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

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

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

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

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I see them as I drive around town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And after that, the girl discovers her true nature.

I see them.   I see slaves.

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I love doing pickups.

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

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

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

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

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

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Image from Flickr Released under Creative Commons License

My whole website/blog etc cluster is being moved to a new server, which I hope will fix the on and off “database error” issues we have been having.

What this means is that the blog may be hard to get to for the next 24 hours or so.

“We have a pick up where?”

“Like I said, at the Rosemary College. It’s at 31st and Sherman, right by the expressway.”

“I know where it is, but, it’s a freaking beauty school! There is no way this is legit.”

“Why do you think I kicked this one up stairs to you? Mom Hayden didn’t raise too many fools.”

“Otto….”

“Boss, you want me to go?”

“No, I better, besides, I still need to get out more. I’ll find out what the hell is going on.”

Normally, when we get a call from a school of some sort, it’s an open and shut case, and I can send out any body. The public high schools have “School Court”, which is just an Eastlake municipal judge who comes out the the school once a month or so. Most of the private schools require a pre-approved conversion for female students of age, or at least the ones that I deal with, and of course Eastlake University has it’s own court system. But Rosemary ‘College’ is one of those more or less fly by night trade schools and has no legal standing to do conversions. Add in the fact that most of their ’students’ are over 21, meaning no parental conversions, and you can see my issue.

I arrive at the school, where I am directed to the ‘Dean of Admissions’ office. I note that there is a ‘Overview Cards Taken Here’ sign next to the ‘Dean of Admissions’ office. Yeah, rough admissions policy “Did your check clear? Yes, then you are good to go! Welcome to the class of July, 2008!” The door says “Pearlie Masden, Dean” on it. Any rate, I open the door and find 2 totally nude women sort of sit/standing on cheap chairs.

A middle aged women, dressed like you think the ‘Dean’ of a beauty school in Oklahoma would be dressed looks up from the papers on her desk.
“Are you from the slaving place?”

“Yes, I am. Mike West of Spellbook Slaves at your service”

“Good. Take Valene and Carry with you. If I may be bold, I suggest that they would make great roasts. Or use them to train fighting dogs. Maybe one of those slow hangs things I see on the TV some days. But that’s just me. I don’t deal well with stupid.”

“Ok, Ms. Masden, that may be what happens, but on what grounds?”

“Oh, well, I assumed that is what happens to dumb slaves. I mean could you use them for sex, but really, wouldn’t killing them be so much better? I mean, isn’t that what you really want to do?”

I’m starting to think that Ms. Masden has a bit of a fixation on snuffing slaves, or at least these two.
“Well, let’s not put the cart before the horse here. What I meant was what ground do I have to convert them?” I turn to the two nudes. “I assume you aren’t volunteering”

Carry, the one on the right, just sort of looks up at the ceiling, and rolls her eyes, Valene more or less snorts “Whatever. No, as if we would do that. Take her, I mean, really, she didn’t tells us that there her freaking school had books and test, I mean, like, when do we get to cool cosmetics tricks Huh?   They never did that, so it’s not like we got what we signed for any way…”

Carry adds in “Yeah, like it really matters what the skin HP is.”

Ms. Masden looks like she is going to blow a fuse. “It’s Skin Ph you twit. There is NO WAY I’m letting you out on the world to damage people’s skin and hair. NO WAY YOU HEAR ME! Cosmetics is a SCIENCE AND AN ART. A SCIENCE YOU HEAR ME!”

She turns to me “See! That’s why! Take them, take them both to their painful death!”

Yeah, got some issues here.
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that not knowing what the Ph scale is, much less as applied to the human body, isn’t a convertible offense in this state. I don’t think it is in any state, actually.”

“But they FAILED THEIR TESTS!   They did NOT PASS the state boards!   UNDER 50%!   TWICE!   They lowered my schools average! ”

“Ah, well, that’s not a convertible offense either…”

“But they are on student aid! I’ve got their contracts right here!”

“OK, let me see them.”

She hands me a fairly thick contract. “Sections 7 through 9” I read the sections, noting that each section has a signature block. They boil down to that if you take the student aid package and don’t pass your Cosmetician board test at the end of your training, you could be converted and sold to pay off the loan. My first though on reading this was no one in their right mind would sign it, then I looked at Valene and Carry, and decided that “in their right mind” wasn’t really something I would every say about them. I flipped to the end of the stack, and sure enough there was a drug screen test result from a lab. All the ‘i’ were dotted and the ‘t’ crossed.
“Well, girls, should have read your books.
n

Soon after I have Kristy in her slave carrier in the back of the van, the van’s radio goes off “Van 2, base…”

A few seconds goes by “Van 2, base…… “

A few more seconds goes by.

“Ah, Mr. West, you’re van 2…. Base.”

Crap. One I should have noticed what van number I was in, two there goes OpSec and three, my favorite fucking thing to think ‘Now what?’ I pick up the mic. Time to mess with someone’s mind a bit.

“This is Spellbook 6 actual, go.”

Long pause “What?”

“This is Spellbook 6, what traffic? Over”

Yeah, it’s been 20 years or so since I used military style radio nets, but it’s always fun to mess with people heads. I’ll also grant that I used Air Defense radio nets, which had it’s own weirdness. Drove the commo rats nuts some times. Their idea of “loud and clear” and mine weren’t exactly the same, plus ADA tactical net use isn’t the same as commo jocks net use. I daydream a bit about being back on a Nike base in Germany. Good times.

Meanwhile, base hasn’t said any thing. For quite a bit. I think I heard some one not quite talking into their mic, but it damn sure wasn’t loud or clear. For that matter I don’t think they knew they had the push to talk button down and were talking to some one else. Time to find out.

“Base? Did not copy traffic. Say Again. Over”

“Ok, whatever… Van two, we have an urgent pick up request, and your unit is the nearest.”

“Roger, copy urgent pick up. Send data via India Mike.”

After a few seconds I hear a set of muttering that I can’t quite make out, then Otto’s voice over the radio, replacing who ever it was working the base station. “Roger, data sent via India Mike. 10 minute block on radio net ops will be given to select personnel. Confirm data receipt. over”

About this time the purple bird gives me a pop up of a message. “Spellbook 6, confirming receipt data, out“.

“Spellbook base out.”

I grin as I put the van into gear, thinking that either Otto plays a lot of on line war games or he didn’t sleep through the commo class in his jROTC class. The address they sent me via IM was only a few minutes away. The notes didn’t make sense however. “Parental involuntary conversion, subject unaware of conversion, no capture issues expected.” That doesn’t make any sense. An involuntary/unaware conversion damn near always has capture issues. Sigh. Need to give class on how to use the software again, it seems. I really have been away to long.

I arrive at the address, turn around to Kristy “Do I need to zap you or will you be quiet?” She just looks up at me and makes the “zip my lips” move. “Good. If you get loud, it could get ugly for you...”

I walk up to the door, Tazer in my hand. The door opens as I walk up and a middle aged white male steps out. “You will not need that. Trust me, that’s the last thing you need. She’s down in her room. Let me show you why I say you don’t need the stun gun….”

He leads me down the hall way to a bed room. I look in and see that, yeah, I don’t need the Tazer.

“OK, Mr?”
“Dales. Robert Dales. That’s my daughter Sharron Dales.“.
I holster the Tazer. “OK, let’s talk about the conversion. Do you have paperwork already done or do I need to print some off?”

He hands me a 3 page form. It’s a standard pre-approved parental conversion contract, sort of like what a lot of schools use, for example. Big advantage for me is that all I have to do is check the contract number and make sure that nothing has changed since it was issued. Hence the term “pre-approved”. I noted that date on it is 3 years ago.

“Why the delay in triggering Mr. Dales?”

I run the number with my PDA. Comes back green. I causally enter a triggering command. Doesn’t much matter what he says now, unless Sharron is pregnant, she’s been convert from drunk teen slut to drunk teenage slave, all with out waking up.

“Well, my wife and I took it out on her when she turned 16. Told her that as long as she lived with us, she would obey our rules or else. One rule was not to get sloppy passed out drunk. This is not her first, nor even second time, but three strikes and your out. She was warned both times before, but I’ve had it.”

“So, how much do you want for her then?”

I’m thinking 19 year old redhead, looks like Grade A, I could go as high as 600 and still make a good profit.

“Oh. I don’t want to sell her to you. Just get her out of my house.”

“Your sure about that?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure. I know that she’s a valuable livestock animal now, but it just doesn’t quite feel right to take money for her. I only hope that this example will warn the others.”

“You have other daughters Mr. Dales?”

“Well, yes, I have a set of twins, who just turned 17. But I was also including my wife and my girlfriend in that. They need to know that what I say goes, or else.”

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“Mike, I’m serious, you need to reconnect with the world.“. Doctor McGuire, my psychologist is talking to me, part of my getting out of Roundup Hospital.

“Meaning no offense, doctor, but the world wants to kill me.”

“No, Mike, the world as a whole doesn’t want to kill you. Some nut cases from Kansas wanted to kill you.”

“It wasn’t your office that blew up.”

“Wasn’t yours either. Not that you have been in any office much this year, much less the last 2 months. Besides, if I understand you right you actually end out ahead on that whole deal. Look, I know that you’ve been in a lot of physical pain, after the car wreck. But I also know you made your first appointment with me before that. You need to get out of your shell and do what you like to do.”

“Let me get this straight. For my mental health, I need to ruin the lives of women?”

“Right. Personally. Not send out your henchmen either…”

“Personally? You want me to personally ruin women’s lives for my own mental health? What ever happened to that that ‘First do no harm’ thing, plus that whole idea of the ‘Greater Good’ that you white coats seem to talk about so much?”

Dr. McGuire snorted. “First, your my client, not the women you are converting. Well, mainly not. You may have gotten a couple of them. Second, I never was to big on that ‘Greater Good’ thing.”

I looked at him. “So, what did you make on your medical ethics class there Doctor?”

“A gentleman’s C, Mr West, a gentleman’s C“.

The soon after, I was back in my real office. I picked up the stack of pick up orders. About 15 of them to process. I took the top 3 off.

“I’ll do these. See y’all after lunch.” I leave while the office staff goes “what the fuck?”

I sort the slips by area, and decide to get the closest one first. I see that the Sandler residence in only a couple of miles away, in the old oil money part of mid town. The note just says “called in pick up order for Kristy Sandler”, with no other information attached. If this is the sort of work that the crew has been doing while I’ve been away, there is going to be some serious screaming when I get back. Pink might be the new slip color. I get to the address, park and go to the front door where I find a note

“Spellbook: I’m in the back yard. The gate is open. KS“.

OK. Maybe the office staff isn’t quite a lackadaisical as I thought. I walk around the gate and find Kristy.
“Kristy?”

“You must be from Spellbook. I wondered how long it would take.”

I blink. While I see nude women daily, normally they aren’t that way when I find them, calmly waiting on the pick up team.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

“Good, you will find my paper work on the bench. Sorry about having to call you, but they took my car last week and Georgie-poo has his, so I found my self car less this morning.”

“Georgie-poo?” I ask as I look over the papers. It’s a self volunteer conversion, not a husband conversion, I note.

“My ‘husband’. Wait, if I convert do I also have to file for a divorce? Or does that happen automatically”

“Legally you’re dead as soon as you convert.”

“Good. Any rate Georgie seemed to have invest all our money in Bear Stearns. He started talking selling assets and raising fast cash, and I just as soon not be part of his latest grand money making scheme.”

“You do understand what you are doing here, right?” I ask as I process her papers, scanning them into my laptop. State date base gives me a green light. I hand her my sample cup “Ah, need a urine sample.” She turns her back, then returns the cup to me. Sober and not pregnant. As I process this information in, and trigger her conversion she says “Yes, I do understand what I’m doing. I’m having my self converted by the agency with the second highest survival rate of slaves in the metro area, second only to DEV.”

OK I didn’t know that. Need to look into that, one way or the other. “Not that it matter now, you have been converted, effective, oh, a minute ago, but why my company? Why not DEV, the highest rated agency?”

She snorts. “Well, Mr. Michael West, have you talked to the DEV people? They are, so, so, earnest about what they do. That whole thing about ‘the whole woman’, ‘becoming to valuable to die’. It’s just a bit too much. Besides, a little bird told me that there is a good chance your going to be in a TV show again, and I’d like to be on TV. You didn’t think I didn’t know who you were did you? Your face was on my TV every week for almost a year and half.”

OK then…

“Otto! Can you come to the front desk for a minute?”

“Yes, masterrr… Coming masterrrr”

Sigh. What I get for calling him a henchman. “Stop the Igor act. Got a few questions for you.”

“What boss?”

“Did what’s her name, the one from Dutch Hall this morning, say any thing about telling her friends about some sort of daughter BBQ that the play cops were going to have?”

“You mean Angelica? Yeah, went on about it for quite a while. Oh. Yeah, she also, ah, told me about how to make your meat grade lower if they use the computer.”

I’m trying not to roll my eyes. “Otto, what did I do before I started selling slaves?”

“Something with computers? Programmer?”

“I worked on image processing systems. I can think of about 7 or 8 ways to spoof it.”

Otto mutters “She only listed 5 or 6.

“Well, it doesn’t matter any way. This Mellissa Baumler, she just came in to volunteer. Said something about not wanting to end up being on a spit and that her friend warned her, or a friend of a friend said something. Regardless, she’s got the right papers and I’ve got to, well, go deal with those toy cop boys. Oddly enough.”

Just about closing time, Otto and Tiffany come into my inner office.

“What?”

“It’s the new slave, Cherry….”

I don’t recall a slave named Cherry. “Who? And don’t make me say when and where….”

“That’s what we decided that Mellissa’s slave name is. Kitten Cherry. Any rate, I know your trying to sort of get out of the rental business, but I think we should keep her.”

Kitten Cherry? Need to talk to the staff about slave names.

And damn, I didn’t say any thing about not making me say ‘Why’
“Why?”

Tiffany handed me a slave grade sheet. I looked at it then back up at my two best employees.. “Faking grading isn’t a good idea kids No one gets 98 plus on all three..”

“No, really, she’s that good. Tightest non-virgin pussy the grader had ever fucked. And I can personally vouch for her sucking skills. She the best I’ve ever had.”

“Including Tiffany?”

Tiff looked at me. “He said that, to me. That’s why I did the pain test. Is there one past extreme?”

Sigh. “Let me go talk to her. I’m only doing torture slaves from now on. If she’s not OK with that idea, well, off to SlaveBay she goes.”
I walk into the slave quarters, I find “Cherry” reclining back on the couch. Nude. I check. She’s got a slave tunic. “You know you don’t have be nude, unless directed“.

“I know master, I just wanted to feel what being a naked slave girl was really like. Let me put on the tunic.”

“Cherry, I think I’m going to keep you for a while. I think your would make a great rental torture slave. Are you OK with that? Because if your not, I’m putting you up for sale on SlaveBay.”

““Of course I’m good with it. Any thing is better than letting those asshats have me.”

“OK, good. Well, sort of good, for you any way, I’ll warn you, you will be a no limit slave, which means you might not come back some day. Granted it would cost the customer a lot to do that.”
“Yes Master. I understand.”

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This is a for real service. You can talk to Slave Kitten Cherry when ever you see that she is online (it will say available on the button). I can assure you that
1) Those photos are in fact Slave Cherry and
2) You will get your money’s worth out of her.

 

The first time you call you will get 3 free minutes. Mention Spellbook and get the special service.

There is a link over on the tool bar, right under the Danish Flag, even after this post goes into the archives.

I’m a little early to the office this morning. Tiffany is waiting by the door. Normally she is ‘right on time’, never early. Hmm.

“Ah, Mike, can I talk to you this morning? I’ve got something that I really need to talk to you about. It’s job related.”

What the hell? Tiffany isn’t normally one of my problem employees. In fact she is damn near perfect, other than that ‘almost late every day’ thing. Most people call that ‘on time’, but hey, I’m the boss, I can call it what ever I want. In a normal business I would be worried that she was about to bring a sexual harassment case against us, or something like that, but here? And her? No, not that.

“Ah, sure, let me get into the office and I’ll see you once I get a cup of coffee.”

One cup of coffee later, Tiff is in my office. She looks a bit, well, weird.

“Let me start off with this is not my idea. It wasn’t even my dad’s idea, but he is in charge of it now, well, because of me.”

“What idea, your not making of the sense right now Tiffany. Spit it out.”

“Well, you see, my dad is a member of one of those neighborhood watch cop wannabe groups. They need money to upgrade their ‘patrol gear’.”

“Stop. We don’t donate slaves. While it can be done, it’s a mother fucker to get the paperwork right and it costs out the ass. Sorry…”

“Oh, no, they don’t want that. They want us to run a slave auction for them. They would like a deal on how much we keep, but that’s it…”

“OK, so what is the problem then? We can and have done this all the time. Normally our take of that sort of auction is 25%, vs our normal 50% cut.”

“Well, the problem is that they are wanting to sell off wives. My dad has already put mom up. Six other guys put up their wives. The thing that is weirding me out is that they want me to run the auction.”

Well, yeah, I can see that where that might be a problem for Tiffany. So, does Tiffany sell of her mom or not?

n

I’m sitting at my desk looking over the books. Seem to be a good month, even if I was off for most of it. Tiffany calls me over the intercom. “Mr. West, could you come explain what “personal contact” means in this state, please. We seem to have a bit of an issue here.” I check the video of the front desk. There seems to a young couple at the desk talking to Tiffany. She’s a thin dishwater blond, looks like largish a, maybe B cups. He is, well, my “punkdar” goes off. Skinny white dude in a dirty white tee shirt, black jeans, weird semi mullet hair cut. Can’t see his feet, but I’ll bet he is wearing either fake combat boots or shit kicker. With out cause, I’ll also wager, betting that he has never seen a tactical situation or worked around critters that make you need to wear shit kickers. There are a bunch of photos on the desk that I can’t quite make out. Lots of pink flesh showing so I assume it bad amateur porn. Like there is good amateur porn. Back in the days before I started this I never would have thought that. Now days I see way to damn much of it. Worse than when it was my part of my job to surf for porn. Otto, my loyal hench-tern, is leaning against the wall behind the desk trying to look cool. He’s doing a fairly good job at it, given that has had been doing a lot of weight lifting work in the last 6 months or so, and was, well, a big old boy to start with, so to speak. If I was into beef cake I’d be all over it. I’m not however, so well, you know, not all over it. But if I was, well, yeah, not so, whatever. He’s my on call bouncer of choice. Otto’s shaved head is a nice touch. Adds a effect overall.

When I get up to the desk I look at the photos, I look at the girl and the guy. It’s her all right, but who the fuck knows if it’s him or not. I look at the date stamp. 17 months ago? What the fuck is going on here?
“Well, where do you want me start?”

The guy gets all up in my face and sort of blusters out

“You, ‘Mr. West’, can start by telling me how much you are going to pay me for Melanie. Then I’d like to see this slave get 10 lashes for being rude to a free man. I know the law.”

Ah, shit. I don’t want to deal with this today.

“Tiffany, take 5. I’ll deal with this. Otto, hang loose.”

I pick up the images.

“Well, just for starters, Tiffany is a free woman, much like Melanie will be when you leave here. Her getting 10 lashes isn’t on the table. ” Otto smiles and start so say something “but Tiffany sort of likes…” He shuts up as I raise a finger at him. I file away the fact the my 19 year old sales women with a 90 plus rating at cock sucking might like to be flogged as information I might need later, but has nothing to do with my current, err, issue. Problem. Whatever.

The customer, so to speak starts up with “What the fuck are you talking about? She’s a slut and can be converted by who ever brings her ass in first. Don’t tell me other wise, I know my rights! I know the fucking law, You only need 3 items of proof and I gave you 4! I want my fucking money for the slut or I’ll have your job! I’m a personal friend of the owners you know.” He sort of back hands the photos I’m holding to make his point.

He says he is friend of mine? A personal one? Damn and odd. Must have meet him while I was on some strong drugs after the car wreck. I think about it. Nope. No memories, fuzzy or other wise of meeting teen age punks. Just some nice ones of nurses in mini skirts and heels. Ah, yeah, and pain meds… Good times.

“Do you fucking hear me? I’ll fucking have both of your jobs!” This dude is starting to bother me. Why all the rude customers here in my fine establishment of late. Need to look into that. On the other hand this current ‘client’ is just an ass punk that I want out of my store. Time to end this crap.

“No, dill weed, I do not need 3 photos of the lady in question doing something that you might call being a slut. What I need is proof of 3 consensual vaginal intercourse acts in the last 30 days with the requester and the possible converted woman. What I have here is 4 photos of a blow job roughly a year and a half ago. They are too old, not the right kind of sex for making you be a person of personal contact, and when you get down to it, I don’t even know if that’s you she is sucking on. Given the size of the tool, and how you seem to be acting, smart money is that it isn’t you, and your the dweeb holding the camera. All in all, what you have here is bumpkins. Speaking of bumpkins, and your brain, it might also behoove you to know who the owner of a place of business is before you go and claim friendship with him. I don’t know you from frog shit. Please do not let the door hit you on your way out.”

“Do you know who the fuck you are dealing with? I can get you closed down!”

“I think I’m dealing with a moron who thinks 4 photos of the same 17 month old blow job where you can’t see the man’s face is the same as proof of 3 separate fucks in the last 30 days. Beyond that, I don’t know, nor do I care. Now would you please leave my place of business, before I let Otto here remove you? You are invited to never return, and of course, if you so chose attempt to close me down. Good luck with that.”

Otto lacing his fingers together, cracking them as he stretched his arms out in front of him, with that thin smile of his was just a bit over the top.
“Can I boss man? I haven’t gotten to toss a punk ass cracker in a while….”

Cracker? Why in the fuck is he saying that? Otto is so white as to be poster boy for whiteness. Other white things have shrines to Otto’s whiteness. So to speak. On the other hand I knew what he meant.

The cracker in question grabbed ‘Melanie’ by the wrist and started to pull her towards the door. She tried to pull her hand free. “Biff, just go. I said I would come here with you. I didn’t say any thing about leaving with you. Now just get the hell out of my life.”

Biff wasn’t having any of it and tried to pull her again. Sigh, I hate tazering people… As I reach for my Tazer on my belt, Otto leaned forward and applies a hapkido pressure point grab on Biff’s right hand, making his arm bend at a funny angle and release his non-slave ‘Girlfriend’” Good to see my money I spent on sending every one to classes wasn’t a total waste of money. First time I’ve seen him use one on a some one other than an about to be converted woman. Seemed to work just as well on a teen punk. Note to self. Check on Otto’s current belt level. Smart money is on brown. Second note. Spend some time in the Dojo, I’m getting rusty, as I didn’t even thing of that, just went for the magic Zap-o-matic on the belt.

Biff glares at Otto and started to say something, Otto raises his finger like I had to Otto, then sort of growled.

The lady said leave her life. The door is over there. Biffy boy I suggest you go.”

Biff looked at her, then back at Otto, then, when Biff looked back at Melanie and started to reach for her again, Otto slapped the desk top.

NOW

Biff jumped about 3 feet and ran for the door. We heard a car start up and burn rubber out of the lot. Need to put in bigger speed bumps on the exits. I hate people speeding out of here.

After he left. Melanie turn to me “Mr. West if I ‘volunteer’ to become a slave, can you make sure Biff or his friends don’t buy me? I know that I would have no legal rights, but if you give me your word, I’ll sign my self over to you.”

I shrug. “Sure, I’ll give you my word. May I ask why your going to convert your self?”

“Well, just because Biff doesn’t have the right kind of photos doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. I’d just a soon be safe when he talks with his ‘running dogs’. I’d hate to be sold to a meat packer. Besides I’ve heard that you treat your sex slaves well. I got a 95 on my oral test from ‘F&S Testing’ last month. ”

A 95 oral from F&S? Lindy Lovelace at her best wouldn’t get that. Yeah, I can use you Melanie. I start to gather to papers work for doing a voluntary conversion together.

“I’m sure we can work out something my dear.”

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