Anna’s Story - A Slave’s Journal Entry 9

[Danicali299]

Slavery topics....you know the drill

Not the most sex filled part, but a long one that ties a few loose ends.

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The next morning, I woke up to the alarm waking us all up. My back was sore from sleeping on the floor again, and I couldn’t wait for a shower. I was still nervous about my new owner and despite her kindness to me here at the store, I didn’t know if that would translate to being kind to me in her home as well. Ironically, I was even living up to my mother’s expectations of me. My whole life she wanted me to get out of our shitty neighborhood and end up living in a nice house in the suburbs like all the other successful people, and here I was sitting eating slave loaf and waiting to move to the suburbs just like she wanted. I doubt she expected me to do that as a slave, but when you grew up in Kensington [it’s the hood in Philadelphia] you developed a sense of humor surrounding the bad shit happening around you.

After a while, an overseer came to collect me and took me to get a quick shower before my pickup time. I was hoping that Miss O’Connor let her slaves have hot, or at least warm, showers since it was getting too cold for the freezing water coming out of the heads here. After drying off, I was even issued what looked like a proper dress to wear. Unlike the cheap, thin, and shapeless t-shirt dresses I was used to here and in the warehouse, this one was made of slightly thicker material and even had belt loops to give it some shape if I had a belt to wear. I even got my first pair of shoes since I was enslaved. They were more like plastic sandals, but I didn’t care. For the first time in a month and a half, I couldn’t feel that freezing floor underneath my feet. I would’ve appreciated socks though, but I was just happy to get what I had. It sounds like a cliche, but just those simple things made me feel like a person again. Even if it was just for a minute before I was supposed to be taken away as someone’s property.

As I was being brought out to the store’s entrance I could see that Miss O’Connor was still in a hurry. She had been there for almost half an hour already and she couldn’t wait to leave this place. First, however, she needed to drag me over to the slave supplies section to grab a few things. I wasn’t used to these sandals so it was difficult to keep up, but luckily her ire was directed toward the store and not me. Mercer sold quite literally everything you would need to feed, clothe, fuck, and hurt a slave. I expected her to grab something like another dress, or a pair of shoes for me, but instead, she went directly to the “discipline” section.

Looking at an aisle full of collars, whips, cattle prods, and god knows what else scared the shit out of me, but luckily Miss O’Connor was nice enough to tell me what she was looking for. A training collar. I had no idea what a training collar was, but the ones she kept putting on me did not seem comfortable with their pointy metal prods pressing into my neck and throat. It honestly hurt to breathe with a few of these on. She could see how painful these looked on me and in a twisted act of compassion she flagged down a salesman walking by and said, “Do you guys sell a more humane version of these collars? Like, I’m not trying to fry her brain into mud or choke her out with it. I just want something that gets the point across without hurting her too much”.

Luckily for me, they had such a collar an aisle over, and instead of something with the strength of a couple of cattle prods hooked up to my neck, I got the “humane” training collar. The features didn’t sound humane, with shit like timed pulses of random electricity that supposedly could replace a caning or beating, but I wasn’t the one buying it so it was what it was for me in guess. It was somewhat comfortable at least, since there were only two prods on it that weren’t nearly as pointy as the others, and instead of a shock, the lower levels were supposed to just be very uncomfortable vibrations meant to bring me to my senses. Still, no matter how “humane” it was I couldn’t wait for this thing to be off of my neck and back in the cart.

Then, surprisingly, she put this medieval-looking thing in the cart as we headed to the checkout. It consisted of a metal frame that looked like it locked around my head, with what looked like a flexible eight-inch dildo inside of it. Miss O’Connor saw me looking at this thing and said to me, “That’s called a whore’s bridle. They usually use it to punish sex slaves, but it also works great on slaves who steal food from their owner’s fridge. As long as you’re not dumb enough to steal from me, that thing will hopefully stay covered in dust and you’ll never have to feel that thing down your throat. Trust me when I say this slave, after a few days of wearing that you’ll do anything to get that thing off of you”. As nice as she seemed, Miss O’Connor fucking scared me a bit. All I knew then was that I did not want to get on her bad side.

We breezed through the checkout, and unsurprisingly it was way too cold out for sandals and a t-shirt dress. Luckily for me, Miss O’Connor foresaw this issue and handed me a faded pink Hollister hoodie from her bag while saying, “Here, this is one of my daughter’s old ones, it’s yours now. Those Mercer assholes weren’t gonna let me give it to you in the store for some reason. Some bullshit about slaves needing to wear the overpriced one they sell inside”. I had no idea why she hated Mercer so much, but it was so entertaining to hear her trash-talk them. It was also nice to wear something normal for once.

Unexpectedly, her car didn’t reflect the type of person who can write a $20,000 check like it's no big deal. It honestly looked like something my mom would’ve driven, just slightly newer. When we got closer I instinctively moved to ride in the back seat like slaves were supposed to do, but Miss O’Connor stopped me and said, “Slave, get in the front this time. Neither of us needs to deal with the mess back there right now to make room for you”. Following her instructions, I got in the front seat with my bag and I was finally free of Mercer at least as she drove out of the parking lot toward god knows where.

As she was driving she was giving me the rundown of her and her household. She was an ER doctor at one of the bigger hospitals in the city. Her husband died a decade ago, and her son and daughter still lived at home while they were in college. She even had a slave couple in her house already that had looked after her and her family since she was a kid. Apart from the dead husband, it seemed like a relatively normal middle-class family.

There were a lot of rules, however, ranging from the basic no shoes in the house and the basic slave shit to specific things like me not being allowed to touch her garden or enter her pool unless someone was drowning. She even touched on providing “services” to her son and daughter, without going into the details of their sex lives no parent wanted to know. I was expected to do what they wanted when they wanted, and if I refused I got to wear that medieval dildo thing that scared the shit out of me. The thought of being a family’s sex slave whenever they wanted made me uncomfortable, but getting fucked by the same people beat getting fucked by strangers. I told her that I could take care of her too, but all she had to say to that was, “I’m not my sister in law, she may be happy with a slave like you going down on her but I need someone with a little more muscles and a little more dick attached if you know what I mean. And before you ask, yes, my sister-in-law is exactly who you think she is. You, slaves, call her Mistress Robins or some weird shit, I just call her Andrea”.

After listing off all these rules and expectations, she still had one last rule that shocked me. She said in a stern tone reminiscent of the judge that enslaved me, “Until I think you’ve earned it, your name is Slave. That’s it. My kids are not allowed to call you by your birth name, the other slaves are not allowed to call you by your birth name and you’re not even allowed to say your name out loud until I think you’ve earned that privilege. Is that understood?”. I nodded and let out a meek “Yes ma’am” before staring back out the window as we went down the highway.

Then, while I was still reeling from my not being allowed to even have a name for god knows how long, she asked me something that threw me off. “I saw you got some scholarship last year when I looked you up, why the fuck are you a slave? Like I know the article said you were from the hood or something, but I wouldn’t expect someone who got your scholarship to end up like this”. I didn’t expect much sympathy from her, but I told her about my mother and the loophole they used to enslave me, and ended up trying not to cry in the process of telling her. By this point, she had pulled over for some inexplicable reason, and She looked at me and squeezed my hand, and said, “I’m sorry that happened to you slave, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. Either way my home can’t be half as bad as growing up around the gangs in Kensington”. Then right as she was about to pull back onto the highway she let out a loud sigh and said to herself as she hit the steering wheel, “Fuck it, I’m not a monster. I got a few hours to kill anyway”. Now I was confused.

Miss O’Connor then looked at me and sternly said, “I’ll make you a deal since this whole dying mom thing is gonna make it hard to properly train you. My daughter is taking you out of state with her when she graduates med school, and I’m gonna let you see your mother one last time before that happens. After that though, my family is your family and you need to move on and forget about your mother. If you’re good I’ll even pay for a little keepsake urn of her ashes for you when she dies, but after today I don’t want to hear a single word about her or even see a single tear over this around me. Is that understood?”. I nodded and let out a weak “yes ma’am” while trying to hold back my tears.

She then handed me her phone and told me to put my old address into her GPS. Before I could thank her, However, she put her hand over my mouth and said, “Slave, I’m doing this for your mother, not for you. I see people die alone every day at work who would kill to see their family one last time, your mother deserves that much from me at least”. I hated her at that moment, but at the same time, she gave me what I wanted most in the world. Even if she didn’t want to admit she was helping the lowly slave she was trying to train for her daughter. Afterward, I handed the phone back to her and she got off the highway and made her way back to my old home.

My old neighborhood wasn’t any different from how I left it a month and a half ago, but knowing it would be the last time I would see this place somehow made me nostalgic for the good times I had running around the place. Miss O’Connor was judgemental about this place, calling it a dump as she drove to my mom’s house, but I didn’t blame her. All she saw on the news was gang wars and drug busts in Kensington, but what people like her in the suburbs didn’t see was how criminal and debt enslavement gutted the place of good people regularly. One day you’d be hanging out with your neighbor, and a week later the whole family would be off to a Mercer processing center because of some trumped-up charge or some debt. Shit like that was why we couldn’t even fight it when I was enslaved. We were just so used to it that we ignored it happening to others and expected us to be just as ignored as well. You never really saw anyone from here again if they were enslaved, so I was hoping not to give my poor mother a heart attack when I broke the trend.

As we stopped driveway of my old apartment house, I was nervous as hell. Miss O’Connor didn’t even notice this time as she was digging around in her messy back seat looking for something. Then, she handed me a medium-sized box and said, “While we’re here grab your underwear, a couple of tank tops, and whatever else you need that fits in this box. This way you’ll have more than one outfit until you get healthy enough for me to get you your housekeeper uniforms ”. I nodded and risked asking her if I could grab my laptop too, and all she had to say was, “ Sure. I don’t know how much use it’s going to be when slaves aren’t supposed to be able to use the internet without supervision, but I think some parental control software should keep it legal”. I had no idea how someone who took away my name was letting me keep my computer, but I took the win and didn’t question it as we got out of the car and walked up to knock on my mother’s front door.

I was hoping she would answer quickly so I could see her, and my wish was granted when she opened the door. Miss O’Connor was standing in between us and introduced herself as my owner before I could even say anything to my mother. I wanted to rush up and hug her, but Miss O’Connor had already told me that I wasn’t allowed to do or say anything until she permitted me. Luckily her introduction was quick and she finally said, “Slave, now you may see your mother. You have 30 minutes, and then we’re leaving, so make it count”.

I felt ashamed standing there in front of my own mother like this. I could see her looking me up and down in shock, and I couldn’t blame her. this slave dress-wearing, lesbian buzz cut looking thing I had become wasn’t the daughter she lost in that courtroom. Hell, if she had known about the shit I did with Mistress Robins and Mei, I don’t even think she would have allowed me in her house considering how religious she was. When she hugged me in the doorway, she even felt how much weight I lost living in that warehouse. Maybe the other slaves were right when they said it was better to never see her again if she was going to see me like this. I still debate this in my head, but did I ruin my mother’s memory of me by forcing her to see me as a slave instead of her daughter?

I didn’t have any answers at that moment, but my mom didn’t seem to care too much as long as she got to see her daughter again. Miss O’Connor was even nice enough to give us our privacy as we talked about the past while we went through my room grabbing what I needed. I didn’t grow up with much, but putting my whole life into what amounted to a few shoe boxes was hard as I realized that all these trophies and awards sitting on my dresser didn’t mean anything now. In reality, they were taunting me as I packed my good bra and my nice pairs of panties, a couple of tank tops, and a couple of decent skirts on top of the few mementos and pictures I was allowed to take with me. All in all, Miss O’Connor only allowed me to keep a dozen pictures and my mother’s cross necklace to remember my old life by. At the time I felt like I was being cheated out of my memories, but as I would find out later I was one of the lucky few domestic slaves to even be allowed these things by my owner.

We weren’t keeping track of time in my room, so when Miss O’Connor loudly said, “Five minutes slave, then we’re out of here”, the emotion of it all overwhelmed me as my mother took my box out into the hallway while I grabbed my laptop bag. She put the box down and hugged me in front of Miss O’Connor and tearfully said to me, “Anna I know this isn’t how we thought your life was going to go, but you’re smart and this woman who bought you seems nice. Just work as hard as you did in school and succeed at this too. I....I love you Mija, Just be good. Please”.

Even though I was about to break down and didn’t want this moment to end, Miss O’Connor was true to her word and as soon as the timer on her phone went off she said, “Alright slave, times up. Take your shit out to the car while I have a private word with your mother”. I followed her instructions, and as I was finding room in the back seat for my box Miss O’Connor walked outside and ordered me into the car like she was suddenly in a hurry. I asked her if I was allowed to know what they talked about, and all she had to say to me was a threat that heavily implied that I would be eating sleep for dinner that night if I inquired further.

She eventually told me a decade later around Christmas, and come to find out it was my mother hugging her and begging Miss O’Connor to “be good to her, she’s a good girl” while my new owner was trying to leave the address my mother’s ashes could be sent to. Apparently, a dying woman’s request got to her and she actually apologized to my mother for buying me. She was still treating me like property, but at least she treated my mother like a person. I had to thank her for that at least as we got back on the highway and back to my new home.

As we were driving toward the northern suburbs, both me and Miss O’Connor were almost silent. I was trying to keep to my end of the bargain and avoid tears or the subject of my mother in her presence ever again. In contrast, Miss O’Connor looked just as guilty as I did and decided to risk punishment by asking her, “Ma’am, did I hurt her by letting her see me as a slave?”.

To my surprise, Miss O’Connor didn’t get pissed off and said in a motherly tone, “no slave, you didn’t. If my daughter was in your place right now, just getting to see her one last time would overshadow all the superficial shit you’re worrying about right now. Trust me, she didn’t see a slave in your room. She just saw you. Now remember what I told you earlier, this is the last conversation we will ever have about your mother and this will be the last day she is anything more than a fond memory. If I have to punish you until you repress every memory of her existence, I will, but I would rather not do this the cruel way. Understand?”. I gave her a sad, “Yes Ma’am” and a few minutes later I finally got to see where this woman lived as she hit the exit and we arrived in Fox Chase [a decently affluent area of Philadelphia].

Just looking at this neighborhood made me realize why she was so judgemental about where I was from. In Kensington, the sex slaves worked the corners like hookers in a movie. Here they had one of those corporate brothels right on the neighborhood's main drag. Hell, even the Mcdonald's they had here made the one near my house look like a pit. If white privilege was a neighborhood, this would be it. I had no idea I was getting anything when she was pulled into the drive-thru, but to my delight, she gave me a McChicken out of her bag. Normally this would be the most basic chicken sandwich ever, but this was the first meat and the first flavor I had gotten in so long. I almost cried tears of joy, while doing everything short of fucking the sandwich.

Miss O’Connor wasn’t too amused with my behavior but she let me get away with it this time saying, “Slave, I know you’re happy to eat some real food for once but you need to calm the fuck down. I promise you that you won't starve at my house, hell I’m even giving you a 20-dollar-a-week food and hygiene budget once you earn your name back. You just have to deal with what we give you until you get that privilege”. At that moment I felt like an idiot and didn’t understand how I wasn’t getting smacked up the side of my head right now. Then while apologizing, I stupidly said I deserved to get punished for my behavior. Luckily for me, Miss O’Connor disagreed and I got to spend the rest of the ride “home” listening to her lecture me about acting more “ladylike” like a good domestic slave should be instead.

[ZeeChromosome]

A superb chapter. This is powerful writing. Well done.

[Danicali299]

Zee,
Honest question. What is the vibe that you are getting from Miss O'Connor so far? I didn't really have too much of a plan when writing her personality so I'm half winging it right now with her.

[ZeeChromosome]

Zee, Honest question. What is the vibe that you are getting from Miss O'Connor so far? I didn't really have too much of a plan when writing her personality so I'm half winging it right now with her.

It's a good question, Dani. I do that too... just write a character and then wonder who or what I'm writing about.

In this case, I see Miss O'Connor's - projected - personality as "superior".

It says:
- I am better
- I am superior
- I'm the head bitch in this here house

And that's important, because she needs to set the tone here. She is, in fact, the head bitch in her house and she needs her new slave girl to learn that, understand that, feel that, and accept that.

Zee

[Danicali299]

I'm also trying to give her a slightly softer side that you occasionally see. A good example of this is when she asks Anna for her side of the enslavement story, and immediately feels guilty enough to drive to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city to let her see her mother one last time. A normal master/mistress would've told Anna to sit in the back seat and shut up, but Miss O'Connor seems to have her own personal baggage from work and gives in to her own guilt for some reason. Hell, she even buys the girl McDonalds like she's part of the family right after telling Anna that HER(Miss O'Connor's) family is Anna's family now.

I don't 100% know where I'm going with this occasional soft side Anna sees, but it seems like Miss O'Connor realizes that slavery or not Anna is still a scared 18 year old girl who doesn't know how to be a functioning adult yet, let alone a slave. I'm thinking that this is going to require some occasional "mothering" on Miss O'Connor's part to help Anna grow up and become a better slave as well for her daughter. Alternatively, maybe Miss O'Connor took Anna's Mother's request to heart and will make and effort to make sure she's treated well. At least until the dying woman who emotionally blackmailed her is gone.

[Mr. Smith]

Miss O'Conner comes across as harsh, crude (too much profanity), driven with random acts of kindness towards her new slave. I am not used to seeing doctors using "fuck" in what feels like every other sentence. This is a dark story with hereditary slavery and what looks like a lifetime enslavement for Anna with no likelihood of a happy ending for her, just different levels of misery as she lives out the rest of her life. Although I keep coming back for more, I am not a big fan of hereditary or lifetime enslavements as I do not believe it leaves the slaves with much room for hope for a better future.

[Danicali299]

Miss O'Conner comes across as harsh, crude (too much profanity), driven with random acts of kindness towards her new slave. I am not used to seeing doctors using "fuck" in what feels like every other sentence. This is a dark story with hereditary slavery and what looks like a lifetime enslavement for Anna with no likelihood of a happy ending for her, just different levels of misery as she lives out the rest of her life. Although I keep coming back for more, I am not a big fan of hereditary or lifetime enslavements as I do not believe it leaves the slaves with much room for hope for a better future.

Damn, you are not wrong about the swearing. I didn’t even notice that to be honest. I actually want to fix that now.

As for Anna’s ending, I still haven’t decided it. All I have so far is the idea that after the initial shock of being enslaved Miss O’Connor’s family grows on her and treats her surprisingly well. Then as time goes on she ends up living a relatively normal life as a slave.

I do feel like I made this too dark and now I just have to buck up and finish it so I can start a happier project

[Mr. Smith]

The nice thing about this site is that you can easily make edits or rewrites. I did that with Allison's story when I wrote myself into a hole so to speak. I also appreciate getting feedback from authors that are better writers than myself. My question for this story is what future does Anna have. No marriage, children or a loving relationship of her choosing? I am a sucker for a happy ending.

[Danicali299]

The nice thing about this site is that you can easily make edits or rewrites. I did that with Allison's story when I wrote myself into a hole so to speak. I also appreciate getting feedback from authors that are better writers than myself. My question for this story is what future does Anna have. No marriage, children or a loving relationship of her choosing? I am a sucker for a happy ending.

I’m gonna touch on that in the next part. but her immediate future is mostly one of being a good slave since this family is good to her and how she integrates so well with them. Over time, she’s surprisingly happy with her life. Even if she didn’t see it ending up like it did. In all honesty, giving her freedom after she lost the scholarship would just dump her back into poverty and just risk her getting enslaved again somewhere worse down the road. It’s just how this version of America treats the poor.

In contrast, at the O’Connors she is well fed, well treated as long as she works hard, and even has a good amount of free time in the slave quarters when nobody needs her. This family legitimately believes that Anna is better off their slave than free in the hood, and over time Anna ends up drinking the Kool-aid too and believing it. It’s actually inspired by this old idea from Victorian and Edwardian times where they would take girls and young women from the workhouse and train them to be maids and servants to get them out of the slums. Is it paternalistic? Yes, but in this world those ideas never went away, they just modernized.

As for Anna’s far future, I have it outlined but I still want to work on a good epilogue for her that fits the darkness of the story while giving her a decently happy ending. As much as I would love it too, happily ever after is for rich people and fairy tales in this story.

I do plan on working more in the Mercer universe I created though.