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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flip.

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

Flip

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Editors note:

This takes place before the auction where Tiffay’s mother is sold. I missed the time line elements in this story so I didn’t post it at the correct time My bad.

Constance’s Conversion

Tiffany

Denial is an important coping mechanism. Just ask your mental health counselor. Denial and work kept me going during the week from hell. It began with my usual once per month stress event: Dad would decide whether or not to convert me. The deal was this: if my hymen was not intact during a monthly medical inspection, Dad would convert me on the spot. Friday was a nasty surprise. Dad converted Mom and asked me to run an auction for seven enslaved wives of the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol fundraiser. I stayed away from home for a while. I had work, school and my social life. The latter is a joke.

I was getting ready to leave Spellbook Slaves for the day when Mr. West gave me an overtime assignment. Ordinarily I would have rolled my eyes or something. Today?

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sending Otto out with you. Just help him collect the pick-up and then you can go home.” Mr. West handed me a business card. “Tiffany, call this number. Talk to somebody. You are too good at sales to lose.”

Otto tried some lame jokes. I could only manage a smile. He drove the company van and I took my car. When we parked near my dorm I realized that I hadn’t asked where we were going.

“Your room, Tiffany.” Otto smirked at me when I asked. “You never did like Constance Remora.”

Constance was a slave? If it could happen to her, it could happen to anybody. I stumbled after Otto as we went up to my room. I unlocked the door.

“Who is that? You know the rules, Tiffany!” Brown hair, brown eyes obscured by granny glasses, long granny dress and granny boots—Constance was the perfect ‘goodie two-shoes.’ “Get him out or I will call campus security.”

Constance made me feel better. Still the same ice bitch. There is a God!

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

I wished that I had my camera with me. Duh! I did have my camera with me. I yanked it out and began taking photos. Constance glanced from Otto to me and back to Otto.

“You can’t take my pictures!” Constance made my day. I pulled out my stun gun and let it snap, crackle and pop. “No! Please don’t! Momma, I’ve been GOOD! Please don’t hurt me!”

A stun gun makes all of us equal. Constance was bigger and stronger than me—most people are. I pinned her against the desk and zapped her. Otto dug out the slaver kit—we were going to have to draw urine using a catheter. I was actually beginning to feel good for the first time in a week! It didn’t take long to undress Constance—even though I had to zap her again with the stun gun. Red, yellow and green areas—Constance was breaking the law and she was bigger than me. I could use whatever force necessary, including stun gun to the red areas of her body. A stun gun against the neck can kill—as can a shock directly to the heart. I already had her panties off when I stunned her over her kidneys. Luckily Otto was right there with the sample jar—the pig peed all over me, all over the room, all over!

In a few minutes I had the naked wet woman trussed up. She needed the slave dolly. I needed a shower. Constance, of course, came up clean on the pregnancy and drug screen. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that she would. Constance may have had communion wine at mass, but other than that I don’t remember Constance taking so much as an aspirin. She didn’t eat take-out food. The only bad habit she had was being so irritatingly perfect! Otto finished enslaving her after entering the data on line. He went through his standard speech welcoming her into a life of slavery. After my partner left, I snapped a bunch more pictures to e-mail to Mr. West.

Several minutes later, Otto returned with the slave dolly.

“Close the door,” I snapped. When Otto turned around, I attacked his fly. I needed something. It didn’t take long for Otto’s eyes to roll back in his head and for him to squirt off in my mouth. Dad couldn’t prove a thing—but didn’t need to. “Now I’ll help you finish processing this pig.”

Constance was softly sobbing through the disposable gag as we strapped her to the dolly. I helped Otto cart her down to the van and waved goodbye. There I was in the parking lot of my dorm. I reeked of pee. Mom was enslaved—hell, I was going to auction her off that weekend! My roommate was gone. I was going to have to call her folks and box up her stuff. I might get another roommate, but for now I had a private room. And I was okay. I went back into the dorm, got a mop, and cleaned up the mess.

My cell phone rang. It was Mr. West.

“Tiffany, would you box up Constance’s things and have them ready for her brother to pick up tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, Mr. West.”

“If you need help, call that number.” Mr. West hung up after that reminder.

It took me about three hours. First, I finished cleaning up the room. Next, I took a shower and changed clothes. A trip to the baggage room and some empty boxes gave me a place to put her things. I broke down and washed Constance’s clothes with my own, folded her clothes neatly and tucked them in her suitcases. Stealing was an expellable offense at Eastlake University—that meant ‘convertible offense’ for women. I was very careful to put all of Constance’s things in her luggage or in the boxes. I even removed her framed picture of the Pope and her crucifix from the wall and packed them away. When the boxes were stacked in the corner, the room seemed empty. I kept very little stuff in the dorm—just my school books, a few clothes, my war paint and a photo of Mom and Dad. Sometimes Constance joked that I was a ghost. It was a habit I developed at Dutch Hall—the fewer things in my room, the fewer demerits I got for untidiness. My roommate had been almost as neat.

Now she was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<ZAP>

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

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

“Hey, Josh, can you work the front desk today?” the boss asks as I come in the back door.

Crap. I know we have a couple live roasts today, I’d much rather do that, but when he asks, well, it’s not really optional “Ah, Sure, Incoming or sales?”

Please be incoming. Sales sucks large rocks

“Incoming, of course. Having you in sales is a Bad Thing”. I could hear the capitals.

I clock in and walk up to the front of the store. There is a group or 8 or 9 high school seniors standing in a little cluster by the door. Of course I could be wrong, but they were all wearing school shirts, with “08″ on them. Given the time of year, this makes them seniors.

“Can I help you ladies?”

A red head, who I would give a “Grade A” to, came up to the desk. “We are from Dutch Hall. They just started a new rule, that you have to either be a student slave or have a valid meat grade to be in any of the school royalty elections. We want to be the Queen of Summer, so we need graded. Ms. Walters, the dean of girls, says that the school has an account, so it wouldn’t cost us any thing, other than time and some of our pride.”

I checked the computer, and she was correct, Dutch Hall prep-school had a standing contract for doing meat grading. I noticed that the school had requested the computerized grading, not manual, which was fine with me. Not as much fun, but faster. I suspect that one to many grade had been adjusted to to the grader getting a blow job. “OK girls, I need you to strip, but keep your school ID in your left hand. Form a line by the wall please.”

With out a word, all 8 stripped down and got meekly in line. Why weren’t girls like that when I was in high school?

“OK, one at a time, step forward and stand on the scale and scanner, then hand me your ID. Once you have been graded, you may put you clothes back on, however you need to leave your upper left thigh exposed.”

The red head, who seemed to be the leader of the group asked “Why is that?”

“Because by state law I have to apply a meat grade stamp there, with the current date on it.”

The computerized grading system was a combination scale, high resolution digital camera and laser scanner, all of which feed into a computer. The software in the computer determined the meat grade based on weight and height, body shape, breast size, body or facial blemishes, body and facial symmetry. It’s good, and it comes up with what I would grade about 90% of the time. It has problems with girls that work out a lot, who weigh more than they should, given that muscle weight is higher than fat weight. Looking over this set, this is going to be a problem.

Margarita Howe - Red head (the leader) Grade A-LRE
Cheryl Garver - Blonde Grade B
Eva Cotto - Red head Grade A
Denise Usher - Brunette Grade A-LRE*
Shelia Dewberry - Red head Grade A
Ella King - Blonde Grade A
Esther Halstead - Blonde Grade A
Sheila Jorgenson - Brunette Grade A

None of the girls got dressed, waiting on the grading stamp. Several customers, on the sales side of the store were looking at them and pointing.

The LRE* means that I was to manually evaluate here, for possible “A Prime” rating. It was a toss up. I called her over. “Denise, you have the highest rating of all of y’all you even could be rated as A Prime. Do you want that? Let me warn you that if you do, there will a strong push for having you converted.” She looked, well, mixed. I could tell she was excited about having the highest rating, which I understand, it basically said she was the hottest chick in the group, but she also look a bit scared. “Conversion” does that to women nowadays. Particularly in meat slave store. She nodded “make me prime…” “OK, I’ll do it. You do understand that when I do it , a notice will be sent to your legal guardian, explaining your status, and your sale price, OK?” She just nodded.

“OK girls, line up, I’ll stamp you and you can go.” They did so, then started to leave, giving Cheryl and Denise crap, as teenage girls do, calling Cheryl “plain Jane” and Denise “meat-girl”.

Shortly after they left a couple walked in. He was, well, tweaking. She was, at best, grade B. I could guess what was going to happen. “Ah, dude, can I sell her? I need the cash, and I’ve got the stuff you need….”

Like I thought. However, I would bet 100 bucks that he was tweaking on meth even as he spoke “Sure, sir you can sell her, but I’ve got to warn you, if you don’t pass the drug screen, we are required to report you to the DEA.” This, of course, was crap, but I couldn’t buy her if he was on drugs. Didn’t want to start the process if I knew it was a waste of time.

“Oh, well, maybe later then….”

About 30 minutes later, a blonde walks in. No, she bounced in. The only way I could describe her was “bubble headed bleach blonde”

“Hi! My name is Ashlee and I want to be graded!”

“OK, I need to see some ID, and $100 please”. She pulled out her drivers license “Ashlee Christofferse” 22, free resident of Oklahoma. I swiped her license to auto fill the data into the scanner. “OK Ms. Christofferse, please strip and step on to the scale.” She giggled and pulled off her tee shirt, kicked off her shoes, then pulled down her shorts. “panties too?” “Afraid so.” She giggled and pull them off as well. I could tell from looking at her she as going to get a “Grade A” and I would have given her a LRE as well. I triggered the scanner, and sure enough, 15 seconds later the workstation reports that she is Grade A, with a LRE. I inked up the stamp “Let me stamp you. You were graded at grade A, with a Live Roaster Endorsement.”

She giggled “Is that good?” “Pretty much means your hot, but you knew that. So, want to be converted?”

It’s standing company policy to ask walk-ins hat want to be graded if they want to be converted if the rate at “A” or higher.

She giggled, “Sure, why not?”

Because it means you will be a spit roast this morning, I thought to my self, but didn’t say any thing. I don’t understand women some time. I told the computer to print off a volunteer conversion form for Ashlee. “Take this to a notary and bring it back. It’s good for 7 days. There is a notary next door. She will do it for two dollars.” Yeah, a notary that has a contract with us. Ashlee giggled, picked up her purse, but not her clothing and walked out the door.

About 5 minutes later, she returned. She bounced up to the counter and handed me the form with a flourish. “Convert me!” I handed her a sample cup “I need to run a test on you first. Please fill this to the line.” “OK, with what?”

Is this girl for real? “Pee in it. There is a ladies room behind that door.” I said, pointing. She bounced off. ‘Got to be high’ I thought as she left. While she was gone, I pulled up her record, swiped the bar-code off her request for conversion, and scanned it into the system. Assuming her pee test passes, she’s ready to be converted.

Two minute later, she comes out, moving very slowly, as not to spill the cup. She sets it down “OK, now what?” “Just wait a second here…” I took an eyedropper full, then sealed the cup. I put the 3 drops on the test card, fully expecting to see that she was on something.

Nope. Clean as a whistle. I put the sample cup in the storage fridge, and put the test card on the workstations scanner, scanning the results into the system data base. “OK Slave, please follow me.” I put the “please wait” sign up on the counter, and lead the slave formally known as Ashlee back to our processing area.

“So, fresh meat Joshua”? Steven asked as I brought her back. Not sure why he calls me that, it’s not even my name. Of course he doesn’t like being called “Steve” either.
“Yep, just converted her self.”
“Grade?”
“A-LRE”
“Good The want a demo over in sales. Put her on number 3, and process her, if you would, I’m a bit busy.”

Steven was in the process of rendering a Grade B into roasts and steaks. The girls head sitting on the butcher’s table. Ashlee looked at it with wide eyes.

I lead her back to the number three Jessica 3000 “Climb up on this, slave”

“OK, what is is”

“A Jessica 3000″

“Oh.” she said as she got on to it. She was obviously thinking about some thing, I could tell as I strapped her into it.

“Josh? What is a Jessica 3000″? she asked as I started to slide the spit into her cunt.

“It’s an automatic spitting machine. It takes women and makes them into spit roasts.”

“But I don’t want to be a spit roast! Let me off this! You have to! I’ve got a party tonight!”

I walked around in front of her. “No, you don’t. Your going to be someones roast at a party.” I pushed the “kill” switch.

The Jessica 3000 machines in the back area aren’t set for “public” slow demonstration speed, they run at full speed. Once I push the button, the meat is spitted and gutted with in 15 seconds. I watched her face. Looks like she went about 30 seconds before she died, which is about average. I paged sales on the intercom “Your demo spit is ready”.

Time for lunch.

“I’m hear to offer another way out.”

For some reason, me saying this started all the soon to be slaves to start talking among them selves. I let them for a few moments, then ‘tapped’ the microphone.

“Let me be clear, I am not offering a way out of being a slave, I am offering you a chance to be an asset slave to Spellbook Slaves. Effective today, we are adding a new class of asset slaves to our roster, being one of ’student asset’. We are offering this to student of dance, music, drama and selected types of athletes, to include cheerleaders. Unless Mr. Marsh has messed up his paper work, that pretty much covers all of you.”

The fell silent at this. I went on:
“Let me explain why this may be a better choice for you.
1) No dress code to violate on a daily basis. In fact, as an asset slave, you wouldn’t even be subject to Dutch Hall’s dress code. In fact, you wouldn’t even be subject to the state’s ‘indecent exposure’ laws, if that matters to you.

2) A much better “curfew” system. This would, of course, still a curfew system, enforced via your collar.” I didn’t mention that it would be enforced by blowing their heads off if they didn’t make it back in time. They can find that out later on.

3) A much more relaxed restricted substance list, being more a common sense ‘time and place allowed’ rather than a pure restriction list

I want to emphasise to you all, that four out of five of you are slaves today, the only question is what kind of slaves do you want to be. Here is what is going to happen. Tiffany and I will be setting up tables with pre-done voluntary status change papers for you all. You will need to take them to a notary and return them to us with in 4 hours. If you do not return, and you are on the conversion list, which I have to remind you that most of you are, you will be classed as an escaped slave and will be hunted down as such. Are there any questions?.

Several girls raised their hands. I point at one. “Mr. West, what’s in this for you?”

“Good question. The current slave market is trending away from ’she looks hot, I’ll pay more for her’ toward a ’she looks hot and she has skills I want, I’ll pay more for her” Spellbook Slaves has always been more in the entertainment side of the slave business and less in corporate asset white collar slaves. This way, we get young slaves who have a built in desire to be trained in profitable skills.” I didn’t mention that for a large number of them, some of skills they were going to be trained in was fucking and sucking, they should know that, and if they don’t they will soon enough.

I pointed at another. “My family belongs to the Eastlake County Club. I know for a fact that your company has provided at least 4 slaves for live roasting. How do we know we aren’t going to end up on a spit?”

“Another good question. The simple answer is because I don’t want to pay a quarter million dollar fine, which is the current state fine for killing an asset slave, for a reason other than one mentioned in her asset contract. Your contract will list those offense that could lead to your being killed, and the method used. None of them can result in you being put on a Jessica 3000. That is, of course, assuming that you meet your side of the contract, and continue to excel in your chosen field.”

I selected another girl holding her hand up. “If after we sign the contract, and we decide we don’t want to do this, what are our options?”

I looked at her. “Well, you can always drop out of the student asset program. That doesn’t free you however, it makes you a common use slave, belonging to the Spellbook Slave company. You will either be made into a rental sex and torture slave, or sold on the sex and torture slave market, depending on our needs and your skills.” Surely she didn’t think there was an easy way out of this.

I pointed at another “Can we just sign up to be a sex slave?”

“Of course, assuming you pass the pregnancy and drug test. That’s always an option for any women over the age of consent. Next”

“Most asset slaves I know get paid. Would we?”

“Yes, based on your skill sets and level of expertise. Next?”

“You said that if we were on the conversion list we would be hunted down. How?”

“Funny you should ask. Your not going to be allowed to leave the room with out having a GPS tracking collar put on you. If you are on the conversion list, and you attempt to remove your collar, well, let’s just say you will not have to worry about any thing else, ever. No other questions? OK, let’s start giving out your papers and fitting you with collars. Form two lines, based on your last name. A-L to the left, M-Z to the right.”

While Wendy was recruiting her newest batch of hotties to torture and snuff, I was reading over the codicil that most of these girls were going to end up on. Harsh doesn’t begin to describe it. An almost military like dress code, with no tolerances, A very long list of banned items and a longer list of restricted items. I asked Matt if it would be OK if I invoked one of the parental conversion as part of my talk. He raised his eyebrows at me “Of course. You can invoke the whole list if you want.”

“Great. Give me a name of one you would like to see flogged this morning.”

“Deena Klein. 5th row from the front, 4th chair from the right. The blonde.”

I asked him for her paperwork, and as soon as Wendy had finished getting her girls up to the wings, I walked out to the microphone stand.

“Deena Klein, Come up here. Bring your purse and backpack, if you have it with you.” She got up, looking a bit confused, but didn’t bolt for the door. Bolting for the doors wouldn’t have done much good for her, given that there were my largest male employees armed with stun guns on the other sides of the doors, with orders to stun any girl leaving the room She walked up to the stairs leading up the stage, then over to where I was standing.

“Deena Klein, at this time I am invoking a parental conversion. Pending the results of your pregnancy test you are enslaved.”

She looked like she had been pole axed. She covered her face with her hands and started crying. I turned off the microphone, then I reached out and pulled her hands away from her face, giving her a bit of slap. “Get over it. Your bad day is just starting. Legally, I can force you to give the urine sample where you stand, and I’m going to do that if you don’t pull your self together. Now how are we going to do this?”

She nodded and mumbled something I could not quite make out, but I could tell by her body language that she was calming down. “Fine. Take this cup and go over to the ladies room in back and bring back a sample. My assistant Tiffany will help you.” Also Tiffany will make sure it’s her sample, but I didn’t tell Deena that.

As Deena left the stage, I turned the microphone back on, and waving the paper with the list of names of the girls that had a parental conversion over my head, I said “OK, this is the list of some of you that are going to converted today, unless you make some choices. What we are going to do is show you, via Deena, what the slave codicil that some of your parents and Dutch Hall’s staff came up with will be like to live under. Now, to be honest, this isn’t the only set of rules that they came up with. Some of you “, as I waved the shorter less extreme list, “have been converted on a milder code. But some of you“, showing the very extreme, snuff puppet list, “have been converted on a codicil that is pretty much a death sentence. To be fair, some of you haven’t been converted at all, but it’s not a majority of you. Based on the papers filed with Dutch Hall by your parents this summer, 8 out of 10 of you are slave girls right now. As Ms. Morris said, the questions you have to ask is ‘Would my parents or guardians convert me, and if they did do I want this kind of life?” ”

At that time, Tiffany came back on stage, leading Deena, who was wearing a slave collar and leash. “She’s not pregnant, so she’s slave slut now!” Tiffany announced, far to cheerfully for my taste. Need to ask her about that latter.

I turned to the hapless new slave. “OK Deena, what we are going to do to you is give you your first daily slave inspection. You will get one like this every morning for the rest of the school year. After that, well, that depends on who becomes your new owner. Let’s start with a clothing inspection. Tiffany, did you do any thing to her clothing while you were getting her sample?” After she said that she hadn’t, I turned to Deena, “Is that correct? In other words, are you dressed the way that you arrived at school this morning?”

“Yes. Master Michael, I am…”

Must have been given some ‘hints’ by Tiffany.

“OK, let’s start with you blouse. It’s not properly buttoned. You are only allowed to have the top button unbuttoned, not the top two like you have. I suspect your skirt is not the proper 3 inches above the knee, but we will check that in a minute. Your shoes are not polished to a high gloss, and your socks are not rolled correctly. Kneel, but keep your back straight….” She did so. I measured the bottom of her skirt from the floor “As I thought, 4 and half inches. Stand up and empty your purse and back pack on the table behind us.”

The contents of her backpack were of minimal interest, other than a locked diary, nothing in it that would be a problem. I moved the diary away from the books and notebooks, then started on the purse. As expected, was a treasure trove of now forbidden items. I moved the cell phone, all but one of the 6 tubes of lipstick, the eyeliner and other cosmetics, the dozen or so pieces of candy and gum and all but $5.00 from her wallet to be over by locked diary. I tallied up the items and the dress code violations and announced “At the next schools assembly, which I understand will be this after noon, you will receive 67 lashes to your bare back. Because you have dress code violations, you are to remove the offending items for the rest of the day. That means, well, you need to strip down to your bra and panties. Now.”

She started to do so, which revealed that she was wearing a red bra, which I has suspected based on what I had seen through her blouse, and a pair of white panties, well with in code. Well, can’t have every thing. “Your bra is also a violation. That adds 5 lashes to your punishment, and you must remove it as well.”

I took all of her clothing, and the forbidden items, placing them in a lockable wire basket. “Your items will be returned at the end of the school day. Please see Mr. Marsh after your last class.”

I turned back to the girls, sitting, shocked, in the auditorium. “This sort of inspection, with the attendant punishments, will be enforced on all the girls that have this sort of conversion done to them. Daily. There are weekly attitude evaluations by staff and faculty that will also have possible punishments. Academic standings will also have punishments if sub-standard. For a select number of you, failing one or more classes could result in your being live spitted, or some other form of public execution.”

I stopped speaking for a few seconds. “Now, what can you do to avoid this? Well, some of your class mates made the choice to be come ‘Hotties’ on ‘The Torture Channels’ show ‘Horrible things for Hotties’. I’m not sure they didn’t get out of the frying pan and into the fire, but they made their choice. I’m hear to offer another way out.“

I wake up this morning feeling something going on around my cock. After a second or two I realize that it’s an attempt at a blow job. You would think that ‘bad blow job’ would be an oxymoron, but this was what it was. I open my eyes, then look down my body. A stunning blonde with crystal clear blue eyes looks back up at me. Ingrid is across the room, sitting in her desk chair, with her normal unreadable expression on her face.

“Ingrid, remove this slave from my room at once. Have her sent down to the mid town facility and put in the practice slave pool for the torture school. Make sure that she is marked as being a snuff-able slave. They are doing their first slow hangs early next week and she will be ideal for that.”

Ingrid nods, and taps a set of buttons on her laptop. Blondie jerks, then drops to the ground, stunned from her collar. She then calls via the intercom for a pair of slaves on house work detail to remove the soon to be snuff puppet slave from the room.

“So, why are you going to have her snuffed? Just asking because we still have 3 dozen or so in her category”

“That is part of the reason why. There are three other reasons as well.
1) That was the worst blow job I’ve had after I’ve graduated from high school.
2) She volunteered to be on a reality show called “Horrible Things for Hotties”. She is very much is a hottie. Something horrible is about to happen to her
3) As you say, we have nearly 40 slaves in a limbo status right now. I’d like the rest of them to know that if they don’t do well here, they will go down to the mid town shop and have a Very Bad Day. While we don’t have any overcrowding issues, yet, if I understand what Marsh is saying, after this afternoon, we might be pushing it.”

“Oh? Isn’t he the slave master down at Dutch Hall?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes, he doesn’t call him self that, but yes, he is the driving force behind their slave conversion program there.”

I show up at the appointed 10:00 AM time at the school. Matt Marsh meets me at the door, directing me towards one of the smaller auditoriums in the school. Looks like where the drama classes are held. I enter the room, and find that NMG has a camera crew in place, and there are about 60 young women sitting in the chairs, facing the stage. As soon as we enter the stage, they all stop talking and stand up. Matt goes to the podium “Before we start here, I want to tell you all that a sizable fraction, well over half in fact, of you are slaves at this time. Over this summer, we sent conversion paper work to most of your parents. Many of them took the option of having you converted. We will be having those conversion papers invoked today. Please keep that in mind as you listen to our speakers today. Ms. Morris?”

Wendy came out of the left wing of the stage, taking the microphone from Matt. “Hello sluts !” Shocked looked from a lot of the girls in the audience. “OK, I known that it’s possible that not all of you are sluts, but if your not, I’m not talking to you anyway. As Mr. Marsh said, most of you are slaves now. The you have two questions to ask your self, The first is “would my parents enslave me?” The next is “What kind of slave do I want to be?” She held up a few papers. “I can tell you that if you are going to be enslaved today, as part of a parental conversion, this is the codicil you will be living under. It’s not your normal slave rules. Among other things, it has a long list of banned substances, activities and a very strict curfew system in place. The short version is you have to be a perfect daughter and student, or you get punish. Harshly punished. It’s the ultimate ‘Tough Love’ document.”

I turned to Matt “Is it as bad as she is making it?”

He nodded “Oh, quite so. It’s a zero tolerance document. Any and all infractions, which include not making a 100% on all assigned schools work, will result in some sort of punishment. Mainly flogging, but it goes up from there. Some branding, some time on torture machines, that sort of thing. It has some terminal options as well. Failing a class, for example, will result in being killed at the next weeks school activity meeting. I’m really quite pleased with the response we got out of this drive. 60% of these girls are signed up for it, with another 20% under a less extreme version, and several under a very extreme version that pretty much says “snuff my daughter“. He pointed out a pair of red heads sitting in the back of the room. “See those two? 2nd to last row, 4th and 5th seat? If the first doesn’t take one of the other offers made to day she is going to be put on a rack and pulled apart. Her sister next to her is going to be slow impaled. Unless they take Ms. Morris or your offer, they aren’t leaving this room alive. It seems that they each have a major trust fund that their mother would like to have control over. It’s a post 2000 trust, which doesn’t default in case of enslavement, only death. Why she choose to have them killed in painful way I can’t say, but I am glad for it.”

Wendy tosses the codicil aside. “I have another offer for you. You can volunteer to be on my current reality show ‘Horrible things for Hotties’. Yes, there is a good chance that you will have some thing horrible happen to you. There is also a chance you could walk you of the studio a free woman, with a million dollars tax free” I thought to me self, yeah right. They have over 200 slaves now on that show. One of them is going to survive it.

After the girls stopped talking in response to Wendy dangling the big prize money in front of them, she said “If you want to sign up, please, come forward to the desk on the right hand side of the stage.” A few girls stood up and started to come down to the stage. Wendy picked up the microphone ans said “Because the show is all about hotties, we need to make sure you qualify. Please strip before you come down.” This caused one of the girls to sit back down. Matt shook his head “She should have stripped. She’s on the extreme list. Not a requested kill, but given her parents requested rules and punishments, she’s going to be dead with in the month.” After a few minutes there were 8 nude girls in front of the NMG conversion desk. They were rapidly processed and sent up to the left wing off stage. there they were ball gagged, then placed in a “steel hog tie”, then put in slave shipping crates. Wendy walked up and said just loudly enough so that they could hear her “OK, have these snuff puppets sent to the torture school. They are part of the next challenge.“

I wake up, receiving my normal morning blow job. Doesn’t feel like Ingrid this morning, but it’s a skillful one never the less. As I feel my self starting to cum I reach down and hold who ever it is sucking my cock head down as I unload into her mouth. After doing that, I open my eyes and see Ingrid standing by the door, and a red head, one of the latest batch of volunteers, down by my cock.

“Is she any good?”

“Yeah, about a 7 on the 1 to 10 scale.”

“She said she would rank at least an 8. Care to re-evaluate her based on that?”

Not something I really want to do while just waking up. It was good, but not mind blowing good, which is what any thing over a seven would be.

“Ah, no. Not really. Maybe not even a 7. More like 6.5 or so.”

I thought about it for few seconds, looking down at her. She was one the mob that had volunteered via the NMG web site just to be on the “Torture School” show, what ever it is they are calling it, “Horrible Things for Hotties:Schools Special” or something like that. She didn’t make the cut to be one of the room slaves, but scored high enough to not be one of the cannon fodder practice slaves. Well, that’s about to change, sort of.

“After breakfast, have her sent to the midtown office. She is to be graded by all the torture school students. For every point under 10 she receives, the grader will be allowed to give her, oh, let’s say 10 lashes. Make sure they know that before she starts sucking them.”

Ingrid looked at me. “You know that means she might get a thousand lashes“.

I nodded “Yeah, but I suspect she will only get a couple of hundred. Hey, she volunteered for this. To be on a show called ‘Horrible things for Hotties’. She is a hottie. Something horrible is about to happen to her. What’s the problem? And you, I might add, brought her to my attention.”

Ingrid looked back at me. “Yes, I did. And there are some more in the back room you are going to meet soon as well.”

I don’t understand her some times.

That charming bit of home life done, I get up, toss on my clothes and head down to what used to be my primary office, now just my computer room. I check my email, and I have one from Mr. Marsh, down at Dutch Hall. He wants me to come down to the school as soon as possible today and that I am to bring my slaving kit with me. He must have some students that got caught with something in their lockers again. Slaves is slaves. Odd that he would ask for me in person, vs just having on of the staff handle it. Normally, in the case of things like contraband found on school property, the young woman is given the ‘choice’ to volunteer, or have charges pressed against her. Given that the three companies that won the “right of first purchase” lottery for judicial enslavement in Eastlake are Deep Kiss Traders, The Abernathy Foundation and Hill’s Fine Meat and Slaves, it’s no wonder that many take the volunteer route. Slightly better chances of living out the next 2 years, or keeping your mind intact, if the stories about what happens at the Abernathy place are any where near accurate. Deep Kiss still makes most of their money in the suck clubs, all of which have various terminal options for their slaves. Hill’s, of course, started off as a straight butcher shop, that expanded into Alternate Meat sources, then decided that torture and snuff slaves would be a good market to get into as well.

I reply, saying that I will be there some time around 10:00.

10:00 rolls around, and I find my self in Mr. Marsh’s office. “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Marsh?”

“Please, call me Matt. Are you aware of SB-0056?

“Isn’t that the nut job’s primary bill? Last I heard that was getting a beat down in committee and wasn’t going any where for a while.”

“Yes, it is Rev. Wagner’s bill. And yes, I suspect your are right about it not passing, but if it does, it will put us in a rather strange place.”

“Go on“.

“Well if it passes, even the watered down version that some are saying has a chance of passing, it will make us an enslaving authority, at least for Oklahoma law purposes.”

“And this is bad because? That was not a random question. I really didn’t see the problem.

“The 45 day law would then take effect. We would not be allowed to keep a slave for more than 45 days.”

“So you sell the students that you enslave off with in 45 days. What is the problem?”

“It isn’t the students that are the problem. We have plans, which would be very hard to break, for reasons I’m not going to go into, aside for saying that it deals with one of our larger grants, to make at least part of our staff asset slaves.

The penny drops. One of their rich south side donors must have made a grant to the school, with some sort of stipulation about the staff. “OK, what part of the staff gets to be asset slaves then?”

“The female members of the athletic department for the high school, and selected members of the Drama, Dance and Music staff”

“I see.” Translation, the hot teachers get to be made into slaves.

“Yes, I suspect you do. At any rate, what we would like is to establish, well before the passage, if it happens, of SB-0056 a leasing relationship with Spellbook Slaves. You will purchase our current stock of slaves, which is, I believe, on the order of 19, and will supply to us selected skill slaves. Of course, we would require a separate discipline regulations than your current one for asset slaves.”

He handed me a 4 pages of paper, which had his idea of what a discipline regulation would be. “You expect to get women to agree to this?” I was stunned at it. The basic thrust of was that if a team lost a game, the coach would be punished, by public flogging, based on the score of the game. There were other punishments, including a couple of snuff ones, for over all season level performance of the teams. Looking on, I find that for the boys football and basketball teams, the cheerleading coach would be be punished if the team lost. On the last page I find that they were planing on having athlete, performers and cheerleaders be a type of ‘jointly controlled asset slave’.

“And would you explain what the hell this last page is about?”

“To answer your questions, yes, I do expect our staff to sign it. They have already, the paperwork is just waiting on your approval of this scheme. As to the jointly controlled asset slaves, it’s simple. To be on a varsity team, to be a cheerleader or to appear in any of our shows, dance recitals or vocal concerts, female students of age must agree to enslavement. Or, of course, they can be enslaved by their parents. Either way, the control of them will be shared between you and their parents, as long as they are a student in good standing in our school. Once they either leave the school or graduate, their parents will be offered a buy out option. If they choose not to take it, then they default to you, as full slaves, with out an asset contract. I suspect you will find a ready market for trained singing and dancing teenage slaves. And of course, we know what happens to cheerleader slaves.”

What could I say? “Let me see the staff first, then we will talk.“

So the new inquisitors in training all go scattering off to make whips to flog their schools former cheerleaders, now torture slaves. Wendy turns to me and says “The way we are looking at this is that we are going to do it more like ‘Project:Fashion Show’, with you filling the mentor role vs being an adversarial figure to the boys. A little more hands on, but you will not be a judge, so you can go where ever it is you need to go. We’ll send you an tapes of the judging , but you need to leave the school for a while.”

“Are you going to be one of the judges?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Plus Sonya the killer slave, the leather boy they call ‘The Troll’ and a guest judge each week. Just between you and me, the winner of the over all series gets to snuff Sonya at the end of the semester. Keep that under your hat.”

“Sounds good to me. Hey, wait a minute. The mentor guy on the fashion show is gay…”

“And your not? Damn, I had you pegged, I mean as much as you like blow jobs and anal sex, I figured you were just passing”

“Fuck you Wendy.”

“When and where?”

OK, when a chick as hot as Wendy says something like that, you really don’t have much choice. “OK, right now, and I think there is a desk back in the shop teacher’s office I can bend you over. I haven’t fucked a free chick in a while.”

Right about then, some sort of light fixture of the camera crew fell over. “Fuck! Rain check of the fucking. I’m on the clock and these guys are morons.” With that she turned and started yelling at the crew.

So with that I went to talk with Mr. Marsh about the guys that would be just taking the basic White Slaver work study and the girls. The guys were just like last year, but the girls, not so much. The contract they were to sign damn near guaranteed that I would be do a full conversion unless they were a perfect employee. And you know what the chances of a 18 or 19 year old girl being a perfect employee is, damn near nil. Mr. Marsh gave me two lists of female students “This list is the list of students that we feel, are, shall we say, convertible. This list, on the other hand, are ones with special skills or abilities that might warrant a slightly divergent track.”

“Let me get this straight, with out any pussy footing about. You want me to do every thing I can to enslave this list, but the other list isn’t to be enslaved.”

“In a nut shell, yes.”

“Well, if I have an event like what happened with the Tech girls last semester, I’m pressing charges, or doing conversions, regardless of which list the girl happens to be on.”

“That’s fine, I understand that, and let me hasten to say, to be honest, I wouldn’t really care if you did convert the whole batch of them, just the special skills list really do have some skills that would best serve the community as free women, not slaves.”

“So, this list” holding up the ‘do not enslave’ list, “isn’t just ones that gave you blow jobs last year?”

“Of, of course not. All the cock suckers are on the convert list.”

“So Cindy and Bobbi?”

“Cock suckers. Damn good ones. Bobbi in particular. She should be glad we had them arrested and bought them. Her father was planing on converting her to meat status right after graduation. Seems she didn’t get into the school he wanted her to.”

“So, instead of one bad afternoon, she gets a couple of months of torture before she rides a spit. I noticed you have already paid the snuff tax on all 6, do you know something I don’t about this project?”

“No, I don’t but I don’t want any legal issues with regards to how we treat our asset slaves either. NMG is just leasing them from us for this show.”

I looked over the list. “Looks like you want me to convert about 25 or so. Do you want me to be blatant about the existence of the two lists, or what?‘

“That would be up to you.”

That just about wrapped up my meeting with him, so after a few minutes I made my way out of the school, heading back to the home office.

I get back to the office, where I find a delivery truck parked out front. I go into the main office where I find Tiffany, one of the 3 tech school girls that managed to stay free, and the only one that stayed on as an employee on her knees blowing the driver. “Tiffany, I have slaves for that. Stop it…” Just then the driver pulls his cock out of her mouth and starts laying a fairly impressive load on her face. “Never mind. Clean up when you are done there and come into my office.”

A minute of so later Tiffany comes into my office.

“Tiff, do you want me to convert you to an asset slave?”

“Not really….”

“Then stop blowing the drivers. Send in one of the Dutch Hall girls, I need some information…”

Just then, the phone rang. Caller ID said “Lilly”. I waved off Tiffany and pick up the phone.

“Yes ‘Kathryn’, what can I do for you?”

“Turn on the TV on a local news channel, now, please.“.

I turned on the set in the office, and punched up a local station. Standing in front of the capital building was Rev. Wagner and a largish crowd of his followers. “And in Eastlake alone there are well over 60,000 young women between 19 and 24 who are tragically out of balance. This is why I am introducing legislation this very day to insure the purity of our national soul.” He went on for a few more minutes, then the news folk more or less went back to normal reporting, his sound bite being over.

Wait. He’s introducing legislation? What the Fuck, Over? “Ah, I thought he moved to Texas, how, what… ”

“Mike, your not making sense. Shut up and let me give you the up date, because, it seems you don’t pay attention to the south side. Remember 2 months ago when there was that special election to replace the state assemblyman that died in a car crash? I’ll give you a guess who ran and won. Seems he never registered to vote in Texas while he was down there, still owned a home in the district, so yeah, until the end of this term, he is a state congressmen. The state assembly is in session now, so, yeah, he could, and it seems, is introduction legislation. I’ve seen a copy of it, and it’s, well, harsh. But in a good way. For unmarried women under the age of 28, it makes ALL crimes in the state enslave offenses. That includes civil torts and traffic offenses, down to and including parking. Basically if the fine is over $15.00 or more than 10 days in jail, it’s an enslave offense.”

“That’s harsh, alright, but weren’t most offenses convertible already?”

“Your forgetting about the Student Courts thing that passed last year. Remember? Schools can charge fines now. And the fine can be over $15.00. For low grade point averages, in some schools, for example, you can be fined if you didn’t make your agreed on grade goal. That means that we are going to see a lot of school girl conversions if this passes.”

“What we will see is a lot of girls dropping out of school to avoid that…”

“Won’t work. Remember the ‘Future of Oklahoma Act of 2003′? If your not in an approved course of study, under 18 and don’t have an approved diploma, you are a truant and can be fined. More that $15.00 I’ll add.”

“Damn. What do you think the chances of it passing are?”

“With NMG pushing the way they are? Damn near a sure bet. The neo-abs are trying to fight it, but they have their own internal issues, and their lobbyist have some problems with access and such like. It gets better, or worse, depending on which side of the collar your on. All, repeat all, slaves must be marked in such a way as to be identified as a slave at over 10 yards in normal daylight, plus a slave must undergo “approved chastisement, in a public and recorded manner” at least every 90 days.”

“So all those SINO’s and tax laws ’slaves’, say in south side, are going to have start wearing collar or slave tunics and, and what, get spanked on tape every 3 months.”

“Some thing like that, however the current “approved chastisement” list starts at 10 lashes with a cat of 9 tails as the low end. Well, there is the 24 hour public humiliation option, but I suspect that isn’t going to be very popular. Oh, and, yeah, I forget to mention, it has to be a licensed slaver doing the chastisement. If this passes, your going to need to hire a few guys to do nothing but flog south side pseudo slaves all day. It gets better, if this passes landlords and banks will be able, in theory, to have women under the age of 28 converted for being as little as a day late on a payment of rent or on their credit cards. That might include the utility companies, and the phone companies as well, but I’m not sure about that. ”

“So, I predict an up surge in out of wedlock pregnancies”

“You know better than that, what are to two exception to the no mothers rule?”

“Ah, crap, parental conversion of a woman under 21, if they take custody, or one where the child becomes a ward of the state. Let me guess, his bill greatly expands when and why the state’s child robbers can take a child from a mother…”

“You got that one right. But I think he calls them ‘Child welfare agents’ not ‘child robbers’”

“What ever, same thing, different name. So, what do you think is going to happen?”

“Don’t know. But I’m betting it will pass, then we will start seeing a wave of ‘defensive’ enslavements by family members, even though the quartely flogging might be a bit of brake on that, but I know I’d rather get 40 lashes every year than risk riding a spit for an mall parking ticket….

“But you are a slave already”

“Yes, remind me to go look up Rita and do something nasty to her. I’m hiring a staff torturer, which if this passes is going to be weird, 4 times a year he’s going to have to flog me.”

So, does this bill pass? You can vote here…

I was sitting in the back of the room, watching all the prep work on the cheerleaders. Once Wendy and her crew seemed happy with what they had set up with them, then let in the young men I had selected from the applications for work/study at Spellbook Slaves as being the best options for the new program that NMG wanted me to run, that being training slaver/torturers, not just straight slavers. What ever, they are paying the bills, and, hey, I get off on watching young women being tortured, might as well do it more or less full time for a while.

The young men I had selected had all meet my criteria for this project
1) Taken (and passed) both wood shop and metal shop. I was surprised that an up scale school like Dutch Hall had as strong an “Industrial Arts” program as it did, until I saw the school shops, and the small plaque saying that they were a from a grant from RockCo Construction. Figures. Charles Rock was one of Eastlake’s richest men, but he never forgot where his money came from. I also saw the projects they made. Very impressive for high school students.

2) Had selected Spellbook S&G as their first or only choice on the work/study program

3) Not members of any of the “big” varsity teams.

4) Had taken at least one computer class past the “This is the on switch” class that everybody has to take in Oklahoma.

5) Be over 18 at the start of the school year. Technically all they had to be was 16 for the license, but I suspected that some sort of on screen sex would happen, so let’s make sure they are over 18! Weird laws. You can enslave a 16 year old in Oklahoma, but she can’t be photographed having sex until she is over 18.

Basically I was looking for someone sort of like myself, but half my age! Well, little younger than half my age, truth be told.

Any rate I watched the guys ogle at the cheerleaders for a minute, then Wendy stepped up and had the camera crew stop filming for a moment and said “Hi guys, welcome to reality TV, I’m going to make you a star!”

“Let me introduce Mike West, your new boss”

With that I stood up and walked to the front of the room.

“Hi guys. You have been selected to be the core of a new group at Spellbook Slaves, you are going to be my torture staff. You will also get the standard training for passing your White Slaver’s test, but you will also get training in the fine art of torture. As Wendy said, this is also going to be a reality show, however unlike most shows of that nature, there will not be any voting off or any thing like that. There will be weekly projects or challenges, that will be graded. Some contest will have their own prize, but most will just add to your total score. The inquisitor with the highest score at the end of the semester will receive a prize of his own torture slave, and $10,000. Second place gets a slave and $5,000, while 3rd gets just the slave.

“We have contacted your parents, and they are OK with this, or you wouldn’t be here, but you are all over 18, so you have to make the final decision. If you want to be part of this show, read over and sign the papers that Wendy has for you. Just a bit of warning, you will be living in the headquarters building of Spellbook Software, and your contact with the outside world will be limited, so you might want to think about that before you sign.”

There was a brief pause, while Wendy passed out the contracts and they all signed them. Ah, youth. Notice I said signed them, not read and signed them. Not that there were any ambushes in their contracts. The ones that the young women would be signing, on the other hand, were a veritable legal mine field.

“OK, now that that bit of business is over, here is the first challenge of the contest. You are to make, using the metal and wood working shop, a whip to flog these 6 slaves with. You will have 2 hours to do this. Once you have finished, your whip will be tested by our guest judges, professional torturers from The Torture Channel. You will find materials, to include leather, silk cords, and rope, in the wood working shop, and of course you may use any of the metal or wood stock in either of the shops. Your whip will be judged on it’s effectiveness as a torture tool, the quality of it manufacture and it’s over all appearance. You may use Cindy Holcomb as your test slave for your whip. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you which big titted red head she is. Bobbi Holland will be the final test subject when your whips are evaluated by our judges.” Cindy, a natural red head with larger than normal tits for a cheerleader, was the head cheerleader last year. For some reason, she and the senior captain, Bobbi Holland, had been selected by Mr. Marsh to receive the harshest punishments, and if that they were to be the first ones used in any “terminal” contests. I suspect that a few blow jobs by either of those girls last year to the right guidance counselor would have prevented at least some of this from happening to them, but I don’t know that for a fact. While it was obvious that Cindy and Bobbi were going to have short, but painful lives, knowing that NMG is involved in this whole project the other 4 ex-cheerleaders’ life expectancy wasn’t much longer, or were their lives going to be any less painful. For the 4 not chosen for today torture , “all” that was going to happen to them was to hang by their wrists for 3 or 4 hours. Well, that and the 2nd degree burns they got when their shackles were welded on.

“Any questions? OK, your time starts….NOW!”