Summer Stories Pt.1 (Hannah's Life)

All characters are 18 years old.

The author does not condone any form of violence in real life.

Jenkinses and Hannah do NOT interact in the sexual way.

Every character is consenting adult.

Summer Stories (Hannah's Life)

May had come to an end. Hannah was shaved completely bald every week and washed with that same ice-cold water, which was more of a torture for the girl, since the smell and dirt could no longer be simply washed off her. She looked even more sinewy: the very last percentage of her body fat had evaporated, revealing her muscles, but those too had started to thin out bit by bit. Her whole body weighed next to nothing, yet she could lift things she wouldn't have been able to lift after years of training in the gym prior to the punishments. She had managed to get a tan, too. Only her heels and palms remained to remind her of what her skin color used to be. They fed her roughly the same things--either that meat jelly, dog food for dessert, or oatmeal--except once a week she was given a nourishing soup with vitamins so Hannah could keep on working.

Aside from the story with her body, Hannah found yet another pastime besides chasing Radcliffe. Now she masturbated everywhere. Under the willow tree, in her doghouse, by the porch, and even once right on the porch. After that, of course, the Jenkinses were not entirely pleased and forced her to lick up what was left until the very evening. She never went back there. Her entire day consisted of heavy work, flogging--mostly not too much, but if she hadn't finished a task, her whole body was lashed--masturbation, and food. By the end of May, she had learned to go to the bathroom relatively well; nothing leaked onto her belly anymore. Her parents noticed this and wanted to see it live. It was awkward for Hannah to releave herself right in front of her parents, but she did it. The Jenkinses were absolutely delighted. That day she simply rested by the pond, having stuffed herself with dog food, rubbing herself down there more out of habit than out of need.

It's worth talking about Hannah's mind. The more days passed, the more and more Hannah began to turn into what they thought she was--a dog. She learned to walk like a dog, and even started communicating like a dog. She couldn't talk, so out of boredom she simply made some strange sounds remotely resembling a dog's bark, but more sinister and less ringing. Sometimes she tried to communicate, but her tongue simply couldn't pronounce even the word "Hannah." It came out sounding like something like "Muam-ma ho... wants...", but the last word was usually followed by the slap. She hadn't resigned herself, because resignation requires a brain, and hers had shut down completely.

She had simply accepted her role and performed it as best she could, and she could only do so-so. Radcliffe was luckier, since he had been doing it since early childhood. This doesn't mean Hannah's personality was dead--not at all! It had rather just switched off. Deep inside, that same girl was still sitting there, but it was so deep that there was no point even talking about it. Some things, like the concept of clothing and footwear, memories of her studies, her past worries about how to get a new phone, and even the very concept of a phone, had long since been erased from her memory. She thought about food, about Radcliffe and how she was going to catch up to him, about work, about her crotch. Every day she saw the exact same willow trees, the exact same boards of her doghouse, Radcliffe's exact same fur. She thought a whole year had passed, but in reality, only 3 weeks had gone by. By the end of the 4th, she let go of these thoughts and directed whatever active brain power she had left toward work.

One day, her father pulled a bag of fertilizer out of the shed, because the flowers needed to grow. He waited patiently for the scabby girl to heave a huge fabric bag--about half her height--onto her back. It rubbed against all her skin very unpleasantly; her muscles, even though they were accustomed to hard labor, still couldn't cope. She fell and got up, fell and got up. She wanted to drink, she wanted to eat, she wanted to use the toilet. She didn't know how much time had passed, only that her father went somewhere and then came back, then went away, watched her from the window, and went away again. It began to get dark, and finally she carried that fertilizer over. Her father carelessly ripped open the middle of the bag, took out a smelly handful, poured it onto the flowers, and ordered her to carry it back, but at the same time went to fetch a willow branch.

Hannah had to carry it back before the end of the day without spilling any. Of course, as soon as she hoisted that bag onto herself, the stinking mixture fell onto her shoulders, for which she got hit right across the backside, causing her to sway, drop a bit more fertilizer, and get hit again--this time on her calves. By the end of the trip, it was already night, half the fertilizer was gone from the bag, her whole body exuded that foul aroma, and her entire backside was striped with welts. She flopped right onto the grass and fell asleep. Grasshoppers crawled over her and flies settled on her, attracted by the fertilizer, but she didn't care. She dropped from exhaustion and didn't even have the desire to crawl to the pond. Her father left her lying there. Besides, he could afford to spend the whole evening on her, because Summer had begun.

Story 1. The Trip to the Farm

The Jenkinses bought a vacation package somewhere for a whole month. They weren't planning to warn Hannah, of course, but judging by their smug faces--even smugger than the ones that appeared after the punishment started--one could tell something had happened, and since nothing new had changed at home (Hannah could only judge by looking out the windows), most likely they were indeed going somewhere. After all, who would want to rot all summer in their own house? And even though Hannah was treated like a dog, cooking food for her every day, and moreover managing to cook food worse than Radcliffe's, took a real effort. Waiting for the food to cool down and become cold, with a nasty still-warm center, and pouring it into her palms--or even just pouring it out onto the porch--was still labor-intensive. Seeing Hannah every day, smelling her odor, seeing her disgusting habits. Flogging her took energy, after all. And so, after a month of such life, Hannah's parents were tired. No, no, of course they didn't eat once a day if they were lucky, and their entire bodies didn't consist solely of muscles and tendons, but for normal people even such exertion after long work is exhausting. And this dog still wouldn't obey you, kept trying to do something wrong, and then backed up, arched her back, and presented her butt, as if to say I earned it.

You could also understand this by the fact that the Jenkinses wanted to give Radcliffe back. To be fair, they weren't planning to take him away forever; grandma simply wouldn't have allowed it. But the more and more Hannah heard the words "Radcliffe" and "Farm," the clearer it became to her that they wanted to dump her somewhere. Even though the wench had lived on starvation rations for a month, she wouldn't last entirely without food. The days went from simply warm to pleasantly warm, especially when you have no clothes on and you feel the temperature, the humidity, and the world in general in your own way, but then they became hot. More and more often, Hannah touched her shaved pate and felt the heat radiating from it. All her skin became even darker. In fact, Hannah hadn't imagined her skin could get like that. On top of that, she didn't have any stupid things like panties and a bra, pubic hair and hair on her forehead, or even eyelashes. So her tan was ideal from her heels to the crown of her head. Even between her buttocks managed to warm up, mostly because a lot of tasks were centered around her having to arch her butt and show all her holes to the sky. Even while walking on all fours, her entire being was laid bare, especially in the stance Mrs. Jenkins taught her.

And so, on Monday, since yesterday she had been doused with ice-cold water again--meaning on Sunday, which no longer seemed like something terrible to Hannah, but quite the opposite, she looked forward to it--today began the same way as yesterday, only much harsher. They dragged her by the ankles out of her kennel. It was noticeable how unpleasant it was for her father to touch even a centimeter of her skin, as he kept turning his head this way and that. And then, on the grass between the porch and the doghouse, several liters of that same ice-cold water fell on Hannah in a measured stream for about 5 seconds. Hannah didn't even have time to wake up before her entire organism was in severe stress. She arched and screamed. Well, at least she thought she screamed. Actually, at first she just opened her mouth in a grimace and groaned. Then the wench pulled herself together and clenched her teeth, but the stream of water had already stopped. The consequences of such a shower, however, were worse than the shower itself. She was shaking right there on the grass, arching like a worm with her whole body and trying to hug herself, but she received her first switch of the day. A good "whip" sound was heard after the branch hit her backside. But since the girl had no fat, she quickly tensed her buttocks and endured the pain, or else a second blow would have followed.

-- "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, soon we're going to Grandma's to drop off Radcliffe. And we'll drop you off too. Grandma has a lot of animals, you'll be able to make friends. But before that, you need to be washed, otherwise it'll be embarrassing!"

Mother was already dragging a bucket. This bucket was usually used for washing floors, but today something much dirtier would have to be scrubbed off. It had soap in warm water. A stiff dish sponge, a floor rag, and a toothbrush hung over the rim. Hannah recognized the floor rag immediately. It was her old dress! The very first one she used to cover her legs! Well, of course not all of it, just one sleeve cut into a thin rag, but even that was enough. How amazing the brain is--Hannah had forgotten the names of all her boyfriends, but she remembered the dress she hated after all. Right now it was just fabric, but before, it had been clothes. The kind people usually wear over their bodies. And this wasn't dirt or urine, not blades of grass from her heels or grime from her forehead. No, it covered you entirely! It immediately seemed strange to Hannah why shoes and a bra with panties were needed. After all, the body was already covered, where else to go?

But right now, Hannah would have rather preferred to stay naked. Firstly, it wasn't very convenient to run, let alone work on all fours when a skirt rides up or gets in the way. And secondly, who would have let her? To give credit to her parents, they had adapted every chore to all-fours, so she didn't have to get up at all. The first week her joints hurt impossibly. Only lying down poses were familiar to Hannah. But then walking like a little monkey, or rather like a dog, became very comfortable. Closer to the grass, closer to the weeds, plus 2 new hands in the back. You can pluck weeds either with your teeth or the old-fashioned way with your hands, pulling them out by first sliding them between your toes and then sharply jerking your leg upward. And maybe her parents didn't think about it, but there is a third reason why that dress would have turned into a rag anyway--Hannah had forgotten how to walk on twos. I mean, of course, if you gave her a week, she'd run a marathon, especially in her current guise, but just getting up and walking around wouldn't work out. She had been too intimidated, and walking on all fours had become too comfortable. Hannah's heels became soft again, her soles now constantly felt the breeze, and her palms, like Hannah herself in recent months, lowered to ground level and lifted weights they had never lifted before.

Hannah was brought back down to earth from the heavens by the rag. First, mother carelessly took her leg and began rubbing the skin with soapy water. It cleaned almost nothing, but Jenkins diligently ignored this. Then the second leg, then her thighs. Then came the command to lie on her stomach and a strong push on her backside. Jenkins was dragging the already dirty rag across her buttocks, then went even further and forced Hannah to sit on her knees, arching her back forward and rising slightly. It was a super uncomfortable position; Hannah's body was shaking like in a plank, but fear was stronger. Jenkins clumsily and heavily pressed on her pubic mound and labia, causing Hannah to bite her lip. The already black rag was then led over everything else, not forgetting to wash Hannah's chest with special care, which lately had become a bit more sensitive at the most inappropriate moment. The soap on her little pussy started to burn unpleasantly, but Hannah didn't even squeak. Then it was time for her head. Mother brought the rag up to the crown of her head, and Hannah already wanted to tell her not to climb into her hair with a dirty rag, but remembered that she couldn't say anything and wouldn't be able to, and her hair was long gone. And yet Jenkins noticed this short movement and shoved the rag into Hannah's mouth.

-- "Know your place," she dropped carelessly and more as a joke.

Of course, the rag cleaned nothing; rather the opposite--now her face, which usually got cleaned by sweat and ice-cold water once a week, was smeared with the grime of heels that the ice-cold water never quite reached. She started to smell stronger than usual, and the soap burned her crotch even harder. Of course she closed her eyes so at least they wouldn't sting and prepared for the warm water from the bucket, but only heard the turn of the valve. She opened her eye a crack and immediately regretted it, everything started to hiss. However, there was no need to worry; soon this soap was washed off by the strong jet of that beloved ice-cold water. Hannah opened her mouth again with effort and drool flowed out of it. Her face froze in pain. She hadn't expected this, but her parents found it amusing.

Soon she was slapped on the thighs and the second round of hell began. And even though the sponge looked sort of clean after being rinsed in the bucket (that's why the warm water was needed, to make dipping more pleasant), soapy water was liberally dripped onto it and rubbed against a bar of that same harsh soap. Soon a lather appeared, but it came from the soft side, and Hannah hadn't earned anything soft yet. Her heels began to be treated harshly with the sandpaper of this sponge, and if the skin of her soles hadn't been conditioned, she would have had many scratches. Instead, scratches appeared on her calves, thighs, pubic area, and even on her pate and armpits. The penetrating soap stung harder than the soap in her crotch, which hadn't washed off yet and was already making her itch intensely. Hannah pulled her hand down there, but immediately received the soapy sponge right in her face. After that, Hannah sat still, enduring the hellish urges to scratch and the hissing of the soap.

To be fair, her knees and elbows were almost scrubbed clean, and there's no need to even talk about her thighs and belly. It was as if she didn't crawl around the yard like the ultimate stray dog. While the soap was still on, Mother quickly grabbed a razor and shaved everything from her eyebrows again. Then followed another dousing. Hannah no longer writhed and endured it relatively stoically, which slightly disappointed the Jenkinses; they had been preparing for a new show. But then why did they take a toothbrush, used by someone, and start rubbing it against soap? Hannah realized everything too late when that thing ended up in her mouth. Now her throat along with her lips and her entire mouth was burning. She coughed and already wanted to spit it out, but held back. The Jenkinses brushed her teeth and told her to swallow the rest of the soap, because "There might still be food left in there." I must say that Hannah's teeth were in order, since she hardly ate sugars (and in fact other elements too). They splashed the rest of the soapy water on Hannah, making her whole body itch again. The itch in her little pussy didn't go away. Then they left her lying by the porch.

Toward evening, when Hannah was trying with her last strength not to crawl inside and scratch everything possible, she was doused with cold water--good thing the evenings were warm. However, the stream never hit her crotch. It itched there all night.

In the morning she was woken up by a boot to the ribs. This had become the usual way to wake Hannah up. Radcliffe didn't even need to be woken. He had been on standby since the night, and as soon as he heard the word "Farm," he ran straight into the kitchen, from there through the open front door, and there he was already waiting by the door. Hannah, on the other hand, had to be raised to two legs. It had become unusual for her, but a couple of blows with the branch and she walked on two feet as if she had her whole life. Her bare soles felt the exact same thing as on the first day, since they hadn't felt the ground in a long time.

Here her feet felt the tile. It was very early, dew was just starting to appear on the grass, but it was warm--at least warmer than in May. Last time her little feet walked on this tile, it ended badly. Hannah hoped today would be better. Then the familiar door. She was led to the car.

It's one thing to be tied to a door at night in the twilight, and quite another to stand out in plain view in the middle of the road. Her feet felt asphalt for the first time in a month. She didn't like it; it was way too rough.

She looked back at the door one last time. Right there, barely a couple of weeks ago, she had stood, touching herself under Grandma Russo's blows. This was the brightest memory of her new life, and from it her nipples slowly began to swell. Suddenly her parents looked at her and closed the rear door, which they had been holding open, and led her to the trunk. They had been planning to put Radcliffe and Hannah in the back seat, but seeing her condition, they decided to put her away so she wouldn't loom in front of their eyes. And it was easier for Radcliffe that way anyway. He curled up into a ball right in the middle and dozed off quietly.

Hannah, on the other hand, was taken by her collar and thrown into the trunk. There was very little space there; it was good at least that between the rear seats and the trunk there were small gaps through which one could hear and see what was happening inside the cabin. And air passed through, too. She had to lie on her left side, hugging her knees and staring into the narrow space, half of which was occupied by the sleeping Radcliffe and his fur.

The last thing she saw as she rolled over was Grandma Russo, dumbfounded, looking at her, then at the car, at her parents, and then back at her. Then the loud slam of the closing trunk was heard.

Hannah realized she had slightly overestimated the comfort. It got stuffy after just 5 minutes. She tried to breathe slower, but that didn't help much. With every minute the sun shone brighter and brighter, so Hannah began to sweat more and more actively. Yes, maybe she was used to her body's stench, but out in the open air. Imagine what kind of aroma was in a 2-by-1 meter box, and that's considering that yesterday she was bathed like never before (her crotch was still stinging). Nor did it add comfort that her heels were closer to her nose than ever before. They were always on the ground, and it seemed to Hannah that they smelled the same way as on the first day of her barefoot life.

And yes, the grassy undertone remained, but sweat, dirt, dust, urine, Radcliffe's fur, and porch food were added to it. You couldn't wash all that off with cold water. Her head rested against the wall because she couldn't bend her neck. To be honest, this collar was slowly choking her, and with all her heart she tried to calm herself so she wouldn't start thrashing around right inside this coffin. But she was doing a bad job of it. Only stripes of light from the cabin falling on her chest and crotch still let her know that everything was fine. The air was getting smellier and warmer; with every minute it grew stuffier for her, and therefore scarier. And even though she obviously had enough air, since the trunk wasn't an isolated chamber, its staleness made her brain think that everything was bad.

Since she was woken up early, she couldn't perform her usual ritual. She couldn't warm up in the sun, have a drink, but most importantly, she hadn't gone to the bathroom. And with every drop of sweat that fell onto the surface of the trunk, which was a hard carpet covering, pressure down there began to mount stronger and stronger. She clenched her legs, but that didn't help much. She didn't know how long she had been riding and how long she had held out. But her pelvic muscles were about to let her down. However, she imagined what they could do to her if father's car was all flooded with her stinking liquids.

She decided to distract herself. She started to comfort herself out loud, but her "Muam-ma... hol... d... on..." and then "bua... nua... rua..." only drove her into despair. She decided not to breathe and hold her breath, but she realized too late that it was a bad idea. All that was left was to look into the gaps of the back seat. Everything there was orange out of unfamiliarity, because she had been sitting in pitch darkness for what felt like 10 hours. In there, father and mother were talking to each other about something and seemed to be laughing, but everything was drowned out by Radcliffe's loud, heavy snoring. The dog hadn't slept all night, and mom, talking to dad, was stroking him.

Hannah smiled instinctively. It wasn't all that bad. Surely her parents would stop and she could take care of all her business. She already imagined how she would crack every bone and stretch every joint. She had learned to do this even on all fours. Instead of morning stretches, she would lift her right leg vertically, demonstrating the wonders of her sinewy body's flexibility and every muscle beautifully tensing under the rays of the early sun. Then an arm, the other leg, and the other arm. Then she would lift her pelvis upward, shamelessly exposing all her holes, and stretch her arms out on the ground like a kitty. Then she crumpled her toes a couple of times--all 20 of them--and then jerked her back this and that way. Then she would lie on her stomach and try to stretch her fingers and toes as far apart from each other as possible. Radcliffe usually just looked at these rituals like a dummy. A light walk outside once every 2 days was enough for him. Hannah, obviously, wasn't taken, and she stayed home all alone with her crotch.

Suddenly a breeze came from the cabin. The Jenkinses opened the windows. Hannah was grateful to every single cell that pressed the button to open that window. Out of joy she even howled, and both Jenkinses, as well as the woken-up Radcliffe, looked back strangely.

A little more time passed and Hannah smelled food. Smells had become something like a substitute for speech for Hannah. All her senses were sharpened like a dog's, and she felt every nuance except, of course, her own. It was dog food, held out on a palm in front of Radcliffe's nose. Hannah instinctively cupped her palms, but realized how stupid that was. The happy smacking sounds of the dog were heard. Hannah drooled, and the saliva fell right where the sweat had been dropping all these hours.

An hour or two later, the road deteriorated. Hannah felt herself rocking from side to side. Suddenly father hit the brakes, then he slammed the door, and mother got out with him. And here Hannah was free again! They opened the trunk and found the girl curled up in a ball, all in sweat, squeezing her legs with her last strength. But what struck the Jenkinses was the smell.

Hannah took a deep breath of air, rolled over, but she was grabbed by her collar and attached to a leash with a sharp movement. Hannah got up on her two feet and couldn't be happier. She stood with her feet in the warm sand that covered this wild road. However, no farm was in sight. Hannah gestured toward her crotch and rubbed her belly. Mrs. Jenkins understood everything without words, took the leash, and led the girl into the forest surrounding the road on the left and right. Behind them in the distance loomed the highway and the lights of cars passing by. Sometimes the loud roar of tractors and huge semi-trucks could be heard. These sounds frightened Hannah. She assumed a more familiar position for herself, namely getting down on her knees and walking on all fours behind her mother. Mrs. Jenkins stopped near some spruce tree, having moved away from the car by about 10 meters.

Hannah raised her little leg, but nothing happened. Jenkins even turned away, but still nothing. Hannah simply couldn't force herself. Urine was pressing from below, her whole body was already ready to do the deed, but her brain simply blocked these attempts. Hannah felt unsafe. This was the first time in a long time that Hannah had been brought to a place so far from home. Her brain spun from this realization. Behind them, cars driving on the highway didn't even suspect that right here the little dog Hannah was getting ready to pee on a tree. Out there, a few kilometers away, lay Grandma's farm, which Hannah hadn't visited since early childhood. Hundreds of animals or even people could be watching her right now in the trees. She simply couldn't. Jenkins shook her head, tied the leash to a branch, and walked back to the car, leaving Hannah alone. But that didn't make it any easier. 10 minutes passed, Hannah strained and strained, but the stream wouldn't come. And Mrs. Jenkins returned.

-- "Still haven't peed? How strange... But we're already late, there's no time to wait for you."

On all fours, Hannah walked in Mrs. Jenkins' footsteps again, looking at the ground and not understanding what was wrong with her. Here her palms and knees felt the road's sand. It clung to her skin, and Hannah was made to jump and shake herself off, but she felt the liquid starting to burst outward more strongly. In the end, Hannah found herself facing the back seat again, and the Jenkinses continued driving.

All these efforts didn't go in vain. Hannah needed to use the toilet stronger and stronger. And this road wasn't helping. One wrong bump and Hannah had to plug everything underneath with her fingers. Another one, another one, and suddenly Hannah felt a relief. She finally went. She tried to stop the process, but the rebellious stream first doused all her hands, and then a puddle covered the entire surface. The wet and stinking carpet squished unpleasantly when Hannah tried to get comfortable. The stream turned out to be so strong that near her heels and head, urine accumulated as well. And in such a stuffy and narrow space the smell was simply indescribable, and soon the Jenkinses felt it. Radcliffe, too familiar with this smell, merely barked and went back to sleep.

Hannah prayed the smell wouldn't be noticeable in the cabin, but she understood it was simply impossible and just waited for the inevitable. The car braked again. This time Mr. Jenkins opened the trunk. He immediately pulled his head back because of the smell. Hannah's body unpleasantly made the carpet squish when she got up. She tried to apologize and even sat on the urine-soaked knees that immediately got coated in sand, but Jenkins was holding back hard from going for another branch right now.

They stood in silence like that for a minute, Hannah tried to say something like an apology, but it came out as: "P-pro-p... I... i-i... bua...". Father ordered her to close her mouth and took the leash from the cabin. Mother came out, still not believing what had happened, and opened the door for Radcliffe to air it out. Only now did Hannah realize how much had poured out of her. The entire carpet, which had already absorbed a lot of urine, was additionally covered by a puddle. Father tied the leash tightly to the trunk handle, closed the trunk, and it jerked the leash so that Hannah lurched forward, falling to her knees again. Then father and mother got into the cabin and closed the doors. Hannah understood everything. The car started moving and Hannah jerked along with it. Then it stopped abruptly and Hannah hit her chest against the iron edge. Mr. Jenkins looked in the rear-view mirrors and gauged what speed needed to be developed. The car started moving again, but wasn't going to stop. At first Hannah kept her hands as usual by her sides, but very soon she had to keep them the way people do when running. Oh, and it had been a long time since she did that!

From a walk she transitioned into a strange wide-legged stride, then wider and wider, and soon she was jogging. Her breasts bounced up and down. Her legs, unaccustomed to running, now remembered everything and she felt every thread of muscle down there. Her entire left side was damp, sweat gathered near her mouth and threatened to get into her eyes. This urine slowly began to evaporate, making the air around her even smellier. Hannah hadn't drunk anything yet, and direct sunlight began to warm unpleasantly, and then burn altogether. Drops of urine and sweat fell onto the sand, and on that very sand a strange pattern formed: car tires, and in the middle a girl's bare soles, with drops between them every few centimeters. It's worth noting that Hannah's soles had also changed. While people with flat feet leave an imprint of the entire sole surface, Hannah's soles left a mark only with the heel, toes, and the ball beneath the toes. Hannah didn't have the instep connecting them.

The car sped up and Hannah ran as fast as she could. If you think running on sand is equivalent to running on a beach, no. This sand, even though it also got stuck everywhere it shouldn't, was additionally as coarse as gravel. It hurt Hannah; hundreds of small pebbles dug into her soles. She even liked the feeling of running; she hadn't run without clothes before, and it turned out to be much more comfortable. And you don't have to think about how stupid you look when your hair jumps up and down while running, when you simply don't have any.

Very soon Hannah ran out of steam, and the car still wasn't stopping. The leash stretched to its maximum and Hannah began to fall behind. She was suffocating, but she couldn't give up. She ran and ran, making strange sounds. She stuck her tongue out because she saw Radcliffe doing that. Tears appeared on her face. Not because she genuinely believed she could die from that, it was something on a physiological level. Her body was completely dried out, but the smell had become even more pungent.

Brake pads were heard. Hannah couldn't stop as fast as the car, so she collided and fell again. Raising her head, she saw a red-and-white windmill, a red barn, straw here and there. Here was the farm!

This story took a bit longer to write! In the next installment, she'll find herself on a farm, held as property.

As always, your thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated. Feel free to share ideas for future stories, whether they're a continuation of Hannah's journey or something entirely new. Part two is practically ready.

However, after the second part is published, I think I'll shift my focus to something else. All that will remain is the final installment of Autumn stories, which will serve as the conclusion (there will be two versions, and you are free to decide for yourselves which one to consider the true one).