Going Nowhere - 1

I shut the door and turned my attention to her. She was standing in the middle of my living room with her hands tied together in front of her. Over her head, she wore a loose-fitting brownish bag that served as a hood. Besides the hood, she was naked. The hood didn't restrict her ability to breath, hear or talk, but for all practical reasons it made her blind. I watched her standing there for a minute or so.

The slaver I had bought her from didn't know much about her and apparently, he didn't care either. He gave me no useful information of her background; he didn't know her age and didn't even have a name on her. She was just one more piece of meat in his stock. It was obvious that he cared more for a quick turn-over rate of his merchandise, quantity before quality. I got her cheap.

I guessed that she was about 20 years old. She looked fit and healthy but was a bit underweight, and again I guessed that the slaver didn't pay much interest in feeding his merchandises.

She wore no visible marks from excessive whipping, but her lack response when I examined her indicated that she had been through some rough time, and I had wondered if she was already giving up on life. If so, she wouldn't be of any use for me as a house slave. But I got her cheap and thought I should give her a try. If it didn't work, I could always sell her again without risking too much money.

She smelled of old sweat and her long hair had fallen over her shoulders, but for the transportation to my house I had stuffed it into the hood. I had noticed that it had been dirty and greasy. Apparently, no one had bothered to wash her during the time spent in the slavers pen.

She stood there just as I had left her. Her head hanging and her shoulders lowered. Despite this, she looked tense, probably both nervous and frighten. I guessed that she was trying to take in the faint sounds coming in from outside the hood, trying to figure out where she was and what I was doing.

I walked over to a cabinet and picked up two coils of rope. As I bent down beside her and started to wrap one of the ropes around her right ankle, she jerked with surprise. But when she realised that no pain was inflicted, she held still. I tied the rope around the ankle, leaving a good meter of rope for later use. Then I tied the other rope around her left ankle. She was now very tense but stood perfectly still.

I stood up and grabbed the loose end of the rope that was tied to her wrists. I pulled and she followed uneasily. I led her up to one of the walls and secured the rope to a metal ring fasted high up on the wall. Then I quickly tied her ankles to rings near the floor. She was now standing with her belly against the wall, feet spread, and her hands secured above her head. I could see that she was trembling. She knew what was coming and she was going nowhere.

I fetched a slender cane and weighted it in my hand. I gave her a minute to adjust to her new position and I could see that she was pulling on the ropes, testing its strength. She was indeed going nowhere.

Without warning I landed a stroke from the cane on her butt. Her body jerked and she let out a cry, more out of surprise then of pain. I watched her pull on the ropes and I watched as the first red trace formed on her butt. I waited and watched her. I wanted her to feel the sting of the first stroke before I delivered the next.

I gave her the second stroke. This time with a cry of pain, she threw herself up against the wall, squirming and pulling on the ropes. Of course, she was as stuck as ever before. Again, I waited and after a good minute and a half, she gave up struggling with the ropes. Through the hood, I could hear her sobbing softly and I could see her muscles in her sore butt moving, as if she was trying to make the stinging pain go away.

Then I gave her the third stroke, this time lower, on the back of her thighs. Again, she cried out and threw herself up against the wall. Her feet tap-danced as her body was trying to cope with the new stinging pain on her thighs. She pulled and jerked with her full weight on the ropes that held her hands, but it was in vain. This time it took her more the two minutes before she stopped struggling. She was standing in front of me with her head hanging. Her sobbing was now clearly heard through the hood.

I made a fake swipe with the cane through thin air, making sure she heard the noise of the cane cutting through the air. From pure instinct, she cried out and jerked as though I had landed the blow on her sore body. It took her several seconds to realise that she hadn't been hit at all. She was now weeping silently under the hood.

I gave her the fourth stroke, again over her butt and again she screamed and bounced against the wall. Without waiting I gave her the fifth stroke, this time on her thighs. She screamed, tossed and pulled on the ropes, now in in full panic, but after half a minute the screams had faded. I watched her hanging like wet rag from the ropes. Her entire body was shaking as she wept with pain, fear and frustration.

After couple of minutes her weeping had fainted into sobbing and sniffing's, and she struggled to get back up on her feet.

I walked over to her and pushed her up against the wall. Her whole body jerked, and she let out another scream of fear. As I untied the ropes that held her ankles and her hands, I could hear her sobbing fade out.

With a firm grip on her neck, I guided her a few steps to a small soft hand knitted rug in the middle of my living room.

"Kneel!" My hand on her neck pushed her down.

Uneasily she kneeled, instantly assuming what she thought was the position of a slave girl, and I realised that she hadn't had much training on this matter. I untied the hood and pulled it from her head and then I went to fetch a chair.

I sat down about a meter in front of her and watched her. Her head bowed down, and her dirty hair was hanging, covering much of her face.

"Look at me slave."

It took her a few seconds to realise that I had spoken to her. She lifted her face to me, but she didn't meet my eyes. I reached out with the cane and gently pushed the hair out of her face. Her tears had traced lines in the dirt on her chins and her eyes were red. Still, I found her face being quite beautiful.

"It's time for us to have a talk." For a moment, her eyes met mine, and then she quickly lowered her gaze again.

"When I ask you a question or give you an instruction, you will reply by saying yes master or no master. Is that understood?"

Without meeting my eyes, she slowly nodded. I reached out to her, placing the tip of the cane under her cheek and forced her to look up.

"I asked you a question slave. Is that understood?"

"Yes, master."

Her voice was not much more than a whisper. I realised that up to now, I hadn't heard her speak a single word. Not during her stay in the slavers pen, not during transportation and not even during the caning. This was the first words I have heard her say.

"Speak up, slave."

"Yes, master."

"Good. I want you to recall what happened in the slave pen. There I paid the man some money for you. I bought you. You are now my property. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, master."

"Good. I bought you, just as one can buy an animal or pair of shoes. You are an item. You are owned and I am your owner. What am I, slave?"

She was quiet for a second.

"My owner, master."

"That's right. Don't ever forget that."

"No, master." She lowered her eyes again.

Again, I reached out with the cane and forced her to look at me.

"A slave cannot own things. A slave has no will of her own. A slave has no name. Does the slave understand?"

She tried to lower her head again, but I forced her to keep looking at me.

"Yes, master."

"A slave can only use a thing if her owner allows her to use it. And the master has the full right to take it away again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master." I still held the cane under her cheek.

"Good. A slave has only one purpose, and that is to serve her owner. Is that understood?"

"Yes, master."

"So, what is the purpose of a slave?" I asked.

"To serve her owner, master."

"And who is this slave's owner?"

"You are master.

"What is your name, slave?"

She hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Whatever master pleases, master." She closed her eyes in shame.

"That is correct, slave. And for now, your name will be slave girl."

"Yes, master."

I lowered the cane from her cheek and immediately she bowed her head again.

"Has slave girl been beaten before?" Again, she took a deep breath.

"Yes master." I could hear that she fought hard to suppress the sob building up inside of her.

"Several times?" She nodded, unable to speak.

"I asked the slave girl a question, and I expect the slave girl to reply."

I could see tears rolling down from her eyes again, drawing new lines through the dirt on her chin.

"Yes master. Several times, master." Her voice faded out.

"And why did this slave girl just have a beating from her new master?"

Again, she hesitated.

"I don't know, master"

"Who's this I you are talking about?"

"Slave girl doesn't know why she was beaten, master. Sorry master." She quickly corrected herself.

I heard that her voice was close to cracking again.

"Had she made any mistakes or anything that could be miss pleasing to her new master?"

"Slave girl doesn't know, master."

I could now hear a touch of desperation in her voice and another tear rolled down her cheek. She started sniffling again.

"Slave girl has made nothing wrong in the eyes of her new owner, and that wasn't the reason she got beaten." I explained.

She sniffled. Again, I touched her cheek with the cane, forcing her to look at me.

"Now listen. I gave this slave girl the beating because I want her to remember things. The first thing I want slave girl to remember is the feeling and the pain. Never forget that slave girl."

"Yes, master."

"The second thing I want this slave girl to remember is that I will not hesitate to beat her again if she for any reason miss-please me, is that clear, slave girl?"

"Yes, master. Slave girl will remember, master."

"Good. Then I think we have sorted out the basics."

I stood up and took the chair back to where it belonged, and then I put the cane back on its rack.