I was awakened at 3:00 a.m. and led outside. I was not given any clothes for my transfer and I soon saw why. A truck had been backed up in the drive and I was led to the back. Inside the truck was a large crate. There were two men who were ‘packing’ me in the crate. Both of them were in their late twenties or early thirties and were very well built. They were business-like in their duties, not even stopping what they were doing long enough to cop a feel.
The side facing me was about four feet tall and three feet wide. I could also see that it was about three feet from front to back. There was a bench built into the right side. I was instructed to get into the crate and sit down on the bench, whereupon two men fastened my wrists and ankles to cuffs attached to the inside. A belt was cinched around my waist and a catheter was inserted that ran to a small tank below the bench. In front of me was a large cooler attached to the wall at eye level. A mouthpiece, shaped like a penis was inserted into my mouth and a tube ran from the mouthpiece to the cooler. I was told to suck on the gag and when I did, I was rewarded with a drink of cool water.
Next the men inserted nose plugs in my nostrils. The tube from the plugs ran above my head to the crate. I hadn’t seen it, but there was a small cover at the top of the crate that would prevent anything stacked on top of the crate from cutting off my air flow. They also put plugs in my ears.
When all of the tubes were attached and I was secured, one of them told me to get as comfortable as I could and close my eyes. They nailed the crate shut and I heard a whooshing noise. I did not see it at the time, but did much later. They had attached a tank to a hole and opened a valve. The tank contained foam that expanded when it hit the air. In just a few minutes, I was surrounded by foam that kept me from moving at all.
Nothing could penetrate the foam that encased me. No light, no sound, not even the sound of my own breathing, got through the foam. I could feel the bumps as the truck pulled away but only because of the swaying it caused and that was the only sensation I could experience.
After a short ride, I felt the crate (with me in it) being lifted and moved. The bump when it was set down was gentle. However there was no movement for a long time after that. Eventually, we started moving forward, gathering speed, and then the plane I was on took off.
Not knowing how long I would be in the air, I did the only thing I could do; I went to sleep. It could have been hours or days later that we landed, I wasn’t sure. I woke up a few times and went back to sleep, but the length of the periods I was awake or asleep were unknown. Each time I woke, I sucked some water through the mouthpiece and relieved myself through the catheter. At first, I had difficulty trusting the catheter. I remembered the ride the first time I had been sold and how I was forced to urinate while chained in the truck. The smell had really gotten to me and I was hesitant to put myself in the same position. But eventually, I had to relieve myself and, to my slight surprise, I remained dry and clean.
I was awake when the plane landed and I felt it taxi to a halt. Another forklift took me off and loaded me into a truck. That drive was at least an hour before the crate was unloaded and I was unpacked.
I was inside a small warehouse when the crate was opened and the foam material was literally torn out. All of the tubes were removed, but before I was completely released from the crate, my hands were freed and shackled in front of me. A chain with shackles for my ankles fell from the middle of the chain connecting my wrists and these were attached before the final belt around my waist was removed.
The same two men who had packed me did the unpacking. One of them took my arm and pulled me from the bench. I was led to a corner of the warehouse and through a door. The next room was a shower. There were two women, naked and chained in the shower who washed me, removing all the bits of foam from my hair and body. When they finished, they dried me off and pointed to a door. I went through and a meal had been set up for me. Skewers with bits of beef, and vegetables were on a plate on a low table. There was no chair, I knelt on a pillow. No utensils, either. I ate with my fingers and drank the ice water that was in a glass.
When I finished, a speaker on the wall told me to go through the door on my left. I hadn’t realized that I was being monitored. I stood up and hobbled to the door because of the short chain connecting my ankles. On the other side of the door, a man was waiting for me. He nodded to the floor and I sank down to my knees. He smiled when I did and took a few minutes to look at me.
“In answer to your first question,” he finally began, “I am not your owner, but I am your Master, just as all of the staff here can give you any order and expect it will be obeyed.
“You are at an auction house in Europe. Further information about your location is irrelevant because you will only be here for a week or so. We will take care of you for the next week and you will be on display at different times for the buyers. I understand you have been sold before, but always in a private transaction between your owner and another party.
“You will also be required to perform different tasks. Generally they consist of cleaning and serving, but something else may come up which requires your labor.”
He opened up a package and it had a small disk in it with a quarter inch spike in the center. Next he squeezed something out of a tube onto the side of the disk with the small spike and rubbed it around. He walked behind me and, warning me not to flinch when I felt the spike puncture my skin, stuck it to the base of my neck, just over my spine. At first, I thought the substance he spread on the disk was antiseptic, but it quickly dried and I could feel it pulling the skin. That was when I realized it was an adhesive. “This is how we control you. Let me demonstrate.”
He removed a small remote control from his pocket and turned a dial on it. Then he pressed a button.
I screamed and collapsed on the floor as the pain dug deep throughout my body. He left it on a few seconds and then turned it off. I was panting and gasping for air, curled up in the fetal position on the floor. He gave me a moment to recover then ordered me to stand.
I struggled to my feet, using every reserve of strength I had left.
“That was the medium setting. There is one lower setting and one higher. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded my head at him.
“Good.” He picked up a disk about six inches in diameter and attached it to my collar. I could feel the smooth edge of the disk resting on the tops of my breasts. It had the number 748 engraved in three-inch high characters. "That number is your lot number. It is also the frequency setting for the controllers so that every slave within range is not punished whenever one is turned on. Heel me.”
I took a position to his right and one step behind as he turned and headed through another door. We entered a long, narrow room with one hundred cages arranged fifty to a side in two tiers of twenty-five each. About half the cages were occupied with slaves, most of them sleeping. I didn’t count, but about two-thirds were females and the other third males. Each cage was a cube four feet on each side and was composed of steel bars. About two feet separated each cage from the ones on either side. There were trays beneath the floor of each cage which could be pulled out for waste. There were two feeding tubes shaped like penises, one for water and one for a liquid gruel that served as food for slaves in the auction house. As near as I could tell, every slave wore the same set of manacles on their wrists and ankles that I wore.
I followed him to a cage with a disk that matched the one hanging from my collar with the number 748 and he told me to crawl inside. It was on the lower tier and I was thankful I would not have to pull myself up to one of the higher ones. Once I was inside, he closed the door and locked it with a padlock. Then he explained the feeding mechanisms, which I had already figured out. Before leaving me alone, he wrote a note on a small white board that was attached to the front of my cage.
Because I had slept so much on the plane, I wasn’t able to go to sleep right away. This was as helpless as I had ever been. In an unknown country, no clothes, no money, no identification, no friends, nothing. ‘Well, Megan,’ I thought to myself, ‘you had your chance for a normal life and passed it up. So this is how it will be until someone decides that you are too old, or too ugly, or too used to be of service anymore.’ My immediate future was unknown and unknowable so all I could think about was my past and the long-term future.
I wondered about my parents and my brother. I could picture them wondering what had happened to me, grieving because they thought I was dead. My brother was probably married by now and I thought there was a good possibility I was an aunt who would never know her nieces or nephews. Then I thought about my own child and got very sad. Somewhere in the world was a child to whom I had given birth. I silently prayed he or she was happy.
I finally ate some of the gruel and took a drink of water before getting as comfortable as possible and going to sleep. But I tossed and turned all the time, never quite getting comfortable enough to really sleep. I was lying on the steel bars that formed the bottom of my cage and could not stretch out completely. Plus there were the nightmares about my old age that kept waking me up whenever I did drift off. All in all, not a good night.
In the morning, we were all released at the same time. We were taken from our cages and formed two lines so we could be led to a larger shower than the one I was in the night before. I had never seen so much naked flesh in one place before. We slowly worked our way through the shower, washing ourselves and went to the make-up room.
Here we were dried off by women and men dressed as maids and butlers, and then took seats in front of large make-up mirrors. There were directions posted on each mirror for the benefit of slaves, like me, who were going through the process for the first time. Female slaves were required to apply rouge to their nipples and male slaves applied it to their penises. Male slaves were also required to have an erection and attach a ring around their balls and penis to maintain the erection.
From there, we were taken to a large atrium. There were lots of trees and other foliage and the light was natural, from an enormous glass roof. Tables and chairs were scattered about, and there were pedestals of various heights, from two to ten feet tall, spread around the room. Each of us was taken to a pedestal and one of our ankles was shackled to a chain at the base. As soon as we were all in place, large doors at one end were opened and the buyers started wandering in.
I found out later that the display had been going on for three days already as all of the slaves that were going to be auctioned were brought in. They did not tell us when the auction was going to take place, but it was held a week later. The time before the auction was used by the buyers to observe and test us.
Mainly, they tested our endurance. How much pain could we stand? How many people (men and women) could use us before we collapsed exhausted? How fit were we? Even how long could we remain motionless on the pedestal?
Anyone could take us anywhere, for any purpose. Once, a group of buyers got together and took me and another female slave to one of the rooms that was off the main atrium. All of the rooms were equipped with various bondage devices, a bed, pillows on the floor, whips and other punishment tools.
There were twenty of them and they divided into two teams. They explained to us that they were going to fuck us one at a time. The slave for the team that won would be returned to the pedestal and the losing team’s slave would be whipped. I never worked so hard to get the men off to avoid being whipped. When the last one had climaxed inside me, there were still two men waiting for their turn with the other slave.
I smiled as the last man climbed off and lay limp on the floor as the other team finished using the other slave. During the time I was being used, I had had several orgasms and was quite content. That all changed rather quickly when I found out that winning meant keeping the guys going longer. They all congratulated the other slave on her performance as two of them bound my wrists to a post. My wrists were at waist level, but before they whipped me, they did one other thing. They lowered a chain from the ceiling and ran a small chain with nipple clamps through the last link. The clamps were the alligator type, with sharp teeth that dug into my erect nipples. They the chain was raised again until I was standing on my toes with my heels off the ground.
My breasts were on fire with the pain from the clamps pulling my breasts up. If I tried to lower my heels, the agony became even more excruciating because they were pulled more. I tried to hold still on my toes, but the force of the blows made me sway and my heels hit the ground so I could maintain some balance. With every stroke of the whip, I was punished twice; the actual stroke and the additional pain in my breasts. By the time they finished, I was a mess, tears streaking my face, my hair wet and matted, and my back and breasts sore from the whipping and the clamps. I thought I might be allowed to clean up a little, but I was taken directly back to a pedestal and locked into place.
Two or three times a day I was taken down and made to perform in some manner. Occasionally, I was just put through an evaluation, but most often, I had some type of sex with the buyer or buyers. However, none of the punishments I endured were as bad as the one described.
Part of the work we did was serving the tables in the atrium. The first time a staff member got me from the pedestal he took me out the swinging doors at one end of the atrium and showed me where the kitchen and bar were located. We had to remember all of the orders; we were not given a pad or pencil to write them down. This would occasionally create a problem since we were not assigned specific tables. Any buyer was free to place an order with any of us. Making my way from one table after taking an order, I was stopped three more times. I had to remember the order and the location of the tables. What helped was that there were always plenty of slaves assigned to the duty but this one time I didn’t get it right. A buyer complained to a staff member who took down my number. I didn’t find out what my punishment would be until later that evening.
At “closing time” when the slaves were taken back to the kennels for the evening, two other women, a man, and I were separated from the rest and taken to a room. There was a large glass window on one wall and there were several of the buyers watching us through it. Around the other three walls were sets of four colored lights, red, green, blue, and yellow, built into the wall. Beneath the lights were three jacks for plugs similar to the coaxial cable used for VCRs.
Staff members screwed cables into the connections. At the other ends of the cables were pads about an inch square. Some type of gel was rubbed onto the pads then they were fastened to us with first aid tape. Each of us got a pad on each nipple and the women had pads attached inside their vaginas. The male slave’s third pad was attached to his scrotum.
One of the staff members explained what we were to do. “Each of you is here because of some lapse of memory. This training room is devoted solely to improving your memory. In a few seconds, one of the colored lights will flash. When it goes out, you must press it. Each time you are successful, we will add another flash. For example, if the red light flashes and you then press it, the next time, it will be red then blue. Touch the lights in the same sequence. Once you get twenty lights in sequence correct, you will be released.
“If you make a mistake, you will be shocked. The intensity of the shocks remains the same for every set of five mistakes. At the sixth, eleventh, sixteenth and so on mistake, the intensity of the shocks will increase.
“If you have not completed a sequence of twenty within two hours, you will receive further punishment. Do any of you have any questions?”
We all replied with “No, Master,” in unison.
A few seconds later, the exercise began. I got up to eleven before I was shocked. It was more annoying than painful, but when the pattern started over, it was different. I had to memorize a new sequence and got confused with the first one. This time I only made it to seven.
At the sixth mistake, it hurt but I quickly recovered. At the eleventh mistake, it took me several moments to recover from the shock, during which time the sequence started again and I missed pressing the first light in time. I realized what had happened and through the pain paid attention to the first couple of lights as I recovered.
On and on it went. One of the females collapsed from a shock and was struggling to her feet when another hit her, knocking her over again. The male was crying out in frustration and pain because, as I later learned, the shocks to his testicles were far more painful than the shocks we received in our vaginas.
I stopped trying to count and had no idea how many lights were in each sequence. I started to pause at the end of each one trying to remember and took too long to press the last couple of lights, receiving more shocks along the way.
Actually I learned to stop thinking at all. The only thing in my mind was the flashing lights. I did not notice when one of the women got released because she finished all twenty correctly. Nor did I see the man and other woman writhing on the floor as they received shock after shock, unable to stand.
In the distance I heard a gong sound and the lights all went out. Staff members unhooked the three of us who had failed and took us to another room. They punished the male first. He was told to lie on the floor on his stomach and his cuffs were attached to chains that were then raised so he was suspended horizontally. His body sagged in the middle and you could see the strain on his face and in his muscles as he hung forming a shallow ‘U’. Then his back, buttocks and legs were whipped with overhand strokes. Each stroke, as well as being painful by itself, added to the strain in his body by pushing it down against his bonds. They used rubber straps that stung but did not leave any marks.
After the first few strokes, he was crying and pleading for them to stop. It seemed strange to see this well-built man, heavily muscled and very handsome, to be crying like a baby. After a few more strokes, he had to stop his begging because all he could do was cry and endure the pain.
When they took him down, he crawled to each of the staff members and kissed their feet, thanking them for ending his torment. He was hauled to his feet and taken from the room.
That just left the other woman and me. I was afraid they would treat us the same way, but they had something else in mind. I was told to lie down on my stomach and my hands were cuffed behind me. Then I rolled over on my back and chains were attached to my ankle cuffs only. My legs were raised and spread wide, while the only parts of me in contact with the floor were my shoulders, neck, and head.
When they whipped me, it was to the insides of my thighs exclusively. I think I had mentioned before that this is the most painful spot to be whipped, and they showed no mercy at all. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it seemed to go on forever. I can’t even remember what I said or did, other than scream and twist the little that my bonds allowed. When it was finally over, they took me back to the kennels so I never saw what they did to the other girl.
Between the electric shocks and the whipping, I was exhausted when I returned. I did not even bother with food, just a quick drink to wet my mouth before I collapsed and went to sleep.
Things went on like this for about a week. Then it was auction day.
The day of the auction was different than anything else we had experienced. We were awakened, earlier than usual I thought, but I had no way to know for sure. Staff members prepared us, instead of us preparing ourselves or each other as we always had before. First came showers, then hair, then makeup. This took a long time since there were only about six teams of two staff members and each team had to prepare nine or ten slaves. Hair and makeup took about an hour for each female, but much less for each male. I noticed that for the first time, the men were not wearing cock rings. I later learned that this was because the buyers wanted to see their natural erections.
We were placed in a coffle (a chain connecting our collars) in the order that we were to be sold. I learned that arranging the coffle was a time consuming affair involving a great deal of judgment and experience. The problem is that slaves at the end tend to get higher prices than slaves at the beginning. Not because they are better trained or more beautiful, but because as the supply shrinks, the prices tend to go higher. However, a slave that is expected to fetch a high price will do that even if placed at the beginning of the auction and the price won’t necessarily be higher for that slave at the end. Because the auction house gets a fixed percentage of each sale, it is in their best interest to maximize the total of the prices paid for each slave, not the price for a single slave. For the auction house, tens of thousands of dollars rode on their decisions about the order of the sale. Four of the staff members spent a great deal of time debating the exact order before we were finally arranged properly.
I found myself about two-thirds of the way toward the back end when the arranging was completed. The coffle was led to another room, where we were lined up against the walls. The slave who was at the front of the coffle was released and taken into the waiting room. This room was like an on-deck circle for a batter in baseball.
We were told that we could sit (not kneel) on the floor with our backs to the wall. It was a good thing that they let us rest this way, because it was hours before it was my turn.
Finally, I was first in line and then, fifteen minutes later, I was taken into the waiting room. Here I was told to stretch a little without breaking into a sweat. I stretched and loosened my muscles, being careful to move slowly and not push hard. I was stiff from the inactivity of the last several hours and it was good to get loose. Just before I was to be taken from the waiting room, one of the men rubbed an ice cube over both nipples. They quickly crinkled and hardened, sticking out like buds on a tree in spring. Then it was finally my turn to be sold.
First, the disk I had worn on my collar since I had arrived was removed. Then one man on either side of me took hold of my upper arm and led me through the door of the waiting room to place where I was to be auctioned. The buyers were seated in an amphitheater and there were, I would guess, several hundred, maybe even a thousand. In the front center was a large platform, about six feet high and ten feet on each side. I was escorted up the stairs to the platform and the auctioneer took control of me and led me to the front.
“Slave 748 is offered for sale,” he announced, then went on to read a list of my previous owners and describe the training I had received, including the pony training. It took him less than two minutes to recite my history.
“Slave 748,” he asked, “do you agree to your sale without conditions?”
“Stand up, slave, and pose for the buyers.”
I got up and began going through the routine I had learned so long ago, the one my first master called display postures. I held each position a little longer than I would have ordinarily because I did not know how long they expected me to keep posing and I did not want to repeat a position. As I began, the auctioneer announced that the bidding was open. I had never known what kind of price I received when I was sold before, so it surprised me that the bidding started at fifty thousand dollars and quickly rose. As I heard the bids called out, I was filled with pride that someone would be willing to pay that much money to own me. The bids went up in five thousand dollar increments, until they reached seventy-five thousand dollars, then they went up in one thousand dollar increments.
The bidding slowed and stopped at eighty thousand dollars. I was told to stand facing the audience and spread my feet apart. “Have you been coached in any way on how to react or behave on the block, slave?”
Then he quickly cupped his hand between my legs and, involuntarily, I pressed myself into his hand. I was aroused by being sold and when I felt his hand, I wanted more. I wanted him to go inside me and continue to stimulate me.
But as soon as I responded, he pulled his hand away. I realized that I had demonstrated for the audience my need to be touched. I was not embarrassed by it, but I was surprised when the bidding resumed after my demonstration.
I was finally sold for ninety-three thousand dollars.
I was led off the stage and taken to another room on the other side from the waiting room. Here I was placed in a small cage and the door was locked. The other slaves who had been sold were in similar cages. The cage did not allow me to stand up or spread out to my full length. Instead, I sat with my back against the iron bars and my knees pulled up to my chin. I began to wonder who my new owner was and what he (or she since I had heard some bids from women) would be like. It began to torment me a little, not knowing, but then I thought of the first slave who had been sold and how many more hours she must have been wondering exactly the same thing.
Unfortunately, it was still going to be a while before I learned who my new Master (or Mistress) was. When the last slave had been sold, we continued to wait in the cages until arrangements for our transport had been made. I later learned that some of the slaves remained in their cages for several days, with only a brief exercise period each day. I guess I was one of the lucky ones, because I was removed relatively quickly, after only a few hours.
When I was taken from the cage, I was blindfolded and shackled right away. A leash was attached to my collar and I was led away. After several turns and doors, another door was opened and I felt a cool breeze from the outside. After a few paces, I felt a hand on my head, guiding me into a limousine. I was instructed to kneel on the floor, which I did, I heard someone else get in, the doors closed, and we were off.
The drive to the airport was completed in silence, the only noise being the music playing in the car. It was classical, although I could not identify it. From the sounds, I deduced that the car pulled into a hanger and the hanger doors were closed. I was helped from the car and a few steps later, up the stairs to a plane, a hand again placed on my head to get through the door. Once again I was told to kneel, but this time against a bulkhead. Two straps were fastened, one across my thighs and one across my chest, holding me in place.
The hanger doors were opened again and the plane taxied out to the runway. Once the plane was in the air, my blindfold was removed. The inside of the plane was luxurious, with large, comfortable leather seats, rich carpet, and wood grain walls. Looking toward the back of the plane, I could see a door which led to a sleeping compartment. The door was open and a man was getting ready for bed. He was about forty or forty-five, with salt and pepper hair and about six feet tall. I couldn’t see his face with his back toward me, but he had broad shoulders that tapered to a thin, for him, waist. I could not help hoping that he was my new Master because he appeared, from just the back, very handsome.
The door to the compartment was closed and that was the last I saw of him until the plane landed, when he emerged from the sleeping compartment. Now I was able to see his face and he was every bit as handsome as I imagined. As he strode through the plane with an easy, athletic stride, I saw that he was wearing an expensive suit that was well-tailored to his muscular build.
The plane pulled into another hanger, and he released the straps holding me against the bulkhead. He motioned for me to get up, and I did so stiffly since it had been about two hours since the plane took off. I was still shackled at the wrists and ankles, and could not stretch as much as I wanted to. He took hold of the leash that was still hanging from my collar and led me off the plane. There was one of the new Mercedes SUV’s next to the plane and he pressed a button on his key chain that opened the back door and motioned me inside. He had me sit with my back to the back seat and locked my shackle chain to a ring with a padlock. Then he closed the door, got in the car, and drove away.
Other than the brief instructions he had given me in order to secure me for the rides and the flight, he had not spoken at all.
We arrived at my new home, an upper middle class, ranch style home on a hill overlooking a valley with a river at the bottom. There were houses dotting the hillsides on both sides of the river, but they were spread out, not packed in tightly as so many housing developments were. He pulled into garage, got out and freed me, and led me inside.
Once in the living room, he sat down in a leather covered easy chair and I knelt in front of him. In his hand he held a riding crop.
“You probably have lots of questions, some that may be answered and some that may not. First among those are probably about my expectations for you. I expect you to cook and clean, sleep in my bed when I want you to, and obey any commands quickly and completely. You will address me as Master. I will cover other things as they come up. Do you have any questions?”
“Master, do you have any special dietary needs that I should know about when cooking?”
“No, none at all.”
“Master, I have not eaten all day. May I get something?”
“You may, but nothing heavy. Just enough to hold you until morning.”
I got up and went into the kitchen. The appliances were all commercial grade and expensive. I saw some bananas on the counter and contented myself with one of those and a glass of milk. In just a few moments, I returned and knelt before him.
“I will show you where everything is in the morning. For now, it is time for bed. Follow me.”
He got up and I followed him back to the kitchen. We went through a door and down the steps to the basement. Most of the basement was finished with expensive wood paneling, comfortable furniture and very high-tech electronics. At one end was a door that led into an unfinished room with cement block walls. There was a cot whose legs had been set directly into the cement floor so it was only four inches off the floor. He removed all of my shackles and had me lay down on the cot. He locked a chain to my collar that had the other end attached to a ring bolted in the walls. The only other fixtures in the room were a toilet and a sink that I could just reach with the chain attached. He left the room and locked the door behind him. I got up, used the toilet and brushed my teeth with the brush and toothpaste left on the sink. Then I got back into bed and pulled a scratchy wool blanket up over me and thought about my new surroundings. The bare bulb over head never went off as there was no switch for it but the low level of light didn’t stop me from going to sleep. I was surprised that he left my hands free and soon I was masturbating with a picture of him making love to me in my mind.
Master has owned me for three years now. As soon as I got up to the point that he bought me, he had me stop, but he just told me to update this narrative. I updated the beginning to bring my age and years of slavery up to date, but as I read through this, there is nothing that I would describe differently so I decided to end it with an epilogue. I did consider changing the opening in other ways because as I read it, I thought it sounded like someone who was full of self-pity, with no choices and no alternatives. It is still true that I have no choices, nor do I really have any options in terms of the way I live. But that is not something I feel depressed about. On the contrary, I am proud of what I have become.
We live in San Francisco during the week and go to a cabin on a lake most weekends when the weather is nice. Master retired at 38 when his internet start-up was bought for over $20 million and he purchased me when he was 41. We go out two or three times per week; to the opera, or a show, or dinner. We also have fun at home, not just with sex, but in almost everything we do. I am very seldom whipped, maybe two or three times a year when I screw up. I am still kept naked at home and at the cabin but wearing clothes when we go out is fun because they are always sexy without being slutty. My exposed collar still draws stares but Master has not shared me with anyone since he bought me and I don’t expect that he will (although it is his right and if he did, I would not complain).
Do I love him? Absolutely. I sometimes think of all of the things I went through to get to this point in my life and don’t regret any of it because I am happy. Not just occasionally, or sometimes, but always, from the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep cuddled against him.
Yes, I sleep in his bed every night now, albeit chained by the collar to the headboard. But there is enough slack that I can wake him up by moving down the bed and taking him my mouth, which makes waking up for him and me a joyful experience.
Does he love me? I think he does but he never says it. It’s funny sometimes, when I tell him that I love him to see his reaction. It is almost as if he wants to say it but just can’t quite get it out. I may be whipped again when he reads this but I would be punished worse for not being honest. But after he had owned me for a year, he set up a trust fund for me so that if anything happened to him, I would be taken care of. The trust is not revocable. He said that was for tax reasons but I chose to interpret it as a sign that he plans on keeping me forever. I believe that I have been sold for the last time.
Once a year we go back to the pony ranch where I was trained. Master does not rent me out, like all of the other boarded pony girls are. Instead, he watches in the morning as I am trained then he hitches me up to a sulky and we go around the ranch. At about the halfway point, Master unhitches me and we make love in the grass for awhile before resuming the ride.
Life is good even if the road to here was hard. But isn’t that the way it is supposed to be? I am not pampered; I work my butt off keeping his house clean, cooking the meals, and pleasing him (especially hard at that but the rewards are commensurate with the effort). I know my family would be appalled at what I have done with my life. They would see it as wasted potential. But I disagree. My potential, all that I could be and am, is defined by my slavery. This is who I am and who I want to be. If that is not reaching your potential, I don’t know what is.