Chapter 1

Pledge recited by school students each morning

We pledge, as individuals and as a society,
to allow every person, Topper or Subling,
to make their own choice between freedom and slavery
and to allow Sublings to choose the time and manner
of their conversion.

“She’s here!” Andrew’s jaw dropped as he looked out the window, watching the limousine roll smoothly to the front of the circular drive.

Andrew gulped visibly. I’d never seen my brother display any hint of nervousness. I looked back out the window. The driver had emerged from the limo. His expensive suit didn’t hide his size or his muscles. He stood at least a full head taller than Father, with shoulders twice as wide. His shades reflected the car and the sky, showing nothing of his eyes. The ... I had to think of him as a bodyguard ... walked around to open the door on the near side of the limo. A gorgeous young woman, dressed in tight black leather pants and a short matching leather jacket stepped out of the limo, A black choker caressed her neck, and a pair of black shades concealing her eyes completed her matching outfit. Her black hair whipped around as she turned quickly to the limo and bent over, reaching for something inside. She stood up holding a large satchel and walked up the steps towards the front door.

I noticed that the choker sat very low on her neck, just off her shoulders. To avoid interfering with the noose, I guessed. I looked at the girl again, puzzled. “I thought she was supposed to be a blonde...”

Andrew snarled back, “That’s not her, bonehead. That’s her assistant. She’s...”

Andrew gasped, and turned once more to look outside. It seemed doubtful Andrew or I could be seen behind the gauzy drapes from the bright sunlight outside. Andrew was gawking without trying to hide it, and I’m sure he would have played it cooler if he’d thought the new arrivals were watching his reactions.

Then I gasped too. Another woman was emerging from the car, and there was no doubt of this one’s identity. Her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair looked like ripe durum wheat. Her skimpy clothing supported the color motif established by her hair: a tight skirt ending just a few inches below her perfect bottom, and a halter top with a deeply plunging neckline hung over her breasts like a drape and ended just below them, showing a flat tummy with well-defined abdominals. The skirt and halter, both made of a silky silvery-gold fabric, were sufficiently opaque to hide what was underneath, but sheer enough to reveal the superb shape of everything they covered—she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra and, despite the generous size of her breasts, she didn’t need one. Golden sandals adorned her feet, and the choker around her neck was a slightly darker shade of gold. Her skin looked soft, smooth, and evenly tanned, a perfect match for the color of her outfit. Her well-developed muscles added shape and definition to every feature that draws eyes to a beautiful woman’s body: long, toned legs like a gymnast and the shoulders and arms of a swimmer. Her blue eyes were bright, large, and wide, a perfect match for her smile, her face expressing not so much wonder at her surroundings as pure, simple joy and excitement.

It was my turn to gawk; I wished I could somehow look like this blonde—the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. She exuded charm, confidence, and above all, sex.

I was eighteen, just on the verge of being full-grown, and felt woefully unprepared for the role. I was suddenly very conscious of my own body, which could hardly compare to that blonde. My breasts had developed late, and I still couldn’t figure out what to do with them. The rest of my body seemed formless and vague, like a quickly-sketched cartoon drawing. My mousy-brown hair was just there, not like the blonde’s perfect, layered hair. I had on a dingy pair of Andrew’s cast-off sweats, and wished I had the clothing sense that could make me look like ... well, I’d never be like the blonde, but a little sexier, anyway. Father could have bought me any clothes I wanted, but I’d grown up a tomboy. I was more aware of being female now, but just never felt like shopping for clothes. It was easier to just wear whatever was around the house. Besides, wearing good clothes would have felt pretentious.

My brother Andrew ... there was something mysterious about him, something that attracted the eye. I wished I could look like Andrew, but there was no way I wanted to be like Andrew—a schmuck of the first order. Andrew looked cool. Andrew’s hair is chestnut, not an ordinary nut-brown like mine.

Andrew was punching my arm. “Wake up, dumbshit. You need to greet her at the door. I’m going to be out back.”

I sucked in a shocked breath. “Me?? Why?”

“I want everybody watching when she meets me. Just get her in the house and see if there’s anything she needs. Then bring her out back.” He turned and almost sprinted back through the house, with an unusual, almost shy reluctance to let the girl see him too early.

Andrew projected enough self-importance even on an average day, but this, unfortunately, was his twenty-first birthday. He wanted to make sure he was the center of attention among his friends and (I sometimes wondered how there could be such a category) admirers.

Melville, the butler, went past to answer the bell. Most wealthy men would have a slave answering the door, but not Father. He hired a free citizen for the job, just to show off. Melville opened the door and said “Yes?” to the visitors.

The blonde, now standing in front with the black-haired girl and the limo driver behind him, beamed at Melville. “I’m Miranda ... Well, today I’m Princess Miranda.” She gave the other girl a look, and they both chuckled. “I’m here for Andrew Cameron’s party. This is Beth, my assistant, and this is Big Bill, our ... chaperone.” The girls laughed again. The bodyguard nodded a bare half-inch, without expression. He stood at least a full head taller than Father, with shoulders twice as wide. His shades were as dark as Beth’s, and mirrored. “Intimidating” was the word that came to mind.

Melville responded, “Yes, we’ve been expecting you.”

Miranda laughed again. “Well, I hope so.”

My stomach was churning. I noticed that I was fidgeting, not sure what to do with my hands. I forced myself to hold them still at my sides.

“Will you come this way?” Melville backed away to let them enter.

Miranda’s bright eyes met mine. “Oh, hi. Are you...” Miranda’s eyes flicked down, saw that I wasn’t wearing a slave collar. “ ... part of the family?”

I stepped forward and offered my hand. “Ummm, yeah. Amy Cameron. Andrew is my brother. I’m here to ... well I’m supposed to ... do you need ... anything?” I could feel my face reddening, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from Miranda’s. At last I noticed that Miranda’s collar had dark thread stitched into the front which read in a flowing script, “Miranda, property of Andrew Cameron.” I gulped. I should have expected that; Father had purchased the girl for Andrew. It still boggled me a little.