Dark Erotic Fiction

Sherrie on the Street, part 2

Dramatis Personae
- Sherrie Phillips (alias ‘Jane’), naked slave girl, formerly street cage girl, 5′5″, 28 years, dye blond hair, 120 pounds, C cup, filthy mouth.
- ‘My Man’ (alias ‘Joe’). Leasing Sherrie for the week.

Turns out ‘My Man’ is a geek.

Let me explain.

Right now is 38 hours after I left the street with My Man. That was 9am, it’s now 11pm. He’s asleep, and I’m tied up on the floor at the foot of his bed same as yesterday. Sort of.

You may remember I was enslaved about a month and a half ago, spent 2 weeks at the center, and a month in the cage by the street for the tourists to fondle and fuck, while I froze in the rain and starved, and was basically suicidal even before the homeless man started stealing all my food, and then ‘My Man’ came by and leased me for a week. That was yesterday.

When last we met I was bent over the kitchen table being fucked from behind, staring at the kitchen cabinets full of food. They contain other things too but it was the food I was looking at.

Right after that he made me pancakes. I had eight. I made a pig of myself. He only had two. I covered them with butter and maple syrup and they were so damn good. I made the most unladylike burp around four and didn’t slow down until six. At seven it occurred to me that I was full, but I ate one more just in case my stomach was lying to me.

What did we do after that? We fucked. We fucked like newlyweds. We fucked in the living room. We fucked in the bedroom. We even fucked in the bathroom. Then we went back to the kitchen and fucked in there again. No blow jobs, no anal sex. When he was tired I rode him cowgirl. When I was tired he did me missionary. When we both were tired we lay wherever we were, which as often as not turned out to be the floor. When we both had energy our positions weren’t in the karma sutra, we fucked as we moved from place to place in whatever awkward position was remotely sex possible, with me using both arms and occasionally a foot to brace myself into position against his thrusts.

We paused for two hours for dinner. His getting dressed was my first clue that something different was about to happen. He had me kneel in the kitchen and watch him cook filet mignon and french fries. Eventually served with an italian loaf bread and red wine, with the lights dimmed and a candle. When waiting between his doing things in the oven and counter, he would wave his hand and I’d go to him and he’d suck my nipples, telling me to stand with my knees apart and my wrists behind my back. Then a bell would go off and he’d point to the floor and I’d walk back and kneel again while he went back to cooking. But he left my vagina alone for the two hours for dinner, which was just as well since it was a little on the sore side. Last I saw his cock it was red, so it was probably more than a little tender too.

Call me crazy but I’m the ’slave’. I assumed I’d be doing the little slavish things: cleaning the house, cooking, carrying his stuff, all the drudgery. Nope. Not allowed. At least not thus far.

He had me dress for dinner. He gave me a pair of playboy bunny costume white cuffs. So I wore them and my collar and nothing else. It was more than I’d worn in more than a month. And he was right — it did add a certain bizarre elegance to the meal. Apparently the cuffs are only for ‘formal’ occasions — I didn’t get them for dinner the next day. That meal was out, and in an odd way nicer, but I’m getting a head of myself.

We talked a little during dinner. I’m not sure but it might have been the first time I said anything since we go to the apartment. Nothing deep, just small talk, both ways. I was very respectful all the time. He interrupted me a lot with little tidbits from his life that he felt were relevant. Dinner over, my temporary permission to speak was revoked again.

After dinner he reached for his belt and I of course thought the worst, but he flung it aside and dropped his pants and we resumed fucking like rabbits, revisiting all our old haunts, by which I mean the same rooms and furniture we’d been using as props that afternoon.

Maybe once we stopped for water.

By 10 pm I was bushed to the point where I couldn’t move. I let him continue to have his way with me. Frankly by that point I had no energy left to resist even if I were so inclined. My muscles ached. Hell my teeth ached. By 10:30 he was spent, and we were done for the night.

At 10:45 somehow I found the energy to crawl after him from my sprawled out spot on the living room rug to the bedroom. I was unsure where I would be sleeping. The bed of course was a possibility. I just wanted to crash, but he insisted I use the bathroom before going to bed.

Half asleep, quite tired, I crawled back to the bedroom just in time to see him open the balcony doors and a fucking cold wind came in. My head dropped in disappointment as I realized I was being put outside for the night like a dog. I’d had it up to here with cold in the past month, and we were high enough up in the apartment that the wind would blow like a son of a bitch.

But then he stopped me as I started to crawl out there. He turned down the thermostat, and then he opened a closet, pulled out an exercise mat and threw it down at the foot of the bed. Next came a hiker sleeping bag — you know the ones with the small feet end, and a drawstring for around your face. After that came a NapSoft blanket, which he said was the softest thing in the universe. The world’s most touchable blanket. I’d have to agree. Of course I don’t qualify as an expert since for the past month I’ve been sleeping on sharp concrete, and relatively speaking isn’t saying much, but it seemed very soft to me. Then from the bedside table he pulled out a pair of padded leather cuffs and a little padlock. He fastened my hands behind my back with them, and with the sleeping bag on the floor against the foot of the bed, and the blanket laid out like a rug on the floor in front of that he had me lay on the blanket. Seemed weird, but I’m the slave girl, and he weighs almost twice as much as I do, and I’m naked and bound, so I obeyed right away. He rolled me over like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra, with just my head sticking out, and then one more roll until I was in the sleeping bag, lying on my side, facing the door. He zipped up the bag until it left only my face sticking out. The sleeping bag head drawstring turned out to be a small chain, which he padlocked to keep it tight, and the other end of the chain he padlocked to the sturdy foot of his king sized bed. At the foot of the sleeping bag was another chain, which he padlocked to the opposite foot of his bed. I squirmed around inside of the sleeping bag, and felt the chain apparently sown to the outside of the sleeping bag along the side running all the way up to the upper chain. I was bound by the cuffs, mummified by the sleeping bag, and chained to keep from rolling away. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and tucked it under my head, kissed me on the forehead, and then he got into his pajamas and got into his own bed.

It certainly didn’t take me long to fall asleep. I remember thinking that all in all it had been a nice day.

In the morning I woke up and my nose was cold. A few wiggles and I had the sleeping bag over my face and I warmed up quickly. I had to pee, but obviously I wasn’t going anywhere until he woke up. I batted my eyes and looked left and right and smiled and almost giggled. I couldn’t resist wiggling my feet. I was warm, toasty, wrapped up in softness, and I felt great. I still needed to pee though. A girl can’t have everything.

I heard him stir, and apparently he’s not the sort that just leaps out of bed because it was like half an hour before he finally got up. He was standing up before his alarm clock went off, but only by a few seconds. Helpless, I watched him close the balcony door, open the bedroom door to the rest of the apartment, and turn up the thermostat.

He unfastened me from my cocoon, even my cuffs, leaving me only in my collar once again, and sent me off to the bathroom. I looked at the clock in the bathroom and saw that it was 6 am.

When I returned he was naked. I knelt facing him and waited for the inevitable. I, like you dear reader, being no fool, knew what his nudity meant. Certainty brings a kind of comfort that in this case lasted for about six seconds until he threw a pair of track pants and fleece hoody at me. I thought he wanted me to hold them for him while he got dressed, but they were followed by a pair of pink socks and a pair of tiny sneakers that were way too small for him. Holy shit I think he wanted me to wear them.

This man was NOT my owner. He was just leasing me, and the center and my owner had been VERY clear that I was to be naked 24/7. No clothes. Ever. My owner had said it because he wanted people to have access to my breasts and pussy. But I remember the center also explaining about some slave girl who’d worn clothes and been in a store or restaurant or something and served as if she were a free woman for half an hour, and then someone who knew she was a slave (not her owner, just someone she’d met while nude) yelled at her for being insufficiently respectful over something else, and the waiter getting upset that he’d been serving a slave girl, and three or four people ended up yelling at each other and blaming her, and to make a long story short she ended up dead. For the first time in a month I’m not suicidal, and I sure don’t see any need to be assassinated. Those garments scared me to death. I watched him put on larger more masculine versions of the same outfit.

Of course I didn’t tell My Man that. He could probably tell my panic from my body language. I think I told him that I wasn’t permitted to wear clothes, but I would if he made me. He shrugged, and put them away. He asked, “how about these?” holding the socks and running shoes up for me to see. He told me we were going jogging. That he didn’t mind me walking the streets barefoot, but that I’d cut my feet to ribbons running on bare feet over who knows what on the streets and sidewalks of the city. I acquiesced and told him that I thought the shoes and socks would be fine. No one ever looks at my feet anyway. Truly I don’t know what will happen if my owner sees me wearing shoes. He might not care; it might be the bastinado; he might cut my feet off. I’d never seen My Man jogging before, so odds are good my owner won’t see us.

That wasn’t my only problem. Jogging! I’d never jogged in my life. Maybe a little in high school gym class, but that was years ago. And I’d spent the last month in a cage. I could barely stand up, let alone run! But apparently we were going jogging. He attached my leash to my collar and we went down the elevator and in minutes we were outside.

Continuing on my list of problems, let’s not forget the public nudity. It ain’t trivial you know. Being naked in public is very hard on a girl.

The streets of were bathed in the soft glow of early morning sunlight and I fancied that the city was just waking up. My view from the cage had been very limited. Mobile now I saw a lot more of what was happening. A shopkeeper was rolling up his shutters; a young boy in pajamas was playing with his dog on the front lawn. Seeing this, I almost let myself believe that things were normal.

Although the world around me was peaceful and tranquil, I myself was a wreck. My legs ached, as I struggled to keep up with My Man as I ran along behind him. Being completely naked, except for my running shoes and ankle socks, initially had me freezing cold, and although I must have warmed up a bit I never quite got used to the biting wind as we ran. My breasts of course did what women’s breasts do when they run, reminding me vividly of Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life where Arthur Charles Herbert Runcie MacAdam Jarrett (Graham Chapman), a criminal convicted of making gratuitous sexist references in a film, killed in a manner of his choosing: he is chased off a cliff by plethora of terribly sexy and topless women having their breasts happily bounce behind him in brightly-colored crash helmets. They were all physically fit and sexy as hell. I’m wheezing like a 90 year old man with asthma.

A school bus went by full of what looked like 19 year old college girls. I saw him look and give one of them who was watching him a little smile and a wave. She raised her own hand to wave back, but only got it partway before she saw me running along behind him. They were gone in a second, and I was still watching her when My Man turned a corner and my leash to his right hand pulled me off balance to follow him.

No, things are not normal.

I’ve been thinking about this for a day now, and I don’t think he even knew who that girl on the bus was.

I’m pretty sure he cut his jogging short, because he was neither sweating nor winded when we returned to the apartment building. I got the feeling this ‘jogging’ was going to be an every day event with him. I guess I had to work off those pancakes somehow.

We showered, and he really lathered me up. I don’t think my breasts have ever been this clean. He left me in the bathroom to make myself pretty, and he threw on a robe and slippers and went to make breakfast.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and bacon. The bacon was phenomenal. You wouldn’t believe how good his coffee is. Starbucks go fuck yourself.

I knelt in his bedroom and watched him dress for work. A press shirt, sharp tie, dress pants, shiny black shoes, and that gold watch I’ve seen him wear since I first met him. Add to that a tasteful jacket and he picked up my leash and we were back out the door. Yesterday I was wondering if he was independently wealthy or something — not that his apartment is ‘wealthy’ — but it turns out he has a job. And, much to my astonishment, he’s taking me with him. Naked.

Apparently I’m office ‘art’.

No I don’t have to get into some museum statue pose in the front lobby. We walked to a little office tower, rode the elevator up to the 8th floor, he card swiped his way into a business, and we walked to his office. Not a corner office, but it has windows. Excellent view of the building across the street. I knelt on the floor beside the plastic philodendron.

There are no computers actually in the room, but there’s four 20 inch LCD’s and one 30 inch LCD monitors on his desk. Sitting on his chair, I can’t see him for the monitors.

As I said, he’s a geek. Turns out the company he works for manages computers for other people. Those other computers are in other buildings, even other cities and other countries. I’m not really sure what he does, and I’m not allowed to watch him type nor look at the screens. But I heard the words ‘database’ and ‘email server’ and ‘file server’ and ‘firewall’ and ‘network security alert’ when co-workers came in.

It was a 9 to 5 job. And most of the day we had the room to ourselves. He had me kneel upright with my hands crossed behind my back for the first half hour. Then sit back on my heels with my hands behind my head for the second half hour. Then sit cross-legged for the next hour. Then for the next half-hour he had me squat, knees wide as usual, my back near the wall. I started with my hands on my knees, but eventually I started studying the philodendron, pushing it around with my fingers and getting a close look. What can I say; I was a little bored. Then he let me move or position myself as I wanted, as long as I didn’t lie down. He said I’m not a cat and I don’t need to sleep twenty hours a day.

I did mention the co-workers. The first guy to come in noticed me right away; no big surprise, men tend to notice shapely naked women in the room with them. I knelt respectfully right away. He asked if the company president was ok with having a naked me in the office, and My Man said he’d checked and it was fine.

Did I mention that My Man’s name is Joe? That guy called him Joe.

Joe and Jane. At least his name’s not Tarzan.

The co-worker checked me out for a bit, and then asked My Man if it was ok. My Man said he could ogle me as much as he wanted, but not to touch. Good and bad I guess. A slave girl’s always curious about what’s going to happen to her. Although anything’s still possible I’m fairly certain by the way he said it that My Man is not going to be whoring me out for fun and profit. Those days are over, at least until my week is up. I hope hope hope he doesn’t send me back to the cage. I hope I’m not expensive. I really don’t know, but I doubt it.

This was when My Man told his co-worker that the female body is a beautiful thing, and that I was there as art, not as a menial fetch it slave. So I’m a beautiful work of art! So there!

It turns out, that of the various jobs My Man could have; I think this one is the best for me. I get to be with him, and it’s relatively private. It’s not like he’s selling shoes and everyone could see me, or something else where he deals in person with the public or his customers all day long who might object to my presence. He types into computers, and they don’t care a whit about me. He makes enough money to be able to afford me — I hope and pray — but not so much that he’ll have to give me up anytime soon due to any of a number of possible obligations. I judge him a very practical master for me. I’m glad I found him, although I wouldn’t call my fucking cage a dating service.

About 10:30 am he asked if I needed to go to the bathroom. I nodded. He held the door open for me because I’m a woman, and I crawled out because I’m a naked slave girl. Personally, due to our status, I think I should have held the door open for him, but the center taught me that I no longer have the right to have opinions or to make decisions like that. I crawl at his side, dragging my leash on the floor between my knees. Everyone’s at the office now, and I can just tell they’re all staring at my dangling breasts. That is until I pass them, at which point they’re all looking between my legs. I have no pride. I am NOT leaving my master’s side.

He opens the door to the men’s washroom and we go in. He points to a stall, and he takes up position in front of a urinal. I go to the toilet and close the door automatically. Sitting, I lean forward and open the stall door, and hold it open as I pee. My Man tells me that I don’t have to hold it open so he can watch. Idiot. I’m not doing it so he can watch me; I’m holding the door open so I don’t loose him. Naked slave girls without their masters get raped and stolen and maimed and killed every day. I’m not letting him out of my sight. I don’t care if I pee down my leg chasing after him — he is NOT leaving this bathroom without me.

Who the hell would want to watch me pee? Gross.

At lunchtime one of the office women stops by and asks if I’ll be going out and getting the lunches for everyone today. I’m in a panic. He says no, and I exhale. She asks if I’m not certified to carry cash. I’d never heard of that and I think she’s making it up. He explains that he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight. Oh I love him. He knows me so well. She asks if that’s because he’s afraid I’ll run away. He says maybe. Idiot.

Anyway, it seems that because he intends to have me fed (YEA!), that he’s excluded from the office lunch. So my leash is in his right hand again and he’s tied my wrists behind my back and we’re walking towards a Subway in the mall food court. The mall is crowded and I get touched a lot, and we stand in the yet-to-order line. My Man whispers in my ear asking me what I want. I push myself up on my tiptoes to his ear, with me leaning far forward and my chest against his arm, just as he turns the other way and I end up practically falling on the floor as I slide across his front off balance. He catches me and props me back up. Even more embarrassed now, I spread my feet solidly apart and get back up on my tiptoes and whisper back into his ear that I want a small fresh toasted Meatball Marinara. He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, but when we get to the front that’s what he orders. He has a large cold cut combo. Two bottled waters. I tug on his sleeve and try to point behind my back at the Pepsi, but apparently that’s not in the cards. Thankfully, we get take out, so we won’t be eating in the mall. Minutes later, after a very grabby guy in the elevator, I find myself thankfully back in the privacy of his office.

I’m told to sit with my ass a foot out from the wall, shoulder blades leaning back against the wall, legs splayed wide, to eat my food. I think this pose is so he can see my pussy. Turns out it’s so that the meatball sauce can drip on my chest, and not on the carpet. That of course doesn’t dawn on me until the obvious happens.

I’m about half way done my Meatball Marinara when he asks if he can have a bite of it. I pout, but acquiesce. As far as I know there’s no law that says he has to feed me anything at all, and I’ve certainly eaten more rich tasting food than I’d dared to dream of in the past 24 hours. Without my asking he offers me a bite of his cold cut combo, which I accept. He’s so nice. A male chauvinist pig, but a really good food provider. His is tasty, but I prefer mine.

An hour later, a woman comes in with homemade cookies. My Man takes one from the plate and the woman leaves. I must have been looking at him like Oliver Twist. Please master, may I have the cookie?

He takes a bite. The swine. He’s loosing his good food provider badge. He calls me over to kneel at his side. He takes another bite, and then breaks off a piece of cookie and puts it and his fingers in my mouth. My tongue takes the cookie from his fingers, and my lips close around his fingers so that I don’t let a single crumb drop. I think he likes my mouth on his fingers because he doesn’t take a single additional bite himself. Instead he breaks the cookie up into pieces and feeds them to me one by one. With the last bite of the cookie in my mouth he fondles my breast while I chew, like we used to do with the chocolate flavored protean bars. Sort of romantic — hey, it’s how we met!

A few more co-workers arrive the rest of the afternoon; at least two coming in to discuss the weather with him while staring at my bare breasts. At 5pm we are out of there. It’s crowded on the street, and I brazenly wrap my arm around his and press my chest against his bicep to keep people from getting snagged on my leash as they try to pass between us.

I smell that old smell long before I see it, and when he turns into the parking lot I start skipping on my feet beside him with glee. This is the Kentucky Fried Chicken! I turn my head to look at the street, and there’s a corner I could see from my cage, but I could never see this place. We go inside. Unlike the Subway at the mall, this place is not crowded, and at a snap of the fingers of my master I kneel at his side in the yet-to-order line. Not much of a line, there’s one person ahead of us. Of him really, I don’t count, even if everyone is staring at me. I hug his leg in gratitude. He looks down at me wondering what’s going on, and then is equally confused by my gleaming smile beaming up at him leaving him wondering what I’m so happy about.

Unlike the subway, this meal is not ‘to go’. He sits at a booth, and I kneel on the floor at his side. He opens his meal on the table, and mine is opened on the floor. The floor is a little humiliating perhaps, although nothing compared to being forced naked in public. I dig in with both hands and quickly forget everything but the awe-inspiring taste. It’s finger linking good. When I’m done I kiss his feet. Minutes later, he picks up my box from the floor and puts the empty boxes in the trash. I didn’t even notice till then that we didn’t get paper plates. There were no bags though. There was however Pepsi!

A snap tug on my leash and I realize that my hands are not behind my back as we are walking and I quickly put them there. I’ve been spoiled. I wonder if he’ll whip my breasts with his belt when we get home.

Turns out that’s not what he has in mind. We get home, and leash still on, he sits on the couch and I straddle him like a lap dancer and he sucks on my nipples. He keeps that up longer than I thought he would before bending me over the back of the couch and dropping his pants and entering me. I get a little acid reflux from the head low position and the food, but I prop myself up on a straight arm and arch my back sexily and endure for the next fifteen minutes until he cums. He wipes himself dry with a Kleenex and re don’s his pants. He sits back down on the couch and instructs me to dance for him, on the floor between him and the television.

I’m not a pro by any means, but I can sway my hips and I do my best slow hula dancing girl imitation, sans grass skirt and Hawaiian lei. He seems to like it and keeps me at it for almost half an hour. Then I’m on my back on the living room carpet with one of his hands on my breast and his other hand between my legs. I open my eyes and glance at him occasionally and he’s having a good time. I’m having a great time. He’s got good fingers, and this quick-tapping-finger-vibrating thing he’s doing has got me wondering if I’m multi-orgasmic.

After I orgasm, he tells me to stay where I am and I roll onto my side but stay there and watch him wander off into the kitchen. I hear the water tap running. It occurs to me that I don’t mind at all being naked in his apartment. I feel just fine with his being a clothed man and me being a naked female here, and even his being clothed and me naked when he’s playing with my body.

He comes back out with a bowl full of washed raspberries. I’m told to lay on my back, and he places them strategically across my chest and belly, and he proceeds to bend over me and suck them up one at a time with his mouth. I find this hysterical. I didn’t even notice they were all gone until he picked the last one up with his fingers and plopped it into my mouth. He wiped my front off with a dish cloth, and then decided he was going to feel every inch of my skin, starting with my head and working his way down my front down my arms and then down my legs to my toes. Then he had me roll over and do the same on my backside. Before I knew it I was getting a massage. I have no idea why, but it was very pleasant and it did work out some of the kinks. Where were you two weeks ago?

He lay on his back on the floor, and had me lay feet together on top of him, propped up on my elbows on his chest. I started to talk to him and he put his finger to my lips in the shush way. We didn’t move or speak for five minutes, while he looked me in the eyes. He seemed content, with his arms around my lower back, holding me. I know I was. Then without warning he rolled me off of him and he got up and sat on the couch. I started to follow him when he snapped his fingers and pointed, so I knelt there facing him. This time his gaze was more sexual, but it was clear he just wanted to look at me. I wasn’t as happy at this as our prior position, but he seemed to enjoy it, so I stayed and let him look at me. He didn’t want me to move, and ordered me back and still when I started to move my hips for him. So I just waited for him to tell me what to do next.

Eventually he got up and told me to lay on my side on the couch and he went to the bedroom and came back with my NapSoft blanket. He’d changed his shirt to a soft blue long sleeved golf shirt. He glanced at naked me. My knees were together but he could see my breasts and trimmed pubic hair from where he was, and propped up on one elbow with my waist against the couch accentuated my hip. He turned on the gas fireplace, and he sat on the couch with his back against the high armrest and his hip at the edge and his feet up on the couch. I was on my right side with my back to the back of the couch, my shoulder under his, my head near his shoulder, my left forearm on his chest, and our feet together. He threw the blanket over the two of us. The blanket went over his waist and over my breasts. I pulled the blanket out tight like a tent so he could see a nipple, but he tucked it in. The rest of the blanket covered our lower bodies, and covered my toes, but his tucked out a bit. His right hand was on my left elbow, his left arm around me, behind my shoulders, and holding my left shoulder. I felt very much like his girlfriend at that moment. He raised his right hand and started running his fingers through my hair as we gazed into each others eyes, our noses four inches apart.

I told him I loved him, and he kissed me on the lips.

He was smiling. He was happy. But I’m not sure he believed me. To be honest I’m not sure if I believed me, although my heart was certainly his at that moment.

I asked him a bunch of questions, and he told me of himself. I didn’t dare ask that single penultimate question I was so desperate to know — what is going to happen when our week is up?

It’s 11 pm now, and I’m back in my sleeping bag at the foot of my master’s bed. The balcony door is open and I can hear a fire truck in the distance. I’m still a naked slave girl, and tomorrow I’ll be dragged through the streets at the end of a leash attached to a jogging mad man, but right now I feel warm and safe and comfortable and a little bit sleepy. Nighty night.

Sherrie on the Street

Hello, my name is Sherrie Phillips. I know you’re not here and I’m just talking to myself, but that’s no reason not to be polite, and I’m bored and depressed so give me a break. If I swear while talking to myself, you’re not really here, so I didn’t upset anybody.

I won’t tell you much about my history, other than that I was enslaved about a month and a half ago. I’d just moved here with my boyfriend from another state, and well he broke up with me and I changed the locks on his apartment and the next day I wound up PPC enslaved. I won’t tell you what happened to me the first two weeks at the center because what they did to me is too horrible to mention. But I can tell you they broke me and I’ll do anything to keep from going back.

I was sold to my present owner, beats me who the hell he is, but he took me immediately to my current location: a four foot by four foot by four foot solid steel bar cage on the side of this very public street, and inside of this cage is where I’ve been for a month now.

As you can see I’m naked. I’m always naked. There’s nothing flexible let alone cloth like within reach. You probably can’t tell with me bent over down here but I’m five foot five barefoot as I am now. My hair is about two feet long, and you can tell by my pubic hair and the inch and a half of dark roots that I’m not a natural blond. No hair dye for me anymore though, so I’m going to progressively get more stupid looking. As if my squatting here naked in a cage with this fucking chain around my neck doesn’t make me look stupid enough. I’m twenty-eight years old. I was a hundred and forty pounds when I was enslaved, but I figure I’ve lost about twenty pounds since then. Most of me I think looks better, except my legs which I think are looking a little thin, and are certainly scratched from the concrete I sit and kneel on all day. My breasts are still the C cups that they used to be, and don’t seem to be stretching. My areolas are about two and a quarter inches in diameter, and don’t seem to be changing either, despite how hard people yank on them every day.

OK, the rules. Inside my cage is a little metal plaque with the rules. It’s a little hard to read even though it’s in large print because I’m very far sighted. Do you think they let me keep my glasses? Not a chance. Anyway it says:
1)       Keep silent unless asked a question
2)       Show yourself to everyone. Squat at the front of the cage whenever someone comes by, with your knees wide and either your elbows touching behind your back or your hands interlaced behind your head.
3)       You will be given water each time your breasts are fondled. Put your breasts through the bars so they can fondle them. Let them fondle them till they’re done.
4)       You will be given food each time you are fucked.
5)       You are to do nothing else, except obey the commands of your owner. There is no command other than: show, breasts, or fuck that anyone may give you. No hand jobs, no blowjobs, no singing, no hobbies, no advice, no chitchat, nothing. Do nothing else.

It’s not written there, but there’s a sort of portapotty in the triangle thing and I’m allowed to use that too.

As you can see, my cage isn’t completely open on all sides. The bottom is concrete. The top is open and I can see the sky. The sky is my best view. There’s a two-foot wide section of my cage that’s open to the street in front. The entire right hand side is a six-foot tall brick wall. Behind me is the windowless brick wall of a 3 storey building. Somewhere about twenty feet to the left is an alleyway between the buildings. The left hand two feet of the front of the cage is the beginning of a zigzag wall, that every two feet changes direction ninety degrees. It’s also six feet tall. I can see out the front of my cage through the bars, and see the businesses across the street. One of them has a clock, which is very handy. There are peak times of the day when I get used more often, and kneeling or squatting with my breasts through the bars is painful, so I sit in the rear of my cage during off peak times.

On the outside of the front brick wall of my cage are instructions to passers by on how to use me. I can’t read it due to the angle, but it’s where they get packets of water and packets of food for me. They put in a dollar and they get a packet of water, or they put in two dollars and they get a packet of food. The packets are in aluminum foil, and I’m hungry enough that last night I spent six hours staring at three crumpled packets on the floor of my cage debating if I could eat the aluminum.

Anyway, if someone comes to the front of my cage I squat and display my front to them, pushing my breasts between the bars, knees wide to give them a good look. They usually do a trial fondle. Some, perhaps six a day on average, put a dollar into the metal box and take out a packet of water, and then fondle my breasts for ten or fifteen or thirty minutes and then they give me the water and leave. Sometimes they don’t give me the water. Not much I can do about that. I’m in a cage and I have to stay silent. Remember I said I’m not going back to the center?

Sometimes they put two dollars in and take out a food packet. I suppose I should tell you a bit more about my neck chain and the triangle thing. In the back left of my cage there’s a three-foot tall by three-foot wide metal plate wedge with the point at the top. It’s about a foot and a half deep. My neck is chained to the floor in the front. There’s just enough chain for me to squat at my front ‘window’, but I can’t get my head anywhere near the top of the steel wedge/triangle. I can however, with a bit of a struggle, get my ass over it. One leg on either side of the wedge, my pussy and stomach on the top of the wedge, my feet tip toe, my hands on the floor, my neck pulled down by the taught chain, I’m in position to be sort of doggy style fucked. At the top of the triangle is a hole larger than my ass where the bars are not. I can touch this hole with my fingers, and I can put a single foot through it, and it’s big enough that I could get through it, but I can’t get my head anywhere near it, but with a little stretching I can get my pussy in a very available position for people, men people. They walk around the outside of the zigzag wall, and there’s a bar out there that I can’t reach that opens a bit of external cage a few feet away from my cage and they can walk in. I get into position, they drop their pants and commence fucking me. The walls, and my naked torso, give their private parts cover from public eyes. I guess the bar for the external cage is in case I some how slip the heavy neck chain, possibly by clawing my neck through with my bare fingernails or something, so I can’t crawl out through the hole. The external cage lifts out of the way with the bar released, so that the men can stand against my cage to fuck me. When they’re done the external cage returns to position, and automatically relocks, and I scamper forward and off the triangle, hopefully to tear open a recently dropped aluminum packet full of the dry paste that is my food.

At the base of the triangle is the portapotty, which has a false door that when I push my butt into it allows me to defecate and urinate into a collector.

It’s been my experience that most people are mean, and pinch and bite and twist my nipples and breasts. Some grab my hair and bang my head against the bars. And I can tell you that getting fucked in the asshole hurts all the time. I have a half dozen regulars, but most are single meets.

That’s pretty much my existence.

I figure that at half an inch a month, in about two years my hair will be long enough that I can tie it around the bars above me and around my neck, and when I fall asleep I’ll strangle myself to death. It’s not much, and might not work the first try, but a girl has to keep up hope.

Every morning my owner arrives and hoses me down if it didn’t rain the previous day. I hate the rain. It’s fucking cold. He replaces the food and water packs, and watches me brush my hair and takes the brush and swaps portapotty packs and gets into his little truck and leaves me alone. 9:30am every morning like clockwork.

First week I thought I was going to starve or die of dehydration. People looked at the novelty that was naked pitiful me in a cage, but hardly anybody wanted to use me. Second week wasn’t too bad, food and water wise. I’d started to build up some regulars. Then disaster struck, turning my miserable situation into an impossible one, when a homeless man started stealing the food packs the third week. Apparently they’re not locked or anything, but are just in a stack. I see him every morning, but when there’s a crowd he doesn’t approach. I go hungry two or three days a week. He got all my food yesterday, stealing everything within minutes of my owner putting them in the rack.

First night I was afraid to sleep, because I sometimes sleep with my mouth open and bugs might crawl in. Disgusting. Couldn’t sleep. Times have changed. Last week a bug crawled through my cage and I caught it and ate it. What’s worse is I enjoyed it. When its body squished out who knows what goop between my teeth and I felt its struggling legs on my tongue I didn’t care. It wasn’t meaty and it wasn’t chicken but it was food damn it. I’m starving. I’m a human being, top of the food chain, and any bug stupid enough to walk through my cage is going to get eaten alive.

My owner isn’t what wakes me up though. It’s the smell of Starbucks coffee. I’m in hell. I love coffee. Seven o’clock every damn morning the smell of coffee floods the air like a pestilence. And it’s there until 11am when Kentucky Fried Chicken starts baking, and then I smell that delicious sweet out of my reach odor and listen to my stomach growl until 10pm when they close. I can tell the Starbucks is just around the corner from the foot traffic and the sound of the opening door. But I’ve got no clue where the Kentucky Fried Chicken is.

It’s 3pm now. Sometimes My Man comes now, Monday to Friday. I press my head against the bars to see if I can see him. He’s not my owner. He’s not my ex-boyfriend, may he rot in hell. My Man is one of my regulars. He calls me Jane. I don’t know why. He never asked me what my name was and I’m not going to tell him in case he might stop coming. He fondles my breasts for half an hour at a time, but he’s very gentle and it’s very pleasant and I’ve started to look forward to it. Last week he asked me how I was doing and I told him about the homeless man and since then every visit he’s been bringing me chocolate flavored protean bars. They’re fucking delicious. He lets me eat them while he fondles my breasts. I kneel there with my breasts pressed between the bars while he fondles my breasts and I beam my eyes up at him with glee while I chew. My knees hurt and I could care less. He’s been coming by for two weeks now. He’s fucked me four times — nothing special.

He was the one that told me that he found me and my cage because of a tourist board pamphlet. Apparently there are a dozen of these cages in the city, some way up at the north end, and people, I’m not kidding, take a day or two to find and visit them all. Not perverts — touristy families, people who actually came to see the city, whatever. Anyway the local businesses got together and decided they needed a gimmick to attract more people to their areas, and they started printing maps to the naked girls in cages or something. I haven’t seen the pamphlet so I don’t know the spin.

He asked me if I’d like him to lease me. He started talking about how I’d stay naked and when I should stand and squat and crawl and kneel, and he was talking about all these places he would take me, and I don’t know maybe the blond hair dye I used last month leaked into me but I thought he meant ‘in my cage’. That he’d put my cage in a truck or something and he’d hall me in my cage around town. It took me a while, but suddenly it dawned on me that he meant out of my cage. My cage is not much of a home but I’ve come to think of it as my home or at least my place until I die. It never occurred to me that I could be let out. The furthest out I’ve been was when my owner unfastened one side and had me lay on my back, still with my head and shoulders in the cage, still chained by the neck, but my legs and my pussy on the concrete outside the cage, so he could trim my pubic hair. My man was talking about taking me to his apartment, to live there with him, as his slave or fuck toy or something. I nodded yes so hard I thought I was going to break my fucking neck. He said he’d contact my owner and lease me for a week. That I’d still only get water when he fondled my breasts, and food when he fucked me. I didn’t care. Apartments have wood floors that are a lot better than concrete to sleep on, and no fucking rain. I could see he was about to leave, and I wondered if there were any insects in his home that I could eat. Then I remembered he might have a fridge. Obviously I wouldn’t be able to open the fridge myself or go anywhere without an escort, but there was a good chance I might get some variety in food.

The next morning at 9am my man arrived and started fondling my breasts. There were no water packets left so there was nothing for me to drink, but he put a dollar into the bin anyway. At 9:35am, the first time he’d ever been late, my owner arrived. He had a replacement girl for the cage with him. Her eyes were doe eyed wide in shock at where she was going to be placed and what she was going to be doing, and I must have looked quite the sight since it rained last night, but I tried to smile and wish her well. Obviously we wouldn’t be allowed to talk to each other. When I’d arrived at my cage there hadn’t been a girl there, it had been empty, and I thought the cage had been built for me. It hadn’t occurred to me that someone would fill it in my absence. I wonder if two of us will have to fill the one cage in a week when my lease is up. I watched my owner fill the water and food packets, and collect my coins from yesterday. He scowled at me. It hadn’t been a good day. Whenever it rains hardly anybody stops to use me, and it started raining at 4pm yesterday.

My man put a collar around my neck and told me that if I got more than a few feet from him it would explode. Being an inch and a half thick the collar was half an inch thicker than the chain I had been wearing for the past month, and was the only thing I was wearing. I was told to keep my wrists crossed behind my back as we walked, and to let people look.
If he stopped, I was to squat with my knees wide and either my elbows pressed together behind my back or my hands interlaced behind my head — same as I was used to in the cage. When we were outside I would walk on my bare feet. When inside his house I could crawl. If he sat in a chair, I was to kneel within a hands reach of him. Not a problem. Lead me to Kentucky Fried Chicken and I’ll kneel naked anywhere you want.

It was nice to finally stand up. I hadn’t done that in a month due to the short ceiling height of my cage. Although I’d been naked on the street for a month now, my cage offered me more privacy than walking through the street and I was embarrassed at my nudity. But the weather was slightly overcast, and while not what I’d call rain it was spitting water from the clouds and so people were in a hurry to reach their destination and not paying much attention to me.

Then my man turned our walking stroll into a supermarket. In here, warm and dry, people looked. No, they stared. I skipped to keep up with my man and instantly regretted it as my breasts bounced, which I’m sure everybody saw. I’m surprised I’m still plagued by modesty, I wouldn’t have thought I’d still have any modesty left after being used on the triangle so many times. I followed him straight to the pharmacy section and then to the shelf with the hair dyes. He stopped, and I squatted with my knees wide and my elbows pressed together behind my back. There was a boy at the end of the aisle staring at my crotch. I debated closing my legs, but quickly decided that I shouldn’t disobey my leaseholder in the first few minutes or he might take me back. Who knows what my owner would do, a whipping certainly, probably on that same crotch, possibly a trip back to the center. I kept my legs spread, swallowed my pride and embarrassment and humiliation, and let the damn kid look. I don’t know why the boy bothers me so much. I’d had boys look at me while I was in the cage. They often appeared in groups of two or three at a time, and just as often threw empty pop cans at me, or hang out at my ‘window’ for an hour or more until some adult chased them off. Wonder Woman used to do a bullets and bracelets routine, and I don’t have any bracelets but I became quite adept at blocking pop can projectiles with my hands. I guess this boy bothers me because I’m supposed to belong to My Man now, so only he has the right to stare. I guess it’s up to My Man who gets to look. It’s not really my decision. At least that’s what they said in the center. The boy is staring at my bare tits now. I keep my legs spread.

My man asked, “which of these did you use?” and I pointed out the box with my favorite hair coloring, and another box of toner, and he picked them up and we walked to the cash registers and he paid. I’m glad he asked. The toner removes most of the red pigment from my hair somehow, and the hair coloring does the rest giving me an attractive golden hue. I’ve used a few different kinds of hair coloring. I’m a natural brunette, and half the things on the shelf turn my hair orange — at which point I make an emergency and expensive trip to a salon where they try to fix it with more chemicals than I can remember. Peroxide is not my friend. The first time I turned my hair orange I stayed in hiding, attempting again and again to correct my own mistake. After three days of me and my girlfriend poring everything in the pharmacy on my head, I bundled my hair into a towel and bowed my head all the way to the salon.

I was looking around when he said “come with me Jane,” and I followed him back outside, my hands back crossed behind my back, and he walked into an apartment building, and we went up the elevator and into his apartment.

It was obvious he lived alone. The place was a mess. Somewhat tidy, but dust on the shelves. I was later to find out that the kitchen counter was clean, but the kitchen floor was covered in spill spots. He led me to the bathroom and I spent the next while dying my hair blond again with his wristwatch on the counter as my timer. When I came out, he snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor next to him and I rushed over and knelt there. He put cheese on a cracker and I ate it from his fingers, never moving my hands from behind my head. It was fucking amazingly delicious. Way better than spider. I stuck my tongue out and waited naked for another one.

My pussy started to get wet. Must be a Pavlovian response. For the last month, whenever I eat, I get fucked. I glanced at the window, it was raining OUTSIDE, and I smiled in utter contentment looking up at my man. I’m thirsty, so I shake my breasts, and he goes to get me some water! I wonder if I can get him to buy me. I’m going to be so good to him this week he’ll never look at another woman.

He tells me we’re going to fuck now. I crawl at his side and follow. This is not debasing. Debasing is fucking strangers in a cage on the street. I’m warm. I have privacy that I never expected to have again. This is luxury. I tell myself ‘don’t fuck this up girl.’

I assumed we were going to the bedroom, but he led me to the kitchen. I wonder if he knows that to me for weeks now there’s been no practical difference between kitchen and heaven. He bends me over the kitchen table to enter me the way he’s used to, and I spread my feet apart. I lay my head on the side and look at the glass counter doors and all the lovely food inside, and my pussy is positively sopping for sex, and my mouth is drooling for food, as I hear his zipper and then feel him enter me. The smooth tabletop doesn’t hurt like the top of the triangle always did. The triangle had a bad welding job. I feel his hands on my waist and back, and when he reaches for my breasts I prop myself up on my elbows so he can get his hands around one. My breasts were impossible to reach while being fucked in my cage. I arch my back in a position I could never do with my neck chained to the concrete. I feel free. I’m tempted to ask what’s for dinner, but I’m not going to speak without at least his tacit permission. His fucking and his thrusts are deliberate, and I find myself enjoying them, even forgetting for a moment that it’ll be lunchtime soon. I’m going to fuck him till I’m fat.

—- END —-

A few minutes later another young woman, Ashlee, 18 years old, came in. Nice figure, but not as stunningly attractive as Erica and Pearlie were. Ashlee looked the sort that would have tried out to be a high school cheerleader, but whether or not she made the squad would depend on who else tried out that year. Sort of the bottom end of fairly cute.

However she did not seem very happy.

She looked around the office, reading the bulletin board, picking up a magazine and flipping through the pages without actually reading anything. It was a good ten minutes before she actually stepped up to Lilly and asked anything.

Ashlee said, “Hello.”

Lilly said, “Hello. Can I help you?”

Ashlee said, “I think so. Is this where women come to become slaves?”

Lilly said, “We do that here. Are you volunteering?”

Ashlee said, “I guess so.”

Lilly said, “Either you are or you aren”t.”

Ashlee said, “My high school guidance councilor told me this morning that I should volunteer soon, while I was still young, and before snuffing slaves for fun became too popular.”

Lilly said, “Sounds like a fun meeting.”

Ashlee said, “I wanted to be a nurse. He said that fifty years ago I probably would have made a good nurse, but these days you have to have an aptitude for using complex equipment.”

Lilly said, “I”m sure there is something else you could do if you wanted.”

Ashlee said, “He said sooner or later I”d find myself enslaved anyway. Might as well get a jump on it while the going is good.”

Lilly said, “Why did he feel you”d be enslaved?”

Ashlee said, “There was this event, and, do I have to tell you? Is that part of the volunteering?”

Lilly said, “No. Just curious.”

Ashlee said, “Then I”d rather not say.”

Lilly said, “OK.” Lilly could have cared less.

Ashlee said, “We must have discussed fifty other types of jobs and he kept telling me why I wasn”t suited to any of them.”

Lilly said, “Did you give any thought to housewife and mother?”

Ashlee said, “I said that too. He laughed so hard he spilled his coffee.”

Lilly said, “So you want to be a slave.”

Ashlee said, “I guess so.”

A few minutes later they”d done the paperwork and the drug test, and Ashlee wore her “Lilly’s Slaves” collar.

Lilly said, “All right. That”s that. You”re a slave.”

Ashlee said, “Do I have to take my clothes off now?”

Lilly said, “What do you think?”

Ashlee said, “I”m not a complete prude. I”ve seen that show you used to be on once.”

Lilly said, “Just once?” Lilly had never met anyone who had watched the show just once before, and was genuinely curious.

Ashlee said, “I”m not a sicky, or lesbo either. Once was more than enough.”

Lilly did not take offence. Lilly took it as a statement as to Ashlee”s character - character traits that were going to need a serious denting if Ashlee were to survive as a slave.

Lilly said, “Then you know we don”t allow slaves to wear clothes here.”

Ashlee said, “Yes. I guess I do.”

Lilly said, “We used to have our slaves drop their clothes into the trash, but Goodwill showed up yesterday and put a clothes donation bin outside our door. We get a tax deduction for hosting the bin. Anyway, you scoot out to the bin and get undressed and come back in as quick as you can.”

Ashlee said, “It”s outside.”

Lilly said, “Yes.”

Ashlee said, “You want me to get undressed, outside?” There was some fear in her voice.

Lilly reached for the collar remote, and gave Ashlee a shock.

The collar went BzzAttBzzAttttttBzzzzzzZiiipppp

Ashlee went, “Ahhhheeeeeeeeeeee” and doubled over as her hands flew to her neck.

Lilly said, “There are several higher pain settings if you”d like to experience them slave.”

Ashlee said, meekly, her hands still fumbling at the collar around her neck, “Nooo.”

Lilly pushed the button, with similar effects. Ashlee dropped to her knees in pain. When the pain stopped, Ashlee”s eyes darted to Lilly”s face.

Lilly said, “Well at least you”re in a position of respect, although it”s hardly anything you can be credited for. When you speak to your betters slave, refer to them as master or sir, mistress or ma”am. Can I get a Yes Mistress?”

Ashlee said, “Yes mistress.”

Lilly said, “That wasn”t so hard was it. Now, what do I want you to do? That”s a test question and I want the right answer.”

Ashlee said, “You want me to strip. Mistr-.”

Lilly pushed the button, this time on a more painful setting. Ashlee dropped onto her back, screaming, her arms and legs flailing.

Lilly said, “That”s what I told you to do. What do I want you to do?”

Ashlee said, “Please Mistress! I don”t know. Tell me what I can do to please you!”

Lilly pushed the button, on the same painful setting. Ashlee dropped onto her back, screaming, her arms and legs flailing.

Lilly said, “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer to that question. I sure don”t expect to be told what to do. That”s your job. What”s your job? Since you volunteered I”ll give you a hint & it”s a four letter word beginning with O.”

Ashlee said, “To obey mistress.”

Lilly yelled “Who?”

Ashlee said, “You mistress”

Lilly pushed the button, on the same painful setting. Ashlee dropped onto her back, screaming, her arms and legs flailing.

Lilly said, “You obey Your Betters. Weren”t you listening? Say it again. Correctly this time.”

Ashlee said, “To obey my betters, mistress.”

Lilly said, “Much better. You”re on your knees, answering questions, and you”re already starting to get the jist of what it”s like to be owned. But you”re still wearing clothes, and you know damn well you”re not supposed to be don”t you. Apparently you”ve forgotten an earlier command I gave you about that.”

Lilly raised the remote, finger poised on the button.

Ashlee shouted, “Please mistress! I should be naked! Let me strip for you!”

Lilly said, “How do I know you won”t steal clothes and cover yourself? I bet you think you can get dressed tomorrow don”t you?”

Ashlee said, “I want to be naked forever mistress! I want to undress for you! Please! I”ll never let anyone see me wearing clothing again!”

Lilly said, “Your wants? What you”ll Let people do? I should zap again you just for that. But you”re right that your proper attire is none and forever. ”

Ashlee wasn”t risking any more delay, and in a panic started pulling her blouse out of her skirt.

Lilly pointed the remote at her threateningly. Lilly said, “Stop that! Not in here!”

Ashlee stopped, still on her knees, looking up at Lilly, pleadingly.

Lilly said, “Not a complete idiot apparently. Has it crossed your puny mind yet that one of the reasons that I want you naked is so that I”ll have more of your skin available for me to hurt when I beat you? No I can see that it hasn”t. As bad as stripping in public may be, you will probably be much more nervous walking back naked into my presence wondering if you”ve displeased me. You”ve already accepted that you”re helpless. But you”ll be much more vulnerable naked. We have whips here that will cut a woman to ribbons. Not just on your back and behind, but your front too & your sex, your breasts, even your face. If you don”t give me everything I demand I will ruin you. I want you to feel humiliated. I want you to offer me your bare body to do anything I want.”

Ashlee looked up at Lilly in stark terror.

Lilly said, “I like the expression on your face slave; very appropriate. It was fun listening to you plead. Plead some more. Ask me to let you strip.”

Ashlee said, “Please let me strip!”

Lilly said, “Where?” and raised the remote.

Ashlee said, “Please let me strip outside Mistress! Please! I”ll work naked!”

Lilly said, “Of course you”ll work naked. Very soon you”ll be naked from now on, and slaves aren”t exactly excused from work, both in private and in public. Now tell me, what is it that you don”t like about stripping outside?”

Ashlee said, “That others will see me do it mistress!”

Lilly said, “Then say that too when you beg for permission to strip.”

Ashlee said, “Please mistress! Please let me go outside and strip on the street in front of everyone. Please mistress!”

Lilly said, “What about me? You”re here to please me. What about the things that I like?”

Ashlee said, “It”ll be so humiliating to have to take all of my clothes off in front of everyone, but I”ll do it as soon as you let me mistress. Then, naked and respectful, as I”ll be in front of all of my betters from now on, I”ll kneel and submit my bare body to you so you can beat it for your pleasure or whatever you want!”

Lilly said, “Oh all right. If you”re quick enough I”ll let you lick my shoes when you get back, otherwise I”ll get medieval on your ass. Well stop lollygagging around slave, and get!”

Ashlee quickly rose and turned and fled out the door. Lilly didn”t bother to watch if Ashlee stripped or tried to run. The collar would stop Ashlee from running. So all that mattered was how long it took Ashlee to get back inside. Lilly sat in her chair, and looked over some outstanding request paperwork.

It wasn”t two minutes later before the door opened and Ashlee came in, naked but for her collar.

Lilly said, “Come here. Kneel in front of me where I can see you.” Ashlee obeyed quickly, her hands at her sides, her head bowed in shame.

Lilly said, “Pretty tits, nice figure. Many men will fuck you.” Lilly extended her foot, and Ashlee leaned forward and started licking it.

Lilly said, “Good ass too.” And leaned forward and ran her fingers down Ashlee”s spine.

After a minute of Ashlee liking Lilly”s foot, Lilly said, “Stand, close in front of me.” Ashlee stood. Lilly said, “You”re one of those girls who looks better without her clothes, and you”ve shaved your pussy bare! Yes, very pretty.”

Ashlee said, “Thank you mistress.”

Lilly put her hand on Ashlee”s breast and gently caressed it. After a moment she did the same to Ashlee”s other breast. Ashlee enjoyed the sensations. Lilly was being gentle, stimulating, pleasant, and so different than the threatened whipping. Nonetheless, Ashlee didn”t dare move.

Lilly said, “You”re enjoying this aren”t you?”

Ashlee said, “It feels good mistress.”

Lilly”s hand moved down under Ashlee”s stomach. Lilly said, “Open your legs for me.” Ashlee obeyed, and her legs trembled as Lilly”s hand gauged the softness of her labia and sex.

Lilly said, “That’s a good girl. Just relax and take it. I can tell you like it. You’re quite wet.” Ashlee blushed, but she knew it was true. She could feel that her clit was popped out. Lilly wasted no time noticing that and began softly teasing the sensitive nub. Ashlee was finding it increasingly difficult to remain standing still while her pussy was played with this way. She started humping back at the Lilly”s hand.

Then Lilly stopped.

Lilly said, “Your guidance councilor might have been right. I know just whom I”m going to sell you to. The miners.”

Ashlee was shocked. She”d heard of companies buying slavegirls to work in the mines that were too dangerous, too explosive, to be insured. Girls were whipped while they worked, and whipped for not making quota, and whipped into parts of the mine that no man was allowed to enter, and whipped if they were slow to return when called. It was hard labor digging and carrying rocks. Girls were worked until they fell unconscious from exhaustion, and then they were raped until they woke up. This was not what her guidance councilor had had in mind at all.

Lilly said, “Not as a miner. As reward. They”ll chain you by your wrists over your head each morning at the mine entrance, and the men will fondle your tits as they go in. At the end of each shift the foreman will announce who”s had the largest yield that day and that man will fuck you. Assuming he wants to of course. I think miners are in pretty good shape, but he”ll be tired so you”ll have to do most of the work. You”ll get marked on a scale of one to ten. Three shifts a day. Every Sunday afternoon they”ll suspend you
by your wrists and whip you one stroke for every mark under ten.”

Ashlee wasn”t entirely sure that was any better.

Lilly held out a pair of handcuffs. Lilly said, “Handcuff your hands behind your back, and go kneel in the corner facing the corner. I”ll phone your new owners to come by and have a look at you.”

Ashlee obeyed, and listened as Lilly sold her over the phone.

After the phone call, Lilly said, “There will be two men here in a bit. You make bloody sure they fancy you right off. The moment they walk through the door I want it crystal clear you ´ll do anything they want. Offer yourself to them. They ´ll feel around a bit. Expect it. Make them believe you enjoy it. A word of advice, make no effort to hide your charms whatsoever; in fact, keep your hands well away from both of your private areas. They belong to others now.”

She had lucked out earlier. There hadn ´t been anyone outside. She stared at the corner in front of her and waited.

The thoughts that ran through her mind were not very pleasant. The fact that her clothes were no longer anywhere nearby had added to her feeling of terrible vulnerability, just as that woman had said they would. In particular, the loss of her panties served to remind her that her sex had been sold. It was a disgusting, sordid thought. Her clothes had been taken so that men could easily and quickly have their way with her. Her body would be used for the amusements of men. Ashlee shivered in the cool room, erhaps
out of fright as much as the cool. Vague ideas of the perverted things she would have to endure once she had been picked up flitted through her mind despite her best efforts at pushing them away. There would be no escaping the looks and the lusts of men. She would be naked for all to see. She would be naked for the whip. Ashlee shook. She ´d only had sex once before. She shifted her shoulders back. That boy had said that her breasts looked better with her shoulder ´s back. She hadn ´t really enjoyed the comment then, but remembered it now. Not getting whipped was important.

Fifteen minutes later he arrived. Just one man, not two as advertised. Ashlee stood, visibly shaking, eyes darting around like a trapped animal. His hand reached out. She steeled herself for his touch: it came on her bare shoulder, and then ran down to her breast. It felt like the kiss of a viper. It ran over the curve of her boob, then down her smooth flank to her thigh, then across. Ashlee ´s shaking increased. He reached the edge of her triangle and flicked his finger across her clitoral hood. She was jerking up and down now, trying to keep still. Trying to maintain the weak smile on her face as she stood there naked in front of him showing him everything she had.

The man turned to Lilly. “Seems a bit skittish.”

Lilly said, “Try another tack.”

The man pulled a chair over, sat, and grabbed Ashlee roughly. He pulled her over his lap and began to slap her firm small buttocks hard. Ashlee squealed, but he ignored her. He was hurting Ashlee a lot and the astonishingly loud sound of hand connecting with her bare flesh echoed around the room almost drowning out her cries. A dozen sharp slaps landed on the slim cheeks and then he pushed her off him to land on a pile on the floor. Ashlee lay there, sobbing quietly.

Lilly asked, “What do you think?”

The man said, “I ´ll take her. And the handcuffs, collar set, and a leash.”

In minutes, the paperwork was done and cash had been paid. Her hands still cuffed behind her back, his hand wrapped around the leash, he dragged her outside towards his small economy car. For the second time in an hour she felt the cold ground on her little bare feet. Ashlee had no idea what the next hour, or day, would bring. She was sure that no one would ask her.

She sat in the front seat of the short car, knowing that every car they passed would see at least one of her bare breasts. The drive was only about fifteen minutes, but he didn ´t speak to her or fondle her the entire trip. When they arrived she was unable to open the passenger side door due to her handcuffs, and when he opened it he took a firm hand on her arm and hauled her up to standing.

They walked into a small open area in front of the managing trailer, where a group of employees had gathered for their after-dinner entertainment. As if at somebody’s command, all the beer cans, poker cards, harmonicas and baseball bats were lowered, and every head turned to the naked girl at one precise moment. Several whistles came from the small crowd.

Ashlee kept her eyes on her toes in humiliation, wishing the ground under her feet would open up and suck her in.

Lilly was manning the front desk of her newly renamed “Lilly’s Slaves and Account” office

A man about 31 years old came in with two women each about 26 years old. One woman held onto him by his bicep, walking arm in arm. The other had her hands on his ribs on his other side, ducking momentarily under his arm, as he held open the spring door for each of them to enter. As soon as they were inside, his hands drifted behind the small of each girl”s back, until the second woman also took hold of his bicep and his hands drifted to over in front of the space between them.

The man was content, with a smile on his face, and reasonably well dressed as if returning from an exclusive golf course. He spent about 30% of his time looking at his two women, and the rest of the time looking around Lilly’s office. The two women were excited and energetic and practically bounced on their feet as they walked at his side. They spent about 70% of their time looking at him, smiling at him, beaming at him. At first Lilly couldn”t tell who was bringing who in, but it didn”t take more than a second to realize that the affection these three shared was mutual.

Pearlie jumped two steps ahead, never letting go of Cody”s hand, her arm extended behind her, as Cody and Erica were almost five feet behind her.

The trio stopped in front of Lilly’s desk.

Pearlie said, “Hi I”m Pearlie and this is Erica and our boyfriend Cody. We”d like to become his slaves.”

Erica elaborated, “Polygamy is illegal. So if we can”t be husband and wife and wife, we want to be master and slave and slave together. Make it official, a bond, so we can raise a family. It”s time to raise a family. Although we haven”t decided who”s getting pregnant.”

Cody said, “Not me.”

Pearlie said, “So how much does it cost to become slaves, and can we make sure that only Cody can be our owner?”

Lilly said, “This is going to cost you $250.00 each for the basic enslavement. Having already found your master is not something we charge extra for.”

Lilly looked at Cody, and asked “You won”t be using them for meat I assume?”

Cody said, “Heaven forbid.”

Pearlie said, “$500? I didn”t think it was going to be so much.”

Cody said, “It”s not so bad. Think of it like a wedding ring.” Lilly didn”t think it was terribly funny, but Penny and Erica laughed at Cody”s joke.

Pearlie said, “What”s that $500 cover?”

Lilly said, “The basic slave tax is $200, plus $50 for our handling fee. Each. If you were being auctioned off, we”d have to do an assessment and my guess is you”d each be worth over $1000 somewhere, depending on skills. But assuming you pass the drug test, $500 will cover it.”

Pearlie said, “OK. Last chance Erica.” Pearlie looked around Cody”s chest at Erica.

Erica said, “Where do I sign?” and she smiled up at Cody.

Lilly was concerned that one woman might fill two specimen cups. Lilly handed Pearlie a specimen cup first, and Pearlie disappeared into the washroom leaving Cody and Erica with Ingrid. When Pearlie returned, Lilly gave a second specimen cup to Erica. There was no moment that Cody wasn”t being held by one or both of his two women.

Specimen”s approved, paperwork complete, credit card charged, Lilly said, “I now pronounce you Master and Slaves.” The women giggled, and Cody beamed and straightened his posture proudly.

Lilly asked, “Can I interest you in a collar or chains?”

Cody said, “No thank you. I think we”ll be fine.” He pocketed the paperwork, and the three of them started walking for the exit door.

Erica asked Cody, “So, master, are you going to let us keep our clothes? Your word is law now. You can make us do anything.” The three of them had talked about this yesterday in detail, and had required them to be nude from dinner until breakfast while they discussed their plans for the future. This particular tidbit hadn”t come up, and although Erica could guess his answer, she wanted to make sure nothing had changed now that he had absolute power.

Cody said, “I think we”ll be one of those nude slaves at home couples, at least for a while. You know, you two strip at the door on the way in, stay nude in the house 24/7, and get dressed at the door when we go out.”

Erica asked, “Not even nude for taking the garbage to the curb, at night when no one can see?”

Cody said, “You”ll stay nude for that, but you”ll also stay in the house. I”ll take the garbage to the curb.”

Pearlie turned back to Lilly as the three of them went through the door and said, “Isn”t he wonderful!”

And then they were gone.

Ingrid was in the head office.
She answered the phone. “Spellbook Slaves.”

A young woman, perhaps 23 years old, said, “Hi, my name is Roslyn Irion and I’m an assistant producer for Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. I’m looking to buy six slaves.”

Ingrid answered, “We’ve got them.”

Roslyn said, “They have to be television quality beautiful. Fit, sleek, good skin. We’d prefer it if they’ve made at least one serious escape attempt.”

Ingrid answered, “Escapees?”

Roslyn said, “What we’re doing is, well there haven’t been any really good shots of sharks eating humans ever. There are really only two attacks that have ever been captured on film, and only one of those was from the underwater perspective, and amateurs did them all. We took a corporate asset who had misbehaved, stripped her down, tied a chain around her middle, and dunked her into our Olympic pool sized shark tank until they took off a limb and then we yanked her out and stitched her up. It worked great. Alison was her name. The next attempt we put six cameras underwater and didn’t feed the sharks for a day and electrocuted a couple of them to make them mad, and just before they started eating each other, we dragged our one legged Alison back out and chained her to the ceiling winch and dunked her in again until they took off another limb. An arm this time. Every time we dragged her out to the pool she was screaming and kicking and doing everything she could to survive. It was incredible film. The after bite interviews were incredibly useful with Alison giving bite-by-bite descriptions of the event while she sobbed and yelled in agony as we stitched her up. I remember one particularly good quote where she said being dragged through the water by a great white was like having a car on top of her with hundreds of razor sharp daggers! We were hoping to get three, maybe four, more attacks out of her. But the next dunking they took her head off. Obviously that was no good,
because without a head the after attack interview sucks big time. So we got another misbehaving corporate asset, and wanted to try a tiger shark - they have very sharp teeth you know - but on a hip. So we sliced her hip with a knife a few times, really just about a dozen five inch paper cuts, and dunked her. The shark bit her on the hip and took the whole leg. The film was great, but she was catatonic. Even the first time we took her to the pool she was unfortunately obedient and barely resisted. I guess she was scared, who wouldn’t be, but it hardly came out on film at all. And for her second dunking there was no emotion whatsoever. We can’t even use the film it was that bad. So, what we’re looking for is six who are more like Alison, with lots of fight in them. So, you got any escapees?”

Ingrid said, “We have two. I can call around to see if there’s any others at another slaver.”

Roslyn said, “Oh that would be wonderful! Can you get back to me today? The director is in a hurry, and well the remaining corporate assets have been on their best behaviour lately. Hardly team spirit, but Alison probably made a couple of them piss their pants.”

Ingrid said, “No problem. I have your number on call display.”

Roslyn said, “Great! Talk to you later” and hung up.

=============================

Ingrid answered the phone. “Spellbook Slaves.”

A middle-aged man, perhaps 40 years old, said, “How much for a hundred slaves?”

Ingrid said, “It depends. Average price is about $2000. Federal Slave Tax is $150. You can rent them for $150 per day.”

The man replied, “That’s way over my budget. I’m Professor Barnes at the medical university. All I’m looking for is women, to replace my lab rats. I’m trying to get a bunch of new treatments certified sooner. I don’t care what they look like, although frankly uglier is better since it’ll keep some of my younger staff assistant’s minds on their work. I need all ages, from as young as you’ve got till as old as you’ve got. If you have any with diseases, heart problems, whatever, we”ll take those too. Obviously you don’t have any men, but if you’ve got any sex change recipients who used to be men I’ll take those too if the price is right. We’re a registered charity if you’d care to donate them to us. You’d get a tax deduction.”

Ingrid asked, “What is your budget?”

Professor Barns replied, “$25000.”

Ingrid asked, “Would you be interested in 25 or perhaps 30 slaves?”

Professor Barns replied, “No. We need at least a hundred for a decent sample size, otherwise there’s no point.”

Ingrid said, “The minimum we’ve ever sold a slave for is probably around $225, but she was half dead.”

Professor Barns said, “That could be a possibility. We don’t need the whole woman. They have to be fit enough to jog on our treadmills so we can compare their fatigue levels day to day. In addition to legs and feet we also need eyes and torsos. The torsos for life support for six months and eyes, well Dr. Michaels has some trauma studies he wants to do. And they need to be able to communicate to describe how they are feeling, so either a tongue or a writing hand. So they could be missing a tongue and still have a writing hand, or they could have a tongue but be missing both arms. What I’m wondering here is if the torture channel might be interested in getting into the Guinness book of records pulling a hundred tongues out at once, and we could split the cost of the slaves with them and take the damaged goods off their hands. Or perhaps some other mutilation that wouldn’t interfere with our tests. Discount for excessively damaged goods. Shipping isn’t a cost — I can have the students pick them up.”

Ingrid said, “I can’t speak for TCC.”

Professor Barns said, “Do you have the number for someone I could talk to?”

Ingrid said, “Actually I do.”

Dramatis Personae:
Jennifer Craine 22 years, C cup, 5′0, 100 pounds, blonde. Judicial enslavement.
Angela 18 years, B cup, 5′2, 110 pounds, brunette, Philippine
Cindy 19 years, C cup, 5′2, 105 pounds, blonde hair, Caucasian
Darci 22 years, B cup, 5′1, 115 pounds, red hair, Irish
Maricela 20 years, C cup, 5′2, 120 pounds, black hair, Mexican
Tia 21 years, B cup, 5′0, 100 pounds, black hair, Asian
Owner entrepreneur, 35-year-old millionaire, short dark hair, jogger

It just wasn’t her month.

A month ago, Jen had been driving alone at night, just a little drunk, and had driven into one of the new downtown surveillance camera poles, knocking it over, domino style, into a power transformer pole. No one had been killed, or even injured during the four-hour two-block blackout that occurred thereafter. Most people didn’t even notice it, since it was from 1am until 5am. She woke up in jail.
At her hearing the next morning, sober, she’d pleaded guilty when told that the camera she’d driven her car into had an exceptionally clear shot of her oblivious face as she drove into it. She’d been released on bail. Two days ago was her sentencing hearing.
Four days ago, nervous about her sentencing hearing she’d gotten a little tipsy, and then suddenly hungry for some potato chips had driven to the local convenience store. It was only two blocks away, but at night it’s safer for a young woman to drive than to walk. She rear-ended a police car at an intersection. The light had been green, but the police car was waiting for a pedestrian to clear the street. She saw the green light, assumed he’d accelerate, which he didn’t, and whamo.

She’d gradated high school almost a year ago, and had been working as a receptionist at a small sheet metal company ever since. When she mentioned her second driving accident in a month to her boss, he’d fired her on the spot.

Her pre-sentence report included the latest rear ender. She’d read the pre-sentence report almost a week ago, and it looked pretty
good. It talked about her maturity for her age, her good character, her attitude and willingness to make up for her offence. Her plans for the future, especially for getting herself together. Talked about her relationship with her parents and other family members, and her school and employment records. Pointed out a complete lack of other offences, and that she was willing to participate in services available in the community.

The version the Judge got to see on the day of her sentencing hearing was the same report, not even re-typed, just with huge red marker cross outs of all the good stuff on the first two pages, and an addendum detailing how she’d rear ended a police car, knocking his car into an intersection, tapping the pedestrian who wasn’t even hurt.

The judge sentenced her to slavery, as he put it, “Before you kill someone.”

The rest of that day and night were mostly a blur of abuse. She couldn’t remember yesterday at all.

She remembered being auctioned this morning. The man who’d bought her wasn’t her owner, but an agent. She remembered him from the pre-auction inspection taking pictures of her with his cell phone. When she’d been handed over to the agent she’d been gagged and hogtied with two pairs of handcuffs. The agent and one of the auction employees had dumped her nude body into the trunk of the agent’s car.

The next daylight she saw was outside the house she was at now. She didn’t see much of the house, due to her eyes not adjusting fast enough before she was carried in by two men through the three car garage, and then inside, down some steps, down nice wide hallway with marble floors and dark wood trim, through a set of double doors, the inner most one of which was heavy steel, into a cement block room. One of the men was the agent, the other she hadn’t met before. They seemed to know each other, perhaps occasional business acquaintances. Neither seemed to be in a good mood, at least when they looked at her.

The room was dark, and unfinished, making it tremendously different from anything Jen had seen thus far in the house, the only light in the room being provided by a single light panel at the front of the room, and the open door.

Jen glanced up, and hanging from the ceiling were eight cages, two rows of four, five of which contained a naked girl. They were a variety of ethnics: an Asian, a Mexican, an Irish, a Philippine, and a Caucasian like Jen was. All, including Jen, appeared to be between 19 and 22 years of age. They poked their heads around their knees wide eyed and with pleasant curiosity on their faces.

The cages were odd shaped, almost triangular, in that they had a straight back and sides and bottom, but the front was sloped. They were about two-and-a-half-feet tall, perhaps sixteen inches wide. The bottom was about two feet from front to back, and the top about one foot from front to back. It was made out of three-quarter-inch square tube steel, making bars about six inches apart on all six sides. Each cage was supported from the ceiling by two chains. Under each cage was a plastic children’s wagon. Each of the five girls was sitting on her ass at the back of the cage, the bottoms of her feet also on the bottom of the cage drawn up against her ass, her knees drawn up against her chest, her elbows on her knees, all in all not much room to move.

A wagon from under one of the three empty cages was moved aside, and an electric winch activated and the cage lowered to the floor. Her cage was front row, furthest to the left, away from the door. A key padlock was opened at the side of the cage, and the diagonal front opened on creaky hinges.

Jen’s handcuffs and gag were removed, and she was told to get in.

She looked at the other girls, figured out how she’d have to get into the cage, and in about a minute had squirmed her way in and folded herself into the required position. The man closed and locked her cage, and raised it back into position using the electric winch, and put her wagon back under her. The base of each cage was now forty inches above the floor, with the one-foot tall wagons underneath. The men left, closing the solid steel door behind him, dramatically lowering the light level to just the dim light in front of her. She heard the steel door’s deadbolt being thrown, and then the nicer looking outer companionway door being closed as well, and then nothing.

Jen asked, “Where am I?”

One of the other girls shushed her, and pointed at the light at the front of the room.

Jen looked forward, and saw the only room light was actually a sign that said No talking.’

Jen heard the outer door open, then the deadbolt, and then the steel door.

It was one of the two men who had carried her in. Not the agent, the other one. In his hands was a cattle prod. It had two large prongs about three inches apart at one end, a two foot shaft, and then a battery pack the size of his forearm. He went straight to Jen, bent over, jammed one prong into her anus and the other into her clit, and fired it for thirty seconds. Jen bounced upwards into her cage as far as she could to get away, and started screaming immediately. She was still screaming when he removed the prod thirty seconds later, and still screaming twenty seconds after that as he stood by the door looking in, one hand on the door, and the other carrying the prod. When Jen quieted down he motioned to the lit sign at the front of the room and said, “No talking. Do it again and I’ll come back and really hurt you.” and then he left and closed the doors.

Jen cried.

About half an hour later the sign at the front of the room went out, plunging the room into total pitch-blackness for a second, before another sign immediately below it lit up. The new sign said Talking permitted.’ It reminded Jen of the signs in airplanes that used to say smoking’ and no smoking’.

One of the girls to Jen’s left asked, “What’s the date?”

Jen turned to look at her.

From the back row, one of the other girls said, “It’s ok. We can talk now. I’m Angela.”

The girl who had spoken before asked again, “I’m Darci. What’s the date?”

Jen said “I’m Jennifer Craine.”

A girl in the back row said in a louder voice, “No last names. We get punished. We’ll have to rat on you about it, but I don’t think you’ll get
punished for it this time.”

Jen asked, “Punished?”

Angela in the back row said, “The cattle prod.”

Darci asked, “What is the date please?”

Jen said, “April 26th.”

Darci said, “Thanks. Not quite three years.”

Jen said, “Three years?”

Darci said, “I’ve been locked in this room not quite three years.”

Jen asked, “After three years we get released?”

Darci said, “No. I’m just keeping track.”

Maricela said, “I’m Maricela”

Cindy said, “I’m Cindy. Is it morning or afternoon?”

Jen said, “Don’t you know?”

Cindy said, “How would we know?”

Tia said, “I’m Tia. Welcome to our room.”

Jen said, “Thanks I guess. Where am I?”

Tia said, “Darci’s been here the longest.”

Darci said, “I’m not sure where we are. In a city on a lake. We can see out the windows when he takes us upstairs.”

Jen asked, “That man who hurt me, is that our owner?”

Angela said, “No. There’s three guys that work for our owner, and he’s one of them.”

Jen asked, “We’re owned by a gang leader, or a Mafioso?”

Angela chuckled, “No. We’re not really sure what our owner does for a living. It’s got something to do with boats.”

Darci said, “I think it’s a travel agency, but Tia overheard him talking about renting out a luxury sailboat last month.”

Tia said, “It was a yacht.”

Darci said, “But her story keeps changing.”

Tia said, “It does not!”

Jen asked, “What goes on here? I mean, what do they do with us?”

Angela said, “There’s plenty of time for this later. I want to know what’s happening in the world. Current events!”

Maricela said, “Later Angela. Can’t you see Jen is in a bit of fear? There are some things she needs to know before the no talking light is lit again.”

Angela said “OK.”

Maricela said, “We were bought as sex toys for our owner. We don’t get tortured or snuffed.”

Angela said, “You don’t know what happened to Tabatha!”

Jen looked worried.

Darci said, “What Angela is alluding to happened about a year ago. Tabatha was one of us, and she got taken upstairs and there was a party and she never came back. I think she was given as a gift to one of the guests. Angela insists that Tabatha was roasted on a spit. We really have no clue what happened.”

Angela said, “There’s a big barbeque out back. Plenty big enough to roast a girl on.”

Cindy said, “Don’t pay any attention to her. Nobody eats us.”

Maricela said, “Right on Cindy. Jen, did I remember your name? Good. Jen, life here is boring as hell. The only time we get let out of these cages is when our master comes down and takes one of us upstairs to play with us. He comes down every day or two and takes one of us upstairs for a couple of hours. He likes us to be cheerful and fun, and if we aren’t then we don’t get picked for a while. Do the math, if you’re not fun you could be in this cage for a month straight. You might not be able to tonight, but tomorrow night you’ll sleep in your cage and every night thereafter. You sleep in your cage, you eat in your cage, you shit in your cage and you wait in your cage.”

Jen asked, “What about the other men? You said there were three?”

Tia said, “They grope us occasionally, but that’s about it.”

Maricela said, “Getting to go on a date’ is the only interesting thing that happens. Mostly we stay in this room where it’s boring as hell. You’ve already seen the talking light. There’s a computer or something that watches and listens to us, because shortly after any infraction one of the men comes in with a cattle prod, and jams it somewhere into our skin. You’re not allowed to put your limbs outside of your bars without permission. There’s lasers or something a few inches outside of our bars on all sides. You can put your fingers out, but not much further. Not a hole hand. And don’t rock your cage either. Keep still, and keep inside, unless you’re in the end two cages.”

Darci and Angela, both the two cages closet to the door, waved their hands at Jen with smiles on their faces.

Angela said, “When you’re good, you get put into the end cage here. And there’s no lasers on the walls pointing at these two, so we can put our legs and arms out.” Angela had one half-leg dangling almost to the wagon under her, waving it back and forth. “You’re going to be very stiff tonight. Eventually you get used to it, but it’ll take a week before you stretch your tendons so you can be comfortable like this. Everyone’s envious of whomever has the end two cages.” She said proudly.

Maricela said, “The other two things we get around here are these magnetic stars.” She pointed to two small half-inch fridge magnets stuck to the font of her bars. “These can be traded in at any time to one of the three butlers.”

Cindy said, “They’re not butlers. They’re security.”

Maricela said “Whatever. The red magnets are permission to masturbate. If you masturbate without a man’s permission and in his presence you’ll be punished. I told you life was dull here. The green magnets are for treats with dinner. Dinner is usually dry toast and water and a small bowl of tuna. And let me tell you having that twice a day, seven days a week is bland. And if you don’t finish it then you don’t get your next meal. Some days they don’t turn the talking lamp on at all and the meal is the most exciting part of the day. You can offer your green magnet and he’ll bring you a chocolate bar. We’re not allowed to share it, so don’t ask. If you offer your red magnet he’ll watch you masturbate in your cage. Sometimes he’ll play with your clit for you until you cum, which I find better.”

Jen asked, “Here? In front of all of us?”

Angela said, “Of course. We only get out of our cage if our master wants us upstairs.”

Jen asked, “Do the men put our cages on the wagons and take us up to him?”

Angela laughed, “No silly. Those are to catch your effluent.”

Maricela said, “Only if you can’t hold it. They’ve got a sort of funnel attached to a vacuum cleaner you’re supposed to use. They bring it in twice a day, hold the funnel part of the tube under us one at a time, and we go. After the second one each day they wash us down with a power washer. It hurts when they do between your legs and your face, but don’t cover up or they get mad.”

Jen asked, “Just one wash a day? Do they give us toilet paper for the other time?”

Angela said, “Hell no. And trust me you don’t want more than one wash a day. They leave us to air dry and there’s no breeze down here and it’s teeth chattering cold until we are.”

Cindy said, “Anything that lands in the wagon you get punished for. If food, then you don’t get your next meal so eat carefully. Fortunately we have lots of time. If you shit in the wagon you can expect lots of shocks later. Some when they discover it, and some more when they return with a cleaned wagon. They take away all your magnets too.”

Jen said, “I don’t have any magnets.”

Cindy said, “And you won’t until master says you can have one, and that’ll be after your first date, or maybe your second or third depending on how you do.”

Darci said, “When you go on a date’ do whatever he says. Don’t think about it, just do it. I don’t care if he wants you to run around the back yard stuffing berries up your cunny, and then stick a finger into your throat and throw up on the daisies, you do it with a smile on your face. Or don’t if you prefer. That’s fine too. More dates’ for the rest of us.”

Maricela said, “You’re like an escort. You go, you make small talk, maybe dinner; sooner or later there’s sex. You stay nude all the time though. We never leave the house.”

Jen had a zillion more questions, but just then the light went out, and then the no talking’ lamp was lit. Jen saw the other girl’s shrug, and Tia close her eyes and try to get some sleep.

An hour later a man came in with lunch. As promised, all five girls pointed to Jen, and when asked, Angela said Jen had used her last name. The man nodded, but paid no further notice of the infraction.

Lunch was, as predicted, dry toast with bottled water and a plastic cup full of tuna. They ate carefully with their hands so as not to spill any.

Two hours after that the man came back and removed the plastic plates, and then came in with the funnel and hose and let each girl in turn relieve herself. Both visits he never spoke.

Three hours after that, now six hours without talking, a different man arrived. This man had a smile on his face.

Jen noticed the no talking lamp was still lit, and when the other girls did not speak, neither did she.

Owner said, “You’re the new girl Jen.” He walked right up to her cage. He lifted his nose up a bit as he looked down at her. “Yes yes you’ll do nicely.” He put his hands between her cage’s bars and touched her inside of her knees to push them out of the way so he could see her slit. And as soon as she had shown that, he went to her side. “I’m going to fondle your breast. I hope you don’t mind.” And with one hand he reached through the bars, and she watched his hand get closer to her breast, and then close around it and give it a gentle squeeze.

Owner said, “I’m looking for a bit of fun.” He removed his hand from Jen’s cage. “And Jen here doesn’t look like she’s going to be fun. Maybe she’ll be better in a couple of days. Is there anyone here who’s fun?”

Cindy and Darcy and Angela got their hands raised through their cage roofs the fastest.

Owner said, nodding his head with a smile, “I think I’d like to play with Cindy.”

Cindy punched her hands in three-inch circles in front of her face and wiggled her body and hips in a little dance of victory with a huge wide grin on her face. Owner moved Cindy’s wagon out of the way, and lowered her cage to the floor and unlocked it. He held out his hand to her, which she took, and helped her to her feet. She followed him out of the room, walking with a strange unbalanced waggle as she stretched her muscles back into place, and then the doors shut and it was once again all quiet in the room.

Six hours later, now twelve hours without speaking, Cindy was returned and re-caged by her Owner, who kissed her on the back of the hand through the bars, and stuck two green magnets on the front of her cage. Then he left, closing the doors behind him.

Moments later, the Talking permitted’ lamp was lit.

Cindy started right away. “It was fantastic! We got upstairs to the living room and the phone rang and he told me to lay on the carpet with my legs wide and so I did while he talked on the phone. The carpet is so thick and soft I spread eagled myself and just ran my hands and feet back and forth through it. And it was so warm! When he got off the phone he took me to the sunroom and laid me on the massage table and massaged all my kinks and stiffness out of me with a full body massage. I was in heaven let me tell you. Then we went to the bathroom and had me kneel in the tub while he gave me a sponge bath and washed my hair and I just knelt there and told him how
handsome he was. He watched me dry myself, and then he brushed my hair, and then watched me brush my teeth, and then he took me by the hand to the bedroom and we fucked like rabbits! We went out to the back yard and he sat on the lounge chair and I knelt at his side and we talked for a while! Then he had me get on his lap and he fondled my breasts while we talked some more! We talked until the sun went down and I started to get all goose pimply and we went back inside and I helped him make dinner. We had baked potatoes and sliced steak and corn and spices and milk and my mouth just waters with the flavour of it all. After dinner with candles and me sitting on a chair right beside him, we went and watched First Knight on DVD with me cuddling on his chest. At one point, he had me lay on my stomach over his lap and he spanked my ass! Four times! It didn’t really hurt, and was more a fun thing but four times! Then he started fingering me and I thought he wanted me to cum but the phone rang and he had to talk with several people for a while. Mostly business stuff talking about when they were going to get paid and when things were going to get done. Something about a big freighter still not drugs, sounded like they were shipping furniture this time. Anyway, I got the feeling he was going to put me away so I asked if I could kneel in the corner or lick and suck his toes while he talked on the phone and he let me! So I took off his shoes and socks and
started licking and kissing, with me just lying there on my stomach, propped up on my elbows with his glorious feet all to myself. Occasionally I’d stop and watch the fire did I mention he started a fire?”

Tia asked, “Wow! Anything else?”

Cindy said, “No, that was about it. He was great. I had a great time.”

For a minute there was a silence in the room where no one spoke.

Darci broke the silence, “Cindy, tell us about it again.”

Cindy said, “Okay.”

Anderson Twins

Dramatis Personae:
Mike
Ingrid
Lilly
James - a teenager from the twin”s school.
Nick Anderson - husband, father.
Sharon and Allison Anderson - twin daughters of Nick.

Mike answers the phone “Hello, Spellbook Slaves.”

There”s quiet on the other end of the phone.

Mike says, “Hello?”

A short pause - just long enough for Mike to consider hanging up.

A male voice says, “Hello. I”ve got a bit of a problem.”

Mike says, “Slaves to buy, sell, commitment, or volunteer.”

The man says, “Commitment I guess. This is all so bad, but I don”t know any other way.”

Mike thinks, “This is going to be ten minutes out of my life I”m going to regret.”

The man says, “Have you ever read Kay Arthur?”

Mike says, “No.”

The man says, with a disquieting mix of conviction and uneasiness, “She writes very good modern interpretations of the bible. She”s very well respected. Anyway, she says the bible says that a husband”s foremost duty is to his wife, and then his family secondly.

Mike says, “You were talking about a slave commitment?”

The man says, “Yes, I”m getting to that. I have two daughters. Well, three. Three daughters. But two, well one daughter really. My wife, I just had her committed again. No, not your kind. A mental hospital. You see, well, last month they spray-painted her face, and other, uh unmentionable parts, while she slept, and well it was the last straw after years of other events, and it finally unnerved her. She”s my second wife. My two oldest daughters were from my first marriage, my late wife, cancer, and well, I”m afraid I didn”t raise them alone well. I was bereaved and didn”t nurture the girls then like I should have then after, anyway they didn”t come through it well. They”re, not proper. They do, things, terrible things, almost every day. The day before yesterday my wife returned home, and yesterday my wife was throwing a party for a dozen of her friends and the girls, they covered the carpets with shit. I don”t know if it was their shit, or if they pooper scoopered it from somewhere, but, anyway I had her committed again. I”ve tried to discipline them. I even threw them out of the house for a while, but nothing works. They do things, to people, I could tell you stories.”

Mike says, “So you want to enslave them.”

The man says, “No, but I was called to the principal”s office for my youngest, she”s 10, from my current marriage, and the principal said that my two oldest girls were corrupting her, and that if things continued that I”d loose all three. I know if my youngest turns out like the older two that I”ll loose my wife for sure, and I can”t let that happen because, well I just can”t. Anyway the principal suggested in the strongest terms that I enslave my two oldest - to save the other two, my youngest and my wife - and try to move on, and I”m thinking about it very hard.”

Mike says, “We can take them off your hands.”

The man says, “They”re a handful.”

Mike says, “Not a problem.”

The man says, “Do you really think so?” he sounded relieved, almost happy. The man continues, “You wouldn”t have to hurt them, and they wouldn”t be killed or something. Would you?”

Mike says, “I”m not going to lie to you, sometimes that happens.”

The man says, “Well, an eye for an eye.”

He took a breath.

The man says, “Do I have to make an appointment?”

Mike says, “We”re open till 5pm today.”

The man says, “I”ll be there, with two girls in tow. ”

Mike says, “You”ll need to bring their birth certificates, and yours and your wife”s social security number. How old are the girls?”

The man says, “seventeen and three quarters.”

Mike says, “And the other one?”

The man says, “They”re twins.”

Mike says, “And you”re their father?”

The man says, “Yes.”

Mike says, “If you give me your name and theirs, I”ll have the paperwork ready for you to sign when you arrive.”

The man says, “My name is Anderson. Nick Anderson. The girls are Allison and Sharon.”

Mike says, “We”ll be waiting.”

Mr. Anderson says, “Thank you” and hang”s up.

A half hour later a young man, over 16 years old, shows up, smiling, looking everywhere in the office. The young man says, “Are the Anderson Twins here yet?”

Lilly says, “The who?”

The young man says, “I was watching TV, and I heard Mr. Anderson talking with Mike saying he was going to bring his daughters down for enslavement.”

Lilly says, “I don”t think there”s anyone here by that name. Mike”s busy, and Ingrid is working on some paperwork in the other room.”

The young man says, “Can I wait here?”

Lilly says, “Do you have business here?”

The young man says, “I have cash.” The wad could have contained a couple thousand dollars, depending on the denominations of the bills in the middle.

Lilly says, “You can wait.”

The young man says, “I”m having a really good week. I got a scholar