sex with every woman I had converted except for Bo and Jo—there was tomorrow! I had two quickies with Dorothy already and she hadn”t been a slave for three hours yet!

Dora and her daughter Daphne requested delayed enslavements. Oddly enough, their request went through the slaver site green-flagged all the way. Their conversion documents listed them as free women who would become slaves in ten days. There were 17 women, but only 13 to convert. The other three were already slaves: Pastor Gapperson”s wife, his secretary Mary, and the Orlando”s slave Vickie. The last woman, Janet Lyons, said that she was ineligible for enslavement because she had a young son, but the older daughter had to be protected in a save enslavement. I asked her why she was naked.

“So Jacki won”t feel too bad. We”ll go to church together naked. I don”t think the police will give me any problems today. They are only bothering young women who are wearing clothes.”

“Yes,” Pastor Gapperson looked like Santa Claus—or the great W. C, Fields with a white beard. His wife even looked like Mrs. Claus. “I had a policy that new slaves would be introduced to the congregation naked. They would welcome a new sister into the flock, even if she had been there for years before being enslaved. I would tolerate no abuse of slaves in the House of the Lord, although I must respect the owner”s rights. It hasn”t been a problem. I”ve been able to console many a soul over becoming a slave, or help a parent deal with their daughter”s enslavement. With those awful Kansas terrorists, I”m going to ask that all slaves attend services naked until people calm down. The entire choir is being converted—to DEV slaves. If you would send someone over to my church tomorrow, we will probably have another two dozen women who need DEV protection. The rest of the women are too young or have young children, so they should be safe. Oh, yes, we also have several public officials that attend. I know that you are busy, but we”d sleep better at night. Besides, when WSA 2000 was passed, I said some intemperate things from the pulpit. Now, I”ve changed my mind. Most of the owners treat their slaves with compassion. A few bad apples exists—and corporations treat their slaves like they treat their employees, disposable. It is just that they can abuse their slaves more than they can free people.”

It took only about an hour to complete the mass conversion. That included Mercy reviewing every contract and Ellie inserting RFID tags and applying DEV tattoos. We had some extra RFID tags and DEV policy was to tag free people if they permitted. It was a means to recover lost children, so most parents agreed—no charge, and the only “strings attached” were the recommendation that the child”s RFID tag be read at least once per year to make sure that it still worked. We wrote it off as a public service. Three years ago an Eastlake child turned up in Memphis and was returned safely home—before her parents even knew that she had been missing. Her abductor was convicted. He didn”t live long because the other convicts don”t like people who abuse children. The best part of the story is that the man didn”t have time to harm the girl—he was tripped up when he entered a DiscountMart store and the RFID reader triggered a missing child alert—the child”s school had listed her as absent and had used the Child Tracing System to find her. That generated a lot of good-will. I can”t figure out why so many science fiction writers warned about big government—our Uncle Sam looked out for us. Many parents merely put an inert wristband on their child after that incident that announced “registered with DEV child tracking service” and no RFID tag, but most children wearing that wristband were traceable at more than ten thousand RFID readers nationwide. Airport security had installed them as part of the screening process to track tagged slaves. Ellie installed a total of forty-two RFID tags—including Pastor Gapperson.

“Now I can”t be mistaken for an abolitionist terrorist,” the pastor joked. “They can find me anywhere.”

I got a quick lunch at the Orlando house, left Dorothy there and Denise drove me and the other two slaves to my meeting with the other DEV House Mothers and Ms. Woodall, the national sorority representative. For some reason, I fell asleep on the way. Must have been that rush—or the mini orgy between myself and Ellie in the back seat.

Slave Bethany, Sorority House Mother

Sunday, May 11, 2008

I was converted by my husband and sold at auction over two months ago. I was lucky. Very lucky. I don”t see my ex-husband Ben any more. I am permitted to visit Ben by my owner, but Ben doesn”t want to see me anymore. I visit with my daughter Tiffany twice a week and we keep in touch by phone every day. Sometimes she takes me out to dinner—but she insists that I wear a dress for those outings. Slave life is supposed to be horrible. Just ignore the Pearl Show on GVVN, a plain-vanilla long-running series of interviews of mostly SINO and those slaves under the Castleman umbrella. Cinderella stories, most of them! I never believed them. Laws limit what can be shown on TV. Ginger of GVVN coined the term “Pearl” from Person of Limited Rights and somehow got it through the FCC! Every show is vetted as “family friendly” and several slaver and anti-slavery groups endorse it!

I don”t believe those Cinderella stories on the Pearl Show even now, and I”m living them. Queenie was right—I”m a lesbian. Sexual orientation means nothing for a slave. I prefer to have sex with women and I”m in charge of nearly two hundred slaves. Most are students here at Eastlake University. There are several dozen teachers and staff members—all of the Eastlake University nurses live here. Most of the sorority lives off campus, but we have meetings every Wednesday in one of the Eastlake University auditoriums. I am also responsible for the monthly meetings of the slave sorority alumni here at Eastlake, and I have to meet with the House Mothers of the other two sororities in Eastlake. My days are full and so are my nights. As House Mother, I get a private bedroom—but I seldom sleep there. Every girl here is beautiful and since coming here I have had sex with all of them—and many of the off-campus sorority sisters, too. I prefer sex with women, but I have had more sex with men since coming here than I did before being sold. Neville and his slave-wife Queenie have me on a 90-day sex training program. Once that program is completed, I will have four hours of testing and refresher training every 90 days. I prefer to have sex with women, but sex with men is good, too. Yes, I”ve become a slut. To think that Ben was going to enslave Tiffany if she lost her virginity!

I prefer to have sex with women, but I prefer group sex with both men and women. I”m the complete slut!

Sex is only part of my life. Most of it is dealing with the dramas of 80 women”s everyday life. I have professional psychologists to help out—two of them teach at EU. Yes, both are slaves, too—DEV slaves. They scare me sometimes with talk of “empowerment through enslavement.” Georgia and Megan are otherwise good girls. I am attending business management courses, too. Cheryl explained that continuous education was required for DEV slaves because the world was changing.

“What if Congress repeals the White Slave Act tomorrow?” Bill Hanson asked.

“You”d have to wear clothes,” Cheryl said.

Cheryl”s remark reminded me of how much I had changed since coming here to Juanita Hall. Brainwashed? Me? Perhaps. When I arrived, Slave Nurse Ellie asked me: “Are you used to being naked, yet? Don”t answer that. It”s a trick question. If you aren”t comfortable being naked all the time, you need to stay naked so that you are. When you are used to being naked, you don”t need clothes.”

She was right. I got used to being naked. I like being naked—which is why my daughter tells me what to wear. She got me most of my old clothes from Ben. He didn”t need them (Ben isn”t into cross-dressing), and DEV paid him for them. No jewelry, of course. I don”t know the details, like how much Ben got for the clothes, but I have a closet full of stuff that I wear only occasionally. I said I liked being naked. If it is cold, I will wear something—usually a Juanita House slave cape and leg warmers (I”m too old to bare my legs to Oklahoma winters!) and short winter booties—but only outdoors.

Sex is a minor part of my life—but it is important. I must hasten to add that almost all of the sex I”ve had since Bill bought me has been good. There have been a few men who used me as a slave—they got their kicks by making me miserable. Between slaves, we please each other—at least here at Juanita House mutual pleasure is the rule. Men tend to focus on their own pleasure, and that is okay. A few get their pleasure by making sure that they have all the fun—any pleasure that we slaves gets is “stolen” from “master.” No wonder I”m a lezzy slut! I only had one free woman that shared that “pleasure stolen from Mistress” attitude, and the welts from her riding crop are almost healed. It was worth it because Tom and Neville did me in a three-way right after my hour of hell with “Mistress.” The next morning, Cheryl and Queenie and Rachel, another of Neville”s slave wives, kept me orgasming or on the edge until lunch. I had to take a nap so that I could attend class that afternoon. I”m very much aware of how bad some slaves have it. I”ve heard that one of the wives sold off with me has been snuffed already. I could have been her.

But most of my life is managing the drama of the girls living here. Free woman college students are away from home for the first time in their lives. They do stupid things. In the WSA era, most of those stupid things involve their boyfriends. There is a “secret society” on campus that specializes in PPC—the boys hunt down women to convert by “persons of personal contact.” The requirement to gain entry into the club is to PPC one of their girlfriends—legally, of course—and turn her over to the club. The sorority girls at Eastlake University quickly caught on to the scheme and there was a war between the two—but they”ve reconciled. Now most of the sororities work with the PPC gang—for a price. I don”t know the details, but Karen Timmerman was a midnight defensive enslavement here at Juanita Hall last week because her boyfriend was trying to become a member of that gang. It was awful how he pounded at the doors to Juanita Hall and screamed threats until two Eastlake Metro Police arrested him. If it matters, both officers were women, rare today.

Today”s agenda was so full that I was assigned a driver! Denise was Patrol Officer Thomas “Tom” Hibler, the Tom I met when I arrived at Juanita Hall. As advertised, Denise was somewhat dense, poor girl. If you looked up “blonde” in the dictionary, you”d see her photo. Denise was pretty and she was very willing in bed. Not that it would do me any good–I was supposed to catnap between meetings and Denise would be driving. My first meeting was with Ellie at the school dispensary for a medical exam, and then I”d meet with the other House Mothers that formed the DEV slave sororities. We would next have a meeting with the national Greek System representative to resolve the issue of the EU sororities being involved with a gang of boy slaver wannabes. The third meeting would be with the sorority presidents and house mothers of the EU sororities. I was naked except for some rather dainty Grecian-style sandals to protect my feet, and a slave collar. I chose to wear that because it was my cell phone, too. Yes, it had full punishment features—I could phone Juanita Hall and enable those functions through voice commands to the computer. I don”t like to—but there are people that I will do anything for. Tiffany enabled those punishment commands one time. I hate pain, but I did it for my daughter. There is something special about my collar—I can unlock ad remove it by voice command. Yes, there are overrides on my unlock command—such as several key officers in DEV or whenever I hand off voice control to another person, but basically I have control over my own punishment. Sometimes I need to be punished. Astonishing, isn”t it?

“Hi, Bethany!” Ellie was a bubbly young thing. I never did ask her how she got herself enslaved. “You”re early. I”m treating a patient. Be with you in a minute.”

Ellie and the receptionist wore uniforms. Ellie had a white lab coat and shoes and a spiffy little nurse”s cap - and a thin silver band around her throat. The receptionist was a free woman student—naturally, she wore clothes. I bowed to the free woman as required.

“I greet thee, Mistress.”

“Please, don”t,” the girl plead. She was about my daughter”s age—and scared. “You are the new slave sorority house mother?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. It wasn”t really a stupid question. EU had a lot of naked slaves. Ellie wore her nurse”s costume because she was required to—unless a patient requested otherwise during treatment. I was a naked middle-aged slave, but not everybody knew me as a housemother—not yet.

“Please call me Dorothy. Tiff is one of my classmates. We”re all afraid of her because she is a white slaver.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dorothy,” I smiled as I looked into her deep brown eyes. She was frightened, which excited me sexually.

“I heard that your own daughter sold you off.”

“That”s right, but it wasn”t her fault.” I told Dorothy about my husband converting me, about how gentle Neville was under the circumstances, the auction, how scared I was, and what my life had been like since. “Tiffany and I get together every week. If I had known what DEV was like, if I hadn”t been afraid of becoming a slave, I would have taken Tiffany to the DEV office and gotten us both enslaved years ago. I”m worried that my ex-husband will convert our daughter in spite of his promise. He promised that he wouldn”t as long as she passed a virginity check each month.”

“You could still trap her,” Dorothy said.

“Oh, no! She”s my daughter. She is also a free woman and I am just a slave. I won”t do that to her.” Not unless that was the only way to save her from death or a bad enslavement. I had made up my mind that my own death was preferable to enslaving Tiffany. For the first time since that dreadful first visit to Willi”s office and Tiffany”s first gynecology exam, Tiffany and I were friends. Yes, I was a slave and she a free woman—and a white slaver. She didn”t hold my being a slave against me, and after a few trips to the whipping post Tiffany said that she forgave me for what I did to her. Georgia was helping me deal with my own guilt feelings. Did I mention that I can”t stand pain? There are worse things than physical suffering—guilt, for one. I had been told that my daughter was special, that she was on the “do not enslave” list. Tiffany told me that her roommate Constance, now Ben”s slave, was also on the “do not enslave” list. “Not every woman should be a slave.”

“Did you hear about the terrorist raids on that slave shop and NMG”s headquarters?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is all the local news networks talk about. I notice that more EU students are naked now. More enslavements?”

“Yes. Mostly defensive enslavements. Not all of the naked slaves are new. Some were SINO, but they”re coming out of the closet now because of those Kansas terrorists. Mom and Dad were talking about it last night. I”m afraid that Sis and I will be slaves when she turns 16 in ten days. Dad said something about bored young college girls getting in trouble with the law. Mom agreed. We have a house slave, too. Anyway, I”m glad that I”m out of the house. I think I”ll skip church today.”

“Dorothy,” I asked carefully, “do you want to consider a voluntary defensive conversion? I can invite you to lunch and you can tour Juanita Hall. As long as you stay on the first floor, you can wear your clothes. The house rules are that some areas are off limits for safety reasons. The upstairs are off limits to guests—but I am authorized to make exceptions. Before you say yes, if you want to see upstairs, house rules are total nudity upstairs. Otherwise, you”ll just see photos. You are a free woman. You have the choice.”

At that moment the door opened up and Neville came out. I immediately went to my knees in First Position. I am a slave and this was how slaves are required to act around free people.

“Rise, House Mother,” Neville said.

“House Mother?” There were perhaps a dozen young women with puffy red eyes. They needed to fix their make-up—tear streaks were still visible. “I”m Jessica O”Hare, President of the Kelli House.”

I shook her hand. In Eastlake the sorority houses referred to each other by their nicknames, some famous woman. Kelli House was named after Kelli Sanderson, a woman abducted and murdered in 1998 from Eastlake University. Kelli had been class vice president as well as the treasurer of the Pi Phi Psi Omega sorority at EU. They never caught Kelli”s killers. The only other detail I knew about it was the rumor that Kelli had not only been killed, but that she had been partially eaten. College rumor, of course. It”s as if college students don”t have anything better to do than stir up trouble. Frat boys deserve their reputation. Sorority sisters—as a former sister myself, I know what we can get ourselves into. That”s why I didn”t let Tiffany join a sorority.

“I am privileged, Mistress Jessica.”

“Not for long,” Jessica said. “Tonight you and the other slave sorority house mothers are meeting with us downtown. Some of the officers are already slaves. Some of us will walk into the meeting as free woman and leave as slaves. Depending upon how the national office sees things, we may all be slave sororities. Damn those terrorists!”

“Dorothy,” another woman told the receptionist, “get a piss test while the white slaver is still here. Sign the papers, too.”

“Oh, no!”

“Dorothy, remember your pledge,” the woman sternly said. This woman was about my age, only she had gone to seed. “Would you like to resign from the sorority now? If not, then do what Master Neville says.”

“Yes, Ms. Joan,” Dorothy meekly said.

“Mistress Joan,” I asked, “Are you a slave?”

“Not yet,” the woman almost snarled. “Perhaps never. Wait—you are Shelly”s replacement. I”m sorry I snapped at you, Beth, but it has been a horrible day. You won”t believe the reporters and the police detectives!”

“Juanita House hasn”t been bothered, Mistress,” I said. “Except for a few walk-in volunteers, it has been normal.”

“Of course,” Joan huffed. “Your girls are all slaves. They are made to behave themselves. Your owner, Peter Castleman, issued a press release and is holding daily press conferences—and any reporter that shows up at your slave sorority houses will be immediately arrested for trespassing and their news organization will fire them rather than lose access. As for the police, you have them over every day already. Campus cops. City cops. Eastlake County Sheriff. Oklahoma State cops. Feds. I wouldn”t be surprised if Interpol didn”t live there, too!”

No Interpol—not that I know of, and I didn”t see many federal law enforcement officers. Yes, we were a popular stopping place for the local patrols. Their supervisors kept them on a tight rein because it was a sweetheart deal for both the police and the sorority—nobody wanted to mess it up. But mostly it was just us slave girls!

At that point two frantic coeds burst into the reception area out of breath.

“We - need - you - to - make - us…slaves!” the red-faced red-head gasped.

“NOW!” the white-faced oriental screeched.

“You can - can”t you?” Red glanced over her shoulder. “We don”t have time!”

As an asset slave, the Juanita Hall House Mother can administer the house DEV slaver license. I have to follow the rules. Unlawful conversions could result in snuffing me.

“I”ll need a notary,” I said.

“I can do that for you,” Neville said. “I just can”t notarize my own conversions. Conflict of interest and all that. I”m an independent white slaver and I have my own notary stamp.”

“Please hurry!” The oriental volunteer slave candidate yelled. “We don”t have any time!”

“Right this way, Mistresses,” Ellie quipped. “Please remove all of your clothing and give me a urine sample while we print out your documents. Mistress Dorothy, would you please print them out for us at this terminal? House Mother Bethany can show you how.”

“Driver”s licenses and student ID”s please,” Dorothy asked. The two coeds slapped down the required plastic cards and rushed into the dispensary. It took us only a few moments to fill out the documents because the form fields would auto-populate from the identity documents. I was stunned when Dorothy swiped her own cards into the system. “I don”t know how I”ll tell my family about this.”

“Are you sure? DEV”s standard contracts are for 10 to 25 years before mandatory manumission.”

“I”m scared.” Dorothy looked at me, and then pressed “enter.” “Neville”s laptop is tied into this. I need to pee now.”

All three girls cleared the check. It took less than five minutes to go from free woman to slave. The oriental girl was called Bo and the red head Jo. Yes, it does sound like a comedy team.

“What was all the panic about?” I asked.

“Our women”s study advisor was arrested!” Bo sobbed.

“Ms. Andrews was an anti-slavery activist,” Jo cried.

“We don”t want to go to jail!” they wailed in unison.

“There were no wants or warrants in the slaver data base,” Neville said. “That was Raleigh Andrews? I know her. Did you know that she has three slaves?”

“No! That can”t be!” Bo shrieked. “Ms. Andrews hates slavery!”

“Girls!” Ellie commanded. “Shut up! You are slaves now. You will obey or I will punish you.”

Both girls shrieked and grabbed their necks. I”m so used to seeing collars on naked women that I didn”t notice them until they were shocked.

“That was Level One. The collar has sixteen levels. The upper levels can scar your pretty little necks with third degree burns,” Ellie said. I knew that the collars were locked to a maximum of level five. Safety reasons—Master Peter wants us to behave. He also cares for us—even those he never sees. Yes, DEV is a cult! The two new slaves were whimpering. “Girls, no shrieking. Stop that! You displayed loyalty to your teacher, but Neville doesn”t lie to us. He says she has three slaves and there must be a good reason Ms. Andrews has them—but believe Neville! He has the official records.”

“She”s no slave,” Neville said. “I”ll make a phone call and see if she”s been picked up. Who arrested her, anyway? Did you see it happen?”

“No,” Bo said. “Yvonne Leyland told us.”

“I see,” Ellie said. Neville and I looked at Ellie. “I”ll have to explain later. We need to