Dark Erotic Fiction

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 55—Anita and her son

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Howard Kitchener, Red Smith

WHAT—Anita”s son shows up at the workplace

WHERE—Culbert Research Group headquarters, Donner residence

WHEN—Monday, March 10, 2008

Something significant happened today. I”m making a diary entry instead of waiting for Saturday because this promises to be a big week. Anita”s son, Howard, was escorted into my office by Red Smith, the security chief for Culbert”s Research Group. Anita was resting on a chair next to mine in my cramped cubical when Red Smith and another man entered—she rolled off the couch into a kneeling position to demonstrate submission.

“Mother,” the stranger spoke first,” You never need to bow to me.”

“It isn”t always about you, Howie,” Red smirked. “I”ve handed you off to Rob, here. Rob, escort him out when he is finished with his visit.”

It was an inconvenient moment for a flashback. There”s never a good time to have a flashback. One instant I was in a placid office and the next I was facing death. I knew that I was having a flashback, I managed to control my panic, but it wasn”t fun.

“Are you okay, Rob?” Red asked.

“Yes, sir,” my voice sounded distant. “I just relieved a horrible experience. I”m okay right now.”

“You don”t look good. I suggest you teak the rest of the day off.” Red glanced at the woman kneeling by my chair. “Besides, there is a lot to talk about.”

“I”ll be back to pick up Debra and Sandy,” I began.

“We”ll bring them home for you,” Red said. “I haven”t seen you like that before.”

“I have,” Howard Kitchener said. “It was three years ago. A bunch of us were at a job fair. This man saved my life when my father smashed our SUV through a plate glass window and jumped out with a gun in each hand. I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

I remembered it as if it had just happened.

“HOWIE!” Herbert Kitchener hollered. “HOWIE YOU GODDAMNED MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD! I”M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

Gunfire. The stench of blood. Sirens. Being arrested. No, that is too mild a term—I was slammed on the ground and beaten into submission. They broke my eyeglasses and one of my ribs. I don”t really blame the responding police because they arrived with little or no information. I was pointing a gun at a dead man when they arrived—not the smartest thing to do in front of armed law enforcement officers. It was almost a week before I got out of jail. Though I was no-billed by the Grand Jury eventually, I lost much. I didn”t get the job. I lost my other job. My master”s degree was set back six months. I almost lost my apartment and car. I did lose the gun. That little five-shot .38 revolver had saved my life, but it cost only $75 second-hand at a police shop because every cop shop was getting rid of their revolvers. It was cheaper to buy a new gun than jump through the flaming hoops of the legal system.

“I had that incident tucked safely away in a compartment,” I drew in a long breath, shuddered, and then let it out. “I didn”t realize that Anita”s ex, your father, was the same Herbert Z. Kitchener who forced me to shoot him.”

Anita stirred beside me. Red”s expression was hard to read. I didn”t know Howard at all. The scant records available didn”t give me much information.

“Well, the office is empty until Wednesday, any way,” I said. “Its” about lunch time. Let me get a message to my other girls and we”ll be off.”

The message was short: something came up and I wouldn”t be having lunch with Debra and Sandy as planned. It was good news and I”d explain later.

CRG takes security seriously. All packages and bags are checked at the front desk and employees must pass through a metal detector. Cell phones and other recording devices are checked at the security desk. Slaves are strip-searched at the checkpoint, too. Anita undressed and placed her clothes in the bin, wearing just a plain slave collar with a security badge attached. She didn”t have much—a pair of shower thongs, a beach cover-up, and something called a “c-string panty”—a bit of wire and cloth that hugged her crouch without the use of strings. The wire”s tension kept it in place between her thighs. One more thing—Anita removed her ben-wa balls and placed them in a tray.

Howard blushed.

“I was going to wear my butt plug today, Master Howard,” Anita kept her eyes lowered, but I thought I detected a smirk. “Master Robert, how do we get home?”

“Do you have a car, Howard?” I asked.

“A rental.”

“Good. Anita, you drive our car. Don”t worry if you lose us in traffic. I”ll ride with Howard and guide him home.”

There was little small talk as I directed Howard. We didn”t lose Anita. At home, Anita got out of the car naked—she didn”t bother dressing after being strip-searched. Why bother? In a few minutes, we were in the house together.

“Anita, entertain our guest and I”ll get lunch together. Howard, is there anything you don”t eat?”

“I”ve been to Russia,” Howard replied. “Put it in front of me and I”ll eat it.”

I took my time putting together a soup and sandwich meal.

“Howard, how about a beer? I have something Japanese and something from Utah.”

“Utah has a beer?”

“Polygamous Lager from St. George.”

“I”ll try that.”

I had poured a glass of wine for Anita. Red, if it matters. The sandwiches were ham and cheese and the soup was tomato. If you want haute cuisine, eat someplace else!

“Master Robert, I was just explaining house rules for slaves to Master Howard.”

“Let”s drop the master this and master that stuff for now,” I said. “We”re all family here. You two have years of catching up to do. Five, I think. I want to loan Anita to you for a week or so. Can you have her back here Wednesday of next week?”

“I don”t know what to say,” Howard said.

“Say “thank you,” son,” Anita sipped her wine.

“There are some special instructions,” I said. “Anita is lactating. She needs to be nursed around 8 PM each night. An you take care of that?”

“I will return the favor,” the shameless slave said. “I want to give you a blow job.”

“MOM!”

“Howie, why did you enslave Hope?”

“We didn”t trust Dad after what he did to you,” Howard said. “I talked it over with Hope and she volunteered to become my slave.”

I couldn”t read his expression as he watched me.

“I did not have sex with her!”

“Howie, you don”t have to play President Carson. We didn”t accuse you.”

“I don”t do the incest thing, Mom. Besides, I”m a 20% guy.”

“Take your breast pump, Anita. Looks like your son can”t help you.”

“I”d still like to give you a blow job.”

“Mom!”

“What happened to Hope?” I asked. I already knew that Hope Kitchener had been sold to a James Anderson of Eastlake when Howard left the country. James seems to have been a high school chum of Howard”s. If Hope was someone”s slave wife, I didn”t want to break up a family. I watched Howard as he quaffed half his beer.

“I sold her,” he said finally. Anita deflated. “Mom, she”s safe. I”ll take you to her right after lunch. After you”ve dressed, too.”

“While Anita packs,” I said, “I”ll print out a furlong form just in case. She will take her cell phone with her.”

They left together less than an hour later. My house seemed very empty with nobody else inside. I cleaned up and accessed the Bill Neuman show. Debra and Sandy were running a little late.

“Life sucks!”

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 53—Employment Opportunities

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Debra, Sandy, Niki, Rhoe, Tricia, Haley, Mr. Culbert, unnamed security officers, and five other unnamed women
WHAT—Sandy and Debra have a temporary job
WHERE—Donner home, Culbert”s Research Group headquarters
WHEN—Saturday, March 8, 2008

On Monday morning I had a quick meeting with Perry Culbert, the Culbert”s Research Group (CRG) founder and president. His CEO was his brother Terry. Yes, they were twins—and CRG couldn”t have one person in both the CEO and president positions because of Sarbanes-Oxley. I didn”t see much of Terry Culbert. For that matter I didn”t see much of Perry, either—I never saw them together and usually I saw the man from a distance. Monday morning was my first up-close and personal interview. I was comfortable in anonymity. Being called into the top man”s office was an opportunity to shine—before falling on my face.

“You were looking for part-time slave work,” Perry rasped. He liked his cigars! “I have some projects that can use extra hands. Here are three visitor badges. I want your slaves to wear inter slave collars. None of those cell phone collars—security tells me that cell phones are an industrial espionage risk factor. I require that your slaves comply with CRG dress codes while on CRG property. You don”t have a real office, do you? Just a cubical, right?”

“That is correct, sir,” I said. Perhaps a simple “yes, sir” would have been better. A career-saving rule is “stay away from executives.”

“The third pass is for the slave you”ve borrowed for the week. You don”t like to leave your pets at home, so bring Haley along.” I wondered how Perry came to know Haley. “Haley can accompany you at work. Your two slaves are Debbie and Sandy, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Close enough.

“They will be working with another project team for the three weeks. Bring them with you in the morning and take them home at lunch.”

They started work Tuesday. It was crowded in my cubical with Haley along, and the poor dear demonstrated zero office skills. Demonstrated—I brought “workplace-friendly” magazines along so that she”d have something to do. Haley sat beside me in a folding chair or curled up underneath my desk. The “business casual” for slaves included panties; shoes and either skirt and blouse or dress down to the knees. The dress had to be opaque and cover the arm pits and shoulders. I did something irresponsible—I sent Mr. Perry Culbert a memo recommending that slaves working for CRG be issued a uniform—a schoolgirl-type uniform with the CRG logo on it.

The rest of the week was uneventful—until Saturday. I received a phone call Friday just as I was about to take my girls home at lunch. The phone call told me that I needed to be at work Saturday Morning with all of my slaves. The time: 4 AM. I was to use Haley”s pass to bring Anita into CRG. I began my diary entries for this week at 2:30 AM when I got my three sleepy slaves out of bed. Good thing fast food restaurants serve 24/7. I got them out the door quickly—within 15 minutes of waking. We got our order at the fast food place on the way to the office and waited in the car until 3:50 AM before we were admitted. It was a mite chilly at that hour, but the slaves had to leave their coats in the car—along with purses and everything else. Once inside, the security staff took my three slaves to a semi-private room and strip-searched them. Debra and Sandy were already used to the routine. Anita was actually amused. They were ordered to put their clothes in boxes—that was a change!

Mr. Culbert stepped into the room.

“Don”t look so shocked, Robert,” Perry Culbert told me. I think it was Perry. It could have been Terry. Folks, 4 AM is too early for Mrs. Donner”s little boy Robert! “The office is closed today, so the dress code for slaves is collars and ID badge only.”

The badge was a plastic card and bore a picture of the slave and was suspended from a chain necklace—a short one. Mr. Culbert took the badge from Anita and gave her one with her own photo on it. At that moment Niki strode into the room. Except for a collar with one of the badges, Niki was nude. She was followed by Tricia, Rhoe, Haley and five other women. All of the women were naked!

“Sir, what is gong on?”

“You are on salary. I want you to work with this special projects group this weekend. Tonight you will have houseguest. Niki will explain the ground rules to you. I will meet with you again Friday afternoon. Oh, by the way, you”ll be working here until seven or eight tonight.”

“Sir, I may be on salary, but my women were contracted for hourly wages. Anita isn”t on contract.” I met his steady gaze. “I know that it won”t really be much, but the reasons I hired my women out are mercenary. I want the money. I expect them to be paid.”

“Good response! Niki will lead you to the conference room. She will brief everyone over breakfast.” Culbert chuckled. “I made a bet. Did you feed your slaves already?”

“Yes, sir,” I was really confused. Why wouldn”t I feed them? “I went to Minute Meal and got them the Breakfast Burrito Special with both orange juice and coffee. I have to ask—what will we be doing for lunch and dinner?”

“It will be taken care of for you. Most owners would just let their girls starve. It wouldn”t hurt to have them miss a meal or two.” Culbert grinned at me. “Why do you pamper them?”

“They”re lactating,” I said. “I am using them for breeding. Their health is important to me. Healthy mothers mean healthy children. Right now, I”m teaching them to be happy. I can”t make them happy, but it is possible for a slave to know happiness. Happy mothers make better mothers.”

I remembered that my own mother was anything but happy.

“Niki is in charge, but you can make her and the others do anything you desire. In fact, I want all of these women to remain naked until Monday.”

“Sir, I am concerned that they can be arrested and enslaved for being naked in public.”

“You”ll just have to be careful, then, won”t you? But go ahead and draw a company van to take everyone home in. You drive. If you don”t get pulled over, there won”t be any inconvenient questions from the police, will there?”

It wasn”t even 4:15 and my day was beyond strange—it was bizarre! Breakfast was fruit, cheese, bread and tea. There was neither cream nor sugar for the tea. It was two rolls, a piece of fruit, three cheese cubes, and as much black, unsweetened hot tea as the girls desired. I looked around at the dozen women. I”m ashamed to say that I worked with them all weekend and didn”t bother to learn the names of the five strangers.

The morning tasks were simple. Niki explained that I was to design three research projects that had just been approved—projects that we”d start tomorrow. The girls would be busy with other project—trying to bring them back on schedule. Research can be boring.

The first new project was determining what porn slaves preferred. The second seemed to be the same project—trust me, tracking what porn slaves actually “consumed” is not the same as what they wanted to have. The third tracked the sex toys purchased and used by slaves, by their owners for their slaves used on the slaves. I started by typing a memo that this latter project could be the basis for several reports.

“What? No recriminations?”

“I don”t understand, Nikki,” I said. “Recriminations?”

“I stole your ideas.”

“Oh.”

After a long silence Niki slid into my lap.

“Don”t you like me?”

“Yes. Saturday and Sunday were a lot of fun. Niki, are you trying to get PPC”d?”

“I would rather not be converted by a Person of Personal Contact, Mr. Donner,” Niki buried her face against my chest. “I do get a thrill out of the danger. It is a safe danger. You won”t PPC me until I ask—unless you think I”m in danger. Anita and I talked about you.”

“You misinformed me,” my right hand held her shoulder and I typed with my left. Slowly. “You told me that you were a dedicated lesbian and that you thought women were superior to men. You”ve put yourself in a position where I can legally take control of your life—even kill you.”

“You will also take care of the other women?”

I had “taken care” of Tricia and Rhoe. Haley was fun in bed—especially with both Debra and Sandy.

“You told me that your sister was already your slave. I suspect that Tricia and Rhoe are, too. The other women—are they free or slave?”

“Does it matter?”

“Any conflict you perceive is due to my desire to take good care of what I already have. If I overextend myself, I could lose everybody.”

“Robert Donner, the ground rules are that you are to make full use of us as if we were all your slaves. You are also going to punish us twice today—like you do once per week with your own slaves, just because you can.”

“I can”t imagine that CRG would waste money just to provide me with a good time. What”s up? Am I now a porn star? That wasn”t in my contract.”

“Nothing like that—but if you want to PPC any of your co-workers, CRG will assist you.”

I mulled this over for a while.

“No,” I said at last. “I have the resources to take care of what I have. I can take care of a few more. Babies are expensive, but they are the most valuable thing on the planet because they are the future. I”ll enjoy myself, consistent with giving CRG good value for its money, but I”m not going to steal. I will admit, though, I approve of the new office attire. I don”t know if I will survive this weekend or not, but I will enjoy myself.”

When at work, I work. One of my flaws is that I focus in on the task at hand. At lunch, I was given a strap and told that nobody could eat until I had given each girl a spanking.

“You also have to fuck one of the new girls—on camera.” Niki smirked. “If you could do all of us, that would be better.”

It took me all of three seconds to decide.

“I”ve some stuff in my car. First, the spanking—they you eat while I”m getting the stuff.”

In for a penny, in for a pound! I tested the strap against my palm first. Their butts were more sensitive to pain than my calloused palm—or so I thought. I didn”t really want to hit anyone, so I delivered three rather mechanical strokes to each slave. I gave them a hug and a kiss after inflicting token punishment on all 12 before sending them en mass to descend upon the lunch table. In my car I had some condoms and a penis splint. I”d try it without the splint, first, and use that marital aid if I needed it. A piece of pinkish flesh-tone plastic would promote rigidity.

“Ladies, this is a quantity thing rather than quality lovemaking,” I announced. “I am going to fuck you all. Line up; make sure that you are lubed up. Are any of you virgins? This is going to be vaginal sex.”

No surprise—all but three claimed to be virgins.

“Aren”t you going to punish us for lying?” Niki asked.

“Free women lie all the time,” I said. Everybody lies. “Haley is not my slave and she must obey you.”

“Well, punish Haley for lying and I won”t punish her.”

Haley”s face bore that doomed rabbit expression. Suddenly I grinned.

“Haley, your punishment is being last.” I stared down Niki. “You are going to help me by making sure every woman is properly lubed and dilated, and then you will guide my dick in their cunt for the camera.”

I had help. I managed to “officially” have intercourse with every one of the women, slaves included. I used a fresh condom for each one to reduce the odds of making them ill—my own slaves had compatible vaginal flora due to medical intervention, but I wasn”t sure about the rest. I didn”t want a yeast infection epidemic. As a reward for Haley, she got to suck my cock until I erupted in her mouth. As everybody knows, slave girls always swallow. Actually, most free women reported that they swallowed. That”s a problem with knowing the world through surveys—I know only that I was told that someone did something or felt something. Haley communicated satisfaction, but I don”t know if she enjoyed herself or not.

I don”t really care. When she learns to trust me, she can tell me what she likes. Until then, I”m in it for my fun. Haley and the others can take care of themselves! Besides, intercourse was short—only 30 seconds per woman.

“Clean up and back to work!” I ordered.

“You can”t leave me hanging,” Niki said.

“What part of “take charge of sex” did I misunderstand, Ms. Kidd? Taking charge includes denying sex. I intend to keep you all on edge until this evening, and then bring you all off.” It would be a good trick if I could manage it. “Actually, I have a metric. The three girls who get the most done on their projects—and done correctly—will get an orgasm by dinner. The three who do the worst will be strapped an extra time. In this case “worse” means making errors, followed by low productivity. Get cleaned up! No snail trails. Take some paper towels with you to keep your chairs clean.”

I got a sick thrill watching the women clean themselves off. I took pity on them and passed out the stuff my slaves used—a commercial hypoallergenic product called Pussy Swipes. Time for another memo—a paper towel dispenser was not adequate for modern hygiene. Culbert”s Research Group headquarters had pretty much the standard women”s restroom. There was a sanitary napkin dispenser and toilet paper in the stalls. Paper towels were provided with the hand soap and running water. There was neither shower nor bidet. No wonder sex in the office was forbidden! Observing that my slaves and Haley were helping each other and the rest struggling, I decided that rude comments were in order.

“Notice that those with bald pussies clean up quicker?” I quipped. “Notice that my slaves help each other? Haley isn”t mine, but she was loaned to me for the week.”

“I was wondering why she was shaved.”

“It will grow back, unfortunately,” I said. “Anita had her own beauty shop. All my slaves have had their body hair permanently removed. Ladies, tonight you will all be shaved below the neck. Any objections? By the ground rules, I have the right to enslave you and permanently modify your bodies. I chose temporary modifications. Right now, pair off. I want you to make sure that your cunts and assholes are clean. When you piss or shit today, take your partner with you and have her make sure that you are clean. I will test you. Debra, Sandy, demonstrate how I test for cleanliness.”

Debra assumed the “submit” posture: on her knees, butt elevated, face and shoulders touching floor, knees apart. Sandy got behind her and spread Debra”s butt cheeks, then licked around Debra”s ass hole. Several of the “free women” responded with “EW!”

“Do I need to apply disciplinary measures? I am cutting you some slack because you free woman are doing this as a lark. It is supposed to be fun for you.” I shook my head. “Real slaves” lives hang in the balance. Real slaves get far worse than simply a few light taps with a leather strap. In fact, I think I will have to get slave training collars this evening and have you wear them tomorrow—I”ll check with security. Now ladies, get each other clean. You have five minutes, and then you will have to tongue each other”s cunts and assholes. In that order, too. After that, you will brush and floss. Slaves may not have dragon breath!”

Naturally, no one had brought a toothbrush—except me. No problem. Slaves share germs anyway. More “EWs!” I ducked out for a moment and typed up two memos—one on proper bathrooms to promote tasty slaves (a clean slave is a tasty slave) and one on issuing a slave training collar so that slaves could be properly controlled without compromising CRG”s site security. As I dashed back inside the women”s restroom, I wondered if I would be looking for a new job on Monday. Was this a productive use of CRG resources?

I had four well-behaved slaves to monitor the eight free women—if they were indeed free women and not slaves ordered to impersonate free women. I was sure about Haley because I had her driver”s license. I verified the slave endorsement just in case I needed Haley to drive during the week she had been loaned to me. When one woman—I didn”t know the redhead”s name—balked, I ordered them both tied to the stall doors, face out. This left them exposed to whatever I planned to dish out. I left them hanging there. The other six women complied. Poor Niki was her partner. I took paper towels out of the dispenser and rolled two gags for them.

“Bite down on this,” I instructed. “I am going to hurt you both and I don”t want you to bite your tongues off or crack your teeth. They are such pretty teeth.”

As soon as they had their gags in place, I delivered light back-fist strikes to their exposed pussies. It was sudden and brutal—but measured. I didn”t want to injure—just inflict shock and pain.

“See? Guys aren”t the only ones who find that painful.” Both women were crying. “I could pound on your tits, too. I won”t—but I will use the strap on the front of your thighs an on your stomachs.”

Two chewed up wads of paper towels were ejected from two mouths and both women began to plead and threaten.

“SHUT UP!” I roared. This stunned everyone—I hadn”t used my command voice since leaving the Marines. Projecting in the confines of the women”s room was defining. “You wanted to play slave. You will obey or you will reap the consequences. Tricia, Rhoe, pick up those gags and put them back in their mouths. No, put Niki”s gag in the redhead”s mouth and vice versa. They should be delicious after being on that dirty floor. When I gag you, it stays in until I tell you it can come out. That gag was a safety measure. I am going to strap you.”

Psychology—I did lightly slap them across the thighs, but only once each. Mostly I just rubbed the leather strap across their bellies, crouches, breasts and legs. Niki was really scared. She peed all over herself and the floor.

“Your choice. You can have pain or pleasure. I prefer pleasure, but I will accommodate your choice. Who knows where they keep the mops?”

“I do, Master,” I sent the speaker, one of the unnamed free women, and Tricia to get it. Tricia was that woman”s partner.

“I won”t make you lick it up because you were not being disobedient,” I told Niki. “You lost control. Normally, if I punish one of you, I have to punish everybody. I”m too tired right now. Understand this: when your partner fucks up, I will punish you both when I find out. You failed to help your partner or keep her out of trouble; it is your fault, too.”

It worked in boot camp. Besides, the drill instructors didn”t really have eyes in the backs of their heads. They could usually tell that someone had misbehaved, but not always who. Rather than encourage snitching, which destroys unit cohesion, the drill instructors practiced group punishment. It united the recruits against a common enemy—their drill instructor. It also caused us recruits to police ourselves. I didn”t see why the same method wouldn”t work for female slaves. My senior DI couldn”t have me killed and roasted for his dinner.

There was a sullen silence when I released the two chastised women after they had been cleaned up. I had them tongue check each other. They cleaned their teeth using one toothbrush. I hugged them—and felt them stiffen.

“I could take that as rejection,” I said. “I won”t. I did the same thing to my parents immediately after being punished. Right now you need to be hugged. You need physical contact, some sort of affection. You don”t want it. Part of that is you wanting to punish me—and part of it is punishing yourselves. Don”t punish yourselves. I”ll take care of that. It”s over. Get over it. If you were slaves, your owner could have inflicted far worse on you. Your pride is injured right now. Better a little humiliation that being tortured to death.”

Throughout the afternoon I alternated between doing my own work and caressing the women. Dinner was a fried chicken meal. I carefully measured out six portions and had the teams share their dinners. This gave me a chance to evaluate their work.

“Master, I am concerned. You didn”t eat.”

“Thank you, Anita. What did you do here? This is more food than I put in any one serving tray.”

“Master,” Niki calling me “master” shocked me—she was nominally my boss, “we don”t want you to go without dinner.”

“Thank you. First, though, I have to dish out punishments. Remember that your partner will be punished, too. That means that six of you will be punished in a few minutes.” Actually it was more complicated. Niki, poor Niki, was the low woman on the competition—high error rate and low productivity both. Niki”s partner was number two for low productivity. Rhoe was number two for high error rate. I punished two women once each—and clobbered Niki and her partner twice each.

I ordered everyone to comfort the chastened quartet. They needed it. It wasn”t that I had done much—but it was the worst punishment that Niki had ever had.

“Niki, we can stop playing if you have to quit.”

“NO!” Niki blanched, terrified at her own outburst—and of me. “I am sorry, Master. I will not quit. I will see this weekend through.”

It should come as no surprise that Sandy won first place for both low error rate and for speed. Debra won second place for speed and Anita won second place for low error rate. I had promised to reward three women and wound up rewarding four—Haley was paired off with Anita. Haley wound up with the third place in both speed and low error rate.

“Haley, what do you want as a reward?”

“I didn”t place in the top three, Master.”

“Wishing is cheap. What do you want?”

“May I think about it a while, Master?”

“Sure, Haley. In the mean time, go back to the work room. We are going to put everything away and plan out tomorrow”s work. Niki, are we about where you thought we”d finish up today?”

“We did more Master.” It felt strange to have one of my bosses call me “master.” Niki seemed cowed. I felt a mixture of guilt and lust for Nichole Kidd. “At this rate, we will finish up these extra projects by noon tomorrow.”

Back in the work room I pulled out the prizes—three small bags of candy, three small bottles of liquor, and three baubles to clip on to the woman”s bracelet or collar. The jewels were inexpensive pewter and were shaped like rolled scrolls. The little scrolls dangled from a clip through an eyelet. The liquor was in those little plastic airline bottles—not enough to get drunk, but cherry brandy, vodka, and peppermint schnapps. The candy was about a dozen pieces per bag, what the British call “boiled sweets” and we Americans call hard candies. I had the three winners line up and let the first place winner pick the liquor. Sandy took the cherry brandy. Anita grabbed the vodka. Debra wound up with the schnapps. Anita took the lemon candies. Debra took the peppermint and Sandy got cherry. They clipped their tiny scrolls on each other.

“We have a tradition at the Donner Manor,” Sandy announced. “We share the wealth. There”s enough cherry drops that we can all get one, but I can only share my bottle with three others. Just a sip, about a quarter of my bottle. There isn”t much, but I will share what I have.”

Anita and Debra made similar announcements. Anita whispered something into Haley”s ear and the younger slave smiled. The candy went quickly—the liquor dried up faster. Then it was planning for the next day.

By 8 PM we were home. When I had brushed my teeth, I found both Niki and Haley in my bed.

“With your permission, Master,” First Girl Anita said, “I will sleep in the other room. These two,” she waved at Debra and Sandy,” will use the pull out and you”ll be serviced by the other pair of sisters tonight.”

I was sleepy. I don”t remember much else until the next morning—I may have fallen asleep immediately. Fortunately, nobody complained.

Sunday was another day.

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 46—Fighting Cabin Fever

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Debra, Sandy, Niki, Rhoe, Tricia, Haley
WHAT—I take the girls out for the day
WHERE—Donner home, the Mall At Dennis Straits, Niki”s home
WHEN—Saturday, March 1, 2008

Few slave owners are as lucky as I. My three slave girls behaved themselves even though they were cooped up in the house. I could tell that they were stressed, but even Debra remained cordial. Debra”s butt was often reddened—I asked about it and Debra replied that she had requested that Anita spank her.

“I want to be a good slave girl for you, Master Robert,” Debra explained, “and every time I feel like loosing my temper, I do this.”

Debra went to her knees, and then bent over forward until her forehead touched the floor, fingers interlaced and hands at the back of her head. Anita knelt beside Debra and commanded Debra to speak. Debra said that she was feeling anger again and requested a spanking.

“I”m not angry right now, Master,” Debra said, “but this is for demonstration purposes. Though if Anita wants to spank me, I will submit. It is hard to submit. I want to.”

Anita adjusted Debra so that the younger slave”s but was elevated and exposed to punishment. Anita began to massage Debra”s still-pink butt.

“I don”t always spank,” Anita said. “At Debra”s suggestion, I frequently put her in this position—we call it “Submit to First Girl.”"

“It is my favorite position, Master,” Sandy said as she assumed the same position—kneeling, butt up and face to floor.

“I approve,” I said. “In fact, today we are going to take a day off and go out. It is still a bit chilly to run around naked. Shoes and coats—be ready to shed everything on command. Anita and Debra, pack two outfits—one for lunch and one for dinner. Your judgment—what do you want to wear for lunch and dinner? You will be naked in public today, but I will allow you to pick your outfits. Sandy, you will be naked unless it is too cold. At lunch and at dinner I will tie you up and feed you.”

“Master, may I wear the same outfits as Sandy?” Debra”s question surprised me. “Yes, Master, it will be difficult for me to be nude in public. You want me naked. I am your slave. It is my right and duty to please my master.”

“I”ll have to bind you for lunch and dinner. That will slow things down a bit, but you”ll be wearing my favorite outfit.”

“Me, too, Master,” Anita chimed in. “If it pleases you, I will never wear anything again. Even when it is cold.”

“I need you healthy. I”ll pack for the three of you.” I snorted and chuckled. “I have plenty of rope!”

As I said, I was lucky getting Anita, Debra and Sandy as my slaves. Most slave owners have to crack the whip. Debra was reluctant at first and I needed to remain firm with her, but I had three women who were eager and willing to please me. Today was a reward of sorts—even though Anita didn”t really like being naked in public and Debra hated being naked. Why was Debra voluntarily giving up the chance to wear clothes in public? She told me—it was her right and duty to please me.

“Master, may I ask a question?” Debra asked.

“That is a question, but go ahead and ask your other question.” Debra”s brows knitted in confusion. I knelt beside her and began rubbing her shoulders. “You had a question?”

“You gave Anita and me the option of wearing clothes but didn”t let Sandy choose.”

“Hmm. That doesn”t sound like a question. When you are working, you will need to display more tact or you will be punished for insubordination. I understand your question and I decided for Sandy. She would have asked me to choose for her. Sandy, did I state your feelings on the matter clearly?”

“Yes, Master Robert. Whatever you want.”

“I asked for your opinion, what you desired. Do you want to change your mind, Debra?”

“No, Master. If I may, Master, I want you to decide everything for me, just like Sandy. I wanted to make my own decisions in the past because I didn”t trust you. It”s different now. I wish I could go back in time three months and beg you to make me your slave.”

“Great!” I said. “You are almost ready to make decisions on your own again. I need my slaves to properly direct themselves when I”m not around. Anita has been doing that for me because I”ve been away at work ten or twelve hours every day. It”s why I don”t have a dog—they, like us, are social creatures. Being alone half the day drives them insane. That is why I wasn”t going to have just one slave girl, why I needed at least three. You need human contact. You need other people. Let”s go over today”s agenda.”

The Mall At Dennis Straits (MADS) was new. There were large numbers of slaves there, both as employees and as customers. I can”t keep track of the new terms for them! Malls used to live or die based on the amount of over-priced women”s apparel they pushed out their doors. The White Slave Act had a severe impact on the mall business. About half of the stores were shuttered and out of business. MADS had a resident slaver on the premises, an adult toy shop and other businesses featuring naked women—and there was a separate “family friendly” section. To enter the adult section, customer ID was checked at the door. In the family section, slaves were required to wear at least a slave shift, hiding their breasts, butts and “naughty bits.” Earlier, when MADS first opened, slaves were banned entirely from the family section. That changed shortly because slaves were nannies, mothers and managed households. I had my girls keep their coats on when we were in the family section—shoes, too. There were some things I needed. It took a few hours to complete the shopping and put our purchases in the car.

At the car I had my three slaves strip down to their collars. I looped their wrists behind their backs with rope, and then led them barefoot into the adult section. The security officer at the door looked bored when I showed him four driver”s licenses—mine and my three slave girls”. We went directly to the Maze for lunch. I felt a bit naked because the Maze served alcohol and I had to leave my gun in my car—I didn”t want to break the law. Even with a concealed weapon permit, it isn”t legal for private citizens to have guns inside establishments serving beer and wine. I gave my name at the door and a naked slave led us to a large table with four other women. These women wore clothing, even though one was wearing a slave collar.

“Ladies,” I announced, “these are my slaves and my family. Anita is my First Girl. This is Debra and this is Sandy. Girls, this is one of my bosses, Nichole Kidd. Rhoe Wade is her office manager. This is Patricia Wintergarden, a research associate. Ma”am, I don”t know this woman.”

“Haley is my sister and my slave,” Niki said. “By the way, here and at dinner I want everyone to call me Niki. None of that Ms. Kidd here, mister! Don”t call me mistress either—you slaves call me Niki, too.”

“I”m Rhoe, just Rhoe.”

“Call me Tricia. Rob, I want to talk to your slaves—girl talk. Please don”t punish them and please order them to answer me truthfully.”

“Another survey, Tricia?” She nodded. “Anita, monitor the others. Keep them honest. Tricia won”t miss-use the information. Besides, this is a job interview.”

“That reminds me,” Niki turned to her sister. “Get out of your clothes.”

“Yes, Niki,” Haley stood up and peeled her dress off over her head. When she stepped out of her shoes, the naked waitress returned with towels for the nude slaves to sit on. I noted that the waitress had brought five towels.

I took the restraints off of my slaves. I decided that I wanted their hands free. It was a master”s decision. I still could feed them—did so during lunch.

“You will have to feed yourselves this time,” I told my slaves. “It looks like Niki and I are going to talk shop.”

“Why are they all naked, anyway?” Niki asked. “It”s cold outside and this is sort of a job interview.”

“I was going to have Sandy spend the day nude—except when it was too cold outside. I asked Debra and Anita what they wanted to wear for lunch and dinner. Debra, tell Niki what and why.”

“I want to please Master Robert. He likes his women naked. When he wants us to wear clothing, he will tell us what to wear.” Debra lowered her gaze to the table. “I am learning to trust Master Robert. I didn”t want to become a slave. I destroyed my own life because I panicked. I just learned that Master Robert will take better care of me than Debra Glendale ever did.”

I hadn”t expected National Confessor at the lunch counter! Anita gave a different version of “I want to please my master.” Anita had been enslaved and sold by her husband because he got tired of her.

Lunch was subdued. Debra and Sandy requested that I order for them. I got them a plate of chicken and a large salad to split. Of course, I had steak and potatoes—but I shared some of my salad. Anita asked for the fish and a large salad. For dessert, I shared a pair of banana splits with my slaves—and with Niki”s permission I shared with Haley. It was a mater of intimacy rather than being a miser, sharing our dishes. I fed each slave banana split rather than have them feed themselves. The restaurant was well-heated, but I saw four pair of erect naked nipples and I thought that I saw some nipple printing from the three clothed free women. When it was time to separate, Niki asked that I swap slaves with her until we met for dinner.

“Sure. Sandy, go with—”

“I want Anita,” Niki said. “Why didn”t you offer me Debra?”

“Debra isn”t sure of me—or herself. Not yet. Would you prefer Debra?”

“No, Anita. Do you have a mommy fixation?”

“I”m developing one, Niki,” I admitted. “We”ll meet at your place for dinner?”

“Yes. Use Haley for sex. I intend to do Anita!”

“If there”s time. We have some shopping to do and we”re going to a movie. What about Haley”s clothes?”

“Keep her naked unless it gets too cold,” Niki told me. “Just shoes and collar—and bind her wrists when you bind the others.”

“I”m coming with you,” Tricia picked up her purse. “I want to interview your slaves.”

I wasn”t in a position to refuse, really. Niki was one of the people I reported to. Besides, it wouldn”t hurt me to let them interview my slaves. I might even have access to some of the survey questions.

The first place we stopped was the adult toy shop. I established three limits for my slaves: a money limit, a limit on the number of items, and a time limit.

“I want you each to get a gift for Anita, too,” I told them. “Also, we are going to build a porn library. Start with something you like in DVD”s and magazines. Be sure to get something for Anita.”

“Master Robert, may I buy some porn, too?” Haley asked.

“Will that get you in trouble with your owner?” I asked after a moment”s hesitation. “If so, I have two alternatives.”

“I won”t get in trouble, Master.” Haley said. “I understand if you don”t want to spend money on me.”

What kind of porn do slaves buy? Most of the time, slaves have no money. Slaves make their own porn, when they have the resources. Sandy purchased three romantic comedy skin flicks. Debra got three dramas—the cover art suggested tragedies. Haley picked up gay male porn. I examined their purchases for two reasons—to make sure that they didn”t spend too much and to satisfy my curiosity. As for toys, Sandy picked out a vibrator kit with multiple attachments that attached to an inflatable ball. Debra picked a training device, and electronic pussy. Debra”s toy permitted training in pussy licking and even penetration with either natural penis or strap on. Sandy and Debra chose an elaborate strap-on for Anita, one that would permit training in cock sucking, too. The devices wirelessly interfaced with my PlayBox2.8 and would give readouts on the display screen—the slave sales clerk recommended some feedback devices.

“These collars, wristbands, dildos and butt plugs can inflict punishment or pleasure, Master,” the slave told me. Her name was Tiffany, and she was enthusiastic. I talked with her for a while. “Master, I am available for rent, too. I can train others in the use of these items.”

“Price is an object,” I said. “Let me see a rental schedule.”

I walked out of the place $700 poorer. Those were expensive. I felt like a heel because I had limited my two slaves to a total of $300. When I thought about it, I felt like a sucker. Then I laughed—I was scheduled to pick Tiffany up for a Tuesday evening session and return her in time for her work shift on Wednesday.

The movie theater was in the adult section and was mild porn—lots of skin, some graphic sex and some violence. Was it urban legend or did they really snuff the actresses? I couldn”t tell. The men died on-screen, too. Van Vagabonds was the title and centered on three escaped slaves. The women roamed from town to town kidnapping and gang-raping men, then devolving into a three-way lesbian orgy before killing off the men. The climatic shoot-out between the Slave Patrol and the three outlaws—let”s just say that I had trouble suspending disbelief.

After the movie, the five of us crammed into my car and we went to Tron Hut. I picked up a better video camera and a new DVD burner—and two hundred DVD”s. There went another $500! We dropped all of this off at home and the girls used the restroom.

“Mistress—”

“My name is Tricia. I am not your mistress. Now what is it you want to say?”

“Tricia, Master Robert doesn”t permit potty privacy for slaves in this house. If you require privacy, the guest bathroom here doesn”t have cameras in it. The others do.” Debra glanced at me. “Besides, us slaves just go. Sandy and I will wipe each other afterwards. Master Robert has us take care of each other because he believes that it makes us closer.”

“Really?” Tricia eyed me from head to crouch and back again. “You aren”t going to try to PPC me, are you, Mister Donner?”

I hadn”t even thought of it.

“I avoid making promises,” I said, feeling my face heat up. Tricia grinned at my obvious discomfort. “Are you going to make out on camera for me?”

“I might.”

“Make it quick. I leave for Niki”s in ten minutes.” I went into the master suite and changed into a dinner jacket and bow tie. Niki said that I needed to dress up for dinner. When I got to the car, there were four naked women inside. “Tricia—oh, never mind!”

“I won”t get in trouble,” Tricia”s grin was slightly crooked—but broad. It was reflected on Haley”s face. “Let”s go.”

The nice thing about slave women versus free women on a date is that the slave WILL be on time. A free woman is never on time. This may mean that I”m not a real man, but free woman manipulations kill the date for me. Show up on time! It is important.

Driving through the evening with four naked women in the car is nice. I managed to keep my eyes on the road—barely. They were pretty distractions. Focusing on the road meant that I missed out on their conversation.

Niki”s home was out of Eastlake County and took nearly an hour to reach from my home. It was big! I parked and the naked women scampered onto the porch. They were barefoot and it was COLD! Wind chill made me feel uncomfortable in my dinner jacket. I had a bit of a surprise when I entered the huge foyer—Rhoe was naked. Imagine a slave owner being shocked by a bit of female nudity. It was the first indication I had that perhaps Rhoe was a slave—which made me wonder if Tricia was a slave, too. Niki appeared in an evening gown—white, floor length, barely opaque. Her shoulders were bare and her breasts were barely hidden behind a halter top that left her back bare to her waist. Niki”s blond hair cascaded down her back. Yes, I was affected—I wanted to jump Debra”s bones, then Sandy”s, then -

“You didn”t fuck my slave!”

“I didn”t have time,” I replied. Niki threw back her head and laughed. “What was this place? A hotel?”

“It started off as an oil baron”s home,” Niki took my arm. “Let me give you a tour. We”ll join the others in a moment.”

The place was a hotel, a hospital, a private school, a research institute and finally, Niki”s home.

“A place like this needs a staff,” I commented. “Is it just you and your sister?”

“I have a cleaning service,” Niki said. “The meal was catered. I”d like you to stay the night.”

“Why?”

“I want to get to know you better. The word around the office is that you have to hire out your slaves to make ends meet.”

“My cash reserves have gotten lower than I like. I still can pay my bills for at least 120 days without another paycheck. Besides, I”m not going to live forever. I plan to free Anita and marry her. If I die first, she will take care of the other slaves and either find them good homes or free them.” I glanced at the top of Niki”s head. She was leaning into me, her cheek on my bicep. “I apologize for being morbid. I spent some time in the Marines and death is arbitrary.”

“You were also court martialed,” Niki said. “We checked. You were tried for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. After you were acquitted, you were awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal with a “V” device.”

“I”m impressed,” I said. I was also depressed. “What else did you find out about me?”

“Military records aren”t as detailed as we”d like, but you”ve apparently killed in combat. A few years ago in Eastlake you killed again. You were “no-billed” by the Grand Jury because it was a clear case of self defense.”

I didn”t comment, hoping that I could forget six months of hell. It took me another year to recover financially. I”m not really recovered.

“No comment? What does it feel like to kill a man?”

“You”ve killed, too,” I was guessing.

“Only slaves. They don”t count—not legally. Slaves aren”t human.” I stiffened and Niki laughed again. “I”d like to borrow Anita for a week. I”ll loan you Haley and arrange for you to PPC several cute coeds.”

“Greed can bankrupt me,” I said. “I have three slaves because I wanted to raise a family.”

“So Anita told me. She also said that you wanted work where you could safely keep your slaves naked all summer.”

“I daydream a lot.”

“I”m a dedicated lesbian and devoted to the idea of female supremacy,” I wondered why Niki was telling me all this. “I have little use for men.”

“Oh?”

At dinner I found keeping up with the table chatter difficult. Several conversations were happening at once. I was at the far end of the rectangular dinner table with Debra on my right and Sandy on my left. Immediately to Debra”s right was Tricia. Rhoe was to the left of Sandy. At the other end of the table. I sat there a bit lost as Haley and Anita served dinner. Only Niki and I wore clothes while dinner was on. After dinner, Niki shucked her dress. It and a pair of spike heel shoes were all that she had worn.

“What”s going on?” I asked.

“I”m giving you the opportunity to PPC me,” Niki said. My expression must have been classic. The free women began laughing. “We should have had a camera!”

“We still need a camera. I need evidence if I”m to PPC you.” I glanced at Sandy and Debra. My two slaves were clearing the table. Anita embraced naked Niki. Niki sucked one of Anita”s nipples. “I see that you”ve found out our secret.”

“This is great! When you make me your slave, will you put milk in my breast? Put babies in my belly? Will you modify my body to please your eye? I like how smooth Anita is.” Niki stroked Anita”s nether lips. “I am a lesbian. Women are superior to men. If I make it possible for you to own and care for a dozen slaves, will you make me your slave?”

As insanity goes, this wasn”t too bizarre for Eastlake. Some women actually volunteered to be spit-roasted! Others wanted to be tortured and snuffed on television. A self-professed lesbian who thought women superior to men was offering to become my slave?

“Okay,” I said.

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 39—Progress

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Debra and Sandy
WHAT—Deb finally “gets it.”
WHERE—Donner home
WHEN—Saturday, February 22nd, 2008

“$12,743.77,” I heard Anita tell Debra. “Our master spent $12,743.77 to save your life. You are not worthless to Robert Donner! How dare you call yourself “worthless!” I know you, Deb, any you are not worthless!”

“Our master only bought you because he loves you,” Sandy said. “He wanted to marry you—but you rejected him. He did rescue you. Master Robert should have let you die. But he saw something he liked. I”m glad, sister. I would have missed you.”

My internal clock informed me that it was about time to get up. I opened my eyes.

“Master!” Anita glanced at the others. “We”re sorry. We didn”t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?” I couldn”t see the alarm clock.

“5:13 AM,” Debra said. “Master, it is my fault.”

“She woke up crying,” Sandy explained. “We were trying to calm her down.”

“You were doing the right thing,” I told them. “It is time to get up, anyway. There”s a lot to do this morning. Debra, were you feeling sorry for yourself again?”

“No, Master,” Debra swallowed hard. “Not this time. I am very sorry that I was so much trouble. If I had it to do all over again, I would have volunteered to become your slave.”

“There”s no “do-overs” in life,” I stroked Debra”s face. “Have you decided what you want to do with your life?”

“Master, I don”t have a life any more. I am a slave. I must do what you tell me.”

“Three secrets about life, Debra,” I held up a finger for each item. “People who misuse power lose it. Humans cannot live without purpose. And when there is no longer a possibility of experiencing joy, it is time to check out of life. I have problems with the last, but these three things are true.”

“I lost my temper and everything was taken from me,” A tear rolled out of Debra”s eye and down her cheek. I caught it as it dripped off her chin.

“Now you think you have no power.” I licked the tear from my palm. “You are not a free woman—that”s true. You won”t be free for a long time, if ever. Debra, you still can act. You can think. I have been asking you what you wanted to do with your life. Humans can”t live without a purpose in their lives. That”s why you acted up. You were frustrated because you had no purpose. You can”t come up with one. That”s okay. I can provide purpose for you. As for the last, I need your help. There is only one person in this world who can make you happy.” I pointed at Debra. “Yes. That”s you. Only Slave Debra can make Deb Glendale happy.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, be a good slave. That is a very valuable person, a good slave. Not everyone can be a good slave. It will take a lot of hard work. You have been making progress. Next, pick up some saleable skills. I want you ready for manumission. You must be a good slave first, and then you must develop the skill set that free women need to stay free and to be happy. I hope that we can complete the first and make progress on the second before summer ends. Third, you will bear my children and help me raise them.” I glanced around me. “Sandy wants me to be her purpose in life. Anita wants to run a business. I can accommodate both. Anita”s main job will be running my household—taking care of you two slaves and our children. That will be a long-term project requiring total commitment from the three of you.” I yawned and stretched. “Time for our morning work-out.”

These twice-daily workouts were becoming intense. After a few minutes, I opened the windows so that the sweating women could breathe better. We had steamed up the windows and the interior temperature was 95 degrees. The cool morning air wasn”t one of those artic blasts of the past several weeks and all of us were healthy. As part of the cool-down period, I had the women lick and nibble at each other”s nipples.

“Yes?” I said when Debra shot me a puzzled look. “What is it?”

“Anita has milk!”

“That”s right. You two will soon be lactating, too. Notice that you”ve missed your periods?” Three heads nodded in reply. “Your birth control cocktails do three things: you are temporarily sterile, you won”t have a period until the doctor changes your birth control, and you give milk, too.”

“Master,” Anita was breathing heavily—from exercise or from having her breasts stimulated or both. She gasped and writhed as Sandy rubbed Anita”s pussy. “Master, I stopped having periods years ago.”

“Have you noticed that you are hornier than before?”

“Yes, Master.”

“That”s because your cocktail includes hormone replacements. Right now you require physical affection, just like you require food and water. If we acquire your daughter, she will be having sex with you and the others on a daily basis. Does that bother you, Anita?”

“Only because I find it exciting, Master.”

“Think back 20 years ago. Girls reluctantly gave hand jobs to their boyfriends. They”d do vaginal sex before doing oral sex. Anal sex was something only porn stars and prostitutes did—and only specialists. Look at what has changed! I completed a project last year, a survey among high school girls and their sexual preferences. Before I go any farther, I have to warn you that self-reporting is inaccurate. Self-reported surveys tell you only what the respondents admit to. They might do something else in reality. Because of the White Slave Act, now all girls give head. I had several of the respondents volunteer.”

“You should have taken them up on it, Master!” Sandy interrupted.

“How do you know if I did or didn”t?”

“You would have considered it wrong,” Sandy replied, “and I know how focused you are when you are working. Besides, I”ll bet that some of the girls were underage.”

“I didn”t check and I wasn”t going to chance it,” I felt myself blush. “Back to the survey. Over 80% of the respondents reported giving anal sex. Close to 50% were vaginal virgins. That was during the first interview. For the record, all of my responders were free women when the project began. It was an 18-month study and all 300 high school girls were interviewed again every 90 days—unless they died or moved out of easy commuting reach or were converted. I was surprised to find that more self-reported virgins were enslaved in the first six months than those loose women who had had sex with males in all three holes. Out of 300 responders in the survey, 52 were converted by the end of the project. Over a third, 20, was snuffed or became AMS. I lost touch with another 17 that didn”t show up on the slaver database, and 12 moved and opted out of the program. Another 39 just stopped coming to their interviews. Four more died of other causes than WSA. I only saw 52 in the slaver database and I still had 154 respondents. The magical number 138 is held to be statistically significant. By the end of that project, I had two different sets of data. I had the original data, the final data with the drop-outs, and the final data with just the survivors. I even scrubbed the data so that only the 154 that went the distance were included. It was 96% oral, 75% anal and 75% vaginal activity, with only 2% had zero sexual activity, 12% were exclusively female-on-female, 50% did it every way any time they could get away with it and 84% had a boyfriend. Wait! It gets better. Reports of incest exceeded 40%. One girl proudly told me that she was going to have her older brother convert her as soon as she reached the age of consent. I checked and she was indeed enslaved by her brother 7 months into the program. The two of them finished the interviews, believe it or not. I just didn”t include her data.”

“What was her name?” Anita asked.

“Privacy regulations prohibit me from revealing identities.”

“Master, I don”t think that brothers can PPC their sisters.” Sandy offered.

“She volunteered on her birthday. He was old enough to own slaves. It cost them $275 to complete the process and when their father found out, he tried to gun them down with a shotgun. The father died shooting it out with police.”

“Then what happened?”

“Privacy regulations again. I”ll give them a call and see if the brother wants to visit. The project ended a while ago.

“One thing struck me as odd about my sample group—no suicides. In a sample of that size there should have been at least a dozen attempts and one or two successful suicides. Perhaps becoming a slave has replaced suicide now. Of the 54 enslaved, there was one voluntary conversion to her brother and 33 of those converted were enslaved by their mothers or fathers. There were 16 that were enslaved judicially: two by the school for bad grades, one for fraud and four were convicted of prostitution without a license—it seems that they believed that the “Two-Dollar Whore” act would let them experience sex and remain free. The remaining nine were converted judicially for underage drinking, “indecent conduct” and resisting arrest. Only three were PPC”d by boyfriends, though at least a few of those 34 family conversions may have been defensive enslavements. The sample group included girls from each high school grade level.

“Anita, when did you leave high school?”

“1982, Master. Things were much different back then. You couldn”t have conducted an interview like that in 1982.” Anita shook her head. “Master, I didn”t graduate from high school and I never went to college. I got pregnant and dropped out of school—I married Herbert. Then I had Howard and Hope. I managed to attend beauty college and I opened a shop. Not much of a life, was it?”

“Herbert”s loss is my gain, lady. Have you gotten a reply from your son, yet?”

“No. Not yet, Master.”

“Give him time.” I grinned evilly. “Speaking of time, assemble for punishment.”

This time, I was the only one handing out the spankings. I used a small leather strap that was two inches wide and eighteen inches long, with a round end. The three sweaty women bent over at the waist and grabbed their knees. I gave each three slaps, then dismissed them to the shower. I closed the windows before joining them.

“Master, why do you want us to pee standing up?” Sandy asked.

“When we go out in public this summer, you will be naked. You will not leave my side. If you need to piss, you will do so in the men”s room with me present. I don”t want you to be kidnapped. I don”t want you to be murdered. It doesn”t happen very often, but free women resent slaves. Some of those women will beat up defenseless slaves. Did you ever do that, Debra?” Debra blushed, shook her head “no.” “Not even verbal abuse?”

“I did, Master. I”m sorry.”

“If I can prevent it, I won”t allow you to be hurt. That is one of the down-sides to being a slave. You have no rights. On the other hand, I do. I feel that someone who verbally abuses you is attacking me through a safe avenue—but attacking you is still an attack on me. You may wind up with another slave sister this summer. It depends on how much trouble it would be to prosecute.”

“Master,” Sandy smiled, “you talk mean, but you wouldn”t PPC Debra.”

“I didn”t get the chance,” I replied, “so even I don”t know.”

“You could have married me and promised me that I”d stay free,” Debra said. “If you hadn”t mentioned enslavement, I wouldn”t have guessed that you wanted me enslaved.”

“True. I contributed to you losing everything.” The shower was crowded, but that made it easy to touch all three women at once. Hard to wash ourselves, yes, but easy to rub against everyone. “We can”t all go back and try it again. We can only move forward.”

“Master, thank you for saving Mother”s things. I was so sure that I”d never see them again.”

“Thank Anita. I asked her what item represented your mother. If not for Anita, I wouldn”t have known what to salvage.” I squeezed Sandy”s shoulder as I spoke. Sandy glanced at me, her face a kaleidoscope. “I regret that my funds were so limited. Anita”s judgment was critical—and she succeeded brilliantly.

“Debra, I”m keeping you enslaved during your child-bearing years. I want you to give me at least two children. That will take ten years, give or take five. I want you to stick around and help raise them. But before I can even consider letting you have children, we have to get your temper under control.”

“”Master, I am bipolar.”

“No, you are just a brat,” I replied. “I had you checked out thoroughly. You are not bipolar. Medical science still doesn”t know what causes bipolar disorders, but you are not bipolar and the odds that are kids will be bipolar are the same as anyone else”s. Nope! Now that you”ve asked, I have to begin the next phase of your behavior modification—no more temper tantrums, Debra! None!”

“I”m not bipolar?”

“No, sister,” Sandy said. “You have no medical excuses.”

“Your brattiness is one excuse for keeping you naked all summer,” I said. “You fly off the handle at the least little insult—what terrifies you?”

I didn”t catch what Debra said due to the running water. I shut off the shower—the water was getting cold—and had her repeat it.

“You just like seeing me naked, Master.”

“I”m busted!” I confessed. “Let”s get dried off and jump into class. Debra, you are to write a report on what ticks you off. I want it at the end of the day. I will use your report to plan out a behavior modification program. Anita, Sandy, I need you to do the same—only on Debra. I need to find out how to help her. We have the summer.”

“Master, are you going to kill me?”

I was shocked at Debra”s question. I never even considered it.

“No. Not unless I have to. Remember, humans need a purpose in life. Humans need joy, too. Right now, you have very little power. Even slaves are not powerless—you can still lose what little power you have by abusing it. No, the report I want from you is exploring what makes you flip your lid and why it makes you wig out. We don”t need to get everything today. I just want to start on it. For example, Debra, you seem to have always been a slave.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were enslaved to the opinions of others. Not just their opinions, Debra, but what you projected those opinions to be. You took your worst thoughts and imagined that other people thought ill of you. Debra, if you get nothing else, learn this—the only opinion that matters is—” I made her wait for it—” YOURS!”

I got three questioning looks.

“You can experience heaven in slavery or hell in freedom. Make the best of your situation. You were enslaved for breaking the law. Tough! Let”s make your life a good one. I need your help to do that. Unfortunately, I need your help to modify your behavior. No more temper tantrums. When you have a list of what makes you go boom, I”ll show you superior coping techniques.”

“You love me?”

“Of course, you silly wench!” Sandy punched her sister Debra”s shoulder. “He always has. I think that Master Robert just likes rescuing damsels in distress.”

“Even though you were your own wicked stepmother,” Anita added.

Debra was quiet the rest of the day. I read her report, compared it to the other two, and then called my family together.

“Debra, relax. This is to help you. You are afraid that other people will find out that you are an unlovable little ugly girl. Guess what?” I glanced at the other two slaves. “You are a very lovely woman. You have a lot of fine qualities. You are very intelligent. You need some self-discipline, but you could be the CEO of a major corporation.”

“As a slave?”

“Yes. Asset slaves are now VP”s in many companies. CRG is talking about becoming a slave shop. The advantages of a slave as vice president are many, and not just lower costs. All the executive suite needs to do is format the office to meet women”s real needs and slave VP”s will be industry standard. Some of those will go on to be CEO”s or presidents—with a male counterpart filling the other office. Never mind right now. We have to get your temper under control.

“Anita, what is on the agenda for housekeeping?”

“Master, we are running out of things to do. It”s all about keeping it clean, now.”

“Okay. What about another car? I have your driver”s licenses with slave endorsements.”

Debra fell to her knees. I recognized the pose from one of the Guides for the Clueless—she was asking to be heard.

“Yes, Debra?”"

“Master, how will you get your $12,743.77 worth out of me?”

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 32–Late Valentine

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Debra, Sandy, Mr. Mike Royce and Honey, Mr. John Hamilton and Sugar, Mr. Cole James and Peach, Mr. Pierre Citron and Ice Maiden, Mr. Billy Marsh and Scarlet, and Red Smith and Jade
WHAT—Party time! We celebrate Valentine”s Day a bit late.
WHERE—Donner home
WHEN—Saturday, February 16th, 2008

It had been a long, arduous week. I left the house early—I had to leave the house at six on Thursday. Then I”d have a working lunch at the office and I”d come home late—Tuesday I didn”t come home until eleven and on Friday I was home at nine only because I was hosting a get-together at my home. I couldn”t have managed without 24-hour shopping! Okay, we men buy and women “shop.” I”d go in with a list and come out with most or all of the items I needed. For example, I bought party dresses and party shoes for my slaves. There was also a selection of sheer 18″ square scarves that could be tied or pinned or tack-stitched as wardrobe or worn to accent the wrap dresses. At the slave store I bought a selection of Ben Wa balls and anal plugs. I also had purchased three slave collars: chrome for Debra and Sandy, gold plated for Anita. Groceries? I filled the menu that Anita had prepared; on Day 25 I held a menu contest for 8 guests and 12 slaves. There had to be a certain minimum of food and alcohol, enough so that there”d be leftovers. I didn”t want anyone, not even the slaves, to leave hungry. If their owners forced the slaves to be hungry, that was another matter—but they wouldn”t have to go hungry because I failed to feed them. Oklahoma doesn”t permit alcohol sales 24 hours a day and seven days a week, but I was able to pick up the appropriate bottled beverages on Friday. Chicken is the safest “meat” to serve in America—and I asked about vegans, first. Americans are picky—no fish, no horse, no dog, no mutton, no exotic meat such as cat, camel or crocodile. Many people avoid pork. A few don”t do beef. I am no fan of long pig, myself. I do like squirrel and rabbit—but some people don”t. Turkey is usually okay, too. This party was a semi-business luncheon, the weather was too cool for a barbeque, and I would rather not dine on girl roast because I have a tender heart. So it was roast Cornish hens—two dozen. We had a green salad, some canapé of cheese and turkey sausage, baked potatoes, vegetable medley and a pastry tray for desert. Anita made the pastries. The meal was simple—but I”m a simple guy. If my boss didn”t like simple, I”d be looking for a new job on Monday.

Friday night the girls tried on their party duds—without underwear. Debra and Sandy would be wearing wrist cuffs, too. Their shoes were slings with three-inch heels—Sandy”s tiny feet made it appear that she was walking on her toes. Anita said that she could wear a six-inch heel. Debra seemed pleased to be wearing any clothes—even diaphanous cloth that was more like wearing smoke. It concealed nothing. Even in dim light, anyone with sight would know that there was only healthy woman underneath that gauzy cloth. Exercise class was cut short Saturday morning and the girls were excused from their Telecommunications Extension Business School for Slaves (TEBSS) course. They were ahead of the power curve, thanks to Anita”s discipline. She would make sure that the other two finished the course on schedule.

“Debra, have you got an answer to my question yet? What did you want to do with your life?”

“Master, I want to be a free woman.”

“You answered “how,” not “what.” Anita, same question.”

“Master, I would like to start and run a business. Master, I am puzzled—I can run a business either as a free woman or as a slave. If you make me an asset slave, I can even sign contracts on behalf of the company. You said to tell you what we wanted. Did I do okay?”

“You did. Sandy?”

“Master, I want to be a slave and to serve whatever purpose you dictate. I just want to please you.”

“Sandy answered both what and how. I forgive you for telling me “how,” Sandy. You gave me a good answer. Therefore, I will be your purpose in life. Debra, just think about it over the next week. Did you want to be an astronaut and be the first human to walk on Mars? Be a great white hunter and bag the big three in Africa: elephant, rhino and hippo? Sail around the world on an oil-drum barge?”

Debra shook her head. She seemed ready to cry. I hugged her.

“It is okay. You have the rest of your life to decide.”

“Master,” Sandy said, “I don”t want to make any big decisions like that. I just want to please you. Anything you want me to do, just tell me.”

“Master,” Debra looked at the floor,” you said that you were going to make us mothers. Will you enslave our daughters?”

“I will do what I think is best for our children—boy or girl. Things change. Ten years ago legal slavery wasn”t an option. Today, I don”t have any children. Will I have to protect my daughters from slavery by enslaving them? I don”t know—a lot can happen in the next two decades. We might have only sons. The White Slave Act of 2000 may be repealed and all slaves freed. The Slaver Cabal may require that all women be enslaved. I will do what I feel is best for the children. You will advise me, but the decision is mine. That”s why my wife and the mother of my children had to be a slave.”

A long time ago my father told me that women were sexier when “gift wrapped.” He liked clothed women more than naked girls, he said. Dad and I didn”t always agree on things. He liked his bed partner to wear fancy night things. I prefer total nudity. He liked the sports coupe. I prefer a pick-up. He liked revolvers. I like automatics. He liked to fish. I preferred to hunt rabbits and deer. My father preferred blondes. I like brunettes better. Dad was a one-woman man. I really liked the idea of a harem. We are different people. Perhaps if Dad were still alive -

There were seven men from Culbert”s Research Group (CRG): my boss, Mike Royce, John Hamilton, Cole James, Pierre Citron, Billy Marsh and Red Smith. They each brought their slave secretary with them. WSA had been in force for over seven years and slave secretaries had to be more than arm candy. They had to be more than merely good in bed. Each of the seven slave secretaries were also educated women, skilled enough that they would have been managers in the old days. Were we men squandering precious talent? I don”t know—and I work for a research company!

Honey was a blonde and she was curvy. Mr. Royce”s slave secretary wore a pearl tube dress that began just above her nipples, strained to contain her large breasts, wrinkled slightly at her narrow waist and then strained again to contain her hips, terminating just below the crease between hip and thigh. A pair of torturously high stiletto pumps and wide engraved metal bonds on her ankles, wrists and neck completed her costume.

Sugar was a black woman and bald. John Hamilton”s office manager wore a three-inch wide gold lame band over her massive breasts and another six-inch band of the same cloth over her hips. Matching gold sandals—flats with gold strings laced to her knees—and a heavy slave collar shaped like a Celtic toque completed her outfit—I saw no cuffs. Given what modern slave collars could do, the cuffs are more cosmetic than functional now.

Peach was another blonde, but she was dressed in a simple blue slave shift that laced up the sides. She wore moccasin-style slippers in matching blue and her ankles were connected with a short length of chain—as were her wrists. A third chain connected collar to wrists. The collar was bulky, white, and looked heavy. Cole James carried a riding crop—or was it a quirt? I can”t tell the difference. He would caress his slave secretary with the short leather whip and Peach”s eyes would roll back in her head as a soft moan escaped her lips.

Pierre called his “bitch” Ice Maiden. Her hair was bleached white and fell to her waist. Ice Maiden”s dress was white and sheer enough to see that she had large nipple rings and a heavy chastity belt. Her collar was rhinestones on black velvet—but almost a half inch thick and two inches wide. Mr. Citron had his woman perched atop a pair of platform shoes and had secured Ice Maiden”s arms in a tight wrist to elbow tie with rope. Ice Maiden was gagged.

Scarlet, of course, was a redhead—and rail thin. She wore a halter top and hot pants with knee-high boots - all in a lime green. Mr. Marsh”s slave didn”t wear a collar or cuffs—but did have a large band on her left wrist. This band supported a Huckleberry communications device and there was a visible padlock on the wristband.

Last was little Jade, an oriental wisp of a girl. Mr. Smith”s slave secretary was wearing a kimono and an elaborate headdress—Jade was either a geisha or a science fiction princess today. In the office, her attire was usually much less complex—the luxurious black hair piled atop her head would reach below her hips when let down.

By contrast, all of my women had short hair in their natural brown color. Okay, Anita”s hair had streaks of gray.

“You call this a party?” Royce roared?

“I call this a working luncheon, sir,” I shot back. “You have three projects to plan out before two. If we merely are going to party, we are in the wrong place.”

“I”ll say!” Marsh had a lemony voice. “There isn”t room to swing a cat in here. Why don”t you get a bigger place, boy?”

“You should have seen my apartment last month,” I responded. “This house is a palace compared to that little hole in the wall. I live within my means and this is what I can afford.”

“How”d you come by three slaves?” Smith said. “This one is old enough to be your mother!”

I started to answer the question—but stopped.

“This feels like a job interview. All this time I thought we were brainstorming three projects away from the office. Silly me! What is the position? Or should I start handing out my resume?”

“Whoa!” Hamilton was in Personnel. My understanding was that his presence at this meeting was to insure adequate staffing for the three projects. “Nobody said anything about termination.”

“You own slaves now,” my boss, Mike Royce, explained. “That takes you out of the middle class. That and your Master”s degree put you on the lower rungs of the upper class.”

“We want to know what you were planning to do with your slaves,” Hamilton said. “It is important. Tell us how you came to own three of them and what you plan to do with them.”

It was none of their business—but I capitulated. I told them our story. Debra erupting in fury at the restaurant. Sandy volunteering to become my slave. Rescuing Anita from the auction—and then rescuing Debra from the slave pen. My training program.

“I intended to raise a dozen children,” I said. “That”s too much to ask of one woman. One or two is hard enough on her. WSA 2000 gave me the option of slave mommies—but I wasn”t about to put up with a free wife”s jealousy. I wasn”t about to let her abuse the other slaves. Besides, I have ideas on how to raise children. I will listen to advice, but I will decide what is best for my children. Having slave wives looked like my best option.”

“How many slaves were you looking for?”

I sighed and stared at Debra. “I was considering between three and seven slaves. That would spread out the child-bearing duties and there would be plenty of hands to run my household. Of course, with that many women and children, I”d need to have the women earn wages outside the home. Right now, I”m having these three take correspondence courses. Anita is a gem. She”s owned a business and she ran Debra”s household. I”m working out the details, but I am considering manumitting Anita and marrying her so that there is a free person to run my household. Part of her being my wife is being subject to immediate enslavement any time I feel like it. I”d have Anita explain how she feels to you, but because she is a slave there may be a credibility gap.”

“I”ll say!” Marsh was the vice president in charge of research. “Do you have a thing for older women? Are you a mother fucker?”

“Sir, if I am supposed to demand that we step outside, I”ve failed your test,” I said. “Medical examination revealed that Anita is past child-bearing age. She is smart and I believe she is loyal. She won”t have the “mother with children” exemption to being converted—so if I need a quickie divorce I can simply take her to a slave shop and bring her home naked and in chains.”

“Why would you do that? Enslave your wife?”

“I may want to take on an additional slave wife, Mr. Smith,” I looked right into the CRG security chief”s eyes as I spoke. “I offered the same thing to Debra: we”d get married and I”d enslave her. I didn”t get to explain to Debra Glendale, Free Woman, what I had planned. I figured it was over between us and I was going to look elsewhere. Sandy showed up. Debra went on a rampage and lost everything.”

“How much did you pay for her?”

I told Pierre Citron, the finance chief the exact amount.

“That doesn”t include the current training program,” I said.

“You spent too much for her.”

I glanced back at a white-faced Debra.

“You and my attorney agree, then,” I said. “He advised me to let her be executed. I had a few compelling reasons. Sandy, for one. Saving her sister improved our relationship. Anita regards these two as her adopted daughters—no wonder! They”ve been together for three years. Besides, I think I fell in love with Debra the first time I saw her. Silly, I know. I determine if I want to have a second and third date on the first date. The subsequent dates I get to know the woman. I erred with Debra, but I got what I wanted in the end—and more. Sandy is a wonderful slave. She isn”t going to slave school—I will train her. Not that Sandy requires being broken or anything. Anita had already been through five years of slavery. Anyway, Debra will do what I tell her to do. Slaves don”t have a choice.”

“What about children,” Cole James was a corporate attorney. “Are you going to enslave your daughters?”

“Sir, I will do what I think is best for my children. I may—I may not. I don”t have children right now. When I do, it will be years before I decide to convert them or allow them to remain free.”

“I”d recommend conversion,” James said. “I”m on the Committee for Universal Female Slavery. We at CUSF recognize that some women can contribute more to society as free women—but we are sponsoring legislation that enslaves girls at birth. All women should be slaves—and some will be permitted to earn their freedom. What do you say to that?”

“Ten years ago there were no legal slaves, sir. Anything is possible, I guess—I”ll deal with it when it happens. Politics isn”t really my specialty. That may cause me some problems because one of the projects under discussion is the impact of slavery on society. I will carefully document my data and my conclusions will be derived from the data. I am aware that many research projects are commissioned to prove a viewpoint. If the project is supposed to prove that all women must be enslaved, you need to tell me so before I prove the opposite.”

Their curiosity seemed satisfied. We brainstormed the three projects. I had a presentation for each project. I covered research design. During this bull session all we were doing was coming up with ideas—later, we”d shoot down the unworkable fantasies. Lunch was accompanied by lots of liquid refreshment. I”ve never been a heavy drinker. I prefer to keep my wits about me and limit my intake to no more than two drinks per hour. Ice Maiden wasn”t allowed to remove her gag—she neither drank nor ate. I wanted to say something but chickened out. Ice Maiden wasn”t my responsibility—she wasn”t in my sphere.

At two, the luncheon broke up. At the door, Hamilton asked me what work costume I preferred for my girls.

“They are going to be hired out.”

“Sir, it depends. Fantasy is all well and fine, but I may have to put them in chastity belts and coveralls. Debra and Sandy are my brood mares. I”d rather have them remain naked around the clock for the entire summer because Debra has always been enslaved to the opinions of others. I want her nude as much as possible so that she realizes that only a few opinions count. We adults realize that we can”t have everything, though, and I am flexible enough to plan for business attire at the work site—and more.”

After they had all gone, I looked around at my abode. It was a disaster area! How did seven men make such a mess?

“Master,” Sandy was tugging at my sleeve,” May I undress? If the option is mine, Master, I want to remain naked the rest of my life. Pleasing you is more important, but these clothes make me feel confined—not in a good way.”

“Wait a moment, Sandy. Debra, I want your opinion. Naked or clothed?”

“I want to wear clothes,” Debra said, “but I will remove them so that I won”t mess them up. I”d rather be naked than mess up this dress. Even if it is see through.”

“Anita?”

“Master, please don”t ask me. Just command me.”

“I have something for each of you. Get comfortable. After I present your gifts, you are all to be naked for the week. Get comfortable because I want to reward you for good behavior.”

Each of my slaves had a small locker in the nursery. It was their locker and they could keep their personal stuff in there. Only two people had the combination to their lockers—me and the locker”s owner. I made it a point to never open their locker unless they were present and to have the other two out of the garage. This luxury of privacy was limited—but important for their development. Yes, I wanted slave wives and slave mommies—but they were going to be more. Much more.

The presents were precious keepsakes that Anita helped rescue. Anita, unfortunately, didn”t have any. She had lost everything when her husband enslaved her. I had a few small items of sentimental value for Debra and Sandy. The two younger slaves had different reactions. Sandy squealed and bounced up and down. Debra gulped back tears and said “thank you.” Then it was Anita”s turn.

“I found your son. He is in Russia and his contract will end soon. Send him an e-mail.”

Robert”s Slave Owner”s Diary: Day 25—Training Program Commences

Robert Donner

WHO—Anita, Debra, Sandy
WHAT—My girls are enrolled in the Telecommunications Extension Business School for Slaves (TEBSS)
WHERE—Donner home
WHEN—Saturday, February 9th, 2008

Sandy recommended this improved format for my weekly diary entries. Once I have made an entry, one of my three slaves will proof it for spelling and grammar errors as practice for real-world employment. It isn”t that I”m a miser, but my girls are going to work for wages. Office workers generally have safer working conditions and earn more money—sales is higher still, but would require that my girls “put out” sexually. I am a jealous man and I want to reserve them for breeding. Oh, I”ll share—on a selective basis. None of this “every Tom, Dick and Harry” stuff for me and my slaves! Generally, slaves do not get any say in who they screw. My three are a little different—they can ask. I”m not super human and letting them stray from the pasture under controlled conditions will benefit us all—but I will fence in the pasture and keep my flock there most of the time. It”s just that keeping a herd in a small pasture all of the time leaves the pasture bare and the flock emaciated. They”re going to have to work. Their employer will expect at least blow jobs and eye candy. In the event of my death Brian Shield, Attorney at Law, is establishing a trust to care for my slaves and our dependant children. Right now, there isn”t a whole lot of funding in the trust—so I”m getting my slaves certified as skilled office workers.

The Telecommunications Extension Business School for Slaves is an E-campus. There is an office somewhere, perhaps just like the classroom I”ve established for my three slaves. I set up three computer work stations and a pair of four-drawer filing cabinets in the now-empty nursery. There is a telephone in there, and the three computers are linked to a router in the master bedroom for internet access—forming a small network not unlike that in a small business. Later, I”ll make greater use of laptop computers—but the three desktop work stations and computer carrels were reasonably priced. I had Debra write up the business plan. In 18 months all the used computer equipment will be upgraded and the next evaluation and upgrade scheduled. Eventually the hardware will have to be replaced. The nursery will be needed for other purposes.

I may even need to establish a formal worksite and use the Donner house as the location for a home business.

My slaves brought with them a variety of education and experience. I started all of them off with a typing tutorial. The goal was 30 words per minute typing speed with 5 or fewer errors in a five-minute test. Testing isn”t real-world, but testing establishes a baseline and measures progress. The rule for data entry was that one slave would type up the document and a separate pair of eyes would proof the document and make corrections. Because they were slaves, I felt that I had to use the carrot and the stick. When they completed their work to standard, my girls were rewarded. If they didn”t, I imposed sanctions.

Oh, yes—my slaves were nude during class sessions. They didn”t even wear jewelry—perhaps later, as a reward. Sandy begged to be permitted a slave collar. Of the three, Sandy is happy being a slave. Anita thinks that she has no other choice. Debra hates being enslaved—but the alternative was being prosecuted for assault on peace officers. Debra”s seven cell mates had been convicted of crimes of violence and deemed unsuitable as slaves by the marketplace; no white slavers bid on them. They were sold under that week”s contract to Fleishman”s Fine Flesh, an AMS dealer, and “stressed” for 48 hours prior to slaughter.

Debra had volunteered for conversion and Brian Shield put in a sealed bid through a licensed slaver—the bid was $5000, but Debra sold for half of that and I was the top bidder. My close competitors were two brothels and an old gentleman from the South Hills area. The sealed bid process works this way—pony up the maximum purchase price and wait until the end of the auction. The second highest sealed bid sets the price for the highest sealed bid—it is the second-highest bid and the minimum step increase. Eastlake County”s step increase is $10 and the minimum auction price is established by that week”s AMS contract—generally $250 to turn a live woman into approximately 50 pounds of roasts and chops. Dressed weight varies, but when the bone and other inedible parts are removed, there is not that much meat on the average woman. It cost me $2500 to purchase Debra and another $2500 for counseling and the slave academy. Debra is a life-time investment. There were some other fees, too, so Debra has cost me nearly ten grand to acquire.

Earlier in this journal I erroneously wrote that Debra had been sentenced to a minimum of five years enslavement. That isn”t accurate. Debra volunteered to become a slave to avoid conviction and execution for assaulting police officers. Brian explained that in 60 months from the date charges were filed, they”d be retired and the file sealed. It has to do with statue of limitations. I admit it—I don”t understand. Technically and legally I could free Debra right now. Doing so would expose her to prosecution for her crimes. If I waited 60 months and then manumitted her, the charges would have expired. It is a way the court keeps its dockets clear. A possibility is moving to another state and manumitting Debra—it is unlikely that she”d be extradited and tried in Eastlake—but she”d better stay out of Oklahoma in the mean time! As a slave, her assault charges don”t apply because she acted while a free woman. The penalty would have been either judicial enslavement—or incarceration in a women”s prison. I don”t know if the “reality shows” on modern women”s prisons are true and Debra didn”t want to find out first-hand. Potentially, Debra could wind up dead because if she were judicially enslaved, failure to sell at auction would be the same as if she were in any other animal shelter and failed to be adopted prior to an established waiting period. The easy thing to do is just keep Debra a slave until the charges run down.

Besides, I wanted Debra to be my slave anyway. Slave marriages have no legal force. A slave wife is just a slave in the eyes of the state—just a domestic animal. The owner has property rights—the only right a “person of limited rights” has is that her children are born free citizens of the United States of America and of the state they were born in. I didn”t want my home to be a battlefield in the war between the sexes. It still is, of course—there is no escaping conflict. It is just that because my “wives” are slaves, the law is on my side in every conflict. There is only one compelling reason to marry a free woman—love. That reason is overrated. Look at how much I paid for Debra—enough to purchase three high-quality slaves! Perhaps as many as five good slaves could have been bought with the money I spent on her. I think Debra is worth it, but only time will tell. Yes, I got what I wanted. Debra is my slave. We did it the hard way.

Sandy was a surprise. She wanted to be a slave. I hadn”t ignored her, but it just wasn”t cool to troll my girlfriend”s household for loose women to enslave. I hadn”t considered the possibility that Sandy was slave material. Sandy was basically a free slave because she paid her own fees and taxes in order to become my property. Sandy”s voluntary conversion was what triggered Debra”s rampage—the temper tantrum that destroyed Debra”s life.

Anita is a treasure. She was converted by her husband—and it is his loss. True, she is 43 and no longer of breeding age. On the other hand, Anita is an experienced business woman. She owned and ran a beauty shop. Her devotion to her business was cited by husband Herbert Zachary Kitchener as the main reason he enslaved Anita—the beauty shop was her lover and Herbert couldn”t compete. Thanks to the White Slave Act of 2000, Herbert didn”t have to. Mr. Kitchener enslaved his wife in front of their two teenaged children and sold Anita and her beauty shop to two of Anita”s employees. Those women were not as business-minded as Anita and they ran the business into the ground. Anita fell ill. There wasn”t money enough for medicine for the two business partners and certainly not enough money to take an ailing 40 year old slave to the hospital. Sandy was a regular customer of Anita”s beauty shop and had asked about her favorite hair dresser. When Sandy found out that Anita was ill, Sandy got together some money and purchased Anita through a white slaver. There was a glitch—Sandy was only 16 at the time. In Oklahoma, the minimum age to own slaves is 18. Big sister Debra was named owner, and Anita changed hands for $350, plus taxes and transfer fees. Anita was a bargain. She replaced two hired housekeepers and the cook, once Sandy had nursed slave Anita back to health. Okay, there were another $300 or so in medical bills, but for under a thousand dollars, Anita became cook, housekeeping staff and Sandy”s confidant. Sandy had earlier asked her sister Debra to enslave Sandy. Debra had refused. Sandy found slave Anita ill and dying and had made a deal with Debra; Sandy would stay free and indulge her slave fantasies vicariously, through Anita. When Debra volunteered for enslavement, Eastlake County seized all of Debra”s property, including Anita, and sold everything at auction. Part of the money paid off Debra”s debts and the rest was divided among the various government entities. Sandy asked me to buy Anita. The sealed bit I submitted was for $1000, and I paid a mere $400 including the slaver”s fees.

Debra had dropped out of business school several years ago. She was studying to be a CPA, but after collecting a settlement for her parents” deaths and the life insurance, Debra just loafed along. No job and incomplete education were obstacles. Debra was 23, about 4 years older than her sister.

Sandy was also unemployed since graduating from high school with a minimum 2.00 GPA. It wasn”t that Sandy was stupid. She just needed someone to motivate and direct her.

Anita had a high school diploma and some college courses, but never bothered with a degree. She had been a slave for five years—including a three-day stay at a slave orientation facility. Anita had run her beauty shop for six years before being enslaved early in the year 2003. Additionally, Anita had run her home without slave labor, using her son and daughter to help out with the chores. Super Mom cannot be perfect, however, and husband Herbert felt that he was being cheated on—so fat and worn out old Anita was sold. Herbert could have gotten more money. I think he was trying to hurt Anita. I made Anita my First Girl and put her in charge of the other two slaves.

The classroom schedule was two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon. TEBSS is a self-paced school, so the course begins when the students enroll. The course ends when the students complete their work and take the on-line final examination. Yes, there is a deadline to complete TEBSS courses because they are a business. Still, TEBSS is a recognized standard that potential employers look at when hiring temporary slave labor. I wanted my slaves to have basic office skills. Later, they”d all return to a more-formal school. I was going to get a lot of mileage from TEBSS. First, independent certification of job skills would let me rent out my slaves as office workers. Second, I”d establish study habits. In addition to the course work, I assigned several research tasks to Anita and ordered her to delegate those tasks to the others. Third, I was establishing work habits. Naked slave women are unremarkable now, but seven years ago they were a workplace distraction. Most workplaces mandate that their office workers adhere to a dress code—business casual because it projects the expected professional image. Most businesses feel that naked office workers disrupt the workplace and restrict nudity to specific times and places. Oh, yes, a lot of businesses employ topless or nude receptionists, but most of the office staff is expected to be dressed and to wear presentable clothing. I mandated total nudity during class because Debra at least needed to get over being embarrassed at being seen naked. Sandy wanted to be naked all of the time—it fit her slave fantasy—but she had difficulty, too. Anita had been a slave for a long time. She didn”t like being nude, but tolerated it well.

Because it was Saturday, I was on hand for the first formal classes. During the work week, I”d monitor my slaves through my surveillance systems. Today, however, the Ninth day of February and the 40th day of 2008 I was going to be present for their “first day” of school. Wake-up time was five AM. Yes, I”m working hard at getting my slaves trained. When their initial training is completed, their schedule will change and I will ease up. I got everybody out of bed and there was a mad scramble for the toilet. Two bathrooms and a half-bath eased things a bit. Note to self—make sure there are more toilets in my next house! Debra still shied when I led her to the toilet and perched her there, though she knew better than to complain about having an audience.

“Debra, I love you. It doesn”t seem like it because I”m watching you piss. Tough! You”ve been miss-educated,” she indicated that she had finished and she stood so that I could wipe her. I did, and I continued my morning ritual. “I forbid the shy maiden act. That is artificial. Be proud of what you are. You are a valuable human being that happens to be my property. Come on. It”s time for exercise.”

The exercise period started with stretching. Sandy was t