Memoirs of a Slave Girl
Part 2: Sold
I don't remember anything particularly noteworthy in my life during the years
immediately following the loss of my virginity. The memories are mostly a montage of
working and being used by the men. The number of girls had stabilized at about two
dozen, and like the rest of the economy, the bottom had dropped out of the slave
market. Unable to sell many of us easily, and without the funds to rent labor slaves,
Father began using the females, formerly relegated to household and sexual duties, as
field hands. Fortunately, the soil was still fertile, and even when the rains didn't come,
we had sufficient water from the lake and stream for irrigation.
It was heavy, back-breaking work, but Il enjoyed it. Being outdoors in the fresh air was
wonderful. I even enjoyed being hitched to the plow and furrowing the soil, though that
was undoubtedly the most physical labor any of us performed. I just loved the way my
thigh muscles would begin to burn after the first acre or so...much better than the
backache from stooping to pick beans or dig potatoes up. In times of drought, I would
usually either haul water in buckets from the stream, or help dig irrigation ditches to
channel the water to the fields. I believe the exceptional endurance and leg strength
I've had all my life were a direct result of this period.
But undoubtedly the best part of being a field slave was the was the stream running
through the property, where we were all permitted to bathe in the cool, clean water at
the end of our day's labor. I guess Father figured we deserved a reward, and I don't
really think anyone minded that we came back clean, rather than covered in sweat, dirt
and grime. Sometimes he even pemitted us to wade into the lake, but because none of
us could swim, he always had us tethered to a rope in case we stepped into water over
our heads.
Father understood that since we were working so hard, we needed to be fed well. Lots
of fresh vegetables when they were in season; potatoes, beans, corn and whatever had
been canned when they weren't. Meat, lots of meat - pork and chicken, mostly, since
that's what was raised in our area. Catfish or bass, once in a while, if one of the men
happened to have a good day down at the lake. And these weren't leftover scraps,
mind you. Ribs and chops, whole roasted chickens and slabs of bacon. Just the
memory of how good it all tasted is making my mouth water!
Overall, I'd say the ages of thirteen to sixteen were the happiest and healthiest of my
life, though I'm sure all that pork was playing havoc with my cholesterol level! It was a
good time for me, because I was eating well, getting exercise ad fresh air, and was able
to clean myself almost every day. For me, life was pretty good during the depression,
but I was about to undergo the first major change of my life.
At age 16, I was finally sold, to a young couple expecting their first baby. They were
seeking a slave who could be a wet nurse, and though my breasts weren't quite as
large as they'd hoped, testing had shown that I would be a prolific milker. I'm sure
Father gave them a good price, since they were able to pay cash.
Master was 26, a handsome blond man with a muscular, nearly hairless chest. I nearly
swooned when I saw Him the first time. If I'd been permitted to wear panties, they
would have been soaked in an instant. He was an attorney at first, but ended up
working as the western region manager for some government agency. He kept talking
about "twelve disciples" and somebody named "Wild Bill," who apparently ran the
agency, but it never made much sense to me. Not that he talked much about his work
anyway. Master was pretty secretive about whatever it was that he did.
Mistress was only 22, but she seemed so worldly to me. She was, after all, the first
female I'd met who wasn't a slave, but gone to school, and even went to college for two
years. She could read and write, knew about all sorts of different things, and even
spoke to men without receiving permission first...things I couldn't even imagine doing.
She, too, was a blonde, but very, very thin and not muscular appearing at all. She
seemed very beautiful to me, though, especially when she and Master got dressed up
for special occasions. She wore diamonds and pearls, and always a white gown with
long white gloves, which contrasted nicely against Master's tux.
I found out later that she'd been an Olympic gymnast as a teenager. Of course, I didn't
understand what the Olympics were until a couple of years ago. I watched the last
Olympics, and was absolutely amazed at the athletic prowess of young people
today...not to mention that some of those men were real hunks! But I still can't believe
those gymnasts. I have to wonder whether those were really girls, and if so, where they
hide their tits!
After both looked me over carefully, my new Master counted out the purchase money
and handed it to Father. In return, Father handed him my Ownership Record and a Bill
of Sale. I had been sold, and was officially the legal property of this man and woman.
Mother stood by, silently begging with her eyes permission to embrace her daughter, to
kiss me one last time. That was not to be, though, as Master led me away with a tug on
my leash.
That was the last time I saw any of them - Father, Mother or my sisters. I always hoped
they had good, happy lives. I like to believe they did.
Master loaded me into the back of a panel van, then locked me in transport
restraints...leather bands around my ankles and thighs to keep my knees together,
handcuffs behind my back, with a short chain running from my wrists to my ankles..
The ankle restraints were then secured to a bolt in the floor. My leash was threaded
through fitting in the roof, forcing my body to remain upright. I would remain in this
position throughout the trip, except when I was allowed to lay down at night, during my
feeding periods, and the infrequent times I'd be allowed to urinate or deficate. At least
Master had placed a pillow under my knees. I don't think I could have survived the trip
otherwise.
The ride was a long one, but it was the first time I'd ever been inside a motorized
vehicle. Neither vehicle suspensions nor roads were nearly as good as they are now,
and I was bounced around pretty painfully,All the while, Master and Mistress talked
about me like I wasn't there...discussing my body, and what they planned to do with me.
We did make one quick stop that first day. Master pulled into a gas station, and while
he got a couple of Cokes for Himself and His wife, Mistress allowed me a moment
outside to stretch my muscles. She asked me if I had to pee. I nodded my head.
"Well, you stupid slut? What are you waiting for? Squat and piss!" she commanded. I
did as ordered, lowering myself as close to the ground as possible to keep my urine
from splashing on her, emptying my full bladder onto the dirt. Once I was done, she
pushed me back into the van and locked me back in place. "I'll bet you can't wait to get
my husband's dick up that horny cunt of yours, can you?" she asked, squeezing my
chin in her hand. "Well, you can get that idea completely out of your mind. The only
thing you're getting up that whore's hole of yours is what I decide to put in it." She let
my face go, causing my head to fall and drop against the metal floor. Master returned a
moment later, and we resumed our trip.
It took us four days to reach our destination. Each night, Master would stop at a hotel,
and get a room for them. After the first day, I was allowed to lay down during the drive;
though I was still bound in a kneeling position, I was able to lay on my side. At night, I
was left chained and gagged in the back of the windowless van, to shiver through the
cool nights, my only protection from the elements that which the van provided. Each
day I was fed twice - a bowl of cold oatmeal, and because of the way in which I was
bound, I could only shove my face into the bowl and slurp. Each morning and evening I
was given a few minutes to squat and empty my bladder and bowels, and to exercise
my extremities.
It was dark when we finally arrived at our destination. Apparently not wanting to bother
with me that night, Mistress chained me to the back porch railing, dropped a dirty,
smelly blanket on the ground next to me, and went back inside, locking the door behind
her. I quickly fell into a disturbed, dream-filled sleep. The next morning I was
awakened with a swift kick to my ribs, administered by my Mistress.
"Get up, you stupid slut, and get our breakfast!" she ordered, telling me that this
morning, they only wanted coffee and toast while they read the newspaper at the table.
For myself, I was told to prepare a small bowl of oatmeal. I ate it directly from the bowl,
like a dog would, kneeling naked on the back porch. This would become my regular
fare, unless Master or Mistress decided to feed me some scraps from their own plates.
During my first years as their property, I seldom received more than two meals a day,
and often enough, not even that. Always oatmeal, usually served cold.
I still can't stand oatmeal.
Once breakfast was over and my Owners were satisfied with my efforts at cleaning up,
they trundled me off to a doctor's office for my medical exam. I was bound to a
gynecological examination table, where I was subjected to the most thorough and
humiliating "examination" I think anyone has ever had. My vagina and rectum were
both opened widely, and kept that way for over an hour by the speculum in each.
Every few minutes, the doctor would adjust the speculum a little wider, until both my
holes looked like vacant caverns. I could clearly see what was being done, thanks to
the mirrors strategically placed on ceiling and the wall at my feet. He reached deeply
inside me with his fingers, though I don't know what he was feeling for.
My clitoris was subjected to tiny electrical shocks, as were my nipples, supposedly to
check my responsiveness. Personally, I believe it was for no other reason than to
cause pain. Just like when the doctor inserted the catheter through my urethra into my
bladder in order to obtain a urine sample...he could have gotten the same thing by
giving me a specimen cup, but I think he just wanted to hurt me. The last thing the
doctor did, right after declaring me fit to serve as a wet nurse, was to inject my body
with hormones...one injection in each breast, and one in my ass cheek...to cause my
breasts to enlarge and induce milk production.
Then it became time for me to pay the doctor's bill...and the nurse's bill...and the
receptionist's bill...and...well, you get the idea. I don't remember how many of them
took me, but I was strapped to the table for close to six hours following the end of my
examination. When I was finally released, I was literally dripping cum from each of my
holes. Mistress took a strip of duct tape and ran it between my legs, from the top of my
ass crack to my navel, to keep me from leaking in the van. When we got home, I was
once again chained to the back porch. I would remain there, completely ignored for two
days and nights. At least it was summer, and the nights weren't cold at all.
Master finally brought me in and ordered me to make myself a bowl of oatmeal. As a
treat, he even allowed me to put milk and sugar on it, saying he needed to make sure I
stayed healthy. I was afraid to ask for water, but when he saw the way I was looking at
his glass, he got me a bowl of that, too. I don't think Mistress was around at all that
day.
He took the time, though there was no real need, to explain to me that he didn't
particularly care for the idea of owning another person, but Mistress insisted. She was
pregnant, and expected her child to be breast-fed, but didn't want her own breasts
damaged or deformed. Master told me that he could allow me extra privileges when
Mistress wasn't around, but when I said I wouldn't be able to lie if she asked me, he just
scowled and walked away. I think he was angry with my answer. He took me out back
and left me chained to the porch again, but brought me in later that evening, to his bed.
That was the first time he raped me. He had a nice cock, and I got to sleep indoors for
the first time in my new home.
It was exactly a week later that Little Master was born. I was kneeling outside the
delivery room, and was called in moments later. Master informed me that he and
Mistress had decided that I would be given to their son on his thirteenth birthday, and
to show my submissiveness to my future Master, I would take the baby's tiny cock into
my mouth and swallow his piss. Master said Little Master would always know that his
first piss was in his slave girl's mouth, and that she swallowed it obediently. I knew all
this was Mistress's idea, because of the way he said it. That didn't matter to me,
because I was owned equally by both of them. I had no option but to obey.
Little Master was then given his Mother's nipple to suckle, but that was the first and last
time his mouth went to her breast. From then on until he was weaned, he would be
attached to one of my tits whenever he got hungry.
Nowadays, one seldom sees a slave girl used in this manner, as a wet nurse. If
anything, the slave is milked, and then baby bottle-fed by his mother, in order to foster
a strong bond between them. It was discovered decades ago that when a baby is
regularly nursed by a slave girl, the baby becomes more attached to the slave than to
his or her mother. But that was still far into the future, and the common practice in that
day was to have the infant suck on the slave's tits.
There was no real reason for a wet nurse, other than the fact that Mistress didn't want
her beautiful breasts damaged by her son suckling at them. She often teased me about
how I'd have saggy bags drooping down to my knees, while her breasts would stay
smooth and firm. She would rub her palms sensuously over her breasts, then grab my
nipples and pull them downward with all her strength. She said she couldn't wait until
her son was teething; she planned on having him breast fed until he decided it was
time to stop. I would cry myself to sleep, thinking of how my tits would end up looking,
like those in the pictures of other slave girls that Mistress took particular pleasure in
showing me.
Most of my next eight or nine years were spent taking care of my future Master and his
parents. The one good thing was that I no longer slept on the back porch. My bed was
on the floor in Little Master's room, so I could more readily take care of his needs.
Other than that, my condition did not appreciably improve. I was still eating virtually
nothing but oatmeal, once or twice a day, except when Master would toss me a scrap
from his plate. Once in a while I'd be given some vegetable scraps...usually carrot
peelings, the tops of tomatoes, or leftover salad...which I savored. Whenever chicken
was served, I used to get the bones, and sometimes a wing, complete with skin, but it
was nothing like what I ate when I was serving as a farm hand for Father. I used to
have dreams of those days...especially the smell of barbecued ribs.
I was seldom invited into the bedroom that Master and Mistress shared, except when
Mistress was gone on a business trip, which was about once a month. It was then that I
was used, well and good. One thing Mistress thought extremely distasteful was anal
sex, so Master used me that way whenever he could. She was curious about it, so one
night she dragged me by the hair into their bedroom and watched while Mater
buggered me. Then she make me lick him clean. Of course, I would have done that
anyway, but she didn't know.
Mistress's business trips. I forgot to explain that. This was an era when women
normally didn't work outside the home, but because Master was an important
government official, Mistress worked for something called the American Red Cross, and
another thing called United Servicemen's Organization. She used to travel around to
different places, getting money for charity. I figured she was in sales, because she sold
a lot of charity. Or, at least that's what I thought at the time. Today, of course, I know
better.
Sex for me wasn't always pleasant, but was always something I enjoyed.
Around Mistress, the only way I was allowed to cum was by masturbating, and I had to
ask her in advance. She only allowed me two orgasms a month. She liked to schedule
my masturbation sessions for her frequent house parties, when she'd have her friends
over. Because they were all "proper ladies," I seldom got used by any of them. They
did stand around and watch me diddle myself, though, and I could tell that more than a
few of them were getting wet knickers from it. There were a couple of times when one
of the ladies would stay late, after the rest had left, and have me use my mouth on her.
That was always in private, though.
When Mistress was out of town, things were different. Master was much kinder, and
made constant use of me. He never forbade me from having orgasms, and seemed to
enjoy making me cum. I often had two or three to his one, though I did feel guilty about
that. Not guilty enough to keep from having them, though! I loved these sessions,
found it particularly exciting be made to cook dinner right after he'd taken me up the
ass, feeling his semen dribble out of me as I prepared his meal.
There were a few times when Mistress was gone for up to a week, when Master never
let me wash up or bathe after using me. Once, after several of his friends took me, he
didn't let me clean myself for six days. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't cum
all over my face and hair or pissed on me after they were done. He didn't like using
me when I was dirty like that, so I remained in need that entire week. When he did
ordered me to shower, though, I was always used well and good. I knew I'd be sore for
a week afterwards.
Sometimes he'd host parties, with me the center of attraction. Most of the other people
in Master's circle of friends didn't own their own slave girls, so I was a novelty to them.
Neither the men nor the women present had much experience in dealing with someone
who was totally obedient and compliant with their desires, and they great fun in trying to
see who could come up with the most disgusting act for me to perform. Usually, it was
pretty tame...scooping cum out of my ass with my fingers, then licking my hand clean,
or reaming one of the men, or drinking piss. The guys always wanted to see me go
down on one of the women, but the ladies usually objected. One time they brought in a
prostitute, though, and had me clean her up after they fucked her.
I didn't get much pleasure out of those things, but that wasn't my purpose. My purpose,
was to serve their needs and desires, and if they enjoyed watching me clean
someone's dirty asshole, that was fine. It didn't even really matter to me (or them)
whether I enjoyed it or not, because I was simply doing what I was ordered to do, as I'd
been trained. Most of the time, though, I really did like it.
The only thing I really didn't like was when they'd have me service their dogs. This
happened once every couple of months. I didn't having my back scratched up with
their paws, or how the larger breeds would get stuck inside me when their knots
swelled up. I usually preferred to taking them in my mouth. Not only was it easier on
my back, but I could open my mouth to expell the doggie dick right away, and get
started on another one. That way it didn't take as long. The worst, though, was when a
dog would mark me as his by lifting his leg and peeing on me. That was even more
disgusting than having to fuck or suck them, because once one dog did that, every
other dog would do the same. Even then, though, there was seldom any real damage
done to my body.
The only time it really got out of hand was when a couple of the women watched me
fuck a dog, and decided I was a disgrace to womanhood. They both went after me with
bullwhips, and I needed medical treatment afterwards. Parts of my body still carry the
scars of that session.
Pretty soon, the parties started becoming less frequent. Again, I overheard snippets of
information, something about a war "over there," involving "Japs" and "Krauts," I knew
big things were brewing, but didn't understand what. Master was working longer hours
now, and seemed very harried and under a lot of stress. I did what I could to relieve
some of that stress, so with Mistress's permission, I began a ritual of taking off his
shoes as soon as he sat in his recliner, and then offering the use of my mouth. He
could have used my mouth whether I wanted or not, but my intent was to help him relax.
Sometimes he let me suck his dick, other nights I just massaged his feet. There were
quite a few nights when he fell asleep while I was sucking him. I hope it was because
he was so tired. I know he never complained about my abilities in that area. Mistress
didn't like the taste of cum, so he didn't mind if I sucked him off, unless she wanted to
make love to him later that night.
There were a couple of times that Master came home angry, to the point that he would
throw things t the walls. Once he broke the window with his fist when it jammed while
he was trying to open it. I begged him to take his anger out on me, to beat me, to kick
me instead of breaking his valuable belongings, but he just looked at me strangely and
then ran into his bedroom. I think he was crying, but still don't understand why. Maybe
one of the things he broke has sentimental value. It was about that time that he
stopped using me regularly. He didn't even want his stress relieved most days, either
waving me away with his hand or pushing me back with his foot. I was worried that I'd
done something to make him not want me. This went on for nearly a year, where he
never even touched me with his dick.
Master would still bring friends over to use me, thankfully, Most showed up wearing
uniforms, and I would be given to them for the night as sort of a going away present.
Most of them seemed preoccupied with whatever was going on, though I figured I was
doing my part for our boys in uniform. At least, that's the phrase Master used when
handing my leash over to them.
This wasn't a very good time in my life. Most of the people Master gave me to simply
poked themselves into one of my holes, came inside me, and left me unfulfilled.
Mistress stopped having parties, and almost never gave me permission to cum more
than once every couple of months. I still did have an occasional secret orgasm, but the
guilt was always too much, and I always admitted them to her, begging to be punished.
The punishments were usually harsh, but the sexual relief was worth it...usually.
One day, while Master was at work, I told Mistress I'd masturbated myself to sleep the
night before. She'd been drinking, and was enraged that I'd be such a disobedient little
slut (that's exactly what she called me). She took me out into the garage, and hanging
me from the rafters, began beating me with everything she could get her hands on.
She used her fists, an electrical cord, a belt, even a stick to batter my body with. When
Master came home, I was barely alive. I had six broke ribs, fractured toes and fingers,
a broken nose, a concussion and four missing teeth. My breasts were charred from
being repeatedly burned with cigarette and matches. She'd taken pliers to my labia,
virtually ripping one out altogether; it hung by a small strip of skin. My scalp was a
bloody mess from where Mistress had pulled my hair out by the roots, and my body was
covered with welts and cuts from where she hit me.
I went to the hospital, and Mistress went into rehab. I'm happy to say that we both
made full recoveries, though I still show some of the scars. Mistress did not drink
another drop of alcohol after that day. She probably doesn't know how proud of her I
am about that, or how thankful that I had an opportunity to play a small role. The pain I
experienced was for a reason...to help Mistress overcome her drinking problem...so I
provided a service to my Owner, which is what being a slave is all about.
The day Mistress came home - her rehab took longer than mine - Master said she was
going to apologize to me. I begged him to not have her do that. It was simply not
appropriate for an Owner to apologize to his or her property for any reason. I
understood that she was angry and drunk when she hurt me, but as their property, she
has that right. If anyone was to apologize, it should be me, for being disobedient and
allowing myself to be unable to serve for the time it took for me to recover from my
punishment.
When Mistress came into the room, she had tears running down her cheeks. The pain
on her face as her eyes wandered over my naked body, taking in the ravages she'd
inflicted on it, hurt me more than the physical pain she'd caused. My Mistress was
upset, and it hurt me to see her so. I needed to comfort her. I crawled across the room
and nuzzled her feet with my face, begging to be permitted to continue serving her.
She lifted me gently into her arms and hugged me as we both cried.
While she was always my Owner, our relationship somehow changed that day. I was
somehow more than just a slave now to her, and she was more than just my Owner. It
wasn't friendship...we could never act like friends and chat the day away over coffee
and cake...it was but more like a fierce loyalty. I would serve her faithfully, and she
would take care of me, protect me and ensure I was as well-treated as any slave girl in
that era.
My life improved somewhat from that point. Mistress accepted the fact that I was a
female slave, and as such, had specific needs that she could help me meet. Most of
the restrictions on orgasms were removed. Though I still had to ask for permission, it
could be at any time and not only from her. If I was being raped, I could simply beg my
user for permission, rather than asking her first. I couldn't spend time pleasuring
myself unless all my chores were done, and I still wasn't allowed to cum unsupervised,
but that was about it. She also invited me to her bedroom more often, sometimes just
to pleasure her, but she always allowed me my own release.
Other things changed, too. A mattress was provided for me at the base of Little
Master's bed, and I was allowed to sleep on it. A small table was set up in the kitchen,
where I was now permitted to take my meals, even allowed to use utensils instead of
my fingers. I now ate whatever they were having, rather than cold oatmeal or scraps
from the floor. I was even given some say in the foods I prepared, though the menu
was always approved by Mistress first. She even took the time to show me some of her
special recipes.
I was no longer kept constantly in chains, though I still wore my collar and wrist and
ankle bands so that I could be easily bound. My punishments changed, too, and now
usually consisted of a simple bare-assed spanking with a paddle for minor
transgressions. The whip was used very seldom, and major mistakes on my part were
usually corrected by withholding my food for a day, or not permitting me an orgasm for
a short period of time.
I think Mistress knew that I sometimes intentionally made mistakes, just so I could get
spanked. She would often smile at me knowingly as I bent over the stool in preparation
for my spanking, but she never did actually let on. Whenever she'd withhold my cums,
she'd say so with a gleam in her eyes. I knew that whenever she released me from that
restriction, I'd be "forced" to bring myself to multiple orgasms.
The one physical change that occurred about that time was my first labia piercings.
Master knew Mistress had really been angry at him when she took it out on me, so they
started talking a lot more. It turned out that Mistress was jealous, because Master was
fucking me so regularly. She said she now understood he saw a difference between
love and sex, but she still felt a little hurt whenever he used me instead f her. It was his
idea to give control of my cunt to Mistress, so that she could decide if he should make
love to her, or just use me to meet his sexual needs.
The result was that my outer labia were pierced, five holes on each side. One set of
openings, larger than the rest, were actually made with surgical steel grommets. There
were two similar holes punched in my inner lips. A thin steel cable was threaded
through the piercings and both ends were attached to a padlock which was then hung
through the grommet. With the wire pulled taut, it was as though my pussy was sutured
closed. Mistress maintained the key, but would give it to Master whenever he asked, or
if she was going out of town for more than a couple of days. She didn't mind him using
my mouth or asshole, and told him he could take me that way whenever he felt the urge
- but to never, ever come to bed with his dick smelling like my ass!
Life was good. I was 26 years old.
