Systeria, an old family name, I’m told of Great, but dead, relatives

My father was an alcoholic loser Albert Landee.  He was a medical doctor, worked in facial reconstruction.  Mostly his work came from car accidents, but I think he drank more than worked.

My mother was a go along, get along type of person.  She even let dad pick the dresses she wore.  We had a big family, my baby sister Shelly, my two small brothers Ben and Bill, then there was my older sister Rosen.  My name before I became a slave was Systeria, a really horrible name of one of my father’s diseased sisters.  My given name sounded like a medical disease.  I hated that name and my middle name was ‘B’  So my friends at school called me B or Bee.

One morning we were all sitting around the breakfast table and Mildred our maid came into the kitchen and said, “Mr. Landee there’s a big truck outside in front and a man wants to see you.”

Dad left the table and went to the front door.  I was eating my hash browns, toast and eggs quickly because dad took me to school and I was always seconds from being tardy.  Five minutes later, a man in a red shirt and two other men in identical shirts came in our breakfast area.  On the shirts it said ‘C.S Banking Services’.  The smaller of the three men said, “I know this is probably all a mistake.  I hear that all the time, but my buddies and I are performing a legal process.  And so that none of you will get hurt, follow my instructions.

First stand up at the table and do not move away from the table.  Put your hands behind your backs.”

“Do what he says children,” mother said.

“Now my associates and I will secure your hands behind you.  Don’t struggle with the cuffs, we don’t want you to get hurt.”

I thought it was a robbery.  I’ve heard of girls being raped in a robbery and I thought, ‘These men may rape me.’

After the cuffs were on all of us the man who talked said, “Now leave the table and get in a line by the door.  Taller ones first.  I was taller than mother or my older sister so I was in the front of the line.  Then next metal collars were locked around our necks.  When I saw the collars I knew we were made slaves.  Slaves wore collars, all six of us were clipped together with short pieces of chain.  ONe of the men took the front chain or leash attached to the front of my collar and said, “March out the door slaves.”  That’s the way we left our house.  I was led up a platform into the truck.  It was a livestock transporter.  It smelled like urine and manure.  The metal came to my elbows that kept us standing.  My two brothers began screeching, “We can’t see mother!”  I could see there were two other metal holders and ter about 10 minutes another line of slaves, our servants, I.F.L’s (that is another way to say indentured for life), were in another line by us.  We didn’t have paid workers at our house.  They were locked in the other side of the truck.  Festus, the lawn guy was the tallest and he was heading that line.  Father I found out later was taken in a car.  He was considered more valuable than us, ‘the regular cattle’.  The IFL’s didn’t say much.  I guess they had been like we were at least once before.  The IFL’s were taken off the truck after less than 20 miles (from what I figured, for what that’s worth).  The rest of us rode on and on.  Ben and Bill talked more talked more than the rest of us.  They both wet their pants, and talked about it.  My brothers were also thrown around lots because the truck driver took the curves rather fast.  Fresh air was coming in from down below somewhere, because the smells got worse when the truck stopped.  We couldn’t see out, and none of the people who picked us up were back in the cargo section with us.  I had my watch on and Rosen could read it by the way my hands were locked behind my back –it glowed in the dark.  Rosen announced each half hour until we arrived.  It took 4 hours before we got there and my other sister Shelly had wet her pants right before the truck stopped.  I heard someone outside the truck say, “Here it is Rosewood Texas.”  So I guessed we were still in my home state.

We all staggered leaving the truck and father was standing with one of the big men next to the car, the one dad rode in.  Dad was embarrassed , and he ducked his head, whatever he ad done we all became slaves because of it.  Later I found out that his investment in the hospital, where he worked was over mortgaged, and when the profits went bad, his assets were sold along with all of us.  We had been put up as security (standard business practice).  All the doctors in the hospital and their families in his previous hospital had been taken and sold all over, where ever there were buyers.  The hospital just up and ate us all.

We were taken to this big hospital, bigger than dad’s investment place.  It was called the Homer LeGrand Restructure Clinic.  Father explained it all to us at supper that night.  “All of us are now slaves of this man Homer LeGrand.”  Two days later we all bowed down when the real Homer LeGrand walked by our work station.  Mother and my two sisters and I worked in an art studio every day except Sunday.  We made pottery, drew pictures on it and painted our work.  My family was artistic and we turned out good work, but the women who were overseers of the art room were also critics and people who did bad work got 3 licks.

I was told some of our pottery was sold to the families of hospital patients.  Father told us about his work every day and especially on Sundays.  He was off some Sundays and that’s when we could all go in the yard or read books.  We had books in our room.  The whole family lived in one room.

Always, before the hospital, I knew my parents had sex because there were so many children.  I had never seen them hump before.  In the one small room we all saw it everytime.  It would start in the middle of the night.  Starting at maybe 2 or 3 AM it went on from 10 to 30 minutes.  They always did it under a ton of blankets.

I talked to other girls my age in the art room and their parents did it under blankets to.  One of the girls I talked with often was named Brenda Asos.  She was 13 and had finished the 9th grade before she was enslaved.  She had sex with a boy since being in the hospital.  Slipped out of her room one night and got it on.  Her mother was drunk and her father was working all night.  Rick Stancil was the one who plugged her, she said.  “I only did it once because it really wasn’t that great.  He knew what to do, but not how to do it fun.”

“I could have never escaped from my room because my cot was next to ‘the moving blanket’, and at the back of the room.  My father was often drunk, but it didn’t seem to affect his sex drive.

My two little brothers went to school for good slavery.  Mr. LeGrand had a school for children 3 to 9.  He had them taught to read, write and act slavish.  My little brothers came home from school and taught the rest of us the proper ways to bow.

Then one day Brenda and her mother were gone.  Everything was really super clean in a hospital and lots of women wore brown shirts and were drudge slaves, scrubbers in our kitchen and dining hall.  Sometimes we saw women or boys with red shirts on.  Someone told me that they were children and wives of doctors who had committed malpractice.  That was the sign of wearing the red.  Sometimes their parents had died.

I saw Brenda’s mother scrubbing in our dining hall one day.  Rosen had a friend who told her, ‘Brenda and her mother were branded on the neck ‘H.L.’ and Dr. Asos her father was castrated and now he cleans up the operating rooms in his red shirt.’  Rosen also told me, “The red shirts sleep in closets and all the other doctors have keys to their closets, whenever they want a screw.”  So I guessed Brenda didn’t need to slip out for it anymore.  I wondered if dad had an extra closet key?

We were all supposed to separate our garbage in the dining hall.  I know the small children would throw their paper in the wrong place.  I figured the kitchen slop was fed to pigs, but other told us, “It’s the only food brown and red shirt drudges get to eat.”  I had seen sick people throw up their supper into the food disposal barrel and that made me feel sorry for Brenda.

Of course being a slave family member was not so unpleasant as just being a personal possession of someone.  Like I could have been sold in a market. My parents, brothers and sisters discussed that factor endlessly.  There were several hundred families of doctors and most of us got along very nicely.

My sister Rosen and I were worried about our futures.  We were kept away from boys and men and we concluded that like ripe fruit that is never picked we, Rosen and I, ages 17 and fourteen, would rot on the vine and never be used as women.  As security measures got tight even slipping out of rooms wouldn’t work.  Some girls our age had sex with their brothers or father. That seemed gross, with a father, to both Rosen and I, and our brothers were tiny children.

Rosen figured she was slipping past her prime as a woman.  She dreamed of being sold in an auction.  Lots of auctions sold women and men naked.  When we were naked in the room, or bathing in the shower (during our turn on our floor) Rosen and I would pose and move around like we would if we were being auctioned off as female sex slaves.  I really didn’t dream about being antibodies slave.  The way I figured was that the best person to become a slave of was Homer LeGrand, the person who actually owned me.  I saw him once a week on average, walking around the hospital.  Sometimes work crews were needed to carry in medical supplies.  the hospital got gobs of packages every day.  Rosen and I volunteered and that’s when we saw slave boys, Homer LeGrand, and various slave doctors walking around the hospital.

Rosen focused on boys her age, and older.  She flirted and made eyes at them.  It worked and we heard our room door was a #1 target of desperate family member boys.  Several boys were whipped trying to reach Rosen, or maybe me.  That’s not exactly the result Rosen wanted.  I never was too excited about slave boys.  If a slave boy got alone with a girl and his equipment made positive contact, then at worst the girl got pregnant.  It might be fun, but it seemed a losing game.

I looked and tried eye contact with smiles, directed at older guys.  Patients were free and we were told rich.  Rich people could do most anything.  The hospital replaced body parts, and that process was not cheap.  Male patients and Homer (the supreme master) got my smiles and flirting.  It’s hard to be glamorous carrying a box of needles, but I tried in elevators and just walking around in the atrium.

Mother said, “Glamorous girls don’t need makeup and special clothes, but they must know how to move and look at men.”  She demonstrated and Rosen and I practiced her stuff.

The grapevine around the hospital was very active and one day Mrs. Smolie who worked near us painting horses said, “Oh my god isn’t Albert Landee the family doctor of you folks?”

“Yes,” mother said.

“Well the word is that he ruined a nose this morning and he’s locked in a closet until the master decides what to do with him.  the story goes that he did the nose while he was drunk.”  She waited awhile for the dramatic effect and we stood there stunned, and then she said, “The patient was the richest person to ever come to this hospital, his name is John Zeneweiler.  H’s 97 and had almost everything replaced and the skin and face was done last.  My husband did part of the heart/lung job.”

That message paralyzed us, and sure enough that night dad didn’t eat with us, or come to our room.  Mother thought we would all become red shirt drudge scrubbers, and that’s what we all believed when we went to work and the teacher came to collect my brothers for school.

We just got our paint and started our daily art work when one of the supervisors who carried a strap came to us and said, “Landee slaves hurry to your room.  The master is waiting for you there.”  We actually ran back to our room and stood with our heads bowed, at our bunk beds –like we did when the room was inspected.

When we were all in place Homer said, “This is Mr. Zenweiler and since the doctor in this room messed up this patients face.  It’s nothing we won’t get fixed, but it happened because this doctor was working drunk!

So I told our patient that he could have one of the doctors family members as his fuck slave.  So now take off all your clothes so he can inspect you with his hands and decide which of you he wants.  The rest of you will be used elsewhere as slaves.  You won’t be in this room anymore.”

I pulled my dress off and gave the patient a big smile.  His nose did look terrible, like a blob of jelly that was sitting on toast.  It was more a snout than a human nose, but Zenweiler looked like a monster maybe a child made with modeling clay, like dolls glued together with super glue.  His arms and legs were too very big for his body, his clothes were baggy.  His ears were too small for the rest of his face.  He inspected mother first.  She was right next to me and I saw him lift and squeeze her breasts and then stick his fingers in her pussy hole. His hands had hair all over them, like a monkey.  He even put his fingers inside her back bowel hole.  Mother said not a word to him as he played with her.  I figured he would pick Rosen with her big tits.  Men like big breasts, everyone says it.  Mine are good, but I’m not as ripe and ready as Rosen, so when he went at me with his groping hands I said, “Master I’m all ready and eager to be impregnated! Please choose me!”

He didn’t reply, but looked in my mouth at my tongue.  I thought that was gross after having those unwashed fingers up my mother’s bung hole,but I smiled and acted excited that he was touching  me.  I did the things mother said were sexy to men, I made it like a little stand almost in place dance.  I jumped up and down with my little sort of dance steps, but he went on to my little sister after feeling me everyplace.

Shjelly had tits like a boy and not a strand of hair between her legs, he ran his hands over her and patted her rump, but went right to Rosen and without even checking her pussy or lifting her breasts took her by the arm, and out of the room with him.

Homer left with the patient and Homer had a doctor-dressed girl with him.  It was a girl dressed as a doctor, but I don’t think she was old enough to be one.  She had a rather fat rump, and had a sharp little nose — not very much competition compared to Rosen and me.  Everywhere he went the girl went with him.  I think maybe she was a side-kick.

After he left we put ou clothes back on and waited in the room.  One rule of slavery is that your master will tell you what to do next.  Mother was hugging the boys, because I thought if we are made scrubbers they will be taken away and we won’t see each other anymore.  I hugged Shelly, and all of us had a real good cry.

About 20 minutes later the same female supervisor who took us from the art room came in the room we had lived in, pointed at me and said, “Run after me slave.”  I did and we rode a special elevator upstairs and then we ran to a door where a woman door-person opened it, and I walked into the most lavish apartment I have ever seen.  Everything was polished wood & brass.  On one end of the room was Homer LeGrand and he said, “Come over here slave girl and I walked quickly to where he was.  A utility woman was handing him pills and he had a glass of liquid in his hand and swallowed after each pill.

“I’ve decided to try you out as my fuck slave.” he said.

“Thank you master,”  I said and jumped up and down.  Mother said, ‘Men like enthusiasm in a girl.’  I was planning to be a 9th grade cheerleader when I was taken out of school.

He said,”You give me a hard on just being in the room with you princess.  Lets go in my bedroom and fuck.”

I jumped up and down and squealed like we had just won the ball game, and kissed him all the way to the bedroom.

///////////////////////

Part 2 PONY & THE PRINCESS

I always knew I would love sex, that was never a question in my mind.  I  thought that old men were the most promising partners because they had money, and as a slave, they were the owners.  On the other hand I thought young boys would be best for sex.  So I started out with Homer in his seventies.  I guess maybe he had a new implanted dick.  We all knew that was the major, major operation at the Homer LeGrand Clinic — male sex equipment implants.

Well the reality of Homer was that he fucked like a bunny.  My god he must have been a totally wild thing as a boy, I thought.  Mother was always enthusiastic under the blanket and I watched that closely, and I tried to outdo mother and dad with Homer.  I moved under him much more than he moved in thrusting into me.  He didn’t know my name and he first called me Pony.  We hardly left the bed for 3 days, we would eat in our underwear and slave women would be feeding us and I would give him one of my looks and we would both leave the food and go romp on the bed.

Marlee was his doctor assistant and she got where she would come by the bed and try to talk to him while we were fucking.  It was important stuff about patients wanting to hand him money and which slave to take a kidney out of for Mr. Blitze?  Significant questions of some merit.

He was not friendly with her, men don’t like interruptions when their deep into pulsating pussy.  He told Marlee one time, “If you don’t leave Pony and I alone I’ll string you up and give you twenty licks!”

After three days we were both exhausted.  we ate and slept for the next 2 days.  I had never lived like Homer lived before.  My father had what we thought was money.  We thought we were rich with slave servants.  In mother’s home they were servants.  In Homer’s apartment slave women were fixtures in the rooms.  They were trained to do their jobs and not speak or be noticed.  You could look around the bedroom and see them in every corner waiting for some special service.  At first I thought they were the competition, but Homer said about the 2nd day “Oh no, I never screw them Pony.  Some are decorative, and most are useful.  They have specific jobs, but will do anything that we tell them.  By now they are mindless creatures.

I had two women who fed me.  It was quite a trick to feed in bed with me propped up on pillows and them getting food from others and handling utensils.  So I guess I was moving around too much and they were having trouble with me and Homer said, “If they don’t move fast enough pinch their tits.”  I laughed like he told a joke, and he said, “Really Princess,” he began calling me Princess after the 3rd day of fucking, who knows about time when you’re having so much fun your afraid to go shit? 

“Remember their lucky slaves to be waiting around all day to dress or undress us, or to put steak in our mouths.  Room slaves like these expect a little pain from their owners.  Slap their faces or give them vicious pinches and they’ll thank you, you could make them scrubbers.”

When we ate in the dining room of the apartment the feeders were better looking than bedroom or kitchen slaves.  Most of the women were large, older than me, as old as my mother. 

I became a hostess for Homer in his apartment.  Patients ate with us, and doctors.  A few times various important people from Rosewood (the Texas town we were living in).  It seems that Homer had lived in Rosewood all his life.  Homer I believe was lots richer than the ones who visited him.  Sometimes Homer dressed like a Roman Emperor and I like his princess.  I liked dress up, and like Nero Homer was always killing slaves.  His hospital used slaves as organ transplants for people who wanted new body parts.  Of course no one let on to the slaves that their kidney or liver was going to be transferred to some old man or woman.  Often patients would fly into Texas from all over the world with a few slaves to use for the operation.  Or Homer had victims that he would bring in.  Homer told me, “We may only take the heart for the patient who brought in the slave boy, but here at the hospital we save and use all the body parts.  Nothing goes to waste.”

Homer wanted me to wear the best clothes to his ‘Roman Orgies’ or just sit down dinner parties where we discussed organ transplants and looked at those slaves who would be operated on the next day.  I didn’t have to go off to Dallas to dress shops.  The vans pulled up at the hospital and sometimes 50 models came in and paraded before me and Homer.  I could pick clothes and shoes I liked.  The models were teenagers like me.  They were I think owned by the stores.  Who knows, I didn’t question them.

After I had been with Homer about 2 months, I got up my nerve and asked, “Do you know what happened to my mother, sister and two little brothers?”  I didn’t call him ‘master’ anymore, at his request.

“No,” he said, “I really forgot about them.”  Later that same day he said, “I’ve found them now Princess.  Your mother and sister have been servants in the room of a female doctor who’s not married and your two little brothers are out learning to do yard work.  I’ll do anything you want with them, in reason.  Would you like to use them as slaves?”

“Yes,” I said, “they could be useful slaves around our apartment.”

“What about your little brothers?”

Send them back to school, and let them work in the yard, or study in the afternoons.”

“Good plan Princess and I’ll have a supervisor talk to your mother and sister before they come up here and explain that they are your personal property and must obey you.”

“Thanks Homer,” I said, “They might think they were not my slaves unless someone explained the situation.”

I was dressed for supper with Homer and a patient, when mother and Shelly were brought to my bedroom.  They both laid on the floor at my feet and kissed my shoes.  I knew that Homer would have to be eased into anything different from them being anymore than slaves.  I think that long ago Homer had been married, and he wanted excitement and not a mother-in-law living with him.  When Homer said I could have anything ‘within reason’ he meant his reasons, not mine.  I would have to make my mother and sister more and more human for him, ease them into humanity again, but first they would have to be hidden slaves, safe in my room where I dressed.

“Things have changed,” I said, “I told Homer you two would be useful around the apartment and, he said, ‘They will be your slaves.’  Of course you know that most of the slaves in the hospital are my slaves now.  Homer calls me Princess, and that’s what I really am, a Princess.”

I motioned with my finger for them to get on their knees and they did.  I gave a motion that they could talk with my fingers, they had been trained as slaves, and did what household slaves did quickly.  Mother said something first, “We heard about you from our mistress Roan the female doctor we were servants for.  She said you even owned the female doctors the master fucked.”

“That’s true,” I said, “I remember Roan in the rotation of doctor fuck slaves.  He has 3 or 4 of them nightly waiting in case he wants to use one.  Homer has a big appetite for girls and women, but I’m not jealous in the least because he scares the slave women and they are mostly afraid to death of him, and my ownership of them scares them more.

I didn’t know Roan owned you and I’m a sure if she knew the connection she was really uneasy about you talking to me.  She stands naked with the others once or twice a month.  She’s one of the better looking, of his female slave doctors.  I sent her to him several times for one service or another.  You will tell me how she treated you and then I’ll ask her and all of you better tell me everything.  As the flesh owner I would know all  that happened.”  I had to go to dinner right then, but that night I would listen to Shelly and mother.

The dinner that night was with Josephus Mori a patient with huge amounts of money.  Mori flew in from his estate in China.  He had a heart condition, but because of a sex operation he came to us.

“I want the heart/lung operation, and then a new penis and balls, and a pussy installed,” he said.  Well that made me look at him more closely over my steak and potatoes.

“We haven’t tried that before,”  Homer said, “why both sets of equipment?”

“It’s just a thing I’ve yearned for all my life.  I’ve collected doctors in India and China like you have here.  I have 40 and I think they could do the sex operation.  I brought my most operative slave hermaphrodite with me.  I own several, but this is the most fictional.  I came to you because what good is the sex operation if I have a heart attack and die?  You have the resources and could do both operations.”

I noticed that Mr. Mori was female looking.  He was tall and slender and probably 40 years old.  HIs face didn’t look like a male face and he had tits, not big ones, but nice small ones.  Homer always said to me, ‘Say whatever you feel like at the dinners.  I don’t consider you a slave anymore.’

Even Mr. Mori’s hands looked female.  We had just finished the 2nd course, some wonderful seafood.  There had been little said after Mori explained what he wanted.

“Why,” I said, “don’t you want Homer to make you into a woman?  Of course you know you look like a beautiful woman already?”

“I know,” He said quietly, “I had a hard time dominating others with my physical characteristics.  Anger kept me going.  Your name is Princess I think he said, well I would like to be sensual like you.  I am already of two minds.  To hold my part of China I probably behead 10,000 a year.  Mostly we kill on the borders of my territory.  When I started my research I bought the best doctors and we changed the sex of hundreds of slaves.  We had an 80% success rate when I got the heart problems.

My doctors were not into heart transplants and I don’t have time for experiments.

So to answer your question PrincessI always liked men, not women, but I have the world’s smallest penis.  One reason I’ve killed so many people every year is because of my fury at having such a small piece of penis.  It is a ding-dong that doesn’t ring.”

“e can hang you with a dick and balls that will barely stuff into a pair of pants.” Homer said,  “we do everything bigger in Texas.  I can show you five men tonight that have the biggest dicks I could find and 50 virgins with beautiful pussies.”

“Could I see what you call the world’s smallest dick.” I said.

“I’ve killed people who said even less than that to me, but with you Princess.  You seem so female, but so dominate.  You probably own many female slaves and control them perfectly.”

“Yes I did, and you seem more like a female slave who needs a harsh mistress than a conqueror and a killer.”

“Where would you like me to go to show you my tiny penis Princess?

“Stand up here and drop your pants.”  I said and left my feeders and went to Mori and handled her dick.  It was a very small one.  I noticed he bowed his head when I cupped his balls.  One of my small hands could enclose both his balls and his dick.

“You’re a natural slave Mori aren’t you?”

“Yes mistress.” He said in a low voice.

“Your my slave girl aren’t you Mori?”  I kept holding his small stuffing in my right hand as I spoke to him.  “I own you Mori and I want you to be my girl.  I don’t want a dick and balls on you!  Is that clear!”

“Yes mistress.  What should I do now?”

“What I would normally do with a new slave girl is whip her into submission.  In your case I’m sending you to get your heart/lung operation and as soon as that’s over I’ll pick a nice pussy to attach to you instead of that stupid looking dick and balls.”

“Yes mistress,” he said.  I had him lick my shoes ad crawl abit and then I sent him with two doctors Homer called.  They were going to operate that night.

After he left, Homer and I continued eating and Homer said, “How did you do that?”

“He was a slave girl who failed at being a man.  Inside he was ready to give up, surrender.  In China he would have killed me.  Here he was free to become a slave girl.  after she signs over all her possessions to us.  I need to whip her, and we can take her on a leash on our honeymoon to China.”

“Good idea.” Homer said.

____________________________________________

Written by Ray Cates (Adolphus)

Mailing address: 2505 NW Magnolia Ave. Ocala Florida 34475

Fax: 352-629-1573   e-mail address: rcates2@cox.net

Some links to other stories: http://thecitiesgame.wordpress.com  http://militarycourtesy.wordpress.com http://yestobe.wordpress.com  http://makingaterrorist.wordpress.com   http://fightts.wordpress.com  http://monicastory.wordpress.com  http://straightarrowcub.wordpress.com  http://freedorm.wordpress.com http://womanwants.wordpress.com  http://bigblackmole.wordpress.com http://dodadguy.wordpress.com  http://room76.wordpress.com  http://texasend.wordpress.com

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