Memoirs of a Slave Girl
Part 4: A Slave Girl Goes to College
Master graduated from high school right after he turned 18. He was worried
about something called "the draft," though I didn't understand why a little wind
would get him so upset. I should probably read more about that time, because
I'm sure it wasn't the weather that was bothering him.
That was the spring Sir and Ma'am had the new house in the back yard built.
Literally IN the yard. A construction crew came in and dug a huge hole, then
lowered this prefabricated metal and concrete box into it. Sir hired a couple
of other men to build interior rooms, and Ma'am and I decorated and stocked it.
When it was all done, it looked just like a little house inside, though it
didn't have any windows, and instead of a front porch, you had to crank open a
little metal door and climb down a ladder to get inside. I'm not sure what it
was for, but maybe they were going to buy some more slaves. I don't think that
was the purpose, because there were lots of books down there, and slaves don't
usually know how to read. Between the books and amount of food, I knew whatever
it was for did not include frequent trips to the grocery.
Sir got a new job about the time the underground house was finished, so we moved
to a place called Virginia. I enjoyed it very much. The new house wasn't very
big, which meant I didn't have as much cleaning to do, but it was on a large
piece of land, almost like living on a farm again. There was a huge field, and
Master would let me spend hours out there, walking around or just sitting in the
grass, relaxing. I used to look up at the clouds and pretend they were boats or
people. There was a high fence around the property, and lots of trees, too.
Sir bought horses so the three of them could ride on the weekends. Sometimes,
Master let me ride, too, but only if he tied me belly-down over the saddle in
front of him, so he could spank me or finger my slit. Usually, though, he just
tied my lead to his saddle pommel and had me trot behind them.
Anyway, Master was extremely excited when he got a letter saying he'd been
accepted to a rather exclusive college. I guess it wasn't going to be windy
there, because his mother said this meant his worries about the draft were over.
Most colleges didn't approve of slavery, and if someone took their slave girl
to one of those places, she had to pretend she was a freeperson except in
private. I was fortunate, because Master's college was one which not only
accepted slavery as a fact of life, but catered to the slave owner. I was going
to college!
Slaves weren't allowed on public transportation yet, except as cargo, so Master
had to ship me. How slaves were shipped had changed over the years. I was
prepared for shipping by being thoroughly cleaned, inside and out. Starting two
days before shipment, I was placed on a liquid diet, followed by regular enemas.
My pre-departure meal, though, was a half pound of cheddar cheese. I always
liked cheese, but knew I wasn't being fed for my pleasure; it was to bind up my
bowels, and create a temporary blockage so I wouldn't shit on the trip.
Just before the shippers arrived, I was placed in a diaper, just in case, and my
wrists were secured behind my back with comfortable leather restraints. My
mouth was filled with a rather small penis gag, which actually served two
purposes: it kept me quiet, but also provided me with something to drink,
through a tube attacked to a small water supply. Master told me the water was
spiked with a drug that would help keep my anxiety under control; he knew of my
intense phobia about enclosed spaces.
My shipping crate was a padded wooden box, large enough for me to lay down and
move around a bit in. I was placed in the box, which was then nailed shut. The
cotton batting lining the walls provided my body with protection from the bumps
inherent with shipping, and was actually quite comfortable. Then it was off to
the train station, where I was loaded with Master's other property into baggage
car. It was a two day trip, so Master came back to visit me once, pleased to
find my diaper wet but not soiled. He removed the gag and allowed me to
exercise my jaws, relieved himself in my mouth, and then treated me to a small
bit of chocolate before closing my box again. My diaper was not changed, but
that was my fault. I should have had better control of myself.
Upon arrival at our destination, Master released me from my bonds and had me
prepare his dorm room. It was rather small, but functional. A bed, closet and
desk with a chair were all it contained, and barely enough room for that. I
laid out the carpet he'd brought, then began putting his things away. When I
was done, he took me to MY quarters.
Slaves weren't allowed to stay in the student dorms, except on weekends and
holidays. Instead, we lived in a place known as "The Stables," which really
resembled a dog kennel, not a horse stable. About the only similarity to a
stable was the large oval arena, encircled with individual cages, each just
large enough to hold a single slave. Each group of six cages was semi-protected
by what resembled a lean-to style shed, side and back walls, with a roof. The
front of the shed was open to the elements, but I found out later that a canvas
sheet was dropped over the front during inclement weather.
Once placed inside our cages, we were chained into position. It was our choice
whether he'd be chained on our belly or our back, but once a slave made up her
mind, that was it. At lights out, our ankles would be chained apart to the top
corners of the cage, in whichever position we selected. It was impossible to
roll over, and having our hands cuffed to our collars made most surreptitious
masturbation difficult, if not impossible. I say most, because it really wasn't
that difficult to lay on your belly and rub your pussy against the rough wool
blanket they gave us, though there was a beating the next morning if staff found
dried cunt juice on your thighs or the blanket. A lot of the girls would pee
themselves after cumming, hoping to cover up the evidence, but the trainers
figured that out quickly. Anyone who peed would receive a beating and get no
food that day.
Slaves weren't allowed outside the stables on school days, being deemed a
distraction to the students. However, an Owner could come sign out his or her
slave (we had a few female Owners, and a couple of male slaves as well) after
noon on Friday, and keep us out until 9:00 pm on Sunday night. Master usually
did that, and between laundry, cleaning his room, and taking care of his sexual
needs, I never got much sleep. I often returned to my cage exhausted, bruised,
and with my lips - both upper and lower - chaffed and swollen. But, I loved it.
The arena which the cages bordered was used for the second most favorite
activity of the slave owners - pony races. Each day, trainers would take us out
for exercise. This consisted of being harnessed to a variety of weight-bearing
devices...sometimes carts, other times just pallets stacked with rocks...and
pulling them around the arena as fast and as many times as we could. Whoever
finished first, or went the farthest, was usually rewarded with a treat of some
kind...often a bit of chocolate, but sometimes an order to make herself cum.
Sometimes we'd just go out and run in the yard, without being harnessed. We'd
learn different ways of lifting our feet, like gallop, which meant to run as
fast as you can, or canter, which meant we would prance around and raise our
knees up as high as they could go. The trainers always stood by, observing, and
used their whips to encourage the slaves who they believed weren't trying hard
enough.
This was all training for the spring races, during which we were harnessed to
two-wheeled carts in which our Masters were riding, and would race a variety of
distances against each other. A couple of the small girls had very large, heavy
Masters, and I always felt sorry for them when they came in last. Last place
meant no reward, and often a punishment. I finished first once (my reward was a
whole chocolate bar!), and came in third place another time. I wasn't really
that good as a racing pony, but I never finished last, either. Master never
punished me for doing poorly, but I knew in my heart that I should have won
every race for him. I think he knew I was beating myself up, emotionally, for
my failures.
Weekdays at the stables were pretty boring and monotonous. Other than the
couple of hours for exercise and meals, we were kept locked in our cages. Our
ankles weren't chained during the day, but there was always a trainer around to
make sure nobody was playing with themselves. The only real break in the
monotony would be if a slave's Owner permitted the trainers to use her. Each of
the ten or so trainers could select a slave each day to serve them, but I was
seldom picked. I was twice the age of most of other slave girls, and my body
showed it.
Meals at the stables. We were fed twice a day. After our morning walk, and
again after our evening exercise session, we were hosed down and then herded to
the feeding trough. It was a long, narrow metal gutter...about twice the width
of what you'd have on a house...down which our food traveled. We'd be lined up,
kneeling with our wrists cuffed to our collars, as the food was poured into one
end of the trough. Master told me it was nutritious, but it didn't taste very
good. He told me it had all sorts of good things in it, like pureed liver,
asparagus, carrot peelings and other fresh vegetables and extra vitamins. Once
in a while, one of us would fish something solid out, like a piece of bread or a
bone with a bit of meat on it. Master said these were leftovers from the
student dining room, which were added to our meal the following day. Whenever
we heard the students had steak, we took special effort to dig around in the
slop for a piece of fat or gristle. There were other things in the food, too,
which weren't so good. Sometimes if the trainers were displeased, they'd make
us watch while they urinated into food buckets before they dumped it in the
trough. It didn't matter, because we were expected to eat whatever was served.
I didn't really mind, because you could hardly taste the pee. Some of the other
girls, though, refused to eat when they saw the trainers pissing in their food.
It still didn't matter, and they always ended up eating more than anyone else -
after their beating, and a promise that they'd get nothing but urine for the
next week if they didn't slurp it up.
Most of the time, though, life in the kennels was just plain boring. When we
weren't exercising or eating, there was nothing to do. We weren't allowed to
talk to each other...though we did, all the time. I discovered that my two
neighbors were both born free. One was sold at age four, when her father's
business went bankrupt. She didn't really remember much about being free,
except the faint memory of sleeping in a warm, soft bed, and of never being
hungry. The other voluntarily submitted herself to her boyfriend when she was
eighteen. He told her the only way he would make love to her was as his slave.
I couldn't believe she was that naive; slaves don't "make love," they are fucked
and raped. The boyfriend didn't even have the courtesy to take her cherry,
either, immediately reselling her to her own little brother, whom she detested.
Too bad for her, particularly since he hated her just as much, and after
repeatedly raping her, sold her to a slave brothel. One of her customers became
enamored with her oversized tits and bought her as a gift for his own son, who
was now a student here. He was a harsh Master, she said, but not nearly as
cruel to her as her brother was. Oh, well, it was her own choice to become a
slave.
Like they say, you can pick your nose, and you can pick your ass, but you can't
pick your Owner. Sorry, very old slave humor there.
Weekends were often wonderful, but sometimes not. If a girl's Master didn't
come to get her, she just remained in her cage until Monday morning. You
couldn't even change position, because nobody came to release your ankles.
There were no meals on the weekend, no exercise periods, and if you had to go,
you soiled yourself and stayed that way until Monday morning. That happened to
me twice, when Master went away with a free female for the weekend. There
wasn't even anyone around to call if there was an emergency; one of the slaves
died when she accidently cut herself. At least we think it was accidental. She
seemed a happy enough slave, but you never know. Her Master only came to get
her about once a month, so maybe she finally broke from the lack of use.
My typical weekend, though, was pretty good. Master would pick me up as soon as
his last class was over, and take me back to his room. He'd moved at
mid-semester to a larger, nicer room which he shared with a young man who didn't
have a slave of his own. Master was quite generous, and often allowed him full
use of my body. This other boy, who I was instructed to refer to as "Boss," was
a bit more well-endowed than Master, but not nearly as imaginative or skilled.
Perhaps he deferred to Master because I was not his property, but I think he was
just happy to have a slut with three willing holes to fulfill his needs.
Between the two of them, I was used well and often...at least on the weekends.
Master took vacation each summer, sending me to visit Sir and Ma'am while he
toured South America, Europe or Asia. It was nice going back home again,
because it meant I was temporarily their property. I even got to call them
Master and Mistress again, and serve them as I had before. They had a new slave
girl now, and I didn't like her very much. She was disobedient and untruthful,
lying about the food she'd stolen and the orgasms she'd give herself at night.
She hated me, I think, because every time she did something wrong, I reported
it. Mistress used to beat her unmercifully for that. She was only twenty, and
had been involuntarily submitted because of a crime she'd committed. Master
bought her at auction as a gift to Mistress, though neither of them was quite
pleased with her, and were considering disposing of her. Master told me that it
was like buying a new pet when your old one had died...they never made suitable
replacements. For some reason, that comment gave me a warm feeling.
I was 38 years old, and my life was comfortable. However, things were about to
change.
