Dark Erotic Fiction

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster

Chapter Sixteen: Funeral Rites

Wednesday was May the 2nd. The sky was sunny and the day warm. Father had a lot of friends and acquaintances—we filled up a large auditorium. Jane, Susan and my sister Penny wore their funeral shrouds. We did churchy things for public consumption—we four would stay with the body until it was cremated at 3:45 in the morning. My three favorite living humans were depressed—so was I.

At 3 AM Thursday morning I held a private ceremony. There were just the four of us and a Marine. Father rated an honor guard because of his military service. Sergeant Tanya Jenkins was a professional. The girls took off their shrouds, folded them, and put them in Father”s coffin. Sergeant Jenkins managed to conceal her shock as my three naked and bald slaves wiped away their tears.

“Girls, now is the time to heal. Father is dead. We are going to bury him. It is time to stop mourning and resume living. He will be mixed with Mother”s ashes and enshrined—we will not forget him. Father wanted you to live, Penny. He wanted my wife and your spouse to live and he wanted the four of us to give him lots of grandchildren. Say goodbye to his mortal husk. It is time to build living monuments to him.”

Sergeant Jenkins escorted the body to the crematorium. We followed. Then I drove us home. Jane sat in back as two girls hugged each other. I glanced over in the front passenger seat—and saw two little girls in white gowns.

This is dangerous, I thought to myself. I can”t be seeing things that aren”t of this world while driving. Attention on the road, stupid!

“You need not beat yourself up, son,” one of the girls said. “Don”t worry. You haven”t gone insane. I”m here with April to tell you that we will be your children and your slaves soon. Death isn”t the end of existence.”

I stopped for a red light and allowed myself to look at the two girls. I think they were girls. They had shoulder length hair and wore girl”s clothing. There isn”t a lot of difference for young children—especially if children do nothing for you sexually.

“Whoa, son! Too many questions!”

“George! We can answer them later! We don”t need to answer anything right now. Peter, the light is green.”

“Peter,” Jane said from the back seat, “the light is green.”

“Thanks, my love,” I drove home without further incident. George and April remained sitting in the car even after my slaves had unloaded. I felt for them—all I felt was some cold air above the seat. “Jane, I need to see Doctor Prince when she is up. Let”s leave a wake-up call with Shelly for ten. I need you three to do all of your karate lessons. I”ll join you this morning.”

“Master—I mean Peter, you are a black belt. We are white belts. What can you learn from working out with us?”
“When I cannot learn from a white belt, it is time for me to quit,” I said. “Everything is new through your eyes. You will show me things I cannot see.” I saw that glazed look in her eyes. “Let”s snack and sack out. I need my beauty sleep.”

We were in bed no later than 4:30 AM—almost time to get up for me. Beauty sleep wasn”t to be—I was woken by Mr. Paulson. I staggered out of bed and was led downstairs. Bonnie helped me shower—I kept dozing off. No wonder! When I saw the clock in the kitchen, it was reading 6:53.

“You”ve got to be in court promptly at 8:00 this morning,” Paul Paulson told me. “I”m going instead of Jack.” That was the other attorney, Jackson Harrington. “It concerns the gymnastics team.”

Juanita fed me breakfast and dressed for court—in just slave shift and shoes. Dawn and Bonnie helped me dress. I was going to need a spreadsheet to keep track of everyone! Kiki and Bonnie wore just the top to their karate gi—and their belt. Dawn kissed me goodbye and said that she”d take care of my sisters and wife. Summer wore a business suit—she grinned at me and raised her skirt to show that she wasn”t wearing panties. I dozed on the way to court. Staying up all night and functioning the next day should have been easy for me—but wasn”t for some reason.

I felt unreal in Judge Gunn”s court. Lack of sleep does that to you. I did see the two little girls again. I”d have to tell Summer about them.

The court came to order precisely at eight. Judge Gunn made his entrance. It was a sentencing hearing for three women: the two surviving coaches and the woman who had kidnapped 4 women and 20 children.

“This is a capital crime case. Donna and Hailey, approach the bench. You were found guilty of capital crimes: kidnapping, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, fraudulent enslavement resulting in murder, moving kidnap victims across state lines, tax fraud and interference in interstate commerce. Do you have anything to say in mitigation?”

“Your Honor,” their attorney was a corpulent black woman. “I offer in mitigation the fact that both women were slaves at the time of their actions. Slaves obey. They were carrying out the orders of their owner, and none of those actions in themselves resulted in death. The actions only facilitated murder by Mr. Crook. We request that the court grant mercy.”

“And what of Gospel?”

“Your Honor, Gospel Jones requests that she be permitted to speak on her own behalf.”

“Bailiff, remove Gospel”s gag.”

It took a few moments for the naked and bound woman to speak. That gag must have been in a long time to cramp her jaw muscles like that. I had a dreadful premonition that I was going to have to kill Gospel in a short time.

“What kind of name is Gospel, prisoner?”

“My parents were Bible bandits, sir.”

“You will address the court as Your Honor, prisoner!”

“Yes, sir. Yes, Your Honor. I request that I be immediately executed for my crimes. I know what awaits me on the other side of death—a second chance. I am a wicked excuse for a human being and I deserve the worst punishment the court can devise. I beg the court, Your Honor, to have the man who rescued those girls snuff me. It is more mercy than I deserve. I also beg Your Honor to spare these two. They were slaves. They did what they had to or I would have killed them. Eustis would have killed them. I did kill one of them—I shot her. I have no excuse—I did it because I wanted to. The only mercy I ask is that Foster snuffs me.”

I was ordered to the bench and instructed to kill Gospel with my bare hands—in court. I verified my instructions.

“Gospel, I am going to position you,” I moved her chin down so that her neck was extended. Even at 24 frames per second, my right arm was a blur on the video. It was a perfectly-executed knife-hand blow to the base of the skull. I felt the vertebrae dislocate and Gospel folded to the floor as if she were a puppet with the strings cut. She rolled on her side in a fetal position as I sidestepped a pungent stream of urine. Gospel”s bowels voided themselves, depositing a stinking pile of fecal matter on the polished concrete floor. She was dead. The edge of my right hand ached. “Your Honor, will there be anything else?”

Rusty Gunn took a moment to compose himself.

“Justin,” the judge announced, “Your boy Peter plays rough!”

“Your Honor gave him a legal order. Lieutenant Foster verified the order and executed it.”

“Well, let”s get the rest of this business out of the way. Donna and Hailey, due to circumstances in mitigation, I am suspending your sentence of death. You will be the personal slaves of Peter J. Foster for as long as he desires you. When Mr. Foster no longer wants you, he is ordered to execute the suspended death penalty. What say you, Mr. Foster?”

“Your Honor, I will need these women to be asset slaves so that I may use their talents as athletic coaches. I need them to act as my agents.”

“Mr. Paulson, do you have that asset contract with you?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Exhibit AF.” Paulson handed Gunn a document.

“This hasn”t been signed or notarized yet.”

“We had no slaves for this contract, then.”

“Very well. The court approves this contract. Donna and Hailey are enslaved to Peter J. Foster until he dies, they die a natural death, or Peter J. Foster kills them. Donna and Hailey are protected as asset slaves from unwarranted cruelty or death except as laid down in this contract. Peter, approach the bench and sign the contract.”

I did so even though I hadn”t read it—I would just have to trust Mr. Paulson. It wasn”t like Business Law 101, but -

Summer was wearing her concerned Doctor Prince face when I guided my two newest slaves to the waiting mini-van. Kiki and Bonnie bowed deeply as I passed, most likely mooning those behind my two karate instructors.

“That was an excellent kill, Peter-san,” Sensei Bernstein said from the crowd. “Palm up, wrist straight. Your follow-through was flawless.”

“You are too kind, Sensei. My victim was helpless and stationary.”

When asked how I felt, I told Summer that I was disconnected. It could have been grief or lack of sleep. I dozed off again while I was being questioned—or lectured. I woke up when we got home. Two frightened slaves stared at me with the same expression a rabbit gives the fox when cornered.

“Relax, ladies,” I said. “The judge sentenced you to life, not to death. I don”t agree with your convictions, but your lives will not be wasted.”

“Brother Master,” Penny charged me as soon as I entered. She grabbed me tightly against her naked body. I saw that Penny had been spanked recently enough that her butt was still pink. “You had to kill today.”

“Yes. Who ran the karate class?”

“I did, Master Peter.” Heather wore a brown cloth belt and nothing else. I also noted that Heather had shaved her head. Oh, why did I have to sleep and miss things! “Kiki and Bonnie told me what to teach. I hope that I have performed satisfactorily.”

“I have to ask why you are not in class at Susan B. Anthony right now.”

“Because I got myself expelled for refusing to wear clothing, Master. You have the right to discipline me, Master. I will do what you tell me to do.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Ms. Connor”s number. I was patched through immediately. When I asked for an appointment, I heard, “Thank God!”

“Master,” Heather said after I had concluded the conversation, “you look puzzled.”

“I thought that Ms. Connor was an atheist.”

“You are correct, Master Peter. What are my orders?”

“We”re going to school.”

It was noon when I arrived at the girl”s school; I noted that all girls in sight were nude. Several adults were naked, too. Okay, they had started a rebellion. “They” were the student counsel, most likely, following a contingency plan laid down by Heather.

“We have got to get you into politics. Being a slave will be a handicap.”

“Master, my enslavement is an asset. I just have to exploit it.”

The student receptionist and the adult in Ms. Connor”s office were both naked.

“Ma”am, why are you naked?”

“I looked over the DEV contract and it was too good to pass up. Ms. Connor is going to be forced to renegotiate the contracts for half of the teachers and most of the faculty. It will save the school money, protect us and provide for a better product. The teacher”s union is not your friend at the moment, Master Peter. If you have no further questions, Mistress Principal will see you right away.”

Mistress Principal Connor was sitting behind her desk when I entered, Heather in tow. Ms. Connor glared at me as I shut the door behind Heather. The principal gave Heather a withering glance and locked eyes with me once more.

“When is assembly?” I asked as I took a seat.

“Today at three,” Ms. Connor said without preamble.

“What do you want me to accomplish? Most of the people affected by school policy are DEV slaves.”

“I don”t want my school destroyed, Mr. Foster.”

“Like WSA 2000, the fact that all but a handful of your students are slaves won”t go away. The naked adults—slaves too?”

“Yes. Many were enslaved by husbands. A few volunteered to be slaves to parents, brothers, even a few lovers. I”m worried that they can be sold off on a whim.”

“Me, too, Ms. Connor. You”ve had a chance to read the DEV charter, mission statement and standard asset conversion contract. You”ve access to our disciplinary manual. That 90-day probationary period was Mr. Paulson”s idea—he wanted to ensure that there were no bad apples. I”m trying to change that so that there is a 30-day orientation period prior to the 90-day probationary period. Heather, here, is in violation of her probation—but I suspect that the Castleman Trust board of directors has accepted her into the Castleman Trust already.”

Heather was kneeling beside my chair. She jerked when I speculated about her current status.

“Slaves don”t have rights, Mr. Foster,” Ms. Connor reminded me. “They are at the mercy of their owners and of the slave codes.”

“That may very well be the case. We can change that. Why does my dog have more protection against cruel abuse than a human woman? Why was my mother refused emergency medical care two weeks ago?” Never mind that her wound was mortal. There”s little that can be done when more than half of the upper brain is pulped by police-issue hollow point bullets. It is a wonder that she was still “alive” when I reached her. “Ma”am, have you ever heard of the term “following from the front?” It is used to gain a semblance of leadership when consensus rules.”

“Give me back control of my school, Mr. Foster.”

“Please define “control.” I haven”t seen much of it. Better still, remove those barriers between us. We are working on the same problem—I hope! You need to be able to maneuver on the battlefield—not snipe at me with your ballista from your keep. You want control of the school. What does that mean? The power of the grade book? The ability to inflict corporal punishment? You”ve already expelled Heather and I can make your school manageable by simply removing all DEV students. Any other DEV slaves can come with me, too. That will take care of nearly all rebels and will reduce the number of people that you have to deal with. That is the simple solution. It will work.”

“No, that isn”t what I want.” I recalled seeing the expression on Ms. Connor”s face—in my bathroom mirror. She inhaled deeply, blew out that breath. Ms. Connor stared at her desk blotter a while before she answered. “First, I need to know how many of my staff are slaves. Second, I want everyone to wear clothes again. Third, I need to get the teachers union and the education lobby off my back. They think I enslaved all of my students!”

“Is that all? I hate trying to reach a moving goal. Will that suffice until the end of the school term?”

“We are a year-round school, Mr. Foster. We have four 11-week academic quarters separated by four 2-week breaks. Our calendar year begins in January, we break at the end of March, and our next break begins June 22nd. We are in Week 4 of the spring term.”

“That will give us time to realign the school—unless you can drum up more students.”

“What do you mean, “realign the school?” I won”t be teaching a slave school! Marriage was bad enough. Now we have slavery. Some people are trying to enslave every woman on the planet.”

“Those that they don”t kill, that is,” I added. “You supported WSA 2000 by supporting those who sponsored the White Slave Act. I opposed it by opposing those candidates and by campaigning against the Act. You refuse to have slaves on your campus. I have hundreds of slaves. Life gets bazaar at times.”

“Master,” Heather asked, “May I say something?”
“Go ahead, Heather.”

“I became your slave in order to live. Everything you”ve done to me so far has been to improve my life. My wishes are unimportant, but I prefer to never wear clothing again. I intend to make use of my nudity if my master has me enter politics. I expect that the legislature will have to make a law prohibiting slaves from serving in public office.”

“That would be counter-productive,” I replied. “Any such law would outlaw asset slavery, end any public use of slaves except for menial labor, and require much more infrastructure to implement. I was taking a bunch of driver”s licenses in to get slave endorsements and the entire staff was slave. In a few years, most state workers will be slaves because of costs. It makes no financial sense to pay for free-person compensation packages when the same performance can be had for a fraction of the cost by using slave labor. If the slave is kept contented, one slave can do the work of three free people. I”ll have to call up the figures from a paper I submitted last year. That means that public schools will probably be all-slave in the next five years. The teacher”s union will sell its members down the river into slavery—I think by “breach of contract.” The union could make the breach and enslave the non-breaching party, and if nobody could mount a successful challenge—the union wins. If there is a successful challenge, the winner gets “right of first refusal” to purchase the slaves—otherwise, the slaves will be sold or executed.”

“That is just - ”

“Exactly, Ms. Connor. We have a short-term and a long-term problem. You and your staff need to have a plan on the shelf just in case you have to go all-slave. It will take several months—but when the slave tax is raised, expect to see some other work-around. For instance, tobacco is tax-free on Indian land. I hear that Indian casinos are cutting into Las Vegas tourist profits. What if the slavers moved on Indian land? No telling what the tribal counsels will come up with.”

“You are too young to be that cynical! What if the Native American Nations declare that any slave reaching their lands is free persons?”

“Then either the ghost of Dred Scott will bite us or the Tribal Counsels will have thousands of mouths to feed.” I sighed. “The harboring of escaped slaves is grounds for military operations—notice that I didn”t say “war.” Since 1942, Congress has avoided the “W” word. I”ve seen what a squadron of B-52″s can do to a modern city—if we refrain from using nuclear weapons, that is. Simply sending a Marine regiment or an armored Brigade into Mexico won”t spark more than diplomatic protests. As for an Indian reservation”s rebellion, well, those treaties have been one-way since the first. Who will care? Europe? They are powerless to object. The great communist nations of China, Vietnam, Cuba or Korea? How about OPEC? Their back was broken in the 1973 Arab-Israeli War. Oh, there was the Islamic Jihad Brotherhood of Egypt—and they did assassinate Sadat before being destroyed. The PLO was wiped out when Israel got sick of being bombed and wiped out the refugee camps—just like Syria did. Lebanon used to be an independent country. My point is that we are Rome and we have decided to enslave 36% of our population. I think we have nearly 10% right now. Canada is already refusing to extradite escaped slaves—but I notice that Canada isn”t manumitting anybody, either. My news sources don”t say, but I doubt any slaves are running away to Mexico. They sure aren”t fleeing to Cuba! Cuba still officially outlaws slavery.”

“So you say that we have to live with slavery? That is defeatist.”

“When Mother died, 18 women had been spitted for the governor”s party at Veteran”s Memorial Park. Mother died without medical care. I was able to save one of my GVVN slave”s lives—barely, because I was the victim of a kidnap attempt. When I went to the hospital to see my dying father, my sister was the victim of pent-up anger against women. My mother and sister were enslaved to keep them safe from being enslaved. I think I”ve lost the war. I”m in occupied enemy territory and I am doing what I must in order to keep my sister alive and well. I have been defeated.” I yawned. “I”m even losing sleep. Last night I kept vigil over Father”s body with my sister. This morning I executed one woman and took possession of two more by court order. The latter two were victims—but I am to keep them enslaved for the rest of their lives. They will not be permitted to survive me—they are to be executed when I die. I didn”t tell you how I rescued them. I have a pair of karate instructors. I tricked Eustis Crook into taking them to his hideout. They subdued the kidnappers, which permitted rescue without killing anybody. I could bore you with the Red Book—most of dead hostages were killed by their rescuing security forces. Ms. Connor? Ms. Connor?”

“I”m very sorry for your loss,” Ms. Connor”s expression was horrified. “I had no idea.”

“Mistress Principal, I knew,” Heather said. “I also know why Master Peter must punish me. I”ve been a disobedient and manipulative slave—but I will protest being called a disloyal slave. Mistress, you suffer from a perceived threat to your self-identification. My mother has the same issues. She is working through them because she must. Your school is a slave school. Because you are a charter school, your teaching staff has no tenure. You can fire them even when they have a contract. Check on it—you can offer them asset conversion through DEV, which I recommend, establish a separate corporation, or apply for a school slaver”s license. Mr. Paulson is organizing a special school-only DEV division. I recommended different divisions for students and faculty. You can offer the teachers a new contract, you can fire those who won”t teach slave children, you can keep a few free teachers around if you like. Most of the teachers want to become asset slaves. Your staff is as talented as your students. I thought I”d have to go to work as a sex slave to gain asset status and pay for college. We were assigned to watch GVVN for civics homework and I saw the DEV ads. Well, I”m a sex slave and a brood mare now, but Master Peter is my best opportunity for a bright future.”

“You have qualified instructors as slaves?” Ms. Connor was perplexed. I told her of the many talented people in the Castleman Trust and the DEV slaves—and my own personal slaves that I was trying to gain asset status for. “You”re giving up control just to make them safer?”

“Safer from me and able to use their talents, Ma”am. As for control—that is an illusion.” I rubbed my face with a hand. “There is no control.”

“Well,” Ms. Connor pouted. “This sets back women”s rights a century!”

“Ma”am, WSA 2000 sets back human rights three centuries. Will men remain free or will we also be enslaved?” Never mind my military status—which I chose. “Can you make time to attend a presentation I have for my ROTC class? It will be at 2 PM tomorrow. It is about the future of female soldiers. Actually, it is about the future of the Army. A big shift came at the end of the 1980″s—now the Active Component Army prefers gay men. That is roughly 10% of the military age population. Another 40% is straight men. The remaining population is female. In a decade, the split is going to be something like 10/30/70. If we ever need a mass army like in World War Two, we will need large numbers of women. There is already a program in place to keep straight males out of uniform for breeding purposes. Not everybody is fit for military service—something like 60% of the draftees wind up being rejected or fail to make it through basic training. If the gay male population has the same proportion of unfit people, then the Army can”t be all gay male—even though that will yield a 12 million man army. The mass American War Department and Navy Department put 16 million men in uniform through the draft. Our economy is more fragile now and we would require as many as 30 million for a ten-year war against the rest of the world. The additional bodies will have to be female. They may be slaves.

“The big problem is that you must be very healthy if you want to die for your country!” I yawned again. “You must be sane before you”re allowed to enter the arena of insanity. That was the major thing used to keep women and gays out of the military and off the battlefield—they were told that they were mentally deficient.”

“That”s not true!” Ms. Connor thundered.
“Mistress Principal,” Heather offered, “Master Peter wasn”t saying that women were insane. He said that the Army declared women insane.”

That was close enough for government work.

“What sort of athletics does Susan B. Anthony have?” I interlaced my fingers and twiddled my thumbs to relieve the tension. “I noticed a gymnasium. How do you fill the state-mandated requirements for physical education?”

“We have the minimum required physical education.”

“How do you feel about contracting the PE off-campus? I want the DEV student slaves to train and compete nude—except for body paint.”

“That would be disruptive!” I placed a hand on Heather”s shoulder and squeezed at Ms. Connor”s remark. Heather stirred, but remained silent. Ms. Connor blathered on for several minutes before concluding, “Their parents will not tolerate that!”

“Ma”am, according to WSA 2000, the parents no longer have children. All but eight students are slaves, and I”ve talked to their parents. I”ve gotten written permission to subject those girls to the same rules as slaves—though snuffing the girls is out of the question. Were you aware that you could be classified as a “minor jurisdiction” under WSA 2000 if you offered a college degree—even a minor one? At any rate, I recommend accepting only slave students in the future. We can craft an asset contract that will protect the girls from abuse and exploitation, yet permit manumission. Or, we can establish a student enslavement trust that will permit attendance at universities while remaining under our protection. Can you see the top 10% of American women risking being snuffed to better America? I predict that as many as 3 out of 10 will be snuffed, another 6 will be enslaved for life, and the “winner” will be enslaved for the six to ten years it takes to educate her, then face another several years as an asset slave. That”s America”s best women. The second tier will face even worse odds. I don”t think the 36% enslavement goal will be adequate. Your prep school graduates will have a leg up on the competition. I propose that we integrate athletics and expand the academics program to include minor degrees. There is a board of directors for this school?”

“Yes. Of course this school has one. I have a meeting with them tonight concerning our contract. I am taking twelve of my staff with me.”

“I propose that Heather present my case to them. Heather, tell Ms. Connor why you shaved your head.”

“Yes, Master Peter. I will be married shortly to Master Peter”s fiancée, Jane. When I marry her, we share everything. Jane is under court order to keep her head bald and remain naked until June. We will marry on Saturday.”

“A lesbian marriage?”

“Yes, Mistress Principal. Master Peter married his sister to Jane”s sister Susan.”

“Well I never!”

“Ma”am,” I interrupted, “slavery is boring and lonely. I am trying to alleviate both conditions.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “It isn”t much, but they will have each other. I have to delegate everything so that I can accomplish everything.”

“You did this because you care about them?”

“Yes, ma”am.”

“What would you do if they wanted to marry a man?”

“He must agree to marry an asset slave. I will not leave her unprotected. I will change the asset contract so that she can use more of her finances, so that the husband is a co-owner and anything else that seems appropriate—but I will not expose her to being enslaved and snuffed by her husband just because he got bored with her or wanted a few hundred dollars beer money or they had a spat. Speaking of husbands, how do you comply with the state-mandated sex education requirements?”

“We test them on the standard written test. If they fail, Susan B. Anthony lets their parents deal with it.”

“That would be me, now. When do they have to pass the Sex Ed test?”

“Before getting their high school diploma. It isn”t hard. The course was watered down to please the Moral Majority.”

“I”ll have to try that test myself. Is it externally proctored?”

“No. All in-house. We only report scores on the state-mandated tests.”

“About school uniforms, I have some proposals that will satisfy nobody. Some students will have to wear the full uniform at all times. We shouldn”t have more than a few of those. Either they become slaves, their parents agree that while on school grounds the students are subject to slave rules, or they come as free students with full restrictions of your dress code. A few students will never wear anything—among them, Heather here.” I locked gazes with Principal Connor. “The majority will have periods of mandatory clothing, mandatory nudity, and clothing optional. They need to get used to slavery—and being naked in public. I”d like to tag every student with an RFID implant—I”ve already tagged every DEV student. This allows me to find them in a matter of minutes if they are in or near Eastlake and within hours globally. I just used that same system to find the kidnappers and rescue the surviving members of the gymnastics team. This is still your school, and you may need board of directors” approval—but during this assembly I will require the DEV slaves disrobe and kneel to one side. Other slaves will be asked—they answer to their owners, not me. I will suggest that free women also undress. There is a point to that exercise—I will be nude, too. The point is that we”re all slaves. Women, as always in history, have the short end of the stick. That”s the dress code for next term—if you let the DEV slaves back in. All will be tagged. A radio collar will be okay—or a radio wristband. I prefer the implant—out of sight, out of mind. It will be mandatory to be clothed some times and mandatory to be nude other times—with selected students and staff exempted from the dress code. I”d like to have a monitored clothing optional test over the next three years to see if we need to modify the dress code.”

“I don”t like nudity! It detracts from discipline!”

“Slaves need to do both. In many cases, they will have zero wardrobe choices. I will sponsor field trips for the slave students that will mandate public nudity. There”s more—as slaves they will need to be skilled at delivering sexual pleasure. The slaves meting two criteria will be trained—they must be 18 or older, and they must get medical clearance. I haven”t a training venue or skills set yet, but I am asking for your advice.”

“My advice is don”t.”

“Thank you, Principal Connor.”

“You are going to turn my students into sluts! You turned some into lesbians.”

“The reality is that all slaves are classified as sluts. Their sexual orientation is slave and they are required to have sex with whomever their owners command—or not have sex. Guess what? Celibacy is an owner option for the slaves.

“When is the next parent-teacher conference, Principal Connor?”

“This Friday at 8 PM.”

“There will be a maximum of 17 parents and guardians attending.”

“What?”

“You keep going “watt” and I”ll nickname you “light bulb.” I will represent 117 students. The other 8 students may have one of both parents show up—if they don”t designate me their stand-in. You wanted control of your school? I am your key. Now, will you take Heather with you to make your case?”

“I will go to the board meeting without Heather. Just get my students back in line.”

Preparing the battlefield prior to engaging the enemy is THE key to winning the battle. The first order of business was publically whipping Heather. She confessed her crimes. It was to be a “free whipping—”she was restrained only by her will to obey me.

Heather had to count each stroke and ask for the next one. I had her turn around to display her unmarked body prior to laying a dozen lashes with a fiberglass pointer. Heather managed to stifle all but a few grunts when struck. Tears coursed down her face—but she kept her hands atop her head until I told her that she could take them down. When Heather moved through the crowd, I praised her for her courage—it was Heather”s first spanking of any kind.

The audience was divided into four sections—free women, DEV slaves, other asset slaves and general slaves. The DEV slaves had no choice but to disrobe—and carry their clothes home with them as ordered. A few of the free women undressed. They didn”t have to.

The sticking point was the slaves owned by others. I instructed them to tell their owners what happened—that I had requested that they be nude, that they were not yet obligated to obey that order because I wasn”t their owner and I wanted them to tell their owner how they handled it—and why. Most of them stripped. I wanted to ask their owners about it later. Since there were only about two dozen other slaves–three assets and the rest general–I could. I had the phones and the bodies.

“The point is,” I was naked at that point. “We are all slaves. I just get better treatment. The Board of Directors will be meeting this night to determine if this school gets shut down or if you are allowed to attend as slaves. I”ll take a few questions from the free women.”

“Why did you punish Heather?”

“Ma”am, she was attempting to manipulate me. Her actions could have been construed as servile insurrection—but what couldn”t be? I ended it by punishing her. Now she is a hero, too. Let me show you something.” I ran the video clip of me executing Gospel. “She had kidnapped 24 people, illegally converted 20 of them and killed one—and actively assisted in killing 7 more. Gospel Jones did this while a free woman. I was merciful and swift. Take a look at the Snuff Channel or the Torture Channel for what could have been. Defensive Enslavement Volunteers is supposed to preserve your lives and let you achieve your potential. Gospel was not DEV. I hope I never have to kill any of you. Next question?”

“Why all the nudity? Why are you naked?”

“That”s two questions, Ma”am.” These were free women I was addressing. “I did this to demonstrate that we are all at the mercy of something bigger than ourselves. If we are to survive the tsunami called WSA 2000, we have to work together. I cannot make you live. I suggested that you free women try nudity because you are very likely to become a slave within the next five years. I am still trying to identify the high-risk group—other than the age 16 though 24 group that has been targeted. I wish they”d raise that to 18, but there”s a lot of things I wish for. Next question?”

“Will I lose my job if I become a slave?”

“Ma”am, I will have a job for you, no matter what. That doesn”t answer your question—I have to direct you to Principal Connor.”

Ms. Connor said that she intended to keep the current faculty, slave or free, but she would have to talk to the board of directors first.

There were a few more questions. Some more of the free women disrobed. When the assembly was dismissed, three of them requested conversion. I assigned Heather to herd them as I was approached by some of the slaves. They wanted to know how to transfer ownership to DEV. I handed them business cards and told them that was owner business, not slave business. Prior to leaving, I hugged and kissed each DEV slave. I think some snuck back in line for seconds.

“Are you trying to enslave me, too?” Ms. Connor said.
“Only if you are willing. Let”s set you up with a package so that if you are arrested, I can keep you alive. Unless you”d rather be tortured and killed, that is—I”m not you. Your choice. By the way, are you in danger of being PPC”d?”

“No. No danger of that. I”m not going to get arrested, either.”

“That”s good, ma”am. If you do, you will be given two chances to voluntarily convert. List DEV as your first choice for right of first refusal. Mention DEV in any Eastlake police station. I hope you never wind up in one.”

As soon as I got Heather home, I took her to the dispensary and had her examined. I didn”t know how badly I had injured her—Doctor Kirby said that they were superficial welts. I debated having Heather make a free woman decision—but it was time that I acted like an owner. Doctor Kirby informed me that Heather was a virgin.

Such dithering! I went to the gym downstairs and worked out for a half-hour. My next act was to have Heather taken to my bedroom. I told Jane what was going on, but cautioned her to remain silent. If she couldn”t help herself, I said, she needed to get someone else to help.

Jane managed to keep it from Heather long enough to get her in bed. When I gently began fondling her, Heather figured it out for herself. Despite the dozen welts on her rear, gently rubbing her butt got Heather aroused. Her nipples hardened. She writhed in obvious pleasure as I ran my hands over her body, used my lips and tongue. Heather was doing something unusual—she was focused on me. She wasn”t dreaming about other men, or mentally shopping at the mall, or thinking about how stupid she must look. That is the secret to fabulous lovemaking—be THERE. Totally focus on your partner. When I make love, my partners and I become one and all but lose ourselves in each other. It does make it hard to explain the next day because I have to be in that same state of mind to remember everything—but the intense all-consuming passion makes quickies seem like a candy bar compared to a seven-course feast. I still like candy bars—but I don”t live off of candy bars.

Hours later I was woken up with an emergency. Mickey Hill had found three DEV slaves at a midnight barbeque. Two were already dead. The police were on scene. Arrests had been made. I was still muzzy with slaked lust and lack of proper sleep, so Mr. Paulson drove. I don”t remember how I got dressed. At the Eastlake County Jail I was taken to the morgue first. I recognized the five dead bodies—they were from the Susan B. Anthony School. Two were DEV slaves.

“This was the board meeting, wasn”t it?”

“Yes, sir,” the morgue attendant was a bald, stooped, elderly man. “Sir, I recognize you. The bastards that did this deserve anything you do to them. I just wish we enslaved men.”

“Sir,” I replied, “I opposed WSA 2000 because it eliminated jury trial for accused women. I opposed it because slaves have no rights—except that their children are born free citizens and the slaves are held blameless for carrying out their masters” orders. No, the latter is not quite correct. I took possession of two slaves who were carrying out their master”s orders. They were sentenced to die, and their sentence suspended until I die or get tired of them. None of their acts killed anyone—but 2 women and 5 girls died because of their owner. I personally executed one of the kidnappers myself this morning.”

“I saw, sir. I have her body over here. You broke her neck better than some of the executions by axe.” The old man watched me for a while as I leaned over and kissed the dead lips of the two DEV slaves. One head had been removed. The other was still attached, but the arms and legs had been cut off. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but the faces appeared to relax when I kissed them—a peaceful expression replacing the grimace of pain and terror. I really needed to have a reality check. “Mister Foster, what do you want to do to those men?”

“I don”t yet know the whole story, sir, but my goal is to prevent this from happening again. Defensive Enslavement Volunteers is supposed to PROTECT women. In this case, I failed. Let”s see if the federal and Oklahoma fines have teeth. Plus, these other women were free women the last time I saw them.” I faced the old man. “Mickey Hill is my hero, now. I need to see the other eight women. I”d like to thank Mickey Hill. Mr. Hill saved their lives.”

Summer was shivering outside the morgue”s cold room. She had reason for goose bumps—the temperature inside the cold room was about 30 degrees. I hugged her, rubbed the back of Summer”s neck, being certain to stroke the sweet spot behind and beneath her ear. Summer”s shivering stopped. Hey, it works on dogs, horses and cats! We humans are just another mammal.

I had to check in with the jail”s desk sergeant. He asked me to put any weapons in a gun box—a reasonable precaution in a jail. Even the corrections officers didn”t carry firearms in the jail. Too much danger of a prisoner grabbing a gun at close quarters—have me demonstrate it on you some time. The desk sergeant”s name plate said “Lincoln,” and he was a large black man. I found, to my surprise, that underneath my jacket I was wearing Grandfather”s .45, a telescoping baton, a Taser, a can of pepper spray, a cell phone, a two-way radio, body armor, a folding knife, four spare magazines, and I had a pocket full of flex cuffs with a cutter. I also had a handcuff key and my multi-tool. I needed sleep! I asked that Summer pat me down—and found out that I had missed my little .32 ACP.

“Expecting trouble?” Sergeant Lincoln asked.

“Five women died. You have their killers in custody. That qualifies as trouble. Two of the dead women were under my protection.”

The sergeant said little after that.

Mickey Hill was still being questioned when I was taken to the slave pens. Veronica was one of the surviving DEV slaves. She held a naked Ms. Connor and was speaking softly when I entered the interrogation room. All eight women had been stripped and only Veronica was unbound—the others wore flex cuffs that fastened their wrists behind them. The other seven women weren”t there mentally. They sat on the floor staring vacantly at whatever was in front of them.

“What”s this?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral. “Why are they bound and naked?”

“They”re slaves, Mr. Foster,” the sergeant said. “Yes, sir, their enslavement appears illegal, but you have to challenge their enslavement in court and win. We are offering you the option of buying them from the county right now for a processing fee, but require that you keep them alive and healthy to act as evidence.”

“Mr. Paulson, transfer these seven to DEV and bring Veronica home.”

“She was enslaved with the others, sir.”

“Mr. Paulson has documentation proving that Veronica is a DEV asset slave. Those monsters killed two asset slaves and three free women.” I faced Sergeant Lincoln. “I have bigger fish to fry than the board members who murdered my slaves. They were gifted school teachers and I had planned that they would be teaching my other asset slaves. In addition to the $250,000 federal fine and the $100,000 state fine for killing asset slaves illegally, I seek damages. The two dead women will be very hard to replace. I would rather have them alive and well, but second best is sending a message to any other would-be slave thief—asset slaves are off-limits! I think that I now own the school. We”ll have to go to court and find out.”

“I need to call my supervisor. I can”t release Veronica unless you pay for her.”

“I understand, Sergeant. I”ll just apply for refund in the usual way. How soon can I take them home? They need medical attention.”

Lana, nude and bald as per court order, was waiting with Doctor Granger and two of the medical slaves. Both medical slaves were wearing shoes and slave shifts. I rearmed as Mr. Paulson paid the $4000 plus posted a $40,000 bond. The bond was to insure that the “evidence” showed up in court. My doctors were tending to the slaves. I wasn”t permitted to release them—except for Veronica—until they left the station. I kissed Veronica and told her that she was a good girl.

“Master Peter, we were scared,” Veronica said. “I saw a little girl in a white gown. She told me that I would be okay, that Gail and Josephine would die, but all would be made right in the end. Who is April?”

“Please tell Doctor Prince—Summer—who you talked to. It is important. Good job, by the way. I doubt that I would have done as well.”

“It was the wine, Master. I didn”t drink because I didn”t know if you had forbidden me alcohol or not. Neither did Gail or Josephine. They whipped us and enslaved us again. Josephine laughed at them and said that she was already a slave. Gail told them that her master would get them. They broke Josephine”s nose and cut her head off. They used the guillotine to cut off Gail”s arms and legs. They hung three of the free women, Elsa, Trudy and Rose, and bet on which one would die first. Then Hill”s arrived with the new Jessica spitting machines. I was put in position when the machine beeped. The man in charge swore and said that he needed to get another machine, then he called on his cell phone. A while later, police arrested everyone.”

The Jessica 2000 was being improved. One of the features was an RFID tag reader. Many establishments had tagged their slaves and the RFID reader was intended to make sure that the correct slave was spitted. I had installed three readers myself—these Jessica”s were the ones that Jim Hill used for off-site jobs. He said that it saved some grief already because naked slaves all look alike.

Mr. Paulson was discussing something with Sergeant Lincoln when Captain Lee arrived to take me to interrogation. The suspects were in a different section of the jail. I was instructed to keep my weapons on me this time. Captain Lee explained that I was as dangerous unarmed as armed, and that I was far more likely to behave myself when burdened with weapons than if they took my guns away. I guess he was right.

Loud, stupid and arrogant amply described the suspects. They wanted the women, so the women were theirs. They were the board of directors and they were going to take over the school, convert all of the school girls, and reopen as a brothel. One of the directors had a slave license—but he had to know the laws to get one. Another had a brothel license. A third was a notary public. The seven men had it all planned out. First, they”d kill off the entire school staff—all of the women were in their late thirties to mid-fifties and weren”t worth keeping as sex slaves. Never mind that they were skilled educators—their minds didn”t matter, only how sexy they looked. I listened to them as they bragged about how they had falsified school records and were going to enslave all 125 girls, 30 teachers and 30 other women tomorrow. They might keep a few “fat old hags” around to cook and clean—the kitchen and maintenance staff numbered 19. Most of the teachers and other women would go.

“Are they high?” I asked. “Did they give up their Miranda rights?”

“They are drunk,” Captain Lee said, “but they did give up their rights on video. Lieutenant Hanson is our most skilled interrogator. They”ve told us more than enough to convict them. Right now, the red-faced one is acting as his own attorney. Meet Rod Selfless, attorney at law. He tested at .17 BAC when we arrested him. The rest were between .12 and .15 BAC.”

“Wow! Pickled.”

“Precisely. Right now, they are starting to sober up. Bill Hanson is about finished. Do you want to ask them anything?”

“No, sir. I want the dead to be alive, well and happy. That isn”t within my power. I doubt that they will be allowed to get away with that conspiracy. By the way, how were they going to convert the school? I doubt that they”d give 125 school girls spiked wine.”

“You aren”t going to believe this. They were going to use in locos parentis.”

I sighed. Suddenly I felt old as dirt—and twice as tired. It was obvious that the arrogant SOB”s hadn”t bothered to check the slaver data base. There were few free women to convert. At least one of the survivors had dependant children—something I”d need to take care of immediately.

“We have to put a stop to that. We need a big public trial and a media circus.”

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster
Chapter Six: Not Quite As Promised Birthday Bash

The skies were gray and the weather chilly on Sunday morning. I woke up and did the morning ritual—empty the bladder, shower and shave. I was glad that I didn”t have to dress. At least that”s what I thought until I went downstairs to fix breakfast. There were people everywhere. Strangers. A woman with wild purple hair and Goth make-up was waving and shouting. She saw me and charged over.

“What are you doing here?” The purple-haired woman stood before me, arms akimbo. “Go get dressed! Don”t you know anything?”

“I”d like to know why you and this horde have invaded my home,” I said coldly. Perhaps I was at a disadvantage because I was still stark naked. On the other hand I did stand over six feet tall and I weighed in at just less than 180 pounds. If Ms. Purple decided to get physical, I could probably kill her. She was much shorter than I, and obviously used to having people jump at her command. “Who are you?”

“Peter,” Father said from the top of the stairs. “Up here. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Ms. Purple spun and screeched at someone else as I returned upstairs.

“In here, son,” Father led me into the master bedroom. There were seven people in there waiting for Father and me: April and Penny were the only ones I knew. I was shocked to see that April and Penny were wearing rather nice dresses—and they wore wigs, too. April and Penny had shaved their head in sympathy with Father”s bout with cancer. Father was wearing a business suit. There were three other men and a woman. I recognized only Colonel Justin R. Murphy, the J-2 for the Oklahoma National Guard. His office was in the capital and he was in his Class A uniform—that”s a green uniform designed by Mamie Eisenhower back when Ike was President. On a Sunday? The other two men were also in suits. The woman was wearing a pants suit. “Peter, I want to introduce you to Ms. U.T. Castleman, owner of the Global Village Video Network and founder of the Castleman Trust. You already know Colonel Murphy. The last two gentlemen are the trust estate attorneys, Mr. Dennis Harrington and Mr. Paul Paulson.”

I acknowledged them and shook hands.
“That won”t do!” Ms. Castleman clucked. “You have to be dressed.”

“Other than looking puzzled, you seem to keep your cool,” Colonel Murphy smirked. “Most of your classmates would be mortified to be caught naked like that.”

“We”re naturists,” Father explained.

“Well, that just won”t do!” Ms. Castleman said again. “We ran a pilot in front f a focus group and the results were detrimental to our cause. The focus group is representative of our audience. Bare skin disturbs them. Naked children on television would cause the FCC to fine me. A naked man in front of children is almost as bad—even though Pete is a hunk. What a cute little cock! We can”t even have naked caterers for the birthday celebration. America isn”t used to properly-attired slaves yet. The Eastlake Metro Police are still ticketing slaves—not that it does any good.”

“Get dressed, son.” Father ordered. “I”ll tell you what is going on.”

“Kid,” Colonel Murphy suggested, “If you have your ROTC uniform, wear it.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. No whining, no complaints from me. Father explained things as I returned to my room. It didn”t take long. Castleman was using me as the poster child for Universal Female Enslavement. I was being bankrolled to do two things—I was part of a eugenics program to restore the balance of men to women, a long-term project, and I was being used as a public role model for the proper care and handling of enslaved women.

“This is a goldfish bowl, Pete,” Father watches as I put on a thong and an undershirt, and then stepped into a pair of black socks. “We will have to be low key about nudism because there will be cameras everywhere. If we are successful, the cameras will stay.”

“That makes failure alluring,” I said as I buttoned up my gray-green uniform shirt.

“Son, failure is never an option.” I said nothing as Father handed me my dress green trousers. “We will put on our best face and do our best.”

“Yes, sir. What else do I need to know about, Father?”

“Just that your week of rest and relaxation has been ruined,” He grinned at me as I fastened my trousers and belt and sat down to don my shoes. “We are also going to have to limit affection for each other as if we were in public. The usual “family business is not for public consumption” thing, Pete. America isn”t yet ready for the full consequences of WSA.”

I wasn”t ready, either. First Lady Hellen Eastman-Carson”s enslavement and execution still bothered me, and she was not my mother nor my sister nor my girlfriend. I was influenced by two things—media coverage and the unknowns about the new slavery in America. Ignoring the media and reading what was legal and what wasn”t were slowly improving my mood. Learning that April and Penny were no longer in danger of being enslaved by someone else was a big load off my shoulders. Still, I was not a happy camper.

When dressed, I tried to get breakfast again. I hoped that I could either raid the refrigerator or poach from the media”s kraft table. No luck in either place. The kitchen had been prepared for display on television. The catered food was for the party beginning at ten. As for the media”s own kraft table, there wasn”t as much as a coffee cup for the crew. I hadn”t noticed that most of the crew was female. There were four men, and two of them wore security uniforms. I realized the rest of the crew was slaves when Ms. Purple threatened to snuff them. When I observed Ms. Purple beat one of the girls with a riding crop, I made a bee-line for Ms. Castleman.

“Sorry to interfere, Ms. Castleman, but I need you to stop Ms. Purple from violently acting out her frustration on the air.”

“What?”

I explained that the screaming and beatings were disturbing to me. How would our audience react?

“It is rather funny,” Ms. Castleman smirked. “Courtney is a slave, too. A corporate asset, perhaps, but still a slave.” Castleman”s smile widened. “Show me how you would handle an uppity slave.”

“Yes, ma”am. What limits will you set? I won”t give up my citizen”s right to protect myself from dangerous animals, but I don”t wish to abuse your property.”

“Use your judgment.”

“Yes, ma”am.”

I ambushed Courtney subtly the next time she went on a rampage. I innocently stepped over to the make-up table and requested a touch-up. Ms. Purple Hair, aka Courtney, flew into a rage.

“Is that any way for a slave to address a free person?” I asked.

“I am an asset slave!” Courtney huffed.

“Really? Is GVVN in the habit of antagonizing its guests? Asset slaves are slaves that can act as agents. Is your rude behavior company policy?”

“Don”t tell me what I can and cannot do!”

“Courtney, this is the 21^st Century. You are a slave, asset or general work slave, and I am a free citizen. I”m certain that you are in violation of your company”s slave behavior policy and have earned some serious punishment. What do you say that we work something out so that you don”t get snuffed at my birthday party?”

“That won”t happen!”

“Which one of you gentlemen is in charge of this undisciplined slave?” I asked. “You, sir? Or is it you, sir? These slaves are supervised, aren”t they?”

Courtney made a near-fatal error—she lunged at me, her riding crop raised. I opted to simply drop to the floor and kick her legs from under her. Courtney”s butt slammed on the floor—and I yanked her riding crop from her and used it in a strangle hold.

“Courtney, dear,” I purred in her ear,” you just assaulted me. What should I do about that? Who do I sue? Oh, my.”

I raised my voice.

“Mr. Harrington, I need your assistance.”

Ms. Castleman was at my side instantly. Mr. Harrington was only a little slower.

“We don”t need to involve the legal profession, Mr. Foster,” Ms. Castleman said quietly. “I”m sure that you and I can come to some workable solution.”

“I admit, Ms. Castleman, that I am not keen on seeing Courtney killed. That is the usual fate for mad dogs. I have obedience-trained dogs, so I know a little bit about the subject. Perhaps Courtney just requires a bit of remedial correction. I will be satisfied if this slave behaves herself in the future—but I want a guarantee from your company on that. If she assaults me again, I might damage your property. We citizens shouldn”t have to worry about being attacked by agents of your company, especially when those agents are slaves.”
Ms. Castleman”s face went white.

“I authorize you to do whatever it takes to satisfy yourself that Courtney has been properly trained.”

“Thank you, Ms. Castleman. Courtney, my dear pet, you had better listen to me as if your life depends upon it, because it does. I want to see your work schedule right now. When I release you, get it and bring it to me. Do not attack me, and any deviation from directly retrieving your schedule and returning it to me will be regarded as an escape attempt. I know some slaves are into pain. Are you a pain slave? I am releasing you now.”

Courtney didn”t understand her situation. When I released her, she faced Ms. Castleman and whined about how unfair the situation was.

“You two,” I pointed to the security officers,” This disobedient slave is trying to escape and I must subdue her. I request your assistance.”

“Keep your fucking hands off me!” Courtney raised both fists—I smiled at her. Both security officers glanced at Ms. Castleman.

“Courtney, you are in violation of your contract. Attempted escape is a snuffable offense. I have no option but to turn you over to Mr. Foster to dispose of you as he sees fit, especially if you attack him a second time.”

It was Courtney”s turn to blanch. She kept glancing between Ms. Castleman and me, mouth agape.

“Would one of you well-behaved general slaves please assist me by advising Courtney on the proper manner of addressing a free person? Courtney seems to have forgotten.”

One of the girls moved about ten feet in front of me—good thing the living room was large enough—and the slave fell to her knees and bowed until her forehead touched the floor, her wrists crossed behind her back.

“Yes, slave?”

“Sir! Master! Sir! This slave requests permission to address the Master! Sir!”

“Tell me your name, girl, and ask your question.”

“Sir! This slave is called Ginger. This slave wishes to demonstrate the proper way to address a master and a free citizen, Sir!”

“You have done well, Ginger. I commend you. If Courtney isn”t smart enough to learn from that, I would recommend that you take over her duties and position as a corporate asset while I am conducting remedial training. Should Courtney prove not trainable, Ms. Castleman might need to replace her.”

Courtney finally got it. She fell to her knees and bowed.

“Better, Courtney. Ginger, what is Courtney”s schedule? I need to know when she is available for training.”

“You can have her the rest of the week, Mr. Foster,” Ms. Castleman beamed. Courtney started to rise, but one of the security officers made a negative sound and pointed his Taser at her. It was an older M18 Taser used by police. Courtney put her head back down. “I see that she isn”t ready for the broadcast this morning. How much will you charge for your services as a dog trainer?”

“Once you witness the results, you can determine payment, Ma”am. I hope that your earlier faith shown by making Courtney a corporate asset wasn”t misplaced. If she acquits herself during training today, perhaps she can carry out the interviews. If not, I think Ginger is a suitable replacement—but GVVN isn”t my company. It really isn”t my affair, so long as I am neither insulted nor assaulted again by an agent of your company.”

“What will you do with her now, Mr. Foster?”

“I hope I can salvage her. She acts as if she has been spoiled by an overly indulgent mistress. Let”s see if she”s worth salvaging as something more than meat,” I stuttered the last word. I didn”t want to see Courtney live-roasted. It isn”t my thing. “Penny, please bring me some restraints and a bath towel.”

“Yes, Brother Master!” Penny scampered upstairs.

“Courtney, demonstrate that you are properly behaved by removing the garments you are wearing, folding them neatly in a pile on the floor, and resuming that position. Your other choice is equally acceptable to me. I can have you Tasered, and then I”ll force you into restraints and strip you. You have demonstrated that you are a wild and dangerous animal. I am not under any obligation to be gentle—in fact, it is my duty as a public official to make you behave, even if the means I use result in your death. Let”s see if you are a clever animal.”

Courtney glared at me, but she undressed carefully. Penny returned with a bath towel and some restraints as I requested. Courtney folded her clothes and stacked them in a pile. She knelt back on the floor.

“Ms. Castleman, Courtney is still surly and rebellious. I suspect that her spirit is one of the traits you prize, so I will give her another chance and even allow her to direct the morning show if she can follow my requirements to the letter. An animal has to survive negative feedback if it is to learn from its mistakes. I will permit her to be decently attired during air time—though I must insist that she be put in restraints. As long as Courtney refrains from profanity, she can direct, but the moment she exhibits aggression, I shall be force to gag her and cage her. Is that agreeable with you, ma”am? She”s still your company”s property.”

“If she doesn”t behave, she”s going to be yours to dispose of as you wish,” Ms. Castleman”s voice had ice in it. “I will pay the sales tax and the meat tax on her. In fact, even if Courtney behaves herself, I want you to accompany us to Hills today so that I can get Courtney meat-graded.”

Courtney softly moaned “no” into the floor.

“I am rather enjoying this, Mr. Foster. What will you do to her?”

“Whatever it takes to salvage her, Ma”am. Was Courtney any good as a free woman? I understand that conversion of actresses to asset slaves is to protect the woman and her company both. The woman cannot be enslaved, the company gives her protected privileges, and both benefit. I am young and inexperienced, but I think that I can salvage this woman. She will be gainfully employed here because there is a lot of coverage required.”

“I thought she was valuable. I may have been wrong.” Courtney began to tremble and a puddle of tears formed on the floor. “You appear to be a capable master, Mr. Foster. I would be grateful if Courtney could conduct this morning”s show, but her fate is in your hands. You have the right to demand that she be snuffed, and I authorize you to kill her yourself if you need to.”

“Yes, ma”am. I understand.” Ms. Castleman had just instructed me to spare Courtney if I could. “I”d like to have her run things—but only if she behaves herself. May I borrow Ginger to assist me? Just for the next 20 minutes?”

Father handed me my Air Taser at that moment. I thanked him.
“You seem prepared. Go ahead, Trainer Foster.”

I fastened Courtney”s wrists behind her back and stood her up. I took the Air Taser”s cartridge off and tested it in the contact stun gun mode, just letting the spark jump and crackle for a moment. Both slaves flinched. I don”t blame them—I accidently shocked myself with my Air Taser once—but I did it with the dart cartridge removed. It wasn”t a pleasant experience.

We went upstairs to the bathroom. I directed Ginger to undress because she was to bathe Courtney after her haircut.

“Courtney, I need you to demonstrate total submission. I am going to shave your head and body. If you resist I will stun you, gag you and lock you in a cage until I can deal with you. Cooperate with Ginger when she bathes you and we can get you back to work as an anchor. Give me even a little trouble, and Ginger will anchor. She”ll use your dress,” I held up the towel, “to dry off with and you will not be wearing anything until your mistress dresses you. If you are still able to wear clothes, that is. Many stupid little girls would rather die than bend. I think that you are smart enough to read me. I won”t hurt or humiliate you any more than I have to. Ginger is only naked because I need someone in the shower with you. Ginger, you are to gently bathe Courtney. If she struggles, stop and step out of the shower. I don”t want to stun you, too.”

Ginger nodded. It is easy to get undressed when all you wear is a large orange T-shirt with GVVN in purple front and back and matching orange deck shoes. Courtney wept when I used clippers to reduce her purple mane to stubble. I ran the clippers over her orange brillo pad that covered her crouch. I had a selection of proper electric shavers, so that within ten minutes she was bald from head to toe. I even shaved off her eyebrows. She did look like an alien when I finished. Ginger followed instructions explicitly.

“Master, I do want revenge,” she whispered, “but I can wait until you order me to hurt her.”

“Good girl, Ginger. Can you handle a camera and audio gear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I”ll ask to keep you. Let”s go back down.”

Penny was at the bathroom door with a rather pretty wrap dress, a pair of silver sandals, and a scarf.

“See? You behaved well, Courtney. After we have gone downstairs, Penny and Ginger will dress you and I will put you in irons. I think you can run the show—but no profanity. No shouting. Just state what needs to be done in a loud, clear voice and everything will be okay. Ginger will assist you. Do as she says. Ginger, be aware that your fate is tied to Courtney”s. If she behaves, you will be rewarded. If she miss-behaves, you had better be blameless. Put your clothing back on, Ginger.”

As we descended the stairs, I could hear Penny whispering to Ginger—but I couldn”t hear the words well enough to understand the conversation. At the bottom of the steps, I commended Courtney and had Penny and Ginger dress her. Instead of a bath towel, Courtney wore an elegant—if brief—floral-print wrap dress. The scarf enhanced her head. The make-up slave fixed Courtney”s face and Ginger fastened the sandals in place.

We began recording video at 9:45 AM. There were a lot of visitors. I was shocked to see Governor England at a private party. I speculated how long it would be before Oklahoma”s next female governor as Ms. Castleman and Governor England conversed. Sergeant First Class Archer conducted a hasty and informal inspection, allowed that I was presentable and took me to the Colonel. I saluted and reported to Colonel Murphy. A few minutes later, Governor England strolled our direction. We soldiers came to attention and saluted the commander-in-chief of the Oklahoma Army National Guard.

“Esteemed guests,” Governor England proclaimed,” One of the more enjoyable duties of my office is rewarding deserving military personnel. Officer Candidate Peter Foster has his 21^st birthday today. I am honored to be the person to commission him a second lieutenant in the Oklahoma Army National Guard.”

There was a brief ceremony and lots of pictures. My rank was pinned on—and I was out of uniform. The ROTC uniform is subtly different from the Army uniform. I”d fix it later. I almost snorted in laughter when I though “enslavable offense for newly-minted female officer.” Being born male was an advantage in 21^st Century America. After I was commissioned, I gave SFC Archer the traditional silver dollar because he was the first enlisted man to salute me.

Next, there was cake and champagne. Even Penny was given a glass—the underage drinking laws didn”t apply to her and hadn”t since the beginning of this New Millennium. One glass was enough to make her tipsy, so April took Penny upstairs to sleep it off. Several of the younger slaves had to take a nap due to the effects of the champagne. I limited myself to a half glass and that was more than enough! After three hours, the party broke up and most people went home.

I took Ginger aside.

“Time for a free woman decision. No matter if you tell me that you want to stay or return with your crew, I will recommend that you fill Courtney”s asset slave position. Would you spend a week here as Courtney”s assistant and camera crew? I need your answer now because Ms. Castleman is heading our way.”

“Yes, Master.”

During my brief chat with Ms. Castleman, I praised both slaves—and said that Ginger was the superior slave. If I owned GVVN, I”d give Ginger the asset position formerly held by Courtney. Of course, I didn”t own GVVN and had little experience in the world of global media. Ms. Castleman was amused by my amateurish attempt to manipulate the media.

“So you want to borrow Ginger as well. Ginger, give your shoes and shirt to Butch. You will wear whatever your new master gives you to wear. I”ll speak with the trust lawyers about renting Ginger back from you.” Ms. Castleman laughed at my expression. “There is a catch, of course. I wanted to have Courtney meat graded. You will bring Ginger along to be meat graded, too. That”s the price of getting a good slave out of me. That and training Courtney, of course. I might give you Courtney, too. She”s lost her asset status.”

“Ms. Castleman, I worked at Hill”s Fine Meats for two summers.”

“You didn”t!”

“Yes ma”am, I did. I learned to grade meat. Alternate Meat Source grading seems at odds with what I learned. It is as if being sexually attractive eye candy gets a rating of prime—that”s not the way to get good eating meat.”

“Oh, everybody knows that the Hill grading system is based on how hot the girl is, not on how good she is to eat. To be a real, certified hogtie! Sometimes I get jealous.”

“So why not get meat graded yourself, Ms. Castleman? I know the owner and we are on good terms—even though I abhor his major product line today. I can bring my camera and record the event. You will be under my protection, of course. They will grade you and permit you to leave unharmed or I will be quite cross with them, ma”am.”

Ms. Castleman”s face darkened. I brazenly stared her down while she sputtered. Inwardly, I was quaking in my shoes. It is dangerous to twist the tiger”s tail. It became obvious after a while that Ms. Castleman was laughing. She sat down and laughed and laughed and cried and laughed. I was fortunate that she had a sense of humor.

“You!” she scolded. “I”ll do one better. I”ll bring a camera crew along and record the whole thing. We can use it to promote Hills. While we are at it, we may have Courtney processed!” Ms. Castleman cackled again.

“You”ve trumped me, Ms. Castleman. I”ll go along to protect you and my property and the trainee, but I request that there be no conversion to meat animal while we”re there.” I smirked at her. “Of course, if you can”t keep yourself away after we leave, you are on your own.”

“Oh shit! You made me pee my panties!”

I insisted that I change clothes—my excuse was that the uniform wasn”t to be used for commercial purposes. It was a thin but valid reason. I requested that Colonel Murphy authorize me to carry a side arm and ammunition for my escort duties. He did one better—he issued me a 9mm SIG/Sauer P-228, known formally in the US Army as the Pistol, Compact, 9mm, M11 with Tritium Sights, national stock number 1005-01-340-0096. I received two 12-shot magazines and a box with 50 rounds 9mm NATO M882 ball cartridges, an Uncle Mike”s clip-on holster with integral magazine carrier, and a laminated set of credentials permitting me to carry that weapon concealed on Oklahoma State and US Federal property. I called Terrence next—his dad and brother ran the local plant. I got Terrence”s guarantee that my party would depart intact.

“We just want our money. Besides, the publicity would be good for us. How many?”

“I don”t know. Let me get back to you on that.”

I was naked and selecting appropriate garb when Ms. Castleman entered—without knocking. She watched me, licking her lips with eyes half-lidded. I dressed for action in lose jeans and sweat shirt.

“No, no, no, that won”t do at all! I need you to dress nicely.” Ms. Castleman went through my closet and picked out what she wanted me to wear. “There. Too bad that I don”t have a thing to wear.”

“So go naked! You have to be naked to be meat graded anyway. We will be on private property the entire time. Terrance offered to pick you up and bring you back in a truck. The only thing I need to make sure of is that you are fitted with a tracking device. That can be a slave collar or it can be an implanted transponder. Make that collar. The RFID injector hurts like HELL and the device is intended to remain in the body the rest of your life. It is a real bitch to remove, or so I”m told.”

“Excellent. Do you have a dozen tags? I want us to be completely naked during the grading. In fact, if you can swing it, immediately after getting us graded, I want you to take us on a tour.”

“Will you agree to be rope tied around the neck with your wrists tied behind your back?” Ms. Castleman shuddered and moaned. She was turned on by that? “One more thing. I shaved Courtney”s head for disciplinary reasons. If she is being meat graded, I want to give her a decent chance of getting top rating. She will either need a wig or everyone else will need to be barbered to level the playing field.”

“You wicked little boy! We”ll do both. More, I”ll make wagers!”

“Stop! Nobody gets left at Hills. I don”t want this fun little prank to kill someone. It would bother my tender conscious.”

“Oh, pooh! You spoil a girl”s fun! Very well. What I propose is that the winner becomes your property. We will all enslave ourselves to you for one month—a temporary enslavement. You take us to Hills Fine Meats to be meat graded. You”ll bring us all back. We”ll go to our homes—if our owner and master allows, that is. We will be absolutely at your mercy. If you decide that I get spitted and roasted, that”s the way it will be.” She was nuts! “I get to flirt with death. I”m betting my life on your integrity. In fact, I offered the crew that was here this morning a chance to stay with you—they get meat graded, they are transferred to you. Ginger asked to speak to the rest of the girls. You won”t believe how many signed up. Go ahead. Guess.”

“Ginger and Courtney don”t count, right?” Sweat beaded on her flushed face as she panted and nodded. “There were a total of nine women on the crew and all were slaves?”

“Even Courtney. Come on, guess! I bet you can”t!”

“Seven,” I said, not believing.

“WRo—”Ms. Castleman stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “You knew!”

“No, ma”am, I didn”t.”

“Tell me how many other women I roped into this scheme.”

“Not counting you? Four.”

“Excellent! Your mother bet me that you”d guess both numbers. How many women total?”

I thought for a moment. “That would be—”I paused. The obvious answer was incorrect. “No! How did you get 26 women and yourself to go along with this madness?”

Ms. Castleman laughed and laughed. Then she cursed again.

“This time I didn”t wet myself,” she observed.

“Then what is that puddle on the floor?”

Ms. Castleman bent over and touched the puddle, then rubbed it between fingers and thumb. She tasted it. “That”s not pee.”

Woman can say “shit, fuck, damn, cock, pussy, cunt”—but shy away from piss? It is a wonder that the human race survived! I know us men are just as demented.

“The slave girls are offered one of two things—their option. After staying with you for a week, they may choose to be manumitted or they may remain your slaves. You will need a staff, and if you can keep coming up with ideas for programming, I can use you as a consultant. For a fee, of course.”

This was getting weirder and weirder.

“So, I need to tell Hills that I will be taking 27 naked visitors and a camera crew to the meat packing plant for grading and a tour. How many in the camera crew?”

“Some of the slaves from this morning. With you as an escort, we”re safe. Actually,” Ms. Castleman giggled, “we could walk to Hills from here stark naked and not be bothered.”

“Don”t. It is cold and six miles each way would be hard on the feet.”

“Pooh! I guess I”ll have to. We”ll be ready in three hours.”

When I called Terence, I talked to Mr. Hill, the father. He was dubious, but agreed to pick us up and drop us off without incident.
“I wasn”t set up for the demand,” Jim Hill told me. “It will be crowded and messy. How will you corral all those sows, any way?”

“They”ll have to be in condition for meat grading, and after I”ll loop four 50-foot ropes around them and zip-tie their wrists together. I was going to have their arms behind their back, but safety dictates that they have limited use of their hands.”

“Sounds like a plan. I”ll have Terence and Mickey help grade. Three hours? They”re women. Make it four. Only don”t let them eat or drink anything. In fact, give them all enemas, too. Remember how you streamlined our operations by having the steers given laxatives prior to loading and bringing them here?”

“Yes, sir, and I remember why it didn”t work with pigs. I will give them all water before we leave. I don”t want them ill. Besides, if you are agreeable, we”ll turn that short six mile trip into a 90-minute trip.”

“Wicked!”

Four hours. I checked on the progress of the women and took a nap. Three hours later, my alarm woke me up and I went to witness the crew. They had just finished their enemas and showers. All were wearing wigs—long red wigs. Their fake hair reached down to their buttocks. All had long, red nails and their faces were carefully made up. I didn”t recognize any of them. I lined them up and scanned them with my reader. I found that 13 of them were Trust slaves, either the eugenics program or household staff slaves. I pulled one slave out of line. I recognized Jane from her RFID tag—but didn”t recognize her naked and with that wig.
“No. Hills has a minimum age of 18 for conversion. You do not get meat graded until you qualify. Any of you women who are pregnant, get out of line right now! I don”t see it on the reader. Doctor Kirby, has everyone been tested for pregnancy?”

“None are pregnant, Peter,” the doctor assured me. “What do you want done with Jane?”

“Stick her in a cage. Is it a good idea to sedate her?”

“You really like her?”

“I was going to ask her to marry me once she graduated from high school.”

“If you do marry her, you can have any number of slave wives, but only one free woman wife. No limit on free woman mistresses, either. But why not just enslave your wife—all of them—and any lovers you nail three times?”

“Doctor, I want to keep my loved ones safe. I can”t be part of the solution as long as I am the problem.”

That left 26 women, 12 already implanted with RFID”s. I asked Doctor Kirby to use at least the anesthetic spray.”

“No, Master. We will all get shot in the butt and take the pain like slaves. We all are slaves.”

“Ms. Castleman?”

“Master, until May 15, I am your slave slut Uma.”

“Fine. You first. I will offer everyone a chance to take this with no pain.”

Damned if all 14 took the implant the hard way! I would have begged for drugs. They flinched, cried, rubbed their injection site, but all took their implant without something to deaden the area. I passed out 20-ounce bottles of water and forced them all to drink every drop. Some could have cheated, but I tried. By that time, Jim had arrived in the Hill”s Fine Meats truck. We loaded everyone in the back and started off. They had camera bags and enough batteries for six hours. We drove around for 90 minutes as planned.

“Doctor Prince, I”m sorry to call you on a Sunday—”

“That”s okay, Peter. What”s the emergency? Is Penny still having bad dreams?”

“Ma”am, I am in a truck with 26 slaves headed for Hill”s Fine Meats. They all volunteered to get meat graded. There were five free women, and all five just temporarily enslaved themselves to me for 30 days. I was told flat out that I have the right to put them on a spit right up to the last day and then keep all their assets for myself.”

“Pete,” Jim said, “I”ll give you $30,000 cash for the lot of them. All of them have had the meat tax paid, and I don”t really like that psycho bitch Castleman anyway.”

“I heard that. It would serve them right!” Doctor Price laughed. “Sorry, Peter, I was laughing at a picture of a sheep dog trying to keep the lemmings from jumping off the cliff.” She giggled again. “I”ll meet you at Hills. Don”t worry; I”m not going to get meat graded. Not yet, anyway!”

I pulled the phone away from my head. Jim glanced over at me.

“She”s laughing? I guess it is funny! You could walk away with 30 big ones, all legal. You”d pay off your student loan and buy a nice car for that much. Hell, I”d pay you a bonus if there are more than six Grade A Prime with live roaster endorsements. Those are hot women back there.”

“No deal. You know how I feel about integrity.”

Jim started laughing.

“I now know what your head quack thought was so funny!” He had to slow down and gasp for breath. “They are as safe as money in the bank! You told me that you were going to protect them.” He hiccupped and huffed until he could regain control. “I”ve got to share this with the guys.”

“Go ahead. It will be on television soon. GVVN isn”t the only media outlet that Ms. Castleman controls.”

“Is Uma Tuesday Castleman back there?”

“Yes, sir. She is.”

We drove in past the security guard. I noted that his shotgun bore prominent orange markings and an orange fore end—and there was a big orange “LL” stamped on the stock.

“Still using beanbag rounds?”

“Yes. Tasers are great, but the civilian models only have a maximum reach of 18 feet. I know, the manual says 15, and you tell me that the optimum distance is ten feet, plus or minus three feet. We get a bruised carcass, but we don”t risk a lawsuit bringing down an escaping meat animal. If there is a mass break out, we tear gas everything and break out shotguns with buckshot and slugs.”

I drew in a deep, shaky breath and let it out.

“They aren”t our kind,” Jim explained. “Would you let me meat grade you? Of course not. I”m sorry that I mentioned it. I don”t want to die anytime soon. I know how I could die this minute. It involves mentioning a small coin”s name and a spit in the same breath.” Jim eyed, me as the truck stopped. I gazed back. He shuddered and backed the truck up to the loading dock. “Please forgive me. I need a vacation. I see so many sows here.”

“You are within the law, sir, and you are entitled to my protection,” I said mechanically. “I will keep my oath.”

Jim”s expression sobered.

“I”m sorry. I have to joke around a bit. Let me talk to the boys before you bring your women out.”

A few minutes later a cordon of men formed a corridor into the meat packing plant. The rear door of the truck opened up and 26 faux redheaded beauties staggered out. They were lined up in the main room were there was space for three grading machines. I used a reader to record which slave got which grade. Doctor Prince arrived after the first ones had been graded. I had insisted—only stamps, no brands. Some of the women wanted branding. There was more. Each woman would be graded twice. First, they would be graded with the wig on and the meat grade stamped on the inside of the thigh up high. The second time would be without the wig and they”d get stamped on the crown. It occurred to me that the location was where their soft spot had been when they were born, and I felt stupid for not checking to make sure that their soft spot still existed. They were acting irresponsibly!

“Good,” she said. “I didn”t miss much.”

“I”ll tell you how I feel about this in private. I want you to talk with them and especially Ms. Castleman. She is calling herself “Master Peter”s Slut Uma.” If she is a danger to herself, I need to take care of her. She”s enslaved herself to me and I could take all of her property. I am authorized to snuff her before 15 May—she is automatically a free woman on that date. She”s bet the other free women that she will still be alive in a month. I don”t know the details.”

“It”s like Russian roulette, only Ms. Castleman has had a professional check the revolver and there are no bullets in the gun,” Doctor Prince said. “You promised to protect her. She gets to flirt with death and she is safe.

“I will need you to take my clothes and drive my car back to your place…no, don”t worry. I”m not getting myself meat graded. I will interview them in the truck and I don”t want to be the only clothed woman in there.”

“You”ll be the only one with hair.”

“Oh dear! They are all bald and wearing wigs?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, dear.”

“They also all have RFID tags and will be comparing their meat grade stamps. You will be an outsider and won”t get that rapport you desire. You”ll just have to drive to my place.”

The doctor glanced from me to the naked women, half without wigs now and back to me. “I can see that you are correct. Damn! I”ll have to do this the hard way.”

“See those cameras being swapped off? Review those videos. As my slaves, I have the authority to release personal data about them. I grant you authorization to view the raw data for clinical evaluation purposes. I”ll need the proper release form, but I”m sure that one form will prove adequate.”

Jim Hill stamped another nude woman on the inside of her thigh and told her to toss her wig in the bin. The wigs would all be left behind when we departed. When the last wigged woman had been checked, Jim called for a smoke break and walked over to me.
“I”d offer you $120,000 for the lot,” he said loudly. “I”ll still make my money. If you accept, I”ll have them all live-roasted in three days or less.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Hill.”

“I thought you”d say that.” I noticed the pensive looks from several of the women. “You never were all that keen on money.”

“Sir, there are things more valuable than money.”

“Please, call me Jim. When you get excessively polite, I get real nervous. I remember what you did to the Jamison boys—all three of them. They were bigger than you, too.”

“Yes, sir, and they had meat hooks and a sledge hammer.” That incident was the reason Father bought me an Air Taser. “I don”t know how I managed to stay alive.”

“Joe Bob didn”t. Harry is never getting out of that wheel chair. I thought for sure Kevin Jamison would come gunning for you, but he drank himself to death last year. I should have fired you, but it wasn”t your fault.”

“They were very stupid. They told everybody about it. They made sure that they had an audience. I was on the phone with the police dispatcher when they attacked me. You, sir, probably remember more of it than I do. I wasn”t quite all there. My Norman heritage, I guess—I slipped into a Beserkergang. That state is addictive. I am afraid that I will hurt innocent people when I”m in that state.”

“Not you,” Doctor Prince touched my shoulder. “Your anger is very focused.”

“I don”t want to give you a reason to focus on me. I need a cigarette.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Hill,” Doctor Prince pointed into the crowd. “One of them is Ms. Uma Tuesday Castleman. She has given Peter a document that permits him to kill her legally and take all of her assets. If he doesn”t kill her, she keeps everything. Now what do you think of Peter and his integrity?”

“Pete, please don”t be mad at me, but you take that Bible shit too seriously. That bit about gaining the world and losing your soul. Believe me, a soul is nothing.”

The contest continued. Later, high school girls and college coeds would get themselves meat graded on a whim. Did I start that trend? I do know that GVVN requires all of its females to be meat graded upon enslavement. I may make too much of this one test because they are all sex tested, too. It is part of the ten-day test battery that all GVVN slaves take before they are allowed to work. Prior to testing, the female candidate agrees to risk her life on the results. The actual death toll is proprietary information and I won”t reveal it here, but not all applicants pass. Some are snuffed on the spot. Some are permitted to snuff themselves—those that fail to measure up are sold to other companies, whatever there is a market for. A few, perhaps the same percentage that get the immediate snuff job, are manumitted and work as free women for GVVN—that network isn”t 100% slave as most think. I digress—back to the year 2001.

After the second series of grading there was one clear winner. Ms. Castleman had gotten top grades both times. She was a little disappointed that we weren”t where she could be sex tested as well. The “reasonable man” does not exist outside of a courtroom, but I am certain that Ms. Castleman was addled. There were several who were Grade A+ Prime, and seven made the Live Roaster Endorsement as well. In fact, even though there were seven women over the age of 40 in the group, the lowest grade was a B. My mother April was Grade A+ Prime with LRE. I wondered if the grading system was overwhelmed.

Anxious as I was to leave, we still had a tour to finish. I cuffed up a coffle of 26 slaves, hands secured in front and the ropes tied to the hands, and we led them into rooms. The first room was where the guillotines were in use. We watched three women get beheaded and processed. Only one cried or said anything. We passed through the cold storage locker, and there was even a small retail shop in front, though that was closed for the day. The last place was watching a live spitting.

“Hi, Monica,” Terrence said to the woman as she was strapped to the spitting machine. “I won”t drug you for this or gag you because of our visitors. I want them to have full sound effect. Go ahead and scream. They are taking videos. One of them is Ms. Castleman of the Global Village Video Network. Wave bye-bye.”

“Husband,” Monica said, “I mean ex-husband, could you slow-spit me?”

“Not today. There”s only time to fast-spit you and start roasting you for tomorrow. I wasn”t planning to spit you until the 4^th of July. That”s why I hadn”t enslaved you until Peter called. This is an opportunity that I can”t miss—but Pittsburg is playing Seattle and I don”t want to miss the kick-off.”

I kept my thoughts about the callous to myself. It was shocking to hear Monica and Terrence exchange “I love you sweetie” between her screams until the spitting machine killed her. Terence said that she wasn”t on drugs. He told me later that if I really loved a woman and she really loved me, I”d spit and live roast her. Are there extraterrestrials orbiting Earth and shooting us with mind-bending rays? No, wait: we”re doing that to ourselves. The ray gun is something we call television.

I rode home with Doctor Prince. We talked.

“I”m afraid that most of them were sexually aroused,” I said, “and I hope I”m wrong. If not, I am in love with monsters. Perhaps I am the monster and horrible death is the true love potion.”

“That”s not far from the truth. I”m ashamed to admit it to you, but I want you to jump my bones and right now I”d do anything to get you to.”

“So Ms. Castleman is within the community norms?”

“I”ll talk with her. Don”t be surprised if it degenerates into a wild lesbian orgy—and if it does, stay clear. God! I feel that I could fuck a horse!”

When we arrived home, I took a shower and got into bed. Yes, I habitually sleep naked. I locked my door and said that I needed to be alone—and promised that I”d be out in the morning. Alive. If they didn”t like that, they could knock down my door—but I needed to sleep!

“Josh! I’ve got a renter default pick up for you. Take your pair of sluts with you…“

My pair of sluts, as he put it, were Kathy and Eve. Kathy is that rarest of slaves, a volunteer snuff slave. Of course, she didn’t get her wish. She’s just to damn good a work slave to spit. She has the right attitude for the job. Eve is, or was, a high school senior that had a bit of run in with the law., after she had her self meat graded. She, if nothing else, got her wish, seeing both Margarita Howe and Esther Halstead ride the spit before she did. Teenage girls can be quite vicious at times. Eve had ask to be allowed to be the one that pushed the button on Margarita. The boys in the back room said “Sure you can, assuming you can deep throat all six of us till we come in less than 30 minutes.” The fact that she did, with 5 minutes to spare explains why she is a work slave, not a roast. Why she is my work slave is because I’ve got seniority.

So, any way, back to work we go. I check the order, and it’s at the Riverview apartments. Nice part of town, not where I normally get sent on renter defaults. We arrive at the site, and I check in with the manager.

“I understand that you have a rental default pick up for me“
The manager, Ted Luongo, a sleazy looking bald man looked up from his papers, and sighed “Well, sort of. I rented out my biggest apartment to some sort of VIP dude. He was driving one of those BMW SUV, had a ton of cash in his wallet, the whole deal. Signed the standard rental agreement, and was a good tenant until last month, when he up and left. He had been paying cash money right on time, not a problem. But he up and left, leaving me a note that he would be back in a few months.“

“OK, I’m not following this real well. I can see you have a default, but it seems they left. Hill’s doesn’t do bounty hunting….“

“Oh, you don’t understand me there buddy boy. He’s gone alright, but he left his collection of sluts in the apartment. Said to use them for rent while he was gone.“

Eve and Kathy looked at each other, then towards me. Kathy asked “Should Eve get the Tasers out?“

I nodded “That might be a good idea Kathy“. Turning back to Ted,“I assume that these sluts, as you put it, are free women.“

“Don’t rightly know. You see none of them speak English. I think they are French, or some such like.“

It’s never simple. “So, how do you want to do this, then?“

He stood up and walked over to the key box. “Well, I reckon that I’ll let you in, you choose one, zap her, take her out, then I lock them back up.”

Eve walked back in with the girls Tasers. Just a little side note, but most of the collection staff at Hill’s don’t let the work slaves carry or use Tasers, but I do. I haven’t had any problems, well, other than one runner, Kayla Janssen. Took Kayla four days to die, on a vertical spit, using only gravity to impale her. I have 4 hour DVD of her punishment that I make all my work slaves watch before they start with me. Of course Kayla got some other tortures while she was on the spit. Over 500 lashes with a single tail, rock salt embedded in her breasts, burning her nipples and clit, all her toe and finger nails being pulled out, eyelids split open, you know, the standard snuff torture stuff. Just your basic fun weekend.

Kathy took her Taser, asking Ted, “So, what is to stop the rest of the frog sluts from running after we take the first one? We should take them all, just to be safe.“

Ted nodded, “You would think that, but I’m not worried, you see, they are locked in. The tenant left them about 5 months of food, and there is only 7 of them, so, well, with loosing one a month, they have plenty of food. If he’s not back in 7 months. well, problem solved.“