They let me out when they thought I was sixteen. When they released me from the orphanage I ended up with no place to go. I looked for a job, but found nothing at once, and went to sleep near a church. The Lake City police woke me up, and took me to jail.

The one-eyed judge asked first thing, “How much money do you possess?”

“Fifty common coins.” Was my answer, and I emptied my pocket. It took 300 to make one half credit. You had to have that amount to be legal in Lake City. Then the judge said, “Do you have any valuable assets?”

When I said, “My dress, and shoes.”
he said, “Well your home will be the County Jail for the next two years.”

Jail was about the same as the orphanage. There was the Boss who hit my legs with his strap and talked nasty. He was always saying how he wanted me to sit on the floor, so he could get at the ‘better parts’. He was a nasty man – I wanted to leave Lake City. I begged money from everybody who came near me, for the whole two year,  money to get away on. I talked to everyone about surrounding towns and the price of a bus. I got together enough change to go to Gainesville, it was considered a safe town. There was supposed to be much freedom there. I knew about the tax to get in the city, it was one credit. All the time I begged in jail no one was inclined to give me a whole credit. Other girls said if I submitted to a guard or several guards I might earn that much.

You should have seen the guards! Earthly scum! They didn’t care how they looked or smelled. It was like the Boss was their role model.

I started begging when I got on the bus.  First I sat next to some kind of monk and he didn’t answer my questions or talk and when I asked for one credit he moved to another seat.  Then a wealthy woman got on, she was dressed fine and had jewelry which looked gold.  She talked a blue streak and when I described how I had no money for the toll she looked blank and stopped talking.  Later a farmer guy with suspenders said, “I don’t think your worth a credit, at least not to me.”

Then an old man said, “Dear you would be best as someone’s slave.”

So the last man I chanced to ask was named Les Eller.  He was young and clean.  I thought good-looking but not like men pictured in movie magazines.  His nose was straight and his teeth seemed all intact.  He wore sturdy shoes and had an army pack.  Maybe I thought he had been in the army.

I was desperate.  No one would give me money so I asked this guy all sorts of friendly questions trying to smile and get on his good side.  So my time was running out I saw landmarks that meant we were at the town gate.  I knew without the money to get in I would be left on the road with all my money gone.  I would have to become a prostitute or worse.  So I told him I would be indentured to him for the money and I got no acceptance of that with him.  

Then the bus stopped to approach the gate.  I saw toll takers outside the bus so I said, “I will be your slave if you pay my toll.”

He made a collar for my neck a slave collar and had me agree that I was his slave.  Then he paid the toll and I went into the city know for freedom as a slave, of someone I only had a name for.

A dwarf gave him advice to lead me on a leash — to prove I was a slave and he wasn’t cheating the toll man.  Outside the bus the same deformed man offered to buy me for 3 credits.  Oh fear seized me then — this man was not just small, his arms were a lot like fish flippers.  His mouth was not like any mouth I had ever seen.  His lips were bigger than any other lips and his ears were a flap around a small hole.  Sex with a man like that I couldn’t imagine.  I wondered if he had the proper equipment for a man.  Maybe he was like a fish?  Maybe he had a flipper rather than a penis?  I was relieved when my new master said, “I’m not going to sell her, just got her.”  I was very, very relieved.

I had to carry the masters baggage and when he ordered me around he called me ‘Slave’ instead of Dorothy.  His pack was very heavy, I couldn’t imagine what could be so heavy except maybe metal like lead, or iron, or gold coins.  I didn’t complain, I tried to keep up with him.  Once when I fell behind he said, “You better not try and escape or you’ll be sorry.”  I wasn’t planning to escape.  Where would I go — probably back to jail, or worse.

The streets were teeming with people in Gainesville, and the master held my leash in crowds.  Finally he found a business called, ‘Rental Boxes’ it was exactly that — twelve by ten foot boxes with a light on all the time inside.  It was all metal and there was no furniture.  For a bathroom there were pots to sit on.  He locked me in there with his pack and then went where ever masters go in strange cities.  Before he left he said, “Have you clothes off when I get back.”  I did at once, but it got slightly chilly and I laid on one of his coats on the floor.

Finally he came back with some food.  It was bread with fish baked into it and a container of soup.  I sat up on the floor when he entered and pulled the jacket around me.  “Leave the tarp on the floor,”  he said, “and stand.”  He walked around me and looked.  Then he sat down and ate probably two-thirds of the meal.  Who says people share equally with their slave.  He pushed his left overs over to me and I ate for the first time that day

I had barely finished when he pushed me down on his jacket and stuck his big thing into me.  All the time in the orphanage I had cared for little boys and knew some had larger penis’ than others, but this guy was huge.  When he was excited and the thing was extended it did hurt.  I expected it to really hurt and it truly did.  I was also a virgin and that hurt to, but he was large.  The girls in jail compared notes on men’s size, but this one had to be a record! 

If I had been free and could make a choice after I saw it coming at me I would have declined.  Actually the flipper of the midget probably would have been better than that.  I did yell in pain as it went in and out.  What else could one do?  The metal boxes were right up against each other and you could hear people talking, but I’m sure no one was screaming like that — I was embarrassed.

That wasn’t all, the next morning he did me again.  Of course I’ve heard the first time is always worse.  Not so!  That’s what I was always told, but the 2nd time was equally bad.

He brought a bucket of water in so we could wash off and I saw my problem.  When his instrument was soft, it hung almost to his knee cap!  No wonder it hurt, I wanted to ask him how other women had reacted, but I was afraid to talk to him.  He had said I’d be sorry if I tried to run away.  I noticed every time he left the metal box he locked me in.  And he didn’t talk — I guess he felt, ‘What business is this of a slave girl?’

My first day I got several surprises.  He told me to dress and gave me his comb and brush to fix my hair.  We left the pack in the box so I could walk faster, almost keeping up with him.  I tended to notice all the slave people we passed.  Few were connected to leashes, and many had metal collars.  They were not all young girls like me.  Many were old, few slaves were fat.  Some young children were walking with two slave women.  It was an easy way to take care of children, unless you were the slave.

First he took me in to a blood bank where he sold blood, and sold my blood.  He got the payment.  They took twice as much from me as from him.  I didn’t even imagine the next place we went.  It was a beauty shop — better he didn’t tell me.  No waiting, they took me right in and a woman came up and admired my hair.  She set me down and said, “Did you tell her?”

“No,”  he said, “She’s a slave, her hair belongs to me.”  She took a shaver and cut my hair off as one piece.  I saw hem get two credits for my hair.  It was the middle of the day when we got back to the metal box.  He pointed to his coat on the floor.  He joined me on the floor.  I was weak from losing the blood, and after I screamed myself into a scratchy throat, he left without a word.  I could barely stand up after that session.

Not having my hair did not suppress his erection, or lust.  It was not the beauty of my hair that made him want me.  I thought that afternoon that maybe his thrusts might mess me up inside.  I’ve never heard of anything like that before.  You wonder things like that when people do that, then leave you alone, and don’t talk.

You wonder lots of weird things when you are left alone, and things just happen to you.  I wondered if he would sell my blood every day, and what else of me he would sell?  Would it be my fingernails?  Or my eyes?  I’ve heard that slaves provide organs for their masters.  Hospitals use slaves all the time for replacement organs.

That night he came in with three girls.  A rope held them together by the necks.  I think they were Chinese.  They jabbered until he shouted, “Shut-up!”, and waved a belt at them.  We were all stuffed in the crazy box.  They squatted where he told them, and took up little room

He looked at me and said, “I had seven and sold four this afternoon.”  I smiled like the village idiot, and as if I had suddenly become his partner.  He showed the new women to me, like they were prize cattle.  He had them stand, and raised up their dresses, and showed them off.  They were more alike than different.  They had small breasts and were very small people when compared to the master and me.  They were probably young.  I had little to compare them with in my experience. 

My guess was that they were all twenty years old or under.  I told him my ideas and he said, “I would have sold this”, pointing to one he had her pull off her sack dress, “except for this black wart.”  He pointed to the back of the woman, there was a big wart, with hair around it.

“I’ve heard that when hairs grow around a wart, it’s been there a long time.”  I said  I mean, what did I know, what factual knowledge do you learn in an orphanage?

“You saved me money Dorothy, I was thinking of making the midget take her back.  But I guess other people may know about the hair and warts.”

That night he left me with those girls and as soon as he left they began talking in their language all at once.  My thought was that I would have the night off with three new slaves for him to mount.  I was wrong.  He came back with supper and as before ate most of it, then pushed the remainder to me.  I looked at the three women watching us and said, “What about them master?”

“The midget fed them as part of the deal — onions and a raw potato each.”  I thought they smelled odd — it was the onions.  I also figured that the midget was around again — the same one from the bus trip.  How many midgets do you meet in a lifetime?

——————————————————————————————–

To contact the author his e-mail address is: rcates2@cox.net

Fax him at: 1-352-629-1573

Another story with links to other writing is at: http://unsightlyteeth.wordpress.com

One of his stories with links to other writing is at: http://unsightlyteeth.wordpress.com