Checking the New Meat by eosuchus

Checking the New Meat
by eosuchus

Location: Somewhere in East Texas.

Old Slave nodded, kissed Mistress Melanie’s extended right foot on the instep and the toe and back-crawled away. She was already back on the phone, setting up the next auction.
Old Slave, who had once answered to the name Ed, as in Edward Clay, attorney at law, hurried down the passage to the office. There was a lot to do that day, with three new pieces of meat delivered overnight. Old Slave slipped into the office, knelt and kissed Teresa’s left foot, which happened to be the closest and most convenient. She hardly paused in her typing.
“Yeah? What’s she want?”
“I’m to get them ready. She wants you to help wrangle the big one, with Mr. Bones as backup.”
“Okay. What time?”
“She wants to start at three.”
“Gives you a bit more than an hour. Twenty minutes for each. Think that’s enough?”
“It usually is. They’re all recovered. The big one, Epstein? He was sick. Probably due to alcohol mixing with the drugs.”
“Linda says they’re all healthy.”
“Right. I have their files.”
He handed the files up to Teresa, who took them and set them beside her computer keyboard.
“Okay, I’ll process them. Go get started.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Teresa pushed her left foot out towards him for his humble, routine kisses, and he back-crawled away from her.
He left the office, went out the backdoor and climbed onto his bike. A moment later he was pedalling down the long gravel drive that lead out to the trailers. As he passed the blue steel garage building he waved to Mr. Bones, who was working on the engine in the F-250. Mr. Bones had once played in the Offensive Line for Texas A&M. He weighed 300 pounds and could bench press more than 500. Mr. Bones had been one of Mistress Melanie’s first slaves. Old Slave had been enslaved about a year later. Both had become important parts of Mistress’s operation. Both were utterly enslaved to Mistress Melanie and could not even conceive of any other way of life.
Off to the right, past the pair of blue glass silos, was the agricultural part of the farm. Mistress Rhonda ran that part of the operation. Old Slave had worked there for a couple of years too, before Mistress Melanie had pulled him back to the core operation, where she could make proper use of his skills.
It always made Old Slave feel warm, appreciated, and well, owned, to think of how much Mistress Melanie depended on him. He was just a slave, but he was an important slave.
Half a mile down the drive, under the cover of some pin oaks were the trailers.
They were surrounded by a double fence. The outside fence was completely simple and innocuous, a straight line of eight foot high pineslats, treated against rot and allowed to naturalise with creepers growing up the outside and small trees here and there as well, breaking up the outline. From a distance there was nothing remarkable about it at all. The interior fence, however, was straight out of a concentration camp.
Ten strands of barbed wire, with a ditch on the inside, the whole thing topped by
razor wire. The gates to these fences matched the fences, and patrolling the no-mans-land between them were the dogs, four vicious mastiff mongrels, lead by Lucy, the alpha female. The dogs were serious, and they checked out all visitors. Old Slave stood stock still after entering while they sniffed him. Lucy growled softly and sat back on her haunches. The others lay down. He was passed through. Then he opened the inner gate and went in.
The fences had never been breached. In fact, Mistress had only had one fugitive ever escape the property, and he’d been picked up by Mr Bones a couple of miles down the road and brought back crying his eyes out. Old Slave recalled that that one had eventually brought a very good price at auction.
Trailers one to five were occupied by pairs of slaves that were very close to
marketable. In anything from a month to two months they would be leaving the farm with Mistress to go to auction. Each one would net Mistress at least $50,000. In any given year, the farm sold one point five million dollars worth of male slaves, each one trained to provide perfect service to a female owner. Mistress Melanie had been in this business for twelve years now and had become a wealthy woman as a result.
The other side of the business, the visible part of the farm, made a little less than sixty thousand a year from organic vegetables, organic corn and organic hogs. Worked by slaves, the farm provided excellent camouflage for the real money making operation that was tucked away, out of sight, way down here in this grove of trees on the back forty. The farm also grew most of its own food.
Everyone for miles around knew the place as Two Ladies Farm, a small, but successful organic operation run by a couple of gals who’d come back from the military to the county they’d grown up in. Melanie and Rhonda were well known in the community and were much sought after for committees, and even for marriage. Each of them had dated most of the eligible men in the county, although neither had ever done so with any intention beyond that of learning about those men and the power structure of the county. But, of course, neither had ever let anyone into their own secret world. They had entertained, usually with small, discreet dinner parties, where their guests came and went at night, were served by one or two silent servants, and saw nothing but a successful organic farm operation run by two former female sergeants from the Army Supply Corps. No one had ever even questioned who the quiet, obedient men were, who brought food to the table, poured the wine, and removed the dishes afterwards. Old Slave was one of those men, and if asked, merely replied that
he worked on the farm. His cover story, as he’d heard Mistress Melanie recount to at least two dinner guests, was that he was her cousin, who’d gotten into trouble in LA and been rescued by her and brought back to Texas to regain some stability in his life.
Texas folks were used to stories like that. They struck a chord. No one questioned them and, indeed, Melanie and Rhonda were praised for their charity.
So, now, Old Slave went on down to trailers 9, 10 and 11, where the new meat had been stashed overnight. He’d read the files and prepped his little talks for each of them. He used the key to open Number 9 and went inside.
The first subject was lying on the floor. He’d struggled off the little mattress, but hadn’t got very far. It wasn’t easy moving around with your elbows cuffed and connected by a short chain running behind your back, with another short chain running between cuffs on your ankles. The finishing touch was provided by the two feet of chain running from the scrotum cuff to the twenty pound steel weight. Picking up the weight with your hands was difficult when your arms were restrained by the
chain holding your elbows tightly against your ribs. And once you’d picked it up you
then faced the problem of what to do with it. If you dropped it, oh boy, you were in a world of hurt!
“Hey!” the subject was awake and aware of him now. “Please, what is this? Where am I?”
That was a good sign. Sometimes the subjects were so afraid and disoriented they could barely speak.
“Okay, now, I’m here to explain everything. Take some good deep breaths. You’re in a new world, my friend. A new life, and we think that ultimately you will be much, much happier in this life than you were in your old one.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Okay, you are James Frederick Brosman, age 31, formerly of 4765 Pensacola Boulevard, Tampa Bay. We have done our research, Jim, we know quite a lot about you.”
“Wait a minute, what the fuck is this? Who are you people?”
“All in good time, Jim. You’ve got a lot to learn and not much time. You need to concentrate and get it down fast. Believe me when I tell you how important this is.”
“But where is this?”
“You will never know. Believe this. You will never find out where this is. It is not even worth trying. It’s just one of a long list of things you have to stop thinking about.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, but you will. You see, you are also Spankybunnsy, on Mistress T’s Female
Dominance Lifestyle website and forums.”
The young man’s face turned a deep shade of red. For a few seconds he stared at Old Slave.
“Whoa, wait, hold on, how do you…?”
“I know, because I help run the site. You have been an active member for two years, you have been a paying member for eighteen months. Your fetish wishlist includes intimate OTK spankings, facesitting, ass worship, foot worship, whipping,
tease and denial and personal service to a Domme.”
There was just silence. Several seconds passed. Some inkling of the true situation was reaching young James’s brain.
“If it helps you at all, I can tell you that I share most of those interests, okay?”
“Unh, yeah, well….”
“So, I know that you were hoping to become Mistress Ava’s personal live in slave and houseboy.”
“Ohmigod…”
“So, it was arranged for you to meet Mistress Ava via the chat room. You exchanged 436 messages with Mistress Ava, including nude photos of yourself. You informed Misstress Ava that you were ready and willing to meet her and, if you passed inspection, to become her slave.”
James’s jaw had dropped. He gaped. He was stunned.
“So, you went to the Lido Hotel in Memphis to meet Mistress Ava in person. You then accompanied her to Bar Mystique on River Street. You remember?”
Old Slave could see the wheels turning in young James’s brain. Yes, he did remember. Mistress Ava was actually, Roberta Mansfield, a drop dead gorgeous, former prostitute, who had worked for Mistress Melanie for about seven years now. Roberta received $5,000 for each prospect that she successfully delivered to the farm.
Old Slave knew that Roberta averaged about three a month, earning around $180,000 a year, which kept her and her stable of slaves quite comfortably at a nice house in northern Florida. It was easy work, just emailing with the prospects, reeling them in while they were studied. Then, if they merited a closer look, she met them, and if they passed muster, she took them.
Roberta worked the southern circuit, collecting her males from Atlanta, Florida, Alabama and Mississippi. She often used the Bar Mystique in Memphis for pickups. The owner there, Glora Thirkel, was an old friend of hers, who took $500 to look the other way as slaves were taken on the premises. There had never been any problems. Roberta was very good at the game.
“I remember. Memphis,” said James. “We went to that weird little bar. Mistress Ava, wanted to go there. Oh, god, she’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, she is. So are Miss Carol and Miss Ruth, who also supply us with
men like yourself.”
“What?”
“Okay, listen up. Mistress Ava is a slavetaker. Understand? We cultivate males like yourself on the internet. We study likely prospects. Then we match them with one of our team of slavetakers. We arrange a meeting. At the meeting the slavetaker sizes up the prospect, because in person some things become more or less obvious. If she thinks that our profiling is accurate, then she calls us and we move forward with the capture. If she thinks there’s a problem, then we abort the capture and she just finishes out the meeting and says good night and we drop that prospect. “
James was staring at Old Slave.
“If we do decide on a capture, then we usually use a dose of bute in a drink. It’s cheap, easy and relatively safe. Once you’ve been dosed, the slavetaker gets the
prospect out of public view and into a private space and uses her, uh, charms, to
uh, beguile the male until the bute takes effect.”
Old Slave could see Jim thinking about that. Roberta had pulled him into a room behind the bar, and they’d been kissing, and he’d been down on his knees with his face between her legs, kissing and sucking on her pink panty crotch, when….
“Bute works fast, and it never fails.”
Jim had reached the part of the memory where everything went black.
“Ohmigod.”
“Right. Anyway, once you’re dosed, then the slavetaker calls in her own personal slave to help get the prospect out of the building and into the van. The prospect rides on a nice foam mattress, in soft bondage, gagged, blindfolded, with
high quality ear plugs. The van is driven directly here, no stops on the way, and the
prospect is unloaded here and left to wake up, as you did this morning.”
“Ohmigod, ohmigod. This is real. I can’t believe it.”
“Look, Jim, listen up. Accept that everything I’m telling you is absolutely true, okay? It will make understanding your situation a lot easier.”
“I….” James shut up. He was smart. That had been obvious since he first showed up on Mistress T’s website.
“We have studied your life, James. We know that you have had two significant
relationships with women and that both ended when you tried to get them to dominate you. You confessed all that to Mistress Ava. We then checked out the stories, discreetly, and found them to be largely true. We placed spyware on your computer and checked your files. We watched you spend your evening surfing FemDom websites and collecting FemDom porn. We know what you dream of. We intend to make your dreams come true.”
“Ohmigod….” James gulped air.
“That’s the kernel of the case. You are no longer James Frederick Bosman. You no longer live anywhere. Your assets, such as they are, will eventually be signed over to us. Oh, I know that sounds harsh, but we have a lot of work to do before we can sell you to your eventual lifetime owner.”
“What?” James eyes went wide. Now he understood. Now it all made terrible sense to him.
“That’s what our business here is, James. We find males like you, we kidnap them, we train them to be wonderful slaves for women and we sell them.”
“No, you’re kidding.” Belief and disbelief flickered back and forth in Jim’s eyes.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“Who are you then?”
Funny. They always asked that question at about this point in the proceedings.
“I am Old Slave. I have been Mistress’s property for nearly ten years now.”
“You’re a slave. Like FemDom slave?”
“Yes.”
“Then, uh, who is your Mistress?”
“You will be meeting Her in about forty minutes.”
“Ohmigod. Wow. Incredible. I mean, is she like Queen Patricia at the OWK?”
That was an interesting reference. Old Slave had heard it before, too. The OWK had become an important aspect of the internet world of FemDom. Many potential slave males had dreams involving life at the OWK.
“Actually, Jim, our operation here is much more serious than the OWK. We have a great deal of respect for Queen Patricia and the ladies of the OWK, but here we
take men and make them into slaves, and then we sell them for profit. Understand?”
“I think so. It’s just that. Well, you know.”
“I do. It seems fantastic, but it’s real. Now, Jim, you will be meeting Mistress
very soon. My job is to prepare you for that interview so that it runs smoothly. If it doesn’t then it will become painful for you, very painful. Mistress believes in the whip, the paddle, the strap and the strap-on. Let me assure you that Mistress has broken more men than she can count. Mistress will break you too, James, if you resist Her.”
“But, what about, like laws….?”
“They don’t apply here. Not the ones you’re talking about.”
“You can’t keep this hidden. Not forever.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. No one has ever found out about it yet.”
“What happens if someone gets sick, or dies.”
“We have a very friendly Doctor on call. She and her partner have two slaves from here who serve them 24/7. We have an excellent small medical facility, right here. It’s disguised as a veterinarian station, but we can do everything up to heart surgery, if necessary.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No. Mistress has a very good friend in Chicago, a woman and a heart surgeon. She can be here in a few hours if necessary. “
“Haven’t you lost anyone?”
“You mean, has anyone died here? No. We pick healthy men for raw material. We research them carefully and though we can be brutal, we are careful too.”
James swallowed, licked his lips. “So what’s going to happen to me?”
“Good, you are accepting the situation. This is the only way to move forward.”
“Well, I don’t know…”
“No. You do. You wanted to be a Woman’s personal slave. You wanted to be
kept in chastity and used for facesitting and personal services. You made all that very clear. That has been your dream all your life. Now your dream will become real. In a few months you will be trained to provide perfect, total 24/7 service as a Woman’s
domestic slave, servant, maid, companion, whatever. You will be capable of serving such a woman in any way she sees fit. You will be a good cook, a house cleaner, a housemaid, a sex object, a bed-slave, and a toilet slave.”
James’s eyes bulged. “Ohmigod.”
“If your future Mistress Owner requires you to suck cock, you will suck cock very well. If she requires you to drink her urine, you will drink her urine. If she wants an hour every day of ass worship, then you will provide it. You get the picture, I’m sure.”
“I never dreamed…”
“Well, actually, you did. You remember that thread in Mistress T’s Forum about
kidnapping?”
He did. Old Slave could see it. Old Slave reminded him of what he’d written.
“Yes, you said it was an exciting idea. You wished it happened in reality.”
James shook his head. “Oh, god, this is incredible.”
“No, Jim-slave, this is reality.”
“I’m going to wake up soon, I know it. This is the most amazing dream.”
“No, Jim-slave. Mistress is gonna come through that door in less than forty minutes. You had better be prepared to submit to Her. Completely. You got me? Anything less than absolute, total submission to Her will and your ass is gonna end up being really sore. Take it from me, there’s no way out of this, except one, to accept
who you are, what you are and what you’re gonna be.”
James looked up at Old Slave, and Old Slave could see that James was beginning to accept the new reality. He still had a way to go to complete that understanding, but the fundamentals were in place. Soon Mistress Melanie would come here, wearing her leather, carrying a whip, and in just a few minutes, slave Jim here would learn all sorts of things about fear, about kissing a Dominant Woman’s boots, about pain and what it was like to receive real physical, Female Domination.
“So, goodbye for now, slave Jim. Prepare yourself. When you see Mistress come through this door, get on your knees before Her as fast as you can. Obey her every command. Listen and learn from Her. Accept your new life and remember that this is what you always wanted.”
Old Slave turned and left Trailer 9. He knew that slave Jim would not give Mistress any problems. The personality profile fit the parameters they sought almost perfectly. Two months or so of intensive training and slave Jim would be ready for market. Old Slave made a note on the list, and turned towards Trailer 10.

*end*

Copyright Permian Systems 2007.