There are several things I like about my job, like the fact that it’s my job to make hot chicks get naked.  Plus having a hot chick partner who also likes to make chicks get naked and who loves to suck cock.  These things do not suck.

There are a few things that I don’t. Running Bitches are high on my list of things I don’t like.

Let me give you an example.   Today, on my third pick up, I was sent to the address of one Ashlee Theus, on a simple triggered parental pre-approved conversion. Seems that Miss Ashlee wasn’t living up to the promises she made to her parents after she graduated from High School and got “her own” apartment.  The fact that daddy was paying the bills didn’t seem to sink in.

Any rate, Tiffany and I show up at Miss Ashlee’s apartment.  She lets us in, and I launch in to “The Speech”

Ashlee Theus, at this time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law,to follow my instructions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my instructions. I am instructing you now to disrobe and provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my statement and instructions?

She nodded her head, kick off her flip-flops, then quickly stripped out of her jeans and tee shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which, I had been told, was one of the many issues that her parents had with her. She was wearing a black “Thong” style pair of panties.

The silly bitch pulled the thong off, stopped for  a few seconds, then threw it at Tiffany, then turned and started to run towards the back of her apartment.

ZAP

If your going to run, start more than 10 feet away, because if you don’t, well, you will be with in 35 feet of me when I get the Taser out. And if your less than 35 feet, well, your going to get a pair of darts in your ass. Literally in this case. I turned to Tiffany, while Ashlee flopped on the ground like a landed fish “I hate it when they run.“

Tiff looked up at me, as she was putting the not so swift running girl in to a “steel hogtie” (a set of 4 cuffs with about 6 inches of chain attached to each, meeting in a steel ring, making an X)

“No, you don’t you love it. That gives you an excuse to taze their ass, with out any worry about boss man looking at the tapes and getting on your ass for excessive force.“

OK, she’s right.  I really don’t hate it when they run.  I really also don’t hate it when Tiffany blows me over their stunned and quivering body either.

“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.”

---

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.

Otto! Go by your alma mater to make a pick up. Mrs. Lewiston seems rather up set about this one.

The hell? “Ah, boss can you say that again, with a little more detail, please.”

I think I could here him sigh. “Otto, I want you to go to Dutch Hall, the high school you graduated from, hence the term ‘alma mater’. Once you arrive there, you are to visit Mrs. Lewiston. It appears that she has a pick up for you, and it also appears that she is upset about the young lady you are to pick up.”

Gee. No need to get sarcastic. “Ok, got it. Go to Dutch, see the bat. Grab the bitch in the bat cave. Got it. Should I also see Swampy?”

I know I heard him sigh this time. “If by the bat, you mean Mrs. Lewiston, correct. And Mr. Marsh, who I assume is who you are calling ‘Swampy’ does not appear to need to be contacted. Be gone with you, my minion and return, post haste!”

Boss man is reading fantasy novels again, or working on his Basements and Lizards stuff. Smart money is on both. So, off I go to the slave-o-matic, my trusty Spellbook Slaves van. I slipped in my current favorite CD “To Scare Normals” by “My Life Sucks” and headed off down the road.

I arrive at good old Dutch Hall. Wander down the halls to Mrs. Lewiston’s office. Mrs. Lewistion , called ‘the bat’ by almost all students, is the principle’s secretary. She’s held that position for well over 35 years, ‘working’ for 5 or 6 principles in that time. Most people assumes she really runs the school. She’s some where between 50 and 100 years old. She looks the same in almost every yearbook photo I’ve seen of her.

Well, Yeah, I can see why she might be upset.

“Mr. Hayden. So good of you to come today. May I introduce Angelica Trotter. Miss Trotter, Mr. Hayden.”

Yeah, that’s the bat alright. Still has the stick up her ass.

“Never mind prior to today Miss Trotter had zero demerits on her record and a near perfect scholastic record, she has exceeded the rather lenient settings her parents have set for her on today actions alone, and something must be done. We can not have this sort of thing in my school.”

Like I said, a lot of people think she runs the school Her included it seems.

“I see. Ah, care to expand on that just a bit?”

“Yes, multiple clothing violations. I don’t think any thing she wearing meets school dress code, but the over all effect is one of making some sort of parody of our rules. Then we have tobacco products on school property. Lighter on school property. Multiple derogatory statements towards staff and faculty. She’s obviously drunk or high or both. While I normally do not approve of the current fad of selling our young ladies off to the highest bidder, like they were some sort of cattle, in this case I find it to be the perfect solution. Sending her home for a week or so isn’t going to work. Would send the wrong message.”

“I see. Can I see her student contract and her current student status report?”

The contract was signed and had a State Slave Board “Approved” number. I checked it with my PDA. The slave board server is running like a pig or the network here sucks. Either way, I’ve got a “please wait” on my screen. I’ve got to make sure that the conditional conversion contract was approved and that it’s still in effect, otherwise, well kidnapping is such a bitch of charge to deal with. While I was waiting on that, I flipped over her CSSR. When I read the first one, I sat down in one of the visitors chairs and started reading them all. I could not believe what I was reading.

“She called Mr. Brown a neo-reactionary Nazi brown shirted Fascist?” Mr. Brown is a the upperclass Social Studies teacher. He’s about as liberal as you can be and still live in Oklahoma.

Flip.

“Screamed at Freddy, calling him an Uncle Tom?” Fred Authorson, head of maintenance, one the best people I know, and damn sure the best general over all fix-it handyman I’ve ever seen. Retired from working as an electrical engineer at one of those military companies, startued to work here ‘to keep my mind busy.’ He has more degrees than some of the teachers. And yeah, very very black.

Flip

“Said that Ms. French was a willing tool of the male patrician society and that she was having an affair with football offensive coordinator?” Ms. French is one of the honors English teachers. She is a not very secret neo-abolitionist, and a life long lesbian. Also hates football, for what it’s worth. Used to automatically grade off guys on the team. Cheerleaders as well, come to think about it. Not that there were that many jocks in her classes.

“Said Fionna was an undercover agent of the sugar cartel?” Fionna is the head cook. Notorious for her avoidance of white sugar and making only ‘healthy’ meals. One of the food shows did a 3 part show on her menus. The Eastlake Globe did a restaurant review of a typical lunch meal at Dutch Hall. Gave it 3 stars out of 4.

“Told Neil Fridley that Ubersoft software was better than Linux? And that he used goto statements in his Visual Basic code” Neil is an advance computer programming instructor. He’s a big wheel in one of the Linux versions. Serious C++ programmer. Has a big sign that says “Go To Statement Considered Harmful”. He named his first born Edsger. I’m sure she is going to love that some day.

“Randomly moved books in the reference shelves of the library? And she’s still alive?” I looked over at the bat. She shrugged. “Miss Trotter ran out before Mr. Stonefield could grab her. That was the last thing she did before she was placed under Mr. March’s and my care.”

I flipped a couple more pages. Something about a bat. Well, yeah, of course. More about swamp rats. That figures. Random rantings about grading scales not being mathematically correct and favoring the lower scoring students over the gifted. I checked her grade point. 4.9 Lot’s of honors classes where an ‘A’ was worth 5 points. 8th in the class, 3rd in females.

It’s like she went out of her way to piss off as many people as possible today. My PDA beeped, The query had finished running. The contract approval was still valid. Why she went weird today was not really my problem. It’s weird and I’m going to ask her why, but now it’s time for the speech. Cue the dramatic music.

“Angelica Trotter at this time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law,to follow my instructions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my instructions. I am instructing you now to disrobe and provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my statement and instructions?”

“About time Otto.” is all she said as she stripped down and filled the sample cup. I noticed she pick the cigarette and lighter back up. I checked her sample. Not pregnant and yeah, high as kite on THC. Not that it matters, she is not a volunteer, and her contract approval code was valid.

“At this time you are a person of limited rights. You will follow me for further processing”

Out in the slave-o-matic, Once she was secured in the front transport seat, I turned to her and asked “What the fuck? Why? If there was any chick at Dutch Hall that was golden slave proof it was you.”

She tossed the cigarette out the window and dropped the lighter into the tray by the gear shifter.

“I want you to know I don’t smoke. Nasty habit. And for the record, large does of ibuprofen, promethazine and riboflavin will show up as THC on a piss card. Never mind all three. If you did a gas chromatography test that would show I’ve never had as much as a single hit. On the other hand, making Mrs. Bat think you are stoned is dead easy. All you have to do is say “dude, it’s like bright in here” and stare at the wall. I wanted to make sure I hit enough demerits today before I went home. Some times they test for drugs if your acting out, they didn’t so that was a waste, but I really wanted cover my bases. Do really you think I could have said ‘neo-reactionary Nazi brown shirted Fascist?’ if I was stoned? He left out ‘Running dog of western imperialism’ . Figures he would leave out the best part. Oh, yeah, would you tell Mr. Authorson I didn’t mean it. He’ll understand if you explain why.

I knew about the piss test vs GC tests. However for a white slaver, it’s better to take a few false positives that not. It’s real important in PPC cases on the requester and in volunteers. The only reason why I even saw her THC level was because we get the same piss test card for every one. Just like we test males for being pregnant, in theory.

“Yeah, sure, next time I see him. But you still haven’t told me why. Why all this for the love of God? I mean it’s not that I mind converting you, but it doesn’t make sense. I like things to make sense. Your not the type of girl that I normally convert and I would like to know why, I mean just in case this is the start of a trend.”

“It might be. I told a few other girls. But they most likely didn’t believe me. Their problem. Not mine.”

“Told them what? Stop stalling, for the last freaking time, why?”

Why? Well it started last night. I heard my dad talking on the phone. I couldn’t hear all of it, but he was on speaker in a conference call. I was in the other room. The officers of that watch thing that be belongs to were talking about how much money they made selling off wives. They were talking about the next sales. Not sale, sales. I heard something about some daughters, and something about a BBQ sale. I’m the 5th child in my family, prime for parental conversion, and I did NOT want to end up the ‘hot chick on a spit’. So I figured I trigger a school contract conversion and get taken by Spellbook. Before they start collecting for their next sale.”

“You know you could still end up on a spit. Being converted by Spellbook Slaves does nothing to stop that. We do sell slave to snuff clubs and to people who just want, as you put it ‘a hot chick on a stick’ And you are a hot chick.”

“Thanks for saying that. I know that normally that’s not what you, I mean Spellbook Slaves, do with new slaves. I’ve checked, over 95% of slaves sold by Spellbook Slaves live for at least 3 years. Hard to say, because most of the ones sold have been in the last 2 year, but your current survival record is pretty good. Mr. West killed off a bunch when he started, but that seems to have slowed down a bunch. Besides, my meat grade is only ‘B’ and I been tested really recently so that a retest will have to be average with the older test, if you follow the National Slaver Association’s rules. I figure that by the time it gets corrected I’ll be sold to some one who isn’t going to spit me. I’ve checked my stats. I’m a prime intern slave. Good business skill set and good sex scores. Any human slave grader that looks at me will know I’m not a Grade B girl.”

“I was going to ask about that. How did you get a Grade B? Your at least A, highly likely with LRE. Maybe even A Prime.”

“When Dutch Hall did the meat test on the whole class of 2008 last month, Hill’s Fine Meat did it via the automatic computer driven system. You can fake that, assuming you know what to do. I do. For example, put a couple of skin blemishes on your breast and belly with black make up. Don’t wear any face make up. Don’t wash your hair for a few days before, and have a ‘bad hair day’. Slouch just a little. Raise one shoulder up. Smile way to wide. If you want a low score and your going to be machine graded you can doe it. Harder to do with a person, but they were doing like 250 girls that morning, so they were using that scanner thing at Hills. A lot of the girls were trying for high scores, so they got the expected number of grade A or higher girls. And it’s not like there weren’t a lot of legit grade ‘B’ girls in the class of oh eight any way. When I was tested last summer I got Grade A, with a LRE. Just a few points shy of A prime. Of course I used a fake ID to do that and did it out of town. No way I was going to let a LRE get on my record. If the market does another twitch, could be dangerous.”

“Ah, you know that telling me all this might not be a good idea.”

“Sure it is. Be honest, do I sound like your normal slave, even taken from Dutch Hall? It’s not that big of a deal. Or at least it’s not to dangerous. I know that Spellbook does personal meat grading, so my real grade it going to show up soon enough, but the NSA grading guidelines will make it average with the B for at least the next 70 or so days. In the mean while an intern grade slaves with my skills sets are selling for about 80 percent over meat, assuming even grade A. Double grade B price at my weight. Hell, I’m over 80 in all three sex scores, which means as a sex slave I sell for 50% over Grade A meat. There is a real good chance that I may end up working with you, if I read Spellbook Slave and Game’s slave roster right One question however. Why ‘and Games’.

“Oh, that’s easy. Boss Man Mike thinks he can write role playing games stuff as well as sell slaves. It’s his hobby.”

This is going to be fun. I can’t wait for her and Tiffany to get together. It’s either going to be the cat fight to end all cat fights or they are going to be an unstoppable team. And I have no idea which one I’d like to see. Either way would be fun to watch. Need to get the popcorn out.

“Otto! Pick up for you!”

I love doing pickups. They are always great fun. I grab the pick up order sheet and the keys to the van. As I hit the door I look at the order sheet.

Oh Shit.

Kayla, Erica and Kara Claiborne

I turn back to Mr. West. “Ah, boss? I’ve got a problem…”

He looks up at me. “What?”

“Ah, Kayla, she was, well, my girlfriend. I mean we never really broke up after school, but you know…”

He snorts. I hate it when he does that. “We all have issues. Think about this real hard, is an ex girl friend worth being on my shit list for?”

I thought for a second. No, not really, it’s not. “Nah, not really. Besides I’ve heard Erica gives better head. I’d like to find out…”

“You do that Otto.”

Nothing like being told to get your cock sucked by a 20 year old.

I drive to the house. Once I get there I notice that the normal collection of cars has been replaced by one nice Jag. If I were a betting boy I’d say that Mr. Claiborne sold off the girl’s cars when he decided to convert them and bought him self a mid life crises car.
I knock on the door. After a few seconds, Mr. Claiborne answers the door, opening it up. He looks at me.

“Aren’t you that Hayden boy?”

Might as well grab the bull by the horn. “Ah, yes sir, Otto Hayden. I used to…”

“Fuck my daughter Kayla. I know that. I’m just glad you didn’t do her enough to convert her.”

Oh shit. In for a penny, in for a pound. What the hell does that mean any way?”Actually, I did. I just never got it on film. She was wise to my tricks. Almost did once, but she found the camera.”

“She knew you were filming her and she still fucked you? Dumber than I thought. Looks like I made the right call. Come in and get them. They are in the living room.”

I walk into the living room. The three of them are sitting on the foldaway couch, out as a bed. Kayla has dyed her hair this weird red color. I give my standard speech “Kayla, Erica and Kara Claiborne at this time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law,to follow my instructions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my instructions. I am instructing you now to provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my statement and instructions?”

Erica, the blond look over at Kayla.

“Should I do it  sis?  You were right, your boy toy is who got sent out here…”

Boy toy? Oh, this is going to be fun.

Kayla just nods her head.

Erica gets up, and walks over to me. She drops to her knees in front of me.

“I think I can make this all go away, Otto”

With that she unzipped my pants, taking my cock out. She looked up at me, then started to suck on my cock.

My first thought was “She can’t do that, she is not a slave yet!” Then it dawned on me that free woman can give head, in her own home, to any one she wanted to.

Well, she was better than Kayla, but, to be honest, that isn’t all that hard. Damn sure not in Tiffany’s class, or any of the slaves we keep for rental stock.

All that being said, it’s still a blow job from a hot blonde chick. Because I had other things to do, I didn’t do any of the things I normally do to keep myself from cumming to soon, so after 4 or 5 minutes, I held her head down tight and came hard in her mouth. She swallowed, I’ll give her points for that. She looked up at me

“So, Otto, want to go back to the office and say we weren’t here now?”

ZAP

Stun guns are great.

“Actually, no, I don’t thinks so. Kayla and Kara, pick her up and drag her out to the van.”

When they didn’t move I sparked the gun.

“Don’t make me use this, then cart you out on slave dollies. You will not like it if I have to do that.”

I turned to Mr. Claiborne, who had been watching this whole thing.

“Sir, I’m going to finish processing these three at the office. I’ll arrange a direct deposit of the funds if you wish. Oh, in case you care, Erica is better than Kayla, but neither of them are good enough to keep as rental slaves, so unless you have made other arrangements with Mr. West, the odds are they are going to be sold out. I’ll be honest, there is a market for sisters, so the odds are they will be sold together, however I’ve got to tell you a lot of they people that buy sisters do so to snuff at least one of them.”

His only reply as, he watched his two youngest daughters drag his eldest out to what might very well be her doom was “Direct Deposit will be fine.“

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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…And that concludes todays school announcements. Would Maryann Lamond, Lisa Swains, Cynthia Holler, Dawn Schwartz and Opal Namath please report to room 212.”

Oh, God, how I love to do school pick ups. It never fails to amaze me at what lame ass reason the girls are being enslaved for, and the shit they will try to do to avoid being converted. Like there is any thing they can offer I can’t get after they are converted. I don’t have Boss Man West’s thing about fucking free women. Well, other than Tiffany, of course, but that’s not really fucking, I mean not real fucking, it’s face fucking. God does she give great head. She claims she’s still a virgin, but when you suck like that, well, does it really matter? Any rate, she is with me today to collect this group. I don’t know why they are being made into slaves, don’t care, all I know is I was sent to get 5 slaves from the school.

Matthew Marsh, or Swampy as I used to call him when I went to Dutch Hall, is waiting in the room with us. He’s wearing this absurd muscle shirt. Looked like he’s been working out. I don’t remember him being that ripped, but then again, I don’t normally look at guys. I’m not a 20% dude.

Tiffany whispers to me “If I had know how built he was I would have blown him my senior year.”

I whispered back “And if you did, you would be a slave now. Why do you think Cindy and Bobbi were the first torture slaves on that show? I thought you chicks were good at gossip. Every guy in the school knew that if a chick blew him she was soon to be a slave. Hell, Tony talked Clare into doing it when he was failing English. Swampy changed Tony’s grade and Clare’s locker ‘just happened’ to be the one of the ‘random’ lockers searched for pot. Too bad she ‘happened to’ have Tony’s roach clips in her jacket pocket that day.”

Tiff looks at me. “You knew about that? Besides, her parents bought her any way, so no big.”

I shook my head. “I looked up her papers when I was learning the system. Yeah, her father was one doing the bidding, but he was acting as an agent for his neighborhood’s association. She’s a community fuck toy now.“

I shut up because 1) Mr. Marsh turned to look at a us and 2) the sluts came into the room.

Swampy turned around and looked at the girls. I’ll cut to the chase here, girls. All of you have been converted to slave status for one or more reasons stated in the contracts your parents signed when you started this year. Well, that’s not quite true, Dawn, in your case, your parents came in this morning requested your conversion. They signed your conversion papers in my office. They didn’t say why, just that they wanted you converted as soon as possible. And to be honest, I don’t really care why they wanted you converted. Maryann and Lisa, you, of course, know you failed a “must pass” test as established by your parents. Cynthia and Opal, you have generated to many school demerits, and passed the level set by you parents. Of course all of your parents have been notified of this action and none of the took the opt-out option. So, please, no drama.

Have I said how much I love my job? I stepped forward and started my standard conversion speach.

“Maryann Lamond, Lisa Swains, Cynthia Holler, Dawn Schwartz and Opal Namath at this time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law,to follow my instrustions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my instructions. I am instructing you now to disrobe and provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my statement and instructions?”

Tiffany spoke up “Please, fight back. I haven’t gotten to Taser a bitch in weeks. And I really want to.” As she finished saying that, which truth be told is damn near her standard speech, she “sparked” the Taser gun. Of course the fact that it is true doesn’t change any thing.

I don’t know if it was Swampy’s “no drama” request or their natural submissive nature or fear of Tiffany and her stun gun but in very short order we had 5 nude girls standing in front of us and 5 filled sample cups.

Tiffany and I quickly ran the slave urine test cards. All of them were clean. Swampy provided the paper work and a urine sample as the converting agent. There was a very faint trace on the THC line for Swampy, but not enough to down check the conversions. I pointed at the line and raised my eyebrow at him. He smiled and shrugged.

“OK, none of you are pregnant. That means that at this time you have been converted to persons of limited rights. Please follow me.” Just as I said that, the bell rang for end of home room. Dawn turned to me “please, let us wait until there isn’t any one in the hall….”

<ZAP>

Tiffany stood over her stunned body. “First rule. Slaves don’t talk back to their owners. Learn that or have a short painful life. You and you, pick her up and let’s get your slut asses out to the van so you can be processed. ”

All that and she give great head too. Have I said how much I love my job?

Mike has me watching the front desk. I’m not complaining, because Tiffany Mullen was working as well.
Tiffany, well, she’s odd. She likes to torture other girls. No, that’s not right, she likes to watch or hear
other girls get tortured. She also likes to suck cock.

My cock.

Well, any cock when you get down to it.

She just finished blowing me, when a man and women walk in. He’s wearing jeans and a “wife beater” sleeveless
tee shirt. The woman, a slight framed blonde, is wearing a sun dress, and I could tell from here that she
wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Welcome to Spellbook Slaves, may I help you?”

“Yeah, I want this bitch made into a slave.”

“Very good sir, we can do that for you here at Spellbook Slaves. Do you have a current grade for her?”

The guy looks confused? “Grade? What the hell is that?”

“It’s a 3rd party evaluation of her quality, based on her appearance, body fat percentage, skin and muscle
tone”

“The hell with all that. I just want to sell the bitch and get on with my life.”

“Well, sir, if you don’t have a grade for her, and are not willing to have her graded first, we do have a
default option of assuming she is a grade B, which I can use in this case.”

What Mike had said about this was that if a seller came in, with a slave that appeared to be a Grade A or
higher, which this women was, and the seller didn’t have a grade certificate and didn’t want to buy one, we
could offer to buy her at the default lowest level. I had assumed that this wouldn’t be very common. Silly
me. At least half the walk in sellers didn’t have a grade certificate and most of those didn’t want to spend
any extra to get one.

“Well, what ever, I don’t have time to mess around. I need the cash sort of fast like.”

I nodded “That OK sir, I can see she qualifies for our offer. May I have your ID sir?”

He handed me over a pair of drives license. I ran them through the state’s data base, getting a “clean”
result. “OK, that all seems to be in order, now all we need is a urine sample from her, it insure that she
isn’t pregnant, and from you, for drug screening reasons.” I handed him a sample cup. “There is a rest room
over there for you, sir.” Turning to the women I started my set speech I had to give “Kristen Wingard, at this
time there is a valid request for your conversion to slave status. You are required, by state and federal law,
to follow my instrustions. I am allowed, by law, to apply what ever level of force need to make you follow my
instructions. I am instructing you now to disrobe and provide me with a urine sample. Do you understand my
statement and instructions?” Like most women that get this speech, she looked a bit shell shocked. She nodded
and begin to remove her dress. She dropped it to the floor, and I was correct, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Nice
firm tits, c cup or there abouts. No scars or visible flaws. She pulled her panties off, then kicked off her
shoes. Couldn’t tell if she as a natural blonde or not, given that she had no pubic hair. Looked freshly
waxed.
I handed her the sample cup. “Please fill this to the line. Use that toilet.” I pointed her at a “jail cell”
style steel toilet mounted on the wall. It, of course, had no privacy shields. She took the cup, and with a
single tear rolling down her face went to the to the toilet to give the sample.

When she and her soon to be ex-husband returned with their samples, I ran the tests. He wasn’t high and she
wasn’t pregnant. “OK, sir, we a good to go here. All we need to do is get her weight.” I turned to the new
slave. “Slave, step on the scale, then enter the holding cell. Failure to do so will result in your immediate
execution.” Needless to say, this had the desired effect. She stepped up on to the slave scale, which showed
her weight as 135 lbs. “Step into the holding cell now.” The holding cell had one of those one way
turnstyles. She pushed it, the went into the currently empty cell, taking a seat on the bench.

Mr. Wingard looked at his now ex-wife sitting on a bench, nude, with tears running down her face and smiled
“That’s great. How much do I get for her?”

“Well, the base price for a grade B slave at her weight would be 742.50 After the federal slave tax, your take
home amount is $556.87. Would you like it as a check or in cash? There is a 10% fee for cash.” “I’ll take
the cash, please” “Very good, that comes to 501.18 then, let me get it for you.”

OK, this is going to be a great semester. I got the work study position, and it’s even better than I had hoped. I got selected to be part of some sort of reality show about my training to become a slaver/torturer, which is really fucking cool. Because of this I’m moving out of my parents house until January, granted to a dormitory, but it’s not the house and I’ve got my own personal slave to take care of my every need. Because of the problems caused by the camera crews and like that, “normal” school is only 3 hours a day, with some night time tutors in subject that I might need help in.

I didn’t win the whip making challenge that started the show off, but I did score an 8 out 10, over all. Wendy, the head judge (and I would love to get head from her…) was sort of nice. “Troll” thought that it was a sound whip, and one he would use for a quick flogging, but the handle needed some work for long term use. Sonya called it a disgrace to the proud history of whips and it was what she expected from pantie wearing boys that wanted to show off. I don’t like her, she really is a bitch. On the other hand she was by far the best “whipper” of the three. They all three gave Bobbi 5 lashes from each of the 10 whips made. Her back looked like a raw steak after they were done.

After that was over, we moved into the dorm, which is the top floor of the new Spellbook Slaves main office building. There I meet Staci McCall, who is my slave for the show. She actually volunteered to be a slave, just to be on this show. She is 22, and I think is a natural blonde, but it is hard to tell, because, well, she doesn’t have any pubic hair or armpit hair, so I couldn’t do the normal check for being a “suicide blonde” She had got ‘Nice Tits.’ “Real 38 C cup” is what she said. We were told that there was no limit on what we could do to our slave, but if she wasn’t fully function at the end of the semester we would have to pay for her. After unpacking, and fucking Staci I was told to report to the class room.

Mike West was waiting for us. We each were given a lap top with WiFi. Once he had made sure that all of us could log on to the net, he handed out some papers to us. “This from the current Oklahoma White Slavers test. Let’s look at question one:”

“You are establish a White Slaver company in an small town in Oklahoma. The town has no conversions done at this time. Assume state wide population percentages apply. The town has a population of 4,650. How many prime slaves (ages 16-24) could this town generate? Please show your work and assumptions.”

After reading this, he said we had 45 minutes and he would check back later.

I had no fucking clue, and there didn’t seem to be an easy way to figure that out.

After the 45 minutes were up, Mike came back into the room and started up the computer that drove the big display in the front of the room. “White Slaver Math 101″ was what came up on the screen

The formula is population * (percentage not African American * percentage in age bracket * (1 - (2 * straight male percentage)))

Mike looked at that for a minute and said “Most of that data you can pull up from census data. Let’s go over the parts of it now. Any body want to make a guess at why the percentage not African American is there?”

No one answered.

“Guys, there is more to being a slave than flogging and fucking. Some body, think..”

One of the other’s raised his hand “Because of their earlier history of slavery?”

Mike nodded “That is part of it, but it’s not the important part. Let’s back up a minute here. Why do we have female slavery now?”

I raised my hand “Because there are too many women in the population?”

Mike nodded. “Right, and this is because?”

“That flu thing after WWI”.

“Again, right. Which brings us to why you don’t count blacks in general population calculations for total number of possible slaves. The mutation caused by the Spanish flu of 1918 didn’t seem to effect Africans, both in Africa and with in the African Diaspora as much as it did Europeans or Asians. The fact that there really aren’t ‘too many’ black women, and the African American cultural bias against slavery means that, as a general rule you can disregard the African American population when it comes to generating new slaves. This is not to say that you will not see black slave girls. You will, it’s just they are rare. For what it’s worth, this means that they will have a higher value than a comparable white or Asian girl would.

“So, let’s start filling in some blanks here then. We were given the population figures. Let’s go to the census page and get the non-black number.

4650 * ((1 - 0.077) * percentage in age bracket * (1 - (2 * straight male percentage)))

Percentage in age bracket need a little tweaking off the census data, because they include 15 year olds in their break down. Assume a linear break down, so that gives us ((0.8 * 0.078) + 0.072) to go in that field.

4650 * ((1 - 0.077) * ((0.8 * 0.078) + 0.072) * (1 - (2 * straight male percentage)))

OK Now life gets a bit weird. Who, as a general rule, gets converted?”

Long silent pause.

“Well, dramatic stories about husbands converting wives aside, it’s normally girls and women that haven’t formed a long term relationship with a man. Little more factoids. Your generation has a sex ratio of 75:100. Mine has 80:100. They are saying that your children’s will be 50:100, and that is where it will stabilize at, but that is just theory right now. The facts are out of 175 people there are 75 males, so that makes it
(1 - ( 2 * (straight * (75 / 175 ))))

This will give us the percentage of women who are not in a relationship with a straight male, once we know what the straight number is.

The rule of thumb for this part of the country for straight is 80 percent, so that makes it
(1 - ( 2 * (0.8 * (75 / 175 ))))

Which makes our total formula
4650 * ((1 - 0.077) * ((0.8 * 0.078) + 0.072) * (1 - ( 2 * (0.8 * (75 / 175 )))))

This gives us roughly 181 possible slaves. That is what I would call “harvested” slaves, ones that are going to end up doing slave girl things. It’s not the total number of slaves you are going could find in this population. You also have SINO, DTL. asset and defensive enslavements. In the state, right now, that running about 25% of possible women. Any body want to make a wild leaping guess as to what we would need to change in the formula here?”

I raised my hand “The last bit? Shouldn’t it be 25 percent of straight males?”

Mike nodded and made a few clicks on his computer.

“That would make the SINO number this, wouldn’t it?

4650 * ((1 - 0.077) * ((0.8 * 0.078) + 0.072) * (0.25 * (0.8 * (75 / 175 )))))

Call it 49, which plus the 181 gives us a total ‘prime slave’ population of 230.

Let’s do another example. Given the formula I’ve given you, and knowing that your senior class has 496 members, how many of your class mates should we attempt to enslave this year? You have 10 minutes”

I looked at the formula. The obvious change was that all the girls in the population in question were in the age bracket, so that made it a 1, instead of 13 and change percent. So, that gives me

496 * ((1 - 0.077) * 1 * (1 - ( 2 * (0.8 * (75 / 175 ))))) or 143 possible slaves out of my class.

I wrote down my answer, and waited on the rest of the group.

Once every one had written down a number Mike said “If you didn’t get 143, plus or minus 1, you need to rethink your figures. Let me give you the short version of how to figure possible slaves. In Oklahoma, once you know the size of the population you are enslaving out of, which in the case of say school classes and like that, it’s roughly 29 percent.

So, what do you think this number is?

299673836 * ((1 - 0.128) * ((0.8 * 0.078) + 0.072) * (1 - ( 2 * (0.8 * (75 / 175 )))))) *(5/6) =~ 9198308″

After not getting an answer for about 30 seconds:

“It’s roughly the number of possible slaves in the US, given today’s estimated population figures and the 1 in 6 current enslavement rate. I’ll bet you all didn’t think there would be this much math did you? Wait until you get into figuring slave retail costs, to include all possible taxes… Any rate, go off and have fun for a while. I think Wendy and her marry crew will have a new challenge for you in the morning. And please don’t do any thing permanent to your room slave this week. There may be some changes made in that area and I’d hate to have to charge you so early in the semester.”

I thought this was going to be a sucky year, because my folks decided that I need to learn some sort of ‘life skills’ instead of just hanging out playing games with my friends. So I had to sign up for some sort of lame ass “Work for credit” program at school.

So, there I was, two weeks before school really starts, looking over the list of places that I can apply at, and holy shit “Spellbook S&G” is listed, with just the industry listed as “Slaving”. That can’t be! I signed up for it as my first choice! I mean, damn! I turned in my papers to the counselors office and was told that they would get back to me about when my interviews would be. Like I cared about any of them other than the first one!

Two days later I get a phone call from the school. I’m to report to the school for some sort of pre test for the work program. Damn, what ever. I get there, and am told to report to room 212a, which sucks, because that’s the metal shop. I must have missed out on the Slaver thing, damn!

I get to the metal shop, and there is a TV camera crew setting up lights and stuff. There are about 10 guys from the senior class hanging out in the hallway. I can see the flash of the welding machines. I’m told to wait a few minutes. After they get the lights all set up and I hear some cranking noises the guy that seems to be in charge comes out and waves us in.

Once we get inside the metal shop, well, I popped wood, or maybe steel. All the cheerleaders that graduated last year are in there, complete nude and hanging by their wrists over the work area! Maybe I didn’t miss out! This is way fucking cool.

The camera crew is filming us freak out about the girls, but after 2 or 3 minutes this hot looking chick in a “The Torture Channel” tee shirt comes up to us, waving the camera guys to not film her “Hi guys, welcome to reality TV, I’m going to make you a star!”