Dark Erotic Fiction

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster

Chapter Nineteen: The Movie Star

I had a nice relaxing Saturday morning at the range with the Eastlake South Mall security guards and some of my Army-issue slaves. I looked over the Eastlake South Mall revolvers—and asked Hiram Smith, CEO of the Eastlake South Mall, if he could spring for new guns. The revolvers needed overhaul at the least. They were abused. He used the cheapest holsters and the feeble 130-grain full metal case bullet—plus the revolvers had the standard factory grips. For about $12 each Mr. Prater could provide the Eastlake South Mall security department with grip adapters, speed loaders, a speed loader case, and clean the revolvers up. One of the officers had difficulty firing her revolver—it was simply a matter of hand size and hand strength. I swapped her my Model 60—with some training wad cutters. The next cylinder was the full-force .357 magnum loads I normally used—125 grain jacketed hollow points. Even with that load, she shot better because the gun fit her hand. With her issue revolver, she had to thumb back the hammer. That wouldn”t be possible after the revolvers were modified.

“I guess you will have to find another job, Maria. You have to use the tools we give you.” Mr. Smith was grinning. The other security guards were laughing. I decided to get even.

“You are a good shot. Come work for me. We can hammer out your contract this afternoon.”

“I won”t have to be a slave, will I?”

“I need security at several sites. After we talk, you decide. I will get you a job.”

I introduced Caroline Umbermort. She had only been training about two weeks in the technique, and I had her demonstrate four shot bursts and two-shot bursts. I even had her fire on three targets in rapid sequence. She explained that she barely qualified as a police officer, but she was able to shoot better now. Caroline demonstrated the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center method of rapidly reloading a revolver using speed loaders. I had her borrow one of the revolvers that wasn”t too bad—after Frank had cleaned it up. She wore only shoes, shooting glasses and ear plugs—and a borrowed gun belt. Yes, the woman was naked on the range. It kept the men amused—until she demonstrated deadly accuracy with their worn-out issue revolvers.

Their duty ammo was old and filthy. Being carried around for months, if not years, had left the cases green and corroded. It wasn”t safe to shoot on the range. Was I just unlucky that the dead security guard”s gun managed to fire despite neglect? Maria fired the qualification course with .357 magnum ammunition, and the course was an Applegate. This required shooting at one or two targets in two-shot bursts. She out-shot the men. Obviously, the guns were at fault. I managed to talk Hiram into replacing the full metal jacketed ammunition with hollow point ammunition—and corrosion-proof nickel-plated cases—so that there would be less chance of over-penetration. Frank Prater had just the right load in stock—a 125 grain hollow point with a nylon jacket instead of a metal jacket at a nominal velocity of 830 feet per second. It was designed for security officers and the soft lead expanded when it hit, braking it inside the body. For the final demonstration I took my little Smith and Wesson out to the 100 yard line and put ten shots into the target. I only scored a 97 that time.

The men wanted to shoot my gun, so I set the target at 25 feet. They sneered at me—but most only got off two shots before crying uncle. Hiram Smith managed to get off all five shots. He watched to make sure that Maria loaded up the same hard-kicking ammunition and did the rapid-fire four-shot drill. She reloaded in seven seconds and was back on target.

“I”d like to see her shoot that again naked!” One of the male officers said.

“Buster, buy me one of these and let Mr. Foster teach me some more and I”ll work the mall naked every day!” She blushed. “I really like this gun. It bucks hard, it makes a lot of noise, but it is very accurate and I don”t hurt when I shoot it.”

I looked at her hand and wrist.

“I over-trained you. Your hand will be sore tomorrow. Can I take you home and have my doctor look at it?”

“Maria, you”ll wind up a slave!”

“Can it, Tim!” Maria said.

“Gentlemen, remember that I drilled you to fire four times? If you must shoot someone in the mall, you need to shoot them enough so that they stop what they”re doing immediately. I drilled you into firing four shots so that you wouldn”t have an empty gun. Under-trained shooters make three mistakes when under stress—they fail to shoot, they shoot one time and then stand there until killed or they empty their gun at the first thing in sight. If you have to shoot, the four shot drill will shut down your target immediately. Caroline did that while your boy was trying to kill me. He was in a blind panic—it wasn”t really his fault. He died anyway. It took Maria seven seconds for that last reload under range conditions. She had only one bullet in the gun because mine is a five shooter—I had to give up something to get a tiny revolver. She had one shot if she needed it. As I said at the beginning of class, your next drills will be with air guns. You will shoot, then step off-line and scan for other problems. Don”t forget to look at the first problem. Get to cover as soon as you can. You should have two shots for immediate use. Once you get to cover and have scanned again, you can reload.”

The class continued indoors with plastic pellet guns. I took Maria”s hand and massaged it. Palm, fingers, web and thumb: I also made sure to wring out her forearm. When the guys commented, I pointed out that they had fired only 30 rounds of light target loads and their new duty ammunition. She had fired 50 rounds of the hard-kicking stuff—they had only gotten a maximum of five shots. That stopped the laughter.

“Maria, I would like to have you continue to work at the mall,” Mr. Smith said at the end of class. “You shoot better than the rest of my apes combined. I”ll even buy you that fancy silver pistol.”

“I”ll think about it,” Maria said, “after I talk with Mr. Foster. Is Caroline a slave?”

I had Caroline answer that question. She was an investigator for the Child Welfare and Protection Agency and she was on probation amounting to temporary enslavement for attacking me, but still was a sworn law enforcer.. I trained her to shoot better in return. We ran through the drills—Caroline was the “no shoot” target simulating the mall”s slave staff. She got hit several times.

Hiram Smith talked to me for a few minutes after his security force left. I would train the other half next week, provided that nothing happened. I was supposed to do that two weeks ago. Life happened. I was forgiven—this time.

“I hear that you are training DiscountMart”s slave work force. Your slaves seem happy and productive. What do I need to do to make mine that way?”

“You can start with making your mall a no-snuff zone,” I replied. “Since you began torturing and killing women, you”ve had an increase in vandalism, shop lifting, robbery, rape and assault at your mall. More cars are being stolen and broken into. You”ve had to hire more security. There was that crazed lone gunman that wandered through your mall—the one I shot. Your sales staff is demoralized. For what? Your sales keep dropping! No, I have some alternatives, but snuffing girls in your food court was a bad idea.”

To his credit, Smith didn”t bluster, object or become defensive.

“The dead girls cost something to replace. I think you can get the older slaves for $650 if you shop around, but you probably pay a good $2500 for a presentable young slave that you still have to train. Instead of snuffing them you can sell them off. You can have disciplinary executions—but hold them off-site. Better yet, in a few weeks DEV will have a trained workforce for lease. Make the mall family-friendly because that is where your 80% is; most of your money is in repeat business. Now you will have problems because a mall is mainly there to sell clothes to women. Let”s say that within 5 years about 20% of the women in Eastlake are enslaved. That is 18% of your total potential market. Actually, it is worse than that. Most of those slaves are going to be between 16 and 25. Most of your customers are women between 16 and 25. Check your sales figures and the market you catered to. When you supported WSA 2000, you sank Eastlake South Mall as you know it. You”ve had half your stores shut. They cannot stay in business. I suspect that the prime slave target group was a bit more than half of your sales. Now they are gone. Your slave workforce is actually less productive than your free work force, but they do have lower costs—provided that you are not buying new girls each month. Your work force is 250 girls? Killing one per week is a bit more than 50 girls annually. Each girl costs you what to replace and train? I”m guessing about $3000 unless you get the culls and rejects. Those rejects are unmotivated, not pretty and very lazy. What incentive do you give them? An end to boredom and pain? It will be intensely painful at first, but many women seek release from better circumstances by volunteering to become torture and snuff slaves. Replacing 50 girls per year is $300,000 in profits that you won”t realize. If you sold them off for half of what you paid for them, you”d bleed $150,000 less each year.”

“How do I keep them in line?”

“Leadership, sir. It will take active management. I have some slaves that would excel at managing your mall for you. They won”t lease cheaply, but they will bring your sales back up. For example, what people really want to see is passion—the death drama is attractive and repulsive both. Try having non-lethal nude wrestling contests between your slaves—with real rewards for the participants and big rewards for the winners. I was surprised that you apparently don”t need a brothel license to offer free and public sex to your customers. You had your snuff slaves on display and available to customers who had a winning lottery ticket or who had purchased a set amount of merchandise. That may end, soon.”

“But the other malls do it!”

“What? They offer free enslavement with hair-dos? “Ma”am, may we spit you after you eat your burger and fries?” Why not advertise yourself as the Death Mall, that your customers all lose their rights when they enter your property, with snipers that shoot little kids on sight? You could make a killing by generating PPC”s on every woman that strolled in—you enslave her and take all of her property. It is a dirty little secret among the successful slavers that the person enslaving a woman gets all of her property and money. When the slave market settles down, when the competition for fresh meat gets so fierce that a girl sells for the cost of a new luxury car and comes with no additional loot, that sort of advertising will be too expensive.”

“If I do it your way, will I get free advertising?”

“Not quite. I am obligated to account for GVVN”s expenses. On the other hand, it will be EFFECTIVE advertising. You want the golden customers—those people who come in, cause no trouble, pay their bills promptly and leave, returning with new customers just like them. Repeat customers. If you enslave and snuff your customers, you will run out of them eventually.”

“Sex sells!”

“So does fat and sugar in foods. Speaking of which, you”ve room for a health club now with all of the store closures. I could even put in a Defensive Enslavement Volunteers office and you”d have room for something with a notary public—something like a courier service or a private mailing firm. You won”t be competing with DiscountMart on price, you will provide services. It will confuse customers at first, but you will get new customers and keep your best ones.”

“Let me think about it. I”ll talk to my people about it.”

“It is your business. I was recently reminded that I am the master and I have to decide. I can solicit information from my slaves, but the decisions are mine. Even when I grant decision making to the slave, the decision to have her make the decision is mine. You are the CEO of Eastlake South Mall. You know your business better than I do. Eventually, snuffing slaves to draw business will bankrupt malls. Do you intend to retire in five years? Never work again? Live off a fixed income in a trailer park until you have to move into an old folk”s institution?”

“I”ll get back with you on it.”

Next, it was my Army slaves time to shoot. There were only nine rifles—seven were obsolete M16A1″s and two were the even older M16 rifles (no forward assist assembly). I had only ten training rounds per trained soldier and only four working magazines. The M9 pistol I received was okay—but had just one magazine and a single box of “duty” ammunition. I had 120 rounds of duty ammunition for the rifles. Fortunately it was the correct M193 loading. The Army is funny about saving duty ammunition and expending training ammunition. If I wanted to train more, I”d have to get non-Army rifles to fire non-Army ammo. Them”s the rules! The lack of ammunition was a problem. I picked the three best rifles. One of the Army slaves was a trained armorer—she made sure the rifles I picked were good and that the magazines weren”t too dented and rusty. I could sure have used a good supply sergeant right then!

Yes, except for shooting glasses and ear plugs, the Army slaves shot their ten shots in the nude. I used reduced-sized silhouette targets at 25 meters. It was the best I could do. The sights were close enough. The only concession to comfort was to put cardboard on the ground for the slaves to lie on while they shot from the prone position.

Next was pistol practice. Frank Prater had gotten his hands on a dozen ex-police Model 39 pistols. They each had only two 8-shot magazines and a silly European-style flapped holster with a pouch for the extra magazine. Frank had plenty of surplus European military 9mm ammo to fire. I ran all the Army slaves through pistol basics. Even Edna and Ethyl tried a few shots. I concluded with a few rounds of buckshot per slave. Then we cleaned up the range and class room and went home.

The girls went home. I went to the DEV office with Caroline.

The media circus outside the DEV office was no tip-off. Defensive Enslavement Volunteers was getting a lot of media attention. Today it was for one woman. Her name was Olive Pitt. Yes, that Olive Pitt. Born Mary Jane Donnerson, she took Hollywood by storm almost 25 years ago as a child actor. Now she was driven to the Defensive Enslavement Volunteers office by her agent in her last role as a “free” woman. Olive Pitt had taken her final ride nude, and her agent had been stopped by an Eastlake patrol officer. Olive just said, “DEV office, please,” and she not only had an escort, but the patrol officer called ahead. I arrived while the agent, Kenneth Nelson, was fielding questions.

“Mr. Foster! Mr. Foster! Mr. Foster!”

“People, you tell me what”s going on? I just got the call that my attorney needed to see me.”

“Is it true that Olive Pitt wants to be your wife?”

“You”d have to ask her. Last I heard, she was in Hollywood.”

“You”re shitting me!” It was one of the raunch reality broadcasters. “You want us to believe that you don”t know what the fuck is going on?”

“Believe what you want. I am going in to find out what is going on.”

The agent, Kenneth Nelson, followed me in. I recognized Olive Pitt when I saw her. She was naked, blonde and 36. Olive was also very beautiful—though a bit more-busty than I liked. I wondered what she was doing here.

“Peter,” Mr. Paulson looked flustered, “I assume that you know Olive. Olive, this is your new owner, Peter. You must address him as Master Peter unless he tells you otherwise.”

“What did you do, Olive?”

It was a quick tale. Olive had enslaved herself to her agent on January 1st and kept it quiet. Kenneth Nelson looked at her with puppy dog eyes—I”ve seen those often enough in my shaving mirror. Finally, one of Olive”s producers attempted to convert her on a shaky breach of contract charge. Since she was already “taken,” he “outed” her slave status to the press. Olive had requested that Kenneth take her to Eastlake where she hoped to become a Castleman Trust slave—or failing that, transfer into the Defensive Enslavement Volunteers. At the moment she was Kenneth”s property—a general slave. Her only protection was that if Kenneth died, I would inherent everything because of Kenneth”s will.

“Why me? Why come all the way out here?”

“Life is pointless. I haven”t had a good script in a decade. Kenneth is - I”d better let my former master explain. I”ve talked with people who have met you and I trust my life to their judgment. I love Kenneth, but I”d like to have a baby. I”d also like to arraign a humane but exciting snuff job when I am too old and decrepit to have any more fun. With Kenneth I”m a Slave in Name Only. I know it will be different with you. I also know that you are a compassionate man. I still need Kenneth, but I”m giving up life for whatever you command, Master.” Olive knelt on the floor, them bowed until her forehead touched. She remained there. Kenneth simply shrugged when I glanced his way.

“What is her status, Mr. Paulson?”

“She tested fertile and should ovulate next week,” was my attorney”s reply, “so she”s a Castleman Trust slave. No hurry. You have ten years.”

“How did you test her, sir?”

“Hormonal markers in the urine.”

“I”d feel better with a full physical,” I said. “That test only measures whether or not the hormonal balance is conducive to pregnancy. It doesn”t measure ovulation or if the fallopian tubes are blocked. It doesn”t even measure XY chromosomes. I”ve read the literature. A biological male can temporarily alter his body chemistry and test pregnant or as a fertile female.”

I faced Olive. “You aren”t on the Pill? You don”t have birth control implants?” Olive shook her head. “What did you use for birth control?”

“Since the first of the year? Condoms, the Morning After pill. Master Kenneth and I discussed getting me pregnant instead of enslaving me. We decided that finding the right slave owner was a better option.” Her voice was muffled from being close to the floor.

“That”s because we are broke, sir,” Kenneth said. “Our net worth is negative. As soon as I conclude my business here, I”m returning to California and liquidating her estate. She has nothing. Lack of work is the reason, now that actresses and porn stars are being converted. It isn”t even a half year into the White Slave Act and already every wanna-be starlet has to be converted before anybody will even consider hiring her. That includes extras. Industry predictions are that half the actresses will be enslaved before the end of the year. Normally the top stars are going to escape enslavement—but were you aware that pending Federal legislation will exempt slaves from the definition of porn? That anything can be shown on screen as long as the actress is a slave? Anybody can see where that will lead—the star will be snuffed on-screen for her final performance; unless she is to be the main course at someone”s party afterwards. The stars have never been considered human, really. They”ve been venerated as gods and goddesses, and they used to be consumed only vicariously. Now they are really eaten—at least the women. I”ll be okay, but I could use a job. Olive was my only client. The others accepted enslavement contracts. Of the six, three are dead today. I”m not counting on the other three to live out the year.”

“What a waste,” I said. “I guess that is to cut costs. You don”t have to pay residuals to a slave. A dead slave gets even less. It takes a lifetime to deliver a performance and a good actress gets better with experience.”

“That”s not how Hollywood sees it,” Kenneth buried his face in his hands. “They want fresh meat. That wasn”t supposed to be a pun.”

“Well, since Olive is a Castleman Trust slave now, I have ten years to get her pregnant or she dies. Then I need to transfer her to another enslavement or free her or she dies again.”

“Master, my body temperature will eventually match room temperature. I”d rather die at your hands while life is fun than linger on in a decaying body. Ten years sounds good right now.”

“What do you want to do with the rest of your life? I could use another mommy, but I want more out of you. What do you do? Oh, stand up and face me like a human being! In fact, are the two of you hungry? We have to tell the media what is going on, but I”m hungry. Caroline ate a light breakfast.”

We ate a simple but decent lunch. Thick slabs of warm bread and a tasty soup and with raw vegetables on the side, washed down with tangy lemonade or skim milk made for a healthy but satisfying meal. The office had a small kitchen staff because there were nearly 30 people there around the clock. I staffed the front office with naked slaves. DEV is very up-front: we will make a slave out of you. The first thing is that the slave loses all of her privacy. Modesty has to go. I was still working on a slave indoctrination program—which I wanted to last a month. I had never in my wildest dreams thought that I”d have more than three slaves. Keeping slaves is labor intensive. Owning slaves is more labor intensive. The difference between keeping a slave and owning a slave is that merely keeping a slave may be a voluntary thing on the slave”s part. There is a pact between master and slave. That pact changes when the master is the slave”s owner, especially under WSA 2000.

I held a short news conference. When the questioning focused on lurid and non-existent details, I said that since they”d make up most of the stories themselves anyway, my presence wasn”t required. Ginger stuck her tongue out at the other media reporters as her GVVN crew left.

Next, it was to the impromptu hospital and the seven poisoning victims. They were kidnapped and illegally enslaved. Because they were “evidence” in a capital crimes case, even though their original enslavement was illegal, they would have remained in “protective custody” due to some unique circumstances. First, all were suffering from the effects of a Russian brainwashing drug. This drug basically erased a few days of memories. Handy for those unexplainable UFO sightings or getting shed of political enemies. Second, they had nobody to care about them—other than the board of directors of Susan B. Anthony School for Gifted Girls. It was the seven men on that board who had arranged a trap for the 13 women they thought were the key to controlling the school. They gave the women wine spiked with the GRU (Soviet military intelligence directorate) “truth serum” and murdered five of them. All of the women were enslaved according to WSA 2000, except that they were not entered into the data base—not yet. What was the hurry? The process had begun at noon when all 13 women were free. Three of the women were already Defensive Enslavement Volunteers asset slaves (converted between 4 and 5 that afternoon, with no hits on the slaver data base) and they refused to drink because they didn”t know if they had permission to get drunk. When the other women began to act strangely, my three teacher slaves tried to excuse themselves. Only Veronica lived to tell the tale. Veronica was finishing up the story to Olive when I took them both to the small recovery ward extemporized out of one bedroom.

“I was on a Jessica 2000 and the spit was in my pussy. I was scared. I knew that it was going to hurt. Then I saw a little girl. She called herself April and she said that Peter was saving me. I swear that I saw my two dead friends standing behind her! Except they were little girls! Anyway, something buzzed and I thought, “this is it.” Mickey Hill swore and pulled out a cell phone and called someone. Said he needed a repair crew immediately, that he had a sow on the stick and customers were hungry. Then he was rubbing my tits and belly and ass when suddenly SWAT barged in. They were all given a trial date this morning. Master Peter is supposed to keep all of us naked and enslaved until they finish the case. After that—well, I”m a slave. I plan to refuse freedom, but until offered, it isn”t my choice to make.”

“That would make a great movie!” Olive Pitt gushed.

“We have another role to play,” I said. “Hi, Summer. You need some rest!”

“Lana and I plan to get some sleep in the hospital. We are following your directions. It seems to be working.”

“I”ve been where they are. They”re hiding in a safe place in the dark recesses of their minds. Part of it is the drug. Part of it is the abuse they”ve witnessed and been through.” I embraced Summer and rubbed her back and buttocks. “This is one way to reach them. They are infants in their minds right now, which is why you have to diaper them. Hold them. Cuddle them. Stroke them as if they were babies. Right now, they are escaping an unlivable reality by being babies again. I”m glad that we have enough lactating women to nurse them back to health.”

“It works, Master Peter,” Lana was exhausted. “That skin-to-skin contact, I didn”t believe it at first. My babushka (granny) taught me the same thing when Pavel was injured and in a coma for a week. The doctor said that he would never recover. Little Pavel was fine when I left Russia five years ago. These women shouldn”t be recovering soon. They are beginning to come out of catatonia now. I”m afraid that Ms. Connor had a lethal dose. They aren”t supposed to mix that stuff with alcohol and give the target more than one dose. She has all they symptoms of an overdose. Ms. Connor is responding.”

“When I really need a break I hide out in the kennel with the dogs. Only three people follow—Penny, Jane and now Susan.” I touched Lana”s shoulder. “If you need solitude, I can introduce you. Wulf and Bear are gruff males, but they defer to Bitsy—she”s the pack alpha when I”m not around. Let me introduce you. Just go to the kennel nude after you”ve met them and they”ll let you sleep there. Bitsy will even force the others to share their food with you—but she expects you to bring more food into the pack. Oh, no! Here I go again on the pact between man and dog!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I”ll tell you when we are comforting the sick, Olive. Lana needs to lie down. Notice that we have only double beds in here? They”ve been poisoned, they don”t have anything contagious. Warm bodies beside them, skin-to-skin contact will bring them back. They need spiritual healing. This is as close as I can get to that.”

The seven sick survivors had already been fed lunch. They had been cleaned up and re-diapered. Four of them were almost lucid again. Two were responding to external stimuli. Carla remained inert. I removed my clothing, locked my handgun in a gun box, and lay beside her. The diaper was a necessity because she no longer had bowel and bladder control. In a few days she would be okay, I told her. The bad men were in jail. I needed her help to keep them there. I would take care of her and love her and keep her safe.

Though it sounds corny, this was the message that the sick women needed to hear. When they got better, they”d need a more mature message in keeping with their current mental age. Right now, they were infants or less mentally. Drugs and stress are a wicked combination. I”d have to ask Summer about using some of the drugs in age regression therapy sometime.

After about 90 minutes, I got up and someone else took over Carla”s care. The care giver didn”t need to be awake—which was a good thing. The care giver had to be there in touch proximity. It really is child abuse to isolate an infant for hours at a time in a darkened room. Modern child rearing practice makes children fragile because they quickly learn that they are alone in a cold and uncaring world—and powerless. I think the high infant mortality rate in modern hospitals and especially in orphanages is due to the isolated infant giving up and dying. Simply putting two babies in the same crib would cut the mortality rate—look how they manage in poor countries! Whatever! The damage may be for life. That infantile insecurity may be one reason why so many modern women exhibit suicidal and childish behavior in a world ruled by WSA 2000. They want Daddy to take over and make everything right for them again.

I took Olive to the gym in the basement. We watched as the karate class roughhoused and wrestled for the final few minutes. Bonnie saw me and called the class to order. Kiki was flustered.

“Blowing off steam at the end of class is good, Sensei Kiki,” I said. “We humans need to play. It is how we learn. Training is structured play. It is also artificial experience. Have they had their post-work-out rub-downs yet?”

“That is next, Master Peter-san.” Kiki clapped her hands. “Karateka, partners will swap off. Make sure to pay attention to thighs and abdomen. We exercised those hard today. You don”t want your partner sore. First, soap up and rinse off. Second, 15 minutes in hot tub. If you feel faint or ill, get out of tub. Then work the muscles we used and go eat what I told you to eat.”

After they trooped out, I embraced both sensei.

“Sounds like they are in the advanced conditioning phase already. Good work.”

“Thank you, Master,” both women said in unison.

“This is Olive Pitt. She is a new Castleman Trust slave.” I saw something akin to hunger in my instructor-slaves” expressions. “Mr. Paulson did the conversion. I am trying to establish a new policy—before a woman can enter the Castleman Trust, she must be a slave already and she must be pregnant by me. The Castleman Trust requires that the woman be forced into the trust, that the choice to enter the trust be someone else”s. All members of the Castleman trust fit this requirement even though they are all willing to be my brood mares. There is a window of ten years, ample time, but if you and I are not fertile with each other, I have to kill you after ten and I cannot free you or transfer you. I want to make it a rule that the woman also be at least 18, but no older than 39 so that they can complete the 10 year minimum obligation. I don”t want to have to kill someone I care for. See Jane or Heather and they”ll schedule you in for regular nights with me. If you want to be Castleman slaves, I want you pregnant first. Then we”ll transfer or manumit you before your 50th birthday. I want you around to see your grandchildren.”

“Master Peter-san,” Bonnie asked, “will you enslave our daughters?”

“I plan to. I hope I can wait until they are 18, but I will probably do so as early as legally possible. That”s the only way I know that will keep them out of a bad enslavement.” I considered it a bad enslavement when the woman was tortured to death. It was also a bad enslavement when boredom, neglect and abuse made being tortured to death attractive. I would be unable to endure losing hope. “That is at least two decades in the future. Who knows? We might not have WSA 2000.”

We might have worse.

“Master, I have to pee.” Olive blushed when she spoke.

“Kiki, Bonnie, I want you two to take Olive into the bathroom, show her how to urinate properly, help her to do so.”

“I can pee by myself. I”m a big girl now.”

“Not any more, Olive. You are being fast tracked. This week and next everything will be done for you. When you are ready, you will then graduate to doing everything in front of an audience. You do want to get back into movies? I could use you as a GVVN reporter, but I”ll want you to be more than just a head on the screen.” I led Olive to the basement bathroom. There was only one big one, without all of the partitions in regular bathrooms. We didn”t need them. “You”ll be ready when you will do whatever I tell you immediately and without embarrassment—and when you know when to disobey me. Don”t worry too much about the last because it takes a long time to do that. The bit about knowing when to disobey—it is really unfair to demand total obedience and then expect you to read my mind. There are commands and orders. Commands are to be obeyed instantly and to the letter. Orders are obeyed at a remove and need interpretation in light of the changed circumstances. You obey orders at a different time or place than they were issued in and you obey them without me present. Sorry, I get wordy. I need a demonstrator. No, you aren”t using a commode, Olive. Stand at the urinal. Hands behind your back. I”ll hold your labia apart for you.”

“This is embarrassing!” I had positioned Olive at the middle urinal. It usually takes a woman three times longer to urinate than it does a man because she has to disrobe partially—for starters. Men, well we just whip it out and do it, then scoot. “I don”t know if I can.”

“Tell you what—you hold my penis for me next. No shame!” Kiki stood at the urinal to our immediate left and Bonnie took the urinal to our right. They had trouble, too, the firs time. I was glad for the urinals because in the future I might take my slaves to places lacking civilized toilet facilities. The karate instructors got close to the porcelain, thighs slightly spread, pelvis thrust forward and tilted up, and fingers positioned. They still blushed some when their urine streams started. When finished, they were replaced by six senior Castleman Trust slaves—not all at once, of course. Last was a blushing and naked Maria. Somewhere in there Olive overcame her nervous bladder and voided. I switched places with her, placed Olive”s hand on my penis, had her aim it in the bowl. I had been doing this for so long that I wasn”t bothered. Ginger had even made a training video of my toilet protocol for slaves, with me starring as the male. Might as well exploit my resources.

“Maria, have you been converted?”

“No, sir,” she said as she blushed. Juanita was holding Maria just as I had held Olive. I noted with appreciation that Maria had shaved her pubic hair off. Maria”s breasts sagged, but were not pendulous. She had a roll of fat around her waist and thick thighs. Though she wasn”t pretty, Maria was taking steps now to correct her blemishes. Apparently, she was taking those steps while still a free woman. “Mr. Foster, I told Mr. Smith that he had fired me. He said that he was just joking and wanted to make up with me. I confess that I”ve,” Maria blushed, “I”ve blown him a few times and I”ve even gone the whole way with him. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Sir, could you come with me to work tonight? Mr. Smith will be waiting for me there. I”d like to test-drive being one of your slaves for a while before signing any papers.”

“You are taking risky steps, Maria.” The security guard relaxed enough for a trickle to splash in the urinal. I was over at the bidet cleaning Olive. She was more red than olive colored at the moment. “Why are you trusting me to not just enslave you?”

“You are a good guy,” Maria said. “I”m afraid to sign a deferred enslavement right now, but I”ve given Mr. Paulson a notarized statement that I”ve had sex with you. It”s a lie, but you have the right now to enslave me. He”s put me in a suspended status.”

“I”ll have to talk with him about that,” I said. No wonder I had urine tests every morning! “I”d like to know what is going on in his mind. I worry.”

“That”s why I don”t.” Maria gasped and a strong urine stream squirted out. She sighed in relief—and Juanita swapped places with her so that Maria”s fingers were in Juanita”s sex. It may sound like just water sports to the average reader, but this compulsory intimacy had a purpose. As I said to Olive, no shame. “After this morning, if you enslave me, you did so for a very good reason. I want time to make up my own mind, but I”m protected.”

Not really, I thought as I washed Olive”s hands in the sink, then washed my own hands. There really isn”t any safety. There never was.

“Olive, every day you will be working out. At first, I”ll shoehorn you into other people”s classes. Maria, are you going to stay here or at home?”

“Pardon, Master, but I”ve scheduled her classes for the rest of this month,” Kiki informed me. “At the end of the month, I need you to tell me if Maria will be joining us as a slave or as a free woman. She has signed a release form as you required for karate instruction. She won”t be in class every day, and she won”t do everything because she is a beginner, but I have her on my schedule for when she said she was available.”

“If there”s a breach of contract, what remedy do I have short of conversion?” I asked. “These are free karate lessons, aren”t they?”

Maria blushed again as Juanita washed Maria”s crouch at the bidet. I couldn”t tell what was embarrassing her. It could have been my question.

“I will do whatever you tell me to do, Mr. Foster.” Maria was blushing from her scalp line to her navel. “I want to remain a free woman right now, but I will do what you tell me to.”

“Kiki, I applaud your initiative. You”ve done exactly what I”d have told you to do. Good job! You did nothing that couldn”t be easily reversed. That is what I mean when I say that my best slaves have to know when to disobey me. Yes, you risk death doing so—but sometimes you will have to. The worst thing possible is to do exactly what I”ve ordered you to do. Commands are one thing. Orders—well, you will have to use your judgment because I won”t be there. I can”t expect every slave to know the difference, but I think all of the women in this room are able to tell the difference between a command and an order. Maria, thank you for your trust.”

“Master, I meant what I said about walking my post naked if you”d train me and buy me that silver pistol.” Everyone has a price. “I know that you wouldn”t make me do that unless you enslaved me for my own protection. I won”t let Hiram Smith enslave me—I barely trust him as a free woman.”

“I”m confused, Maria. Why did you have sex with him if you don”t trust him?”

“I need my job. I have a young son to feed.”

“Then you can”t be enslaved.”

“I don”t know about that. I have to leave Manuel alone sometimes, and he is only eleven.”

We did basic katas because this was a beginning class. When in class, I had the option of quitting—but while I was part of the class, I was under the authority of Kiki and Bonnie. It is a discipline thing. My karate instructors didn”t abuse their authority—but I did earn myself a set of knuckle pushups for letting my mind wander.

Olive was quiet the entire class—except when she was required to yell. Gotta “KIA!” when doing karate! At the end of class, I had her embrace and kiss every member of the class—after properly bowing to the instructors.

There was a change in protocol. The instructors opened the class by first exchanging bows with me before I joined the class. At the end of class, at its conclusion, I was again brought forward and we exchanged bows. This was formal acknowledgement that the two sensei were in charge (unless I had to leave) and to transfer authority back to me at the end of class. I explained this to Olive as we showered.

“You just got me wet, soaped me down, then rinsed me off,” Olive asked. I explained shipboard showers versus Hollywood showers—Father had been a Marine. “There”s so much to learn!”

“You will do fine. I”ve seen your movies.”

After soaking in the hot-hot tub, we retired to the gym floor again and gave each other massages. Then it was time for dinner. Maria had to leave. She dressed in front of us and began to blush again. She was the only clothed person present. I guess that was adjustment.

At the end of dinner, I told Olive that she would spend one day in isolation sometime during the next two weeks. She would be blindfolded, bound and gagged, then locked in a room alone. She would remain there 24 hours. I really wanted a sensory deprivation chamber—but 24 hours is too long for most people. I had to undergo a session. I thought it was two days—turned into three somehow. We humans require external references. Until then, she was to be with one or two other people at all times—even when sleeping. She would be bound up for the first week during the sleep period.

“Why?”

“Fair question. As an actress, when you become someone else, you have to set aside the “real you.” I think many actresses have trouble doing that. You are a slave now, a Castleman Trust slave. For the next ten years minimum the “real you” is a slave. Some have taken slave names to help them transition. Shawna was known as Mrs. Stephanie Murphy in the vanilla world. Shawna, tell Olive how long you”ve been Shawna.”

“Yes, Master Peter. I was my husband”s slave long before WSA 2000. I totally submitted to Master Justin on July 4th, 1976. I consider it my second and real wedding anniversary. When I did, I kept my vanilla world identity separate from my real identity as Shawna.”

“Vanilla world?”

“Most people live lies, Olive. You have a stage name, right?” Shawna waited until Olive nodded in agreement. “You wouldn”t do things as Mary Jane Donnerson that you did as Olive Pitt, or that you did as any of your characters in the movie. Would Mary Jane have surrendered herself to Master Peter? As Stephanie, I couldn”t have left my husband Justin and become Master Peter”s slave. Did you know that in 30 months Master Peter is going to snuff me?” Olive blanched and shook her head. “You said something about wanting to die. I”m content as Shawna. When it is time to die, Master Peter will snuff me in a meaningful way. He doesn”t want to, but the Trust contract requires it, and I want it as Shawna. I am no longer married to Master Justin and he has only the same authority of any man over any slave—I belong mind, body and soul to Master Peter now. Something is bothering you. What is it?”

“I am going to be naked all the time,” Olive said. “I”m afraid that my breast will sag unless I wear a bra.”

“Look at me, Olive. Feel my tits. I have never worn a bra. A few times I”ve needed to wear a top for a bathing suit—a silly notion, wearing clothes to bathe in! Usually, I didn”t wear panties, either. Master Justin kept me nude whenever possible. Now it is legal for me to be naked in public. I wear clothing when Master Peter orders it. I have been ordered to wear clothing to protect me from bad weather, when I must comply with someone else”s dress code and when my activities require protective clothing. I was given the option of wearing or not wearing clothing most of the time. Master Peter mandates clothing for some activities—such as working in the kitchen—and forbids clothing for others—such as karate class. The rest of the time, it is up to me unless he tells me otherwise. I was a nudist before I married Justin, so I am more comfortable without clothing. My big breasts don”t sag because I take care of them. Master Peter, let me take Olive to Doctor Granger this evening. He will tell her how to keep her breasts firm.”

“Do that Shawna. I have to assign somebody to Olive until she is trained in our ways. I want you to find two others, and I will put you in charge of keeping someone with Olive all the time for the next two weeks. When she sees the doctor, tell him that I want a full pelvic exam, that I want him to check her fallopian tubes for blockage and use that endoscope to examine her uterus.” Shawna acknowledged me and left with Olive.

That is how Olive Pitt, nee Mary Jane Donnerson came to be my slave.

Thanksgiving Day 2009 CE

Peter J. Foster

Sometimes it pays to take your slaves” advice. It started on Thursday, November 26, 2009 at 7 AM. My inner core consisted of Heather (age 27), Jane (age 26), her sister Susan (age 23) and my sister Penny (also age 23). Except for Heather, my slave wives had been “converted to persons of limited rights by relative” the day that WSA 2000 went into effect: January 1st, 2001. Heather had volunteered for conversion fearing that she was going to be roasted alive for failure to get straight A+”s and for coming in second at a dance competition. Heather was gifted. A lot had happened since that time. My slave-wives were all mothers, now.

And they insisted that I watch President Randolph S. Gibson roast his daughter for the traditional White House Thanksgiving Day girl roast. I had watched President Berry start that barbaric tradition on Thanksgiving Day in 2001 and I swore off television for a while. I was that upset. It was a short while, just long enough for the fuss and feathers to pass. President Berry had only one daughter—unlike his predecessor, President Shore. He wasn”t going to do that again. I stayed away from television on Thanksgiving after that because President Berry would “adopt” a young lover at the beginning of November and spit her for Thanksgiving. No, thanks!

“There are going to be several surprises, Brother-Master,” Penny promises. “I know that you will like them.”

“We cannot offer you anything if we”re wrong, Brother-Master,” Susan pointed out. “More that ever before in American history, what is mine is thine, my husband, owner and master. We do ask that you accept two more women as Castleman Trust slaves and as your wives should you like the surprise. That will be your forfeit.”

“Heather, I suppose that if I say no, you”ll just ask me again in the future.”

“Peter dear, the only thing I hate about you is that you are either reading our minds, seeing the future or you just figured it out using your keen analytical mind,” Heather huffed as she drew her favorite leather paddle from her travel bag. She knelt before me and offered me the paddle. “I don”t have anything that I would refuse you, my master. I offer myself without reservation.”

“Don”t torment our poor brother and owner,” First Wife Jane commanded. I don”t know how I got away with playing favorites, but I was grateful for the situation. “Peter, what is the surprise?”

“I don”t know,” I said. “I know it isn”t repeal of the Alternate Meat Source Inspection Act. I”m letting my wants and needs get in the way again. I can”t say.”

“Well, good!” Heather offered the paddle again. “I”d like to be spanked severely before I”m pregnant again. I know that Saturday is our reminder day, but I”m feeling unearned guilt at keeping something from you.”

“Any one of you would tell me if I commanded you,” I said. “Note for the record that I have not. As for spanking you, it is just about time for the presentation. How long will the President speak before killing his daughter?”

“Oh,” Heather was attempting to mislead me. “I think he will talk for a long time, first.”

“We take you now to Washington, DC,” Ginger was the head of news broadcasts now. She wore a simple orange shift to meet FCC “decency” requirements—which was funny because in a few seconds there were going to be many naked or semi-nude women on “free television” at the White House. “Our correspondent Olive Pitt has the honor of interviewing the President of the United States. Olive, it”s your show!”

“Hello, Master Peter! Hello, my sister Ginger! Hello, America! Welcome to the GVVN Thanksgiving Day Video News Report. I am Olive Pitt and a humble slave,” Right, and Napoleon was just a corporal, too. “This morning GVVN is covering the traditional White House Girl Roast. Master Peter, please bear with me a while longer, darling. America, stay tuned. Today, the girl roast is Cheri Su Gibson, the First Daughter and slave of our president and First Slave Yvonne. President Berry began this tradition in 2001 by roasting his only child Nina. Today, President Randolph Scott Gibson will add to that tradition. Here comes Nina and the First Slave now. Tell America what you are feeling today.”

“I”m excited that I will be a part of this roast today,” the first slave said.

“Do I hear you correctly? You are going to be on the menu today?”

“My daughter and I share a common fate today. We”ll wind up in the same place. I couldn”t be happier.”

“Me neither,” Nina said. “As you can see, they”ve prepared us for being spitted and roasted. Last night they purged me so that my bowels are completely clean. I sort of wish they”d stuff me already because I”m really hungry. My stomach has never been this empty.”

“Mine, as well,” Yvonne said. I was horrified, but I didn”t take my eyes off the three naked women on the screen. “We had our hair and nails done just for this. I was in a make-up chair just a few minutes before.”

“I heard that you will never have to shave your pits and legs again.” Olive grinned.

“We had everything below the ears removed with the new laser system,” Nina smiled.

“There”s a life-time guarantee that we will never need another treatment,” Yvonne giggled. “The beautician bet her life on it.”

I was liking this less and less. The three naked ladies were attractive—no, they aroused my inner animal. Unfortunately, they also brought out my protective streak. There are three kinds of people, according to law enforcers: sheep, wolves and we protectors of the flock, sheep dogs. I was unable to prevent two sheep from leaping into the slavering jaws of a hostile wolf-pack.

“Mind if I join you?” Make that three. I was stunned by Olive”s words. I knew that she had a strong death wish when she became a Castleman trust slave over eight years ago. She had explained it—men sought a heroic death and women sought a romantic death. These deaths had meaning, unlike the real thing. I felt the blood drain from my face when I heard her next words. “Master Peter, I know that I am being disobedient and I look forward to you ripping into my ass. Look, Boss, my cell phone is off!”

I could see that it was. I could only watch as one of my wives threw her life away.

“Oh, you just want to be fondled and groped,” Nina sneered. “Where is your lover, Kenneth?”

“Oh, he has some of the same problems my owner has. Peter J. Foster would like nothing more than for everyone to live forever. Right now this is causing him pain—but I swear that I”m going to make it up to him.”

“Oh?” Yvonne asked. “How?”

“Old Russian secret,” The four naked women in the room with me giggled when Olive winked into the camera. “Master Peter, my final request is that you stay with us until the bitter end. America, pray for my owner. He will need all of his strength to get through the next hour. I love him without measure. I love Master Peter even more than I love my two children.”

“Are you expecting a third?”

“Yes I am. This one is a son. I”m about seven weeks along. My main regret is that my unborn son will never know the womanly joy of absolute surrender to a worthy man. My other two children are too young to watch this right now. They”ll have to see it on DVD when they”re old enough.”

That was going to be a long time. I watched as the three ladies walked to the traditional gauntlet. They were bound hand and foot so that they were helpless to resist being groped and unable to do more than hobble or topple to the floor. Unlike the first Thanksgiving Day Girl Roast, these three were bubbly with happiness. I hoped that whatever drugs they were on would spare them the agony that was sure to follow. Nina led off, followed by her mother. Olive brought up the rear, keeping a running commentary as the three women stepped on the red carpet. President Gibson and Vice President Hanley stood facing each other on either side of the carpet. The Vice President”s wife, Millie, was beside the President. Ramona stood between her father and Carla Connor, the Secretary for Health, Education, Welfare and Conversion. Yes, another of my slaves—she had been illegally converted in the first dark days of WSA 2000.

“I”m so proud of you, daughter!” President Gibson was crying without shame. He kissed his daughter and rubbed between her vulva while the Vice President rubbed Nina”s butt and fondled a breast from the rear. Nina was turned to Henry Hanley and French-kissed him. President Gibson smacked her bottom. A muffled yelp escaped from the girl even though Hanley”s lips were pressed against Nina”s. “Keep moving, Daughter. There are other people, and we have a schedule to keep.”

Olive was on the mark with her quip that I wanted people to live forever. I was watching a 19 year old girl as she went down the line. All of the women lining the red carpet were naked. The men all wore suits—except for a few uniformed men. I was feeling somewhat aroused when the 18 year old Vice President”s daughter and 19 year old Nina kissed. I watched as Millie went to her knees and licked Nina”s butt. Carla was tonguing Nina”s Cleft of Venus—Carla, the original Vestal Virgin! She had been a virgin until drugged and raped by Rod Selfless and the rest of the Susan B. Anthony School for Gifted Girls board of directors. Now they were all dead, executed for their crimes, and Carla was a wonton slut—and proud of it! I had created a monster. The next person in line was the Chief of Naval Operations, America”s top sailor.

“I don”t do women,” he growled as he slapped Nina”s rump. By that time Yvonne had entered the gauntlet and was being molested.

“I”m Lulu and I”m taking over. Olive has violated the prime rule of news casting—report the news, but don”t become the news. Master Peter, the camera crew includes Francesca and Dallas. I was handling sound. The rest of the crew, Hilda and Xavia, are stuck t=in the stuffy old news van so that we have a satellite link. As you can see, Olivia is being naughty. It”s too bad there won”t be enough of her left to punish. So we five surviving GVVN crew volunteer to take her punishment. Right girls?” Off camera, several alto and soprano voices cheered. “Look at those tits, America! Doesn”t Olive have the perfect body—even if she is preggo and 44? Or is it 45?”

“You”re just jealous because you never looked half that good!”

“Right you are, Hilda. But Olive isn”t selfish. I”m going to get a piece of that girl right after she”s finished with the Jessica 3000.”

My room was quiet except for some sniffling. I tore my eyes from the barbaric spectacle and noticed that all four women were sobbing.

“I”m so sorry Peter,” Penny bawled. She started to get to her feet. I held her against me.

“Please don”t leave me right yet.” I ordered. It was not a request even if I phrased it as one.

This caused all three to howl louder. I wasn”t fluent in feminine crying, but they sounded guilty. Of what? I would find out in a minute. At the end of the red carpet were three of the latest editions of the Jessica 3000 automatic spit roasters. Manning the three machines were Jim Hill and his two sons, Mickey and Terrence!

“Mr. Hill, do you have anything to say before you begin processing these three sows?”

“I”d like to know where Peter J. Foster is,” Terrence sounded nervous.

“Oh, he”s not around here,” Jim said confidently. “I know because we”re still alive.”

Mickey laughed. “I hear that he”s at Ellisia.”

“Good. We might have a word or two with him before he spits us on our own roasters.”

“Gentlemen,” Lulu said, “what ever are you talking about?”

“If Pete wasn”t in Texas right now with us here in Washington, I wouldn”t be doing this. Pete is very protective of all his women. Just ask the dozen or so Eastlake corpses who were stupid enough to hurt any of his slaves. If you thought his justice was swift and severe, just try hurting his kids?”

“You mean, like his unborn son?” Olive looked fine even with her hair in disarray, with some bruises on her body and with smeared make-up. “I”m glad I”m the one on the spit!”

The Hills helped Nina on the center Jessica 3000. They strapped her into position and explained the various features. They had a free nation-wide television commercial!

“Ooh! That is cold!” Nina said as the spit was pressed against the opening to her vagina and the stabilizer was inserted an inch or so into her anus.

“You”ll be plenty warm soon!” Jim said. “Try to wiggle. That spit hurts when I push the kill switch. Don”t worry, though. Most don”t last 20 seconds.”

They repeated the procedure with First Slave Yvonne. When Olive was strapped into the Jessica 3000, the machine began buzzing and a red light flashed.

“Déjà vu,” Mickey shouted over the alarm. “No problem, folks. I will just short around the alarm system and override the safety interlock.”

“What was that?” President Gibson said.

“Peter”s Defensive Enslavement Volunteers and Castleman Trust slaves are implanted. All Hill”s-brand Jessica 3000″s are equipped to recognize their RFID tags and shut down,” Terrence said as Mickey worked. The alarm shut off. “Carla, didn”t this save your life at one time?”

“It did—because three of my teaching staff had voluntarily converted just a few hours before. Two were killed in a guillotine. When Mickey recognized that he was dealing with one of Peter”s stolen slaves, he called the police. He saved eight out of thirteen women that day.” Carla wiped tears from her face. “I was illegally converted. The process to protest illegal enslavement is still too slow, and nearly all of the time even when the court rules that the conversion was wrongful, the woman remains a slave. The only win she gets is that the challenger—not the slave herself—gets first chance to buy her. If the buyer wants, the woman can be manumitted.”

“Didn”t Peter offer to manumit you?” President Gibson asked.

“Yes. But by the time the court cases had run their course, I had come to like being naked all of the time and getting fucked whether I wanted it or not. I was able to use all of my education for the first time in my life. In fact, I attended more school—under court order mandating total nudity, of course, because the capital trials were still in progress. I finished my Ph.D. Master Peter gave me a manumission date. He said that he was going to get me into politics and have me fix our broken schools. That”s why I was in a doctorate program. I found out that being a slave really wasn”t a handicap with the right sponsor—I actually have more freedom than ever before. Nearly dying changed me, too. I don”t remember much because the date rape drug I was given wiped out a week”s worth of memories, but Master Peter used an unconventional therapy to bring me out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is the same therapy that the Department of Defense uses for PTSD treatment. It even works with gay men because everyone has had a mother. For many, treatment is the first time they had a real mother, and not merely someone who carried them around in a womb for nine months. But enough about me. Are you going to get dinner ready, or are we all going to starve?”

“Okay, Carla.” I detached myself emotionally as Randolph Gibson walked to Jim Hill. “You sure that nothing can go wrong, Jim?”

“I”m betting my life on it, Mr. President.”

That was no joke.

“This is going to be one expensive meal, folks. The federal fine for snuffing a Castleman Trust slave other than as provided in that Perfect Contract Trust is one million dollars because they are working on a project in the national interest. It is also a capital crime, so I”m granting myself a Presidential pardon before I push the button. Uh, Jim, which button?”

“That is the kill switch, Mr. President.”

“And what does that button do?”

“That is the automatic release function.”

“Well, I”ve had my fun.” The President pushed a button—and two of the Jessica 3000 released their load of meat. “I hereby grant Presidential Pardons to the 2009 Thanksgiving Day Girl Roasts at the White House. As long as I am President, there will be no girls roasted here. I hereby reinstitute a tradition dating back to 1947 and President Harry S. Truman when the first White House Pardon was issued to the traditional Thanksgiving Day Turkey Dinner.”

“I pledge to continue that tradition if the American People let me be their president,” Vice President Hanley announced.

“Now wait just a cotton picking minute, Mr. Vice President! I still have to serve out my term!”

“Master,” the First Slave butted in, “are you forgetting something?”

“Oh, yes. Mr. Wilson. Would you accept my daughter, the pardoned girl roast, and display her at Ellisia? This is a tradition dating back to 1965 and John F. Kennedy.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I remember Pa and President Kennedy were good friends.”

“They both were awarded the Medal of Honor for saving the men under their command in World War Two.”

“Yes, sir. I had the honor of meeting President Kennedy several times. I was also in charge of caring for the turkeys. I want to start a tradition today as well. The CEO of the slave management firm is Peter J. Foster. Defensive Enslavement Volunteers is to conversion what Ellisia is to theme parks. Peter makes all of the girls in DEV asset slaves. It doesn”t mean that they can be lazy—far from it. After several years, many have post graduate degrees. DEV has only been in operation for 8 years, but some women have already earned manumission. Two of your cabinet have had an opportunity to be freed, but they chose to serve the American People as slaves. I name Peter J. Foster as Chief Girl Roast Keeper of Ellisia.”

“Masters? Carla? Lulu?” Olive was still firmly strapped to her Jessica 3000. “Can I get down now? I have to pee.”

The show ended at that point. My four sniffling slaves were miserable. The joke had gone too far. I was so relieved that nobody had died and I don”t bother holding grudges. I stood up and looked around the room.

“Girls. That was a cruel joke. Penny, on your back. Jane, hold her left arm. Susan, hold the right. Heather, I suspect that you had more to do with Carla being put on that spit than anybody.”

“Yes, Master,” she hiccupped softly.

“I am too upset to inflict corporal punishment. Instead, don”t do that again. Heather, you will straddle Penny”s head and the three of you will assist me while I fuck the shit out of her. Each of you will get your turn. I”ll figure out what else I will do later.”

Stan Roman spoke to both of the nude women in the room, his wife Ann and his best friend’s wife, Lucy. “OK, sluts, let’s just be clear. We have a bit of bet as to which one of our wives is the better cock sucker. So, to test it, well, your going to blow the other husband. Got that? Lucy, your going to blow me and Ann your going to blow Ryan.”

Ryan Peels nodded, slight drunk, just like his friend Stan. “Right and which ever one makes us cum first is the winner. The loser will be sold to Hill’s to be spit roasted…”

Stan agreed. “Right! We decided to sell one of your asses off last week, but couldn’t decided on which one of you, so this is the plan then…”

Lucy looked over at her husband, Ryan. “You know there are better ways to get Ann to suck your cock. I know she has done it before”

Ryan looked down at the blonde, Ann, sucking his cock. “Yeah, she has. But we need to make some cash, so we decided to sell one of y’all off. And you better get going there Lucy, unless you just want to ride a spit…”

With that, both of the wives started sucking as if their lives depended on it, which for one of them was the case.

Ann Roman smiled to her self as she deep throated her “friend’s” husband. Ann had, over the last couple of months, grown more and more annoyed by Lucy’s constant bitchiness. When Stan had suggested the contest she agreed quickly, and even suggested that the loser become a spit roast, vs just being sold as a slave.

When Ryan was told that Ann was fully behind the plan, he and Stan decided on stacking the deck in her favor. Two days before the contest was to take place, Ryan stopped fucking Lucy, but made sure he viewed a lot of porn. Ryan was just this side of suffering from blue balls. To say he was on a hair trigger was putting it mildly.

Stan , on the other hand, had been fully serviced by Ann over the same time frame, with Ann giving him 4 or 5 blow jobs a day, the most recent being just 30 minutes before Lucy and Ryan had arrived.

Lucy had no idea that the other three had conspired to stack the deck against her. She wasn’t really all that afraid of the bet, because she had blown Stan several times before and he never lasted long. She had seen Ann blow Ryan before and it seemed like it took forever for him to cum. She hadn’t thought about the fact that Ryan had just fucked her before her friend blew him, and that when she blew Stan, it was after the 4 of them had been out watching slaves be tortured for several hours.

The room soon was filled with the grunts of the two men and the noises you would expect from a pair of blow jobs being done. After 5 minutes, however, Ryan’s noises started to change. It was obvious he was near orgasm. A moment later, he pulled his cock out of Ann’s throat and sprayed a massive amount of cum over her face.

Ann looked over at her ‘friend’ “Should have blown him a few times this week, like I did Stan. Or did Ryan not tell you about the bet last week? No? Well, to bad for you, looks like you have a date with Jessica”

On hearing his wife speak to Lucy, Stan felt his balls twitch. He was barely able pull out in time to facial Lucy.

Lucy started to struggle and get up, but was pushed down by Stan. Ann reached up under the table and pulled the stun gun tapped there out, handing it to Ryan, who stunned his wife Lucy as she attempted to stand.

Ryan and Stan exchanged “High fives” . “Call them up Good Buddy” cried out Ryan.

Stan smiled and picked up the wireless phone, dialing the pickup number for Hill’s pick up department. “Hello? Pick up? Yeah, this Stan Roman. I spoke with you earlier today about a pick up?” As Stan was speaking Ryan moved behind Ann, with the stun gun still in his hand. He nodded to Stan.

‘ZAP’

Stan nodded back, giving the thumbs up as he watched his wife fall to the ground.

“Yeah, both of them are ready for pick up. Thanks!”

Images from http://eng.lumrax.com/
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THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster

Chapter Eighteen: Army Slaves

It was 2:55 PM on Thursday, May 3rd, 2001 when my audience trooped into the conference room. I was a bit nervous. Not only did I have all of the ROTC cadets in University of Oklahoma, Eastlake and every ROTC instructor present, but there were several local military commanders, legislators, and other interested parties. I was also on nation-wide teleconferencing with Department of the Army, National Guard Bureau, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Newly-minted second lieutenants who were still enrolled in ROTC never did this. To calm myself down, I imagined that I was totally naked in front of this large audience. It helped—I”m a life-long nudist. I guess that wouldn”t work for everybody, though.

I had set up and test-ran my slide show. The multi-media software was from the Eve Corporation, featuring superior graphics and video-clip interface to UberPoint. I had better audio quality, too. Cadet Commandant Orson and the UOKE Media Studies Department assisted me in setting up the auditorium for my presentation. I even had ushers because the auditorium would only hold 2000 people, and there was a near-capacity crowd.

“Nervous, Lieutenant?” Colonel Murphy asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “Colonel, you are putting a lot on the line for this presentation.”

“No, I”m not. You foresaw this last year,” Colonel Murphy was holding something back, some surprise. As long as it wasn”t exile to the Pentagon, I could tolerate surprises. “Before President Carson signed WSA 2000 into law, your draft proposal was being circulated throughout the Defense Department. You have no reason to be nervous. You did this presentation before and by all accounts it was a smash hit. This is just an encore presentation for you.”

“Yes, sir. It could be worse. I could have to present it to Congress. I am surprised that GVVN is being permitted to broadcast this on free cable, though. My presentation is not family-friendly.”

“I don”t want to make you nervous, but it is being broadcast on multiple stations. Congress is watching this—on their big-screen televisions. President Berry thought this was important enough to present to the American people. Just stick to your presentation and everything will be okay. Your actual presentation is 35 minutes, right?”

“Yes, sir. I allowed 15 minutes after the presentation for on-air questions, too. This audience will be asking their questions last.”

“I see that your GVVN crew is properly attired.” Colonel Murphy chuckled when he saw my expression. “Don”t worry, son. They”re supposed to be naked for this broadcast.”

It was orange wigs and dainty little moccasins or deck shoes or whatever. The GVVN logo front and back completed their “costume.” I waited as the clock counted down to the beginning of the broadcast. I was introduced by President Berry! He gave a short canned speech about the importance of National Defense, commented that this important telecast would be presented without commercial interruption, and then turned it over to me. It was smooth, professional, and took exactly 300 seconds.

“We have two challenges in the 21st Century: world leadership, and a diminishing manpower base. Add in the White Slave Act of 2000, and we have to consider using slaves as soldiers.”

I went through the same demographics projections used last year to push WSA through Congress. I recounted the history of American military drafts from the first impression gangs to fill county quotas to the present peacetime draft. I had to revise one bit at the insistence of Colonel Murphy—that the draft served to reduce unemployment by keeping young men out of the job market for two years. I was permitted to keep in the bit about crime reduction—the stringent military atmosphere served to lower the crime rate, according to sociologist. I briefly covered the Gay Rights movement and the issue of homosexuals in the military—including the fact that gay men were preferred for the Army and Navy. The Marines were still staunchly against including gays—it is a Marine thing. I predicted that the Marines would change when they couldn”t get enough straight men.

Even with that, there was the question of where the next mass army would come from. Yes, today”s “push-button war” made it look easy—but the major reason for not occupying Iraq in 1991 was that America couldn”t spare an Army Corps for occupation duties. Right now, there was a division in Korea, another two divisions in Indo-China, two divisions still in Europe, and a division in the Philippines—three corps! These required an equal amount of soldiers in the United States to keep these combat divisions up to strength. I had to delete references to the division in South America and the one in Africa—they were more brigade strength, but you get the picture. America was peacekeeping, which is a labor-intensive process that spans decades. Once the bombs could only bounce rubble, occupation troops were required. Lots of them.

Where were they coming from? In the year 2050, there were supposed to be 1 man for every 2 women. I”m glad that we are accepting gay men in the Army now because they will be nearly half of the male population. The American population is supposed to stabilize at 400 million in 2050 and we are 282 million according to last year”s census, so that means that the male population basically remain about 130 million men, if projections hold. That wasn”t the whole story, though. Most of those men would not be 18 year old studs. The 16-25 age-group was only 15% of the population at present. Throw in that even with advanced medicine and that being gay didn”t disqualify men for military service, and no more than 25% of that 15% were suitable for military service. That left about five million men. Projected needs if we had to control the rest of the world were at least three times that number—and the worst case scenario was 40 million soldiers.

The next slide presented two side-by-side video clips. One was a nude man walking. The other was a nude woman walking. The video clips changed to various physical fitness tests. I continued my monologue on the two major differences between men and women—other than the obvious issue that women bore children. The issues were physical and mental conditioning. As my hero, Matt Helm, said in The Wrecking Crew, a good man can run down a good woman any day of the week. The point was that our female soldiers seldom had to go one-on-one with the best enemy men. I argued that soldiers were effective because they functioned as part of a whole and the whole functioned as one entity. American females were bigger and stronger than most other nation”s males. Mindset could be taught—to a degree. Part of the reason that not every man made a good soldier was that only about 40% had the ability to cooperate as part of a close-knit group in a hierarchical and authoritarian society. Even then, there were problems. Throw in the fact that most American men didn”t meet mental and physical requirements and that number came down to less than 12%. That number could be doubled by taking in sub-standard specimens.

Women could meet the requirements. Even though they were not as well conditioned physically in our culture, that was changing as women began doing more hard physical labor. I mentioned that I was forming two all-slave sport teams, with more in the pipeline. Women generally functioned better than men when the environment had strict rules that were enforced. School girls routinely out-performed school boys until puberty set in—even then, school girls had distinct advantages in academia. What this meant was that the female soldiers of the future would be almost as strong as male soldiers, smarter as measured by educational organizations and were better able to cope with being ordered about than men.

“I see that some of the men in the audience are uncomfortable with these findings. One objection is that women are acting more and more like sheep. Well, the military was structured to be mostly sheep led by a few wolves. As the Chinese military philosopher Sun Tzu put it, an army of deer led by a lion is to be more feared than an army of lions led by a deer. It is a matter of leadership. We need two armies—a war fighting force that can crush organized opposition and a peacekeeping force that doesn”t permit the formation of organized opposition.”

I recapped that American women physically outperformed most of the world”s men and that they could gain the appropriate mind set. A change from the last presentation was presenting my karate instructors as heroes in the Red Woman State Gymnastics Club rescue. Lana had demurred—she was indoctrinated to remain in the shadows. Kiki and Bonnie had reservations, but agreed that it would be good publicity for the dojo. I admitted that half the kidnappers were female, but all were armed—Bonnie and Kiki appeared on stage nude and bound. They ripped out of their bonds and gave a quick demonstration—broke some boards, sparred a little. I had to hold them to a time limit of three minutes—but they got my point across. Then I dropped the bombshell—they were slaves.

“There have always been slave armies,” I said. “Libertarians maintain that the military draft is slavery. Traditional armies have viewed the rank and file soldier as dumb beasts. The military is set up better than any other organization in America to deal with slaves. Prisons have a problem because they are filled with hard corps sociopaths, the percentage of men who cannot submit to authority. There was also a problem with the now-defunct prisoners rights movement”s demands that prisoners be granted the same rights and standards of living as middle class Americans. Here are typical barracks accommodations.” The screen showed a rather Spartan room with accommodations for 80 men. There were 40 double-decker bunk beds, 80 foot lockers, and racks for hanging uniforms. A stack of duffle bags were at one end of the long room. The latrine facilities were also bare. “Note the lack of privacy. Fort Sill”s base commander allowed me to take these videos of recruits undergoing basic combat training.” The screens had a few seconds of shower scenes as well as recruits being inspected in just their boxer shorts and undershirts. Then the scene changed to armies of ancient Greece, Rome, China and Egypt. “Many armies of the ancient world were slave armies. Sometimes the slaves were ineffective. Sometimes the slaves rebelled. Sparticus was a gladiator, not a soldier, but he managed to defeat some of the Roman legions. Sparticus was what I”d term an organized foe. You need war fighting armies for that. You need peacekeepers to prevent Sparticuses.”

I finished off with a summary of slave armies and mass draft armies. My last slide was a recap that we needed women in the military and that those women would most likely be slaves. I took questions.

President Barry had “one question:” “Why do we need so many soldiers?”

“Mr. President, Ancient Egypt asked the same question. Ancient China asked the same question. Ancient Greece was only an empire under Alexander, and when that lion died, his deer scattered. Imperial Rome answered that question. So did the Soviet Empire. We need a large army of peacekeepers to prevent the formation of a hostile nation such as Nazi Germany. When we allow such an enemy to grow, we need war fighters to defeat that hostile nation. Early intervention prevents world war. Right now we have almost 3 million active and another 3 million reserve military service members. We also have almost 2 million police and correctional officers in the United States. That”s a lot of people under arms! In the future the pool of qualified men will be only half of current requirements.”

“You paint a dark picture for the future, Lieutenant Foster. How did you come up with needing 50 million soldiers?”

“The projection of 40 million came from the United Nations, Mr. President. The United Nations Committee for Universal Disarmament projected that 40 million peacekeepers would be required to ride herd on a disarmed local constabulary once the United Nations had evolved into a world government. The lower end of the projection, 12 million, comes from a 25% increase in the US population and the United States being the only remaining superpower. There is a perceived power vacuum right now, the same sort of vacuum that lead to Napoleon”s French Republic or Nazi Germany.” I could see that the Napoleon reference had passed right over President Berry”s head. “Right now, Europe is a shambles. I don”t make foreign policy, Mr. President. That”s not my job. Our two divisions in Europe are tasked with keeping the various European factions from warring upon one another. It isn”t an easy task. Do we rebuild Europe, or do we let whoever is the most ruthless do so? How will we deal with that new government? That”s your call, Mr. President. You and Congress have to work that out, and I don”t envy you! All I am doing here is showing you where the warm bodies you need for your policy decisions must come from.”

“Do you think that you can do a better job?”

“I don”t know, Mr. President. I can try, I may do worse, but I cannot tell you that I can do a better job. That is three questions, Mr. President.”

The audience laughed. President Berry scowled. Had I made an enemy?

“I appreciate your candor,” the president huffed. “We”ll be in touch.”

The next few questions were mundane nuts-and-bolts questions about recruiting and training. I fielded those as best that I could. Then the broadcast question period was over.

“I have a presentation now,” Colonel Murphy said. “Lieutenant Foster has been selected to form a test unit. Have you asked yourself what happens to female soldiers when they are enslaved? The University of Oklahoma, Eastlake ROTC Corps of Cadets has only a few female officer candidates. Three of them were arrested this spring break for speeding, creating a public disturbance and for being drunk in public. One was converted under a “person of personal contact” warrant. One volunteered for enslavement because her parents were going to enslave her and roast her alive. What saved all five was that they have a military service obligation. They have spent the last two weeks at a correctional barracks in Fort Sill. Now they are going to form the nucleus of Detachment MFS-46.”

I was speechless as five naked women in chains were paraded across the stage. Above their right breasts were marked the words “U.S. ARMY” in black. When they faced left, I could see a large “US” in black letters on their right buttocks. Their heads were buzz cut—there is a difference between being shaved and having stubble up there. It is less than a quarter inch, but it counts. I noticed that their faces were blank, expressionless masks. Now what?

“You may be wondering why military women were not processed through as any other slave,” Colonel Murphy explained. “It is like Lieutenant Foster explained—soldiers are government property. If soldiers are enslaved, the Army will enslave them. When Candidate Courtney Simmons was PPC”d, her boy friend was arrested for trying to sell stolen government property.” A dim light went on in my noggin. Part of this was protecting my sister soldiers. I think. “He had to repay Spellbook Slaves. Because Courtney used poor judgment, it was determined that she wasn”t officer material. We offered Courtney the option of remaining in the military as a member of Detachment MFS-46. Candidate Michelle Bronson properly used her chain of command when she found out that she was being converted. We took possession of her from Lilly”s Book Binding. Because Michelle was government property, her parents no longer had the right to sell her. The last three were part of a group of a dozen UOKE ROTC cadets that went to New Orleans to celebrate Spring Break. We managed to retrieved Sammie, Katja and Donnie when they were up for sheriff”s auction, and we intend to get the rest by June. Take a good look, America. The first tank and airplane weren”t much to look at. Detachment MFS-46 is the beginning of the new Army.”

“What does MFS-46 stand for?” Ginger asked when the colonel opened up for questions. That was a question I had, too.

“”Military Female Slave,” Colonel Murphy replied. “The “46″ is for Oklahoma, the 46th State to join the Union.”

“There are 50 detachments?” Another asked.

“53. Puerto Rico and Washington DC have their own detachments. California has two because California has so many people.”

After a few more questions, Colonel Murphy pointed to a long table with three stations.

“We”re recruiting for Detachment MFS-46 over there. It is an Oklahoma Army National Guard unit, as are all the MFS”s. Should you not be qualified for enlistment, we are working through Defensive Enslavement Volunteers and can offer you conversion if you want to be a slave or if you need to become a slave to prevent being eaten. There is even a station for those who otherwise don”t qualify for conversion—you can get a judicial conversion by filing with the court clerk for an appointment. DEV is a private firm, but Governor England has authorized the Oklahoma National Guard to use DEV”s services for Detachment MFS-46 because they are set up for conducting military training already. Those of you who enlist in Detachment 46 will remove all clothing and jewelry and will remain nude for the duration of your processing and orientation. DEV conversions will be naked when they leave here. Those scheduled to see the judge will keep their appointment—don”t become a fugitive slave. We just have one more duty to perform.

“Lieutenant Foster, Front and Center!” The activation ceremony included a pink guideon. That is a small flag company-sized military units carry in parades. It has a long tradition in battle. “Rally “round the colors” was an important battle tactic before rapid-fire rifled guns and artillery made that attempt to impose order on chaos suicidal. Colonel Murphy handed me the guideon, and I handed it to the detachment sergeant—did Tanya Jenkins have a twin sister? “Except for yourself, Detachment 46 is all female. Within 90 days, all females in this detachment will be military slaves. Sergeant Jenkins volunteered for this duty knowing that she would give up her freedom. Don”t disappoint her, boy! It will be up to you and the other 51 detachment commanders to write the Army Regulations on Military Female Slaves. Make Oklahoma proud, Peter!”

I was supposed to give a short speech. They caught me off-guard. So I winged it.

“The Army is in transition. This is one way to meet the shortfall in soldiers. I am honored to be entrusted with the Army”s future. I intend to live up to expectations.”

A young woman rushed up on the stage and hugged Michelle Bronson. Michelle remained at Parade Rest, with the chain between her legs taut. I got up on stage.

“Ma”am, please don”t molest government property.”

“She”s my sister! I want to join up, too!”

“Slave Private Michelle,” I didn”t know what else to call her, so I made up something. The woman snapped to attention, as did the rest of the five slaves. Their wrists were chained behind them, but enough chain was there so that they could assume a proper position of attention, with their arms at their sides—barely enough chain. “You are to stand down and talk to your sister. If she still wants to be a military slave after you”ve told her exactly what to expect, take her down and enlist her.”

“You can”t enlist my daughter! I want her for a barbeque Sunday!” The woman was too young to be a biological mother.

“I see. If being a military slave isn”t right for you, DEV can take care of you.”

“Not if I enslave her first!”

“Ma”am, do you have your notorized conversion application for this woman?”

“No! I”ll be right back!”

As the woman stormed out of the auditorium, a man waved a stack of paper at me.

“That”s the last straw. I am Belinda”s husband. I want her converted right now.”

“We only do standard DEV conversions. She”d be an asset slave. Do you want ownership?”

“I just want to be rid of her.”

“I recommend then, that you convert her, and then transfer her to DEV. It will cost you about $500 for taxes and fees, but you keep all her property and funds. In fact, if you chose that route, we request that you take all clothing jewelry with you, leaving only a few documents. We can get copies of the required documents. The other route gives Defensive Enslavement Volunteers control over half of her property. What about this daughter?”

“I”m sick of women and their games! If she”s volunteering to be a slave, let her!”

“Where are the keys to the chains?”

“There are none, Lieutenant. They are not locked.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Slave Private Michelle, unfasten your fetters and leave them on the stage. You, sister, what is your name?”

“Montana Dawn Bronson. I want to stay with my sister.”

“As a slave, your wants have little weight. Get undressed. Mr. Bronson, I think you”ll want to do a parental conversion on Montana so that you can keep her property.”

“I am sick of women, but I won”t cheat my daughter.” He looked at me and chuckled. “I watch GVVN. I know that you will put my daughter”s stuff in escrow and save it for her until you can free her. Wait, don”t you need a notary public?”

“The first station,” Colonel Murphy smirked. “Can we help it if Belinda is too stupid to ask if there is a notary? Why didn”t you ask, Lieutenant?”

“Because, sir, we couldn”t enslave without one.” By this time Montana was nude. “Leave your clothes up here. Slave Private Michelle, take your sister to the notary and begin the process. Ms. Bronson, this is your last free woman decision. If you qualify for enlistment, you will have no more say in your fate until manumission at expiration of your term. You can still select DEV.”

“I”ll take my chances with you as my commander,” the younger woman said.

“I do hope that she is over 18,” I said. “I tire of converting children. I will to save their lives or give them a future, but I don”t like it.”

“Oh, Montana is. I was considering enslaving her myself.” Mr. Bronson blushed. “Sir, I”d like to give you Michelle”s things. She also has a bank account. Belinda, on the other hand, can go directly to Hell without a stitch on her body or a cent to her name!”

By the time Belinda had returned, she was too late. I had just sworn in a naked, blushing, shivering Montana. There were now 13 members of Detachment MFS-46 and Sergeant Jenkins. Another eight had opted for DEV.

“I need to borrow a bus.”

“Got you covered, El Tee,” Sergeant Archer said. “We have two buses. Looks like we”ll need only one.”

Belinda shrieked and slapped Mr. Bronson before she was shot with a Taser by a campus police officer. A few minutes later, Slave Belinda was nude, gagged and bound. Oddly enough, that prompted six more women to volunteer for enslavement.

Eight new military female slaves and fourteen DEV slaves. I had to be scraping the bottom of the barrel. How many women were there that hadn”t been enslaved? Time for me to run the data again.

“Lieutenant,” Colonel Murphy said as I was about to depart, “a word with you.”

We walked a few feet away from the rest.

“You”ve got some more slaves in the basement. They have attended Ranger school and were enslaved while there for cheating. They just completed six weeks in the disciplinary barracks at Fort Levenworth, and they are hard cases. One was a Military Police captain—but she has been busted to private. As you put it, “slave private.” For now, any private out-ranks any slave. The women in the detachment are your commando team. Guard Bureau was hoping that they would give you children, too.”

“Recruiting is that tough?”

“Yes, it is,” Colonel Murphy”s face remained serious for only a moment. “No, really, this is part of the eugenics program. We are trying to breed more boys. If you have nothing but boys we”d be very happy. Any girls—we”ll put up with them.”

Did I mention that we are all slaves? Just some of us slaves have it made.

THE CASTLEMAN TRUST SERIES

Peter J. Foster

Chapter Seventeen: Mopping Up

When I checked the slaver data base the next morning, the entries for Carla Connor and the others read: “under investigation.” Veronica and the dead Gail and Josephine were listed twice: once as DEV slaves, and once as “under investigation.” I showed this to Paul Paulson.

“This database is crappy! I wonder if it is Y2K compliant?” He made some inquiries. “Well, we have to be at the arraignment at nine this morning.”

“Another day shot!” I grumbled. “I like Rod Selfless a whole lot less this morning. How long will this open and shut case take?”

“There are a lot of legal issues. The men were all drunk when they were interrogated. It was over the legal limit for DUI convictions. On the other hand, contracts were held to be valid when the BAC was over .20—so I think that they have hung themselves.” Paulson shook his head. “The laws are still new. Right now, all that is required to PPC a woman is a sworn statement from a man that he had sex with her three times in the last 30 days. On an informal basis slavers are beginning to ask for video proof, a statement from the woman herself or sworn statements from five men who have witnessed the three acts. If a woman is wrongfully enslaved, someone has to prove it in court—someone other than the woman herself. The wrongful enslavement isn”t open and shut—it should be, but it”s not. If they are acquitted in less than 90 days, that will be speedy. Look at a couple of years.”

“Elephants mating,” I sighed.

“What?”

“It happens at a high level, there is much noise and fuss, and it takes two years to produce any results.” I sighed. “Let”s do what we can to get them under contract as asset slaves until this blows over. Hospitals won”t accept them. I can get my dogs to a hospital, but there aren”t any slave hospitals right now and most hospitals refuse to accept non-human patients. Why is that? Mother issues?”

Paulson laughed. Lana staggered in, her face haggard.

“Who is ready for court this morning?”

“Only Veronica, Master Peter. I can make it if I get a nap and some coffee.” Lana folded herself into the easy chair and closed her eyes. In seconds, she was softly snoring. I took a blanket out of the office cupboard and covered her nude body.

The court room was a welcome refuge from all of the media vultures. This time, the media vultures were on my side. I had suspects for the “leaks” to the media, and of course GVVN was there to cover the stuff outside the court room. Judge Foote was presiding over the arraignment. It was short and sweet. Bail was set at $350,000 per man. If Rod Selfless had kept his mouth shut, he would have been out on bail.

“For God”s sake, they were fucking whores! All women are! I demand that you release the seven of us right now! Bail! That”s shit!” Rod Selfless grinned smugly for the audience. “Yeah, that”s shit!”

“Mr. Selfless, one more outburst from you and you will be found in contempt.”

Judge Foote motioned for Mr. Paulson. “I had set the bail at the fines for killing one of your asset slaves. Just the fines—what were those slaves worth to you?”

“Your Honor, if it mat please the court, Defensive Enslavement Volunteers set prices from $10,000 to $250,000 depending upon education, skills, enthusiasm and experience. That is how much we expect to profit from our slaves after paying overhead during the next five or ten years. For example, Dr. Koltsov is a qualified and experienced surgeon. She was also instrumental in rescuing the kidnapped Red Woman State Gymnastics Club. And, Your Honor, Dr. Koltsov found something very interesting about the date-rape drug used on the staff of the Susan B. Anthony school.” Paulson handed a report to the judge. “The highlighted part, sir.”

“Mr. Selfless, why did you have a military intelligence truth drug in your possession? A Russian-made truth serum?” Judge Foote”s voice was icy and his eyes glittered. “Where did you get it?”

“Dimitry has all sorts of fine merchandise,” the drunken lawyer sneered. “Want to buy a shoulder-fired anti-aircraft rocket so that you win the election? When I get out of here, there is one little boy that I”m going to spank with an RPG!”

“Bailiff, hold these seven without bail until we can remand them to federal custody. I don”t even know where to begin. Oklahoma is a zero-tolerance drug law state. Now Mr. Selfless has just alluded to possessing weapons of mass destruction and threatened to use them.” Judge Foote removed his spectacles and wiped his face. “Bailiff, are these men still drunk?”

“Yes, Your Honor. They tested on average zero point nine blood-alcohol content this morning.”

More legal stuff was exchanged. Foote ordered the bailiff to shock Selfless when the latter became agitated. It seemed that his blood alcohol content was 1.2, but there were also traces of THC and cocaine in his urine. If he had been female, his trial would have been over already. The laundry list of charges in the indictment included murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, conspiracy to kidnap, grand theft, false imprisonment, false enslavement, possession of illegal narcotics, distributing illegal narcotics, using illegal narcotics, child endangerment, threatening an officer of the court, interfering with legal commerce, harboring escaped or stolen slaves and contempt of court. They were being held without bail pending arraignment in federal court. When the seven were hauled out of the court room, Judge Foote ordered me to stay.

“Son, why are your slaves wearing clothes?”

“My fault, Your Honor,” the bailiff said. “Mr. Foster specifically asked which was proper in your court—clothed slaves or disruptive nudity. I told him to keep his slaves in their clothes.”

“Undress them immediately! I want them in restraints, too. No domestic animals are allowed in my court unless they are properly controlled.”

The slave shifts were elegant, but designed to be rapidly removed even when the slave was tied up. In a moment, both Veronica and Lana were nude—barefoot, too. I mimed to Lana that I was putting the trick restraints on her. These restraints were zip ties that had been pre-stressed so that a hard twist would break them. It wasn”t painless, but worked once. It was how Lana and Kiki had been able to overpower two armed kidnappers.

“That”s better! The legislature has not addressed what must happen when charges of false enslavement are brought to court. Pending the outcomes of the federal and state criminal trials, the court rules that, illegal or not, the Susan B. Anthony staff that was enslaved will remain enslaved. Mr. Foster, what did you intend doing with those slaves?”

“Your Honor, I intend to keep them safe. They may be persons of limited rights at the moment, but I hope to prove that they were wrongfully deprived of their freedom. Until that time, I intend that they continue in their careers.” Judge Foote stopped me from reciting the DEV contract. He then asked me about Veronica. “Sir, again I had intended that she continue with her career as an educator.”

“Who will she be teaching?”

“Mostly other slaves, your honor.” I told him of the mass voluntary conversion of Susan B. Anthony”s students and their “summer job” at Ellisia.

“I am directing the other questions to the slave called Veronica. Tell me what prompted you to volunteer for conversion just hours before you were kidnapped?”

“If it pleases Master,” I can”t complain about dialogue—mine isn”t always good English! “Gail and Josephine were my best friends. We had discussed how the public school system was changing because of the White Slave Act and we thought we were safe teaching private school. Master Peter showed us how much of the school was already slave by having the slaves undress at assembly. Then he undressed and asked the free women to undress, too. He announced that everyone was a slave of some sort—only some slaves got better treatment. I had already read the DEV contract because my entire home room class had become DEV slaves. We discussed it in current events. Master Peter is so sincere. He said that he would protect us. Even though five of us died last night, Master Peter kept his promise.”

“Kept his promise? All of you were enslaved—illegally, perhaps, but enslaved. You just said that five died. Explain.”

“Yes, Master. None of us had anybody to fight for us. We had no families. We don”t belong to unions. The only people in our corner until we became slaves were the school board that kidnapped us. Master Paul explained it to me—unless someone other than the slave challenges illegal enslavement, it sticks for the rest of the slave”s life. A slaver can simply slap a document on someone and they are slaves.”

“That”s not how it works, Veronica. That is illegal.”

“Master, murder is also illegal. Until the murderer is caught and convicted, he is innocent in the eyes of the law. Eight of us are alive because Master Peter enslaved me and marked me with a tag. That tag set off an alarm on a Jessica automatic spitting machine. Hill”s Fine Meats saw that they were dealing with a stolen slave and called the police. I had that spit in my pussy when the buzzer sounded. I was a few inches from being killed. I”m alive right now because of Master Peter, and I know that Master Peter will care for me like I was his own sister Penny Foster. Until Master Peter proves that the others were wrongfully enslaved, they are slaves. It gets worse, Master—I was told by Master Rod that he was going to enslave all of the girls and start a whore house. He said that schools could act for the parents. In loco parents or something like that.”

“In locos parentis. Continue.”

“Yes, Master. The girls” parents or guardians have the right to enslave their daughters. Master Rod boasted that school principals have the same parental rights. He was starting a trend that would see all girls enslaved—either they would be enslaved for skipping school, or once they got on school grounds, he used the words “little cunts”, the girls would be enslaved and shipped off. If the parents objected, then he would charge them with harboring escaped slaves.”

“I see,” Judge Foote was angry. “In locos parentis was intended to protect children. I”m ruling that in locos parentis cannot be used to convert a minor unless the parent or guardian has consented in writing to such conversion. I don”t think higher courts will overturn my ruling.”

“Your Honor,” Paulson said, “The girls of the Red Woman State Gymnastics Club were illegally converted using the same legal dodge.”

“I remember reading about that case. It is still pending, I believe.”

“Yes, it is, Your Honor.”

“Well, Mr. Paulson, but that is not my case. As I remember, it is being handled at the federal level right now. In fact, I