Spellbook Slaves – Page 5 – White Slave Act of 2000

The harsh facts of life.

Spellbook Slaves Collections Desk. 8:00 AM

The phone rings. It’s too damn early for phone calls.

“Spellbook Slaves, collections desk. How may I help you?”

My name is Mitchell Rivers and I work at Spellbook Slave’s Collections desk. I’m also the only one that works on the desk right now. Mr. West has just started doing conversion debt collections, and is waiting to see whether it pays out or not. Spellbook Slaves does not do normal debt collections where we take your money or maybe your car. If I get called on a collection notice, I’m leaving with your wife, one or more of your daughters, or just all the women in your family, depending on your contract. People should read their loan applications better. Or their utility bills, or anything else that requires you to make monthly payments. Most of them include a clause now that puts your women folk at risk if you default or even have a late payment. Defaulting on a contract isn’t a good idea in 2025. Any way, back to this damn call. Sounds like a prank call, what with it being what sounds like a teen or sorority girl, and giggles in the background.

So, do you collect girls off to be slaves and stuff?

Yeah, if someone is late on their bills or like that.

Well, what if, like, some girl wants to be, ah, converted? Like, you know, into a sex slave?

Ok, now I’m sure it’s a prank call. I’m bored, let’s see how this goes.

Well, yeah, I can take voluntary conversion, sometimes happens on a pickup. Why would you like to be converted?

Yeah, all four of us do…

I hear giggles in the background.

OK, let’s see how much of slave law, as done in Oklahoma, these girls know. I’m betting not enough to keep them out of trouble. This might fun after all.

Ok, then I want you to say your name, then say “I would like to be a slave”. Can you do that for me?

I hear giggles in the background. I turn on the record function on the phone.

My name is Felice Edwards and I would like to be a slave

Well, got one at least. Then there is a different voice.

My name is Kirby Beck and I would like to be a slave.

That’s two

Celia Vargas and I would like to be a slave.

Three

Suzanne Holland and I would like to be a slave.

And four. Then the phone goes dead. No big deal, this is the 21st century and phone calls tell more than they should, particularly if registered to a woman. I typed in all four names (took a while to get the spelling right on some, thankfully the search by name feature has an AI “helper”) into the state slave commission website and found that they are all, in fact, legal for conversion. And, of course, they are students at Eastlake University. Doesn’t say what sorority, but I’d bet Delta Delta Delta, given their general lack of clue. I’m glad that the state doesn’t keep as much information on men as it does on women, it’s unsettling how much they do keep on them. I make a few entries and upload the recording I just made, changing their status to provisionally converted, awaiting urine test. Doing a reverse on the caller ID, I find that it is a smartphone registered to a Felice Edwards. Gotcha bitch. I go to a website that only PI and registered debt collectors can sign up for and find the billing address of that account. It’s in the Southside, of course. That just cost Mr. West fifty bucks, but I’m betting that it will pay off with four young slaves, and he will not be pissed.

I decided that I’ll handle this pick up, instead of passing it on to the regular pickup teams, given they called me, not the main number. Plus I’ve seen the daily work orders, and I don’t have anything to do today, unless we get a call in, which is unlikely do to the time of the month. I would be swamped if it was the first week, but it’s not, so I’m idling at the desk. So I forward the desk phone to my mobile, just in case I do get a legit call, upload the recording to my smartphone, then gather my slaving kit and go out to the white panel van. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. At least I think Mr. West works that way, he seems pretty laid back.

After dealing with the semi-nightmare that south side traffic is during morning rush hour, I arrived at the address I got.

After ringing the door, it’s opened by a cute brunette with white girl dreadlocks.

Felice? I’m Mitchell with Spellbook Slaves’ collections department…

Wow, you came out, I’m Felice, glad to meet you… Hey girls, the slaver dude came out…

From the back I heard, Is he cute? Felice looks at me and says
Sort of, in that older working guy way.
Well, invite him in…

I come in once invited and follow Felice back to the den.

Sorry that you had to come out for nothing, but we will get naked for you, and you can look at us if you would like…
That will do for a start.
Well, it’s all you are getting… You’re cute, but not cute enough for anything else. You look like you are one of my stepdad’s friends. It would be icky to do anything more frisky. Right girls?
Oh, yeah, looks far too much like one of daddy’s workers. Has the working-class look to him. Not putting out.
Yeah, I don’t fuck workers. Or even give them head. A girl has got to have standards, you know.
I don’t even do scholarship boys at school. You got to have money, or you don’t get the honey.
Yeah, but if they do have money, well, you give out lots of honey, like you were a queen bee or something. Even to some girls.
Well, yeah, but never often enough for that slave thing. I spread it around. And yeah, I like girls occasionally. Nice change of pace. Don’t tell me you don’t visit some sister’s room at the house from time to time.

I wait as they strip down, keeping my face neutral, not showing how pissed I am at them. One grade A+ maybe A prime, two grades A and one B+, possibly A- if I were to make a guess. Have to wait and see what the machine says. Good haul for free. Mr. West should like this. The one possibly A prime, Felice, has tattoos, so she’s safe from Issac’s monthly harvest, but the others must might make it. Given their general classist attitude, I’m going to recommend that to Mr. West. Going to recommend Felice be sold to a brothel with a “full use” option.

It doesn’t matter whether you would fuck me or not. You have all verbally indicated to a licensed slaver, that would be me, that you all wish to be converted to a person of limited rights, which was duly recorded and registered with the Oklahoma slave registry. At this time, you all are now provisionally a person of limited rights, pending verification of your status regarding pregnancy or drug use via a urinalysis. I am allowed to use any level of force, up to and including lethal force, to take your conversion.

They looked a bit shocked. I pull out my multi shot Taser.

Don’t me use this Taser, or my real gun. Actually, yeah, make me use it. Make my day, bitches.

Of course, an X3 only has 3 shots, but I think I can take one of them if it comes to that. Mr. West hasn’t given me one of the Taser 10 guns yet. I understand they are expensive, and the darts cost a lot more than the normal ones, and in theory I shouldn’t need 10 shots for the sort of pickup I do. I do carry a Smith and Wesson M&P 9, my “real gun” in case things go completely sidewise. I don’t understand why the regular pickup people don’t carry a piece. They do have 12 gauges, but those are loaded with bean bag rounds. Haven’t needed to do more than wave the M&P around so far, but I’m waiting for the day I get to blow away some resisting teen, or better yet, her mother. Assuming she wasn’t on the pickup list herself, don’t want to not get the target. Today might be the day. If I need to, I’ll shoot the B+ slut, she’s worth the least. With my left hand, I pull my phone out and play back their call.

Girls, you have done fucked up with the wrong working man. If you weren’t so classist, I might have taking this for a joke, had a laugh with you and left, but that’s not happening now. You’re coming with me.

Stocking The Herd.

Spellbook Slaves, very early morning shift.

The door chime goes off.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Damn it. I was just about to face fuck a slave.

“I’ll be out in a flash” I call out to the customer. “And I’ll do you later” I tell the slave.

“Sorry about that, had an issue with a slave that needed attention. How may I help you this fine morning?”

“My name is Nina Mason, and these are my daughters Ceili and Laura. I need to sell them off today. I’ve had it with them.”

“Mom, you don’t need to do this, really there are better ways, we can go to counseling as a family…”, Ceili says.

“Mother, please think about what you are doing, making us slaves isn’t something that you should do just because you are mad at us.”, Laura adds.

“Be quiet, you two, the grown-ups are talking. And I’ve had just about a much from you as I’m going to take. This last month has been more than I’m willing to take from you two”.

Ceili is a big breasted brunette that I note has wet spots over her nipples. Laura is an even bigger breasted blonde. Big enough that I have a good idea that if Issac sees her, she will be one of his play-toys, even if her tits are real, not implants. He and Sheila have expanded their tastes in snuff slaves.

“Ah, Ms. Mason, I’m not sure if I can take Ceili, she looks to be lactating…”

“Why would that matter? I’m her mother and I want to sell her, should be straightforward enough. Or is there something I don’t know about the slave laws?”

“Mom, please I’m begging you, he even says he can’t take me” says Ceili.

“I didn’t say that, just you’re well, are leaking milk, which normally is a red flag on conversions because it normally means you are either pregnant or the mother of an infant child. Let me check what the state database says about you…”

“Mother, please don’t do this, I’ll pay for the counseling, just don’t do this”, Laura quietly pleads.

I dive into the state slaving board’s website, and go to the status search. Both are listed as a free woman, and don’t have a disqualifying flag set for either pregnant or mother of a minor child. Odd. While I can’t do anything about the possibility of a child that the state doesn’t have registered, which is highly unlikely in this day and age, I can check for pregnancy.

“OK, the state slave board says you are both convertible, but they might not know if you are pregnant, so can I have you ladies fill these cups with pee? I need it to check your status. Please use that restroom and go in one at a time.”

Ceili goes in first. A few moments later, she returns. With the pee sample. I watched her on the CCTV set up in the restroom, and yes, it was her pee, not a smuggled in sample of someone else. Of freaking course, we have a CCTV camera in the ladies room, need to make sure that pee samples are from the female that says they are. I would just have them pee in the front of the desk, but they are, at that point, free women, normally, and there are complaints about privacy. Like that matters. So we have a tiny hidden camera over the toilet and every one is happy. The women being tested think they have privacy, and we have a record of them giving a sample for evidence reasons.

I label the samples and pull out two “Slave-Or-Not” kits and dip them in the pee. All the tests come back as green, meaning they aren’t on drugs, which is only relevant for a volunteer, and neither of them is pregnant.

“OK, everything looks OK from here, but I can’t but help to notice that Ceili is, well, leaking. Is she really lactating?”

“Yes, she is. The doctor changed her birth control pills and she started up. And the little whinny bitch wants to buy all new bras because she’s gotten a bit bigger. Like I would spend money on her. I have other things to spend money on”.

The explains it.

“Well, as it happens, we have a couple of standing orders for slaves that are lactating, which are quite a bit higher than she would normally bring. The downside, if you take it one of them, is she will have a fairly short life as a Hucow.”

“Hucow? I don’t know what that means”?

“Human Cow, she will be hooked up to a milk machine twice or three times a day and milked. Once her production drops below a given level, they will sell her to a human butcher, who will, well, depending on what she looks like then, either live spit her or just snuff her and cut her up for parts. The second standing order offers less money, however, with that one she will be used as a wet nurse. Once a slave stops producing with them, they generally sell her to the open market, which tends to have a longer life span attached to it.”

“Talk to me about this dairy, what sort of conditions would she be kept in?”

I bring up the dairy’s website. “Much like this.” as I show her one of their images of the hucow herd.

“So literally like a cow.”

“More or less, not sure what they do when they aren’t being milked, but I suspect it’s being kept in a small cage or stall”

“Why is that 3rd cow wearing fishnets?”

I’m somewhat amused by the fact that Ms. Mason has already changed her view of hucows from “female humans” to “cattle”. This does not bode well for Ceili.

“Oh, they get fucked as part of the processing, I suspect that her, ah, fucker, wanted them on her”.

“So in addition to being treated like the animal she is, she gets rapped? Often, like daily?”

“Well, they are slaves, so it’s not raped in a legal context, but yeah, basically. I also understand that part of the herd is used as part of a fetish whorehouse, for those guys that like the idea of fucking a lactating women. Or like the idea of fucking a soon-to-be snuffed woman, or for that matter, a cow.”

“So she would be a whore and a cow. I like that. Talk to me about price. Did you say there was another option”?

“Well, if I sell her to the dairy, you would get about six grand and four and half grand if I sell her to the wet nurse company. Either of those is quite a bit more than she would normally bring, assuming she doesn’t have any other skills that are in demand right now.”

“Mom, I’ve got skills, have then check my school records plus I’ve got some medical training… Please don’t do this to me.” Ceili is near tears pleading with her mother.

“Medical training, like being an EMT or LPN?” I ask.

“EMT” says Ceili.

“EMT Sir, I told you to have respect to men.” snaps Ms Mason.

“Yes, mother, EMT Training Sir”.

I check the skill database. EMT training adds about a grand to her price.

“Well, that brings would bring her non hucow price up to about a two grand and half.”

“If I sell her to the dairy, how long would she live?”

“Depends on how long she stays wet. I understand they put them on a menu that includes some special hormones to keep the hucows producing, but off the top of my head I would put it at three years, tops”.

“So, if I sell her to the dairy, she dies in about 3 years, more or less, but if I sell her on the open market? How long would she live then”?

“Well, a slave is snuffed every 19 seconds, but that is countrywide. Being snuffed is the single largest cause of slave deaths, but still most don’t get snuffed right away.”

“Mom, please, no, don’t do this” Ceili begs.

Ms. Mason looks at Ceili. “Sell her to the dairy. I hope you dry up while you still have a good enough figure to be spit roasted. What about Laura?”

“I can offer you a grand and a half for her, assuming she doesn’t have any skills I need right now. I might warn you that I have a regular customer who likes to take large breasted women and torture them to death.”

“Oh, really? Can you let him know you have one available”?

“Our contract with him and his wife is that we notify him if any slaves come it that meet their criteria, and Laura does.”

“Thank you for that. So $7,500 for the pair, that’s more than I expected.”

“Can I have their ID, please? I need to scan them into the system so I can convert them to slave status.”

Ms. Mason produce their ID and hand them over.

“Mom, you don’t have to do this…” says Ceili

“Mother, please, don’t do this” says Laura

“Be quiet you two, I’m speaking to this man.”

“But you heard him, they are going to kill me as soon as I dry up”.

“Whatever, that can’t be soon enough.”

Laura just looked glum. “You want them to sell me to a man that tortures women to death? Why Mother, for the love of God, why?”

“You both should have listened last month when I said I was getting tired of your shit. I’ve had quite enough from you.”

After scanning the ID, and entering the data from the test kits, “OK this is your last chance, you can back out now if you want”, I say with my finger over the enter key.

“I want to do this. Can I push the button?”.

I hand her over the keyboard, where she pushes the enter key and a few seconds later her daughters’ status changes from “Free” to “Slave”.

“Do you want cash, a check or a preloaded debit card for them?”

“A card will be fine.”

I dink around with the machine and hand her a debit card with the $7,500 on it. “You will need to call the number on the back to activate the card, but thereafter, it’s as good as cash in most places.”

Adding to the herd

Baum’s Eastlake Dairy

So you want to become a human cow? Did I understand you correctly over the phone?

No, I hope to be milked like a cow and your dairy is the only one that does that sort of thing in the greater Eastlake metro area, or at least was the only one willing to talk to me directly about it.

May I ask why?

Yes, it is simple, I changed my birth control pills and I started to lactate. My then boyfriend was, at first, excited about it and sucked me dry several times a day. Then he decided that he really wasn’t that into it and left me. I use a breast pump to drain them every evening, but it’s getting to be a problem and I don’t really want the milk to go to waste. I’ve contacted several of the charities in town to find out if I can donate it, but they really aren’t in that business. One of them suggested I try the human milk dairies in town, and you were the only ones who would talk to me, as I said.

Well, you understand that all the other hucows are slaves, so having a free woman act as a hucow is a bit out of our wheelhouse.

Please, I really need you to do this, but I would rather not be a slave.

Well, we could always try something. The first thing we need to do is see if your milk is up to our quality standards. Let’s go to one of the milking rooms for a test pump.

Thank you.

OK, please expose your breasts so we can hook you up to the milking machine. Normally, you would be nude and on your hands and knees, plus would be tied down in the milking stall, but I think we can make this work without doing all that. Of course, if we do take you on as a milker you will need to get used to being treated like, well, a cow. While we can use the freestanding machine to test you, it isn’t connected to the production system, and we couldn’t use it daily.

I understand.

OK, let’s hook you up. Hold these over your nipples until the suction takes effect. You might want to keep holding them after that. I’ve got to talk to my staff and my lawyer to find out how we can fit you it.

20 minutes elapses.

Well, the good news is your milk passes our quality check, the bad news is that unless you sign a contract with us, we can’t take you. And I’ll be upfront, the contact they want you to sign will be one that converts you to being a real hucow slave if you don’t meet all the requirements.

Oh, God, I thought I was ready for this because I used a breast pump before. I had no idea what a milker would feel like. I’ll sign your contract, hell I’ll let you convert me to full hucow status, just do that to me as often as you can.

OK, let me call up Spellbook Slaves to convert you, and we will add you to our herd.

Experimental Failure.

Spellbook Slaves Front Desk

Ring… Ring….

Yeah, Spellbook Slaves, can you hold?

Sorry about that. Someone selling me his wife and stepdaughters.

What can I do for you?

Yeah, of course I’ve heard about the hormones to increase milk flow in milk slaves, I do keep up with the news even if I’ve been out of the loop for a while.

What do you mean you have some failures to sell? Why would I want failures?

Experiment Failure — Experimental Failure

Oh, just the milk flow increase was a failure. Still, what’s the big deal? Oh, I see, their tits got larger but no extra milk. Well, that’s not that big of a deal.

Oh. Eleven Japanese girls. 38D at least. OK, yeah, sure I’ll buy them from you.