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Anna’s Story - A Slave’s Journal Entry 16 - EPILOGUE

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Danicali299
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Anna’s Story - A Slave’s Journal Entry 16 - EPILOGUE

Post by Danicali299 »

Thank you Zee, CarlBradford, Eroticstoryspinner, Avicia, and Mister Smith for your editing and input.

Trigger Warning: Slavery, Dark Shit, you know the drill
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I wrote that journal when I was 22 for an English class I had to take while I was in college, then apparently forgot about it. Now that I’ve found it again, I should probably tell anyone who reads this in the future how everything turned out.

My life after that day Miss O’Connor told me she would send me to college was a long and hard road, and every step I took on the way was worth it. I spent the next few months after that fateful day battling my postpartum depression and getting my body back in order. It may seem odd for a slave to care that much about their appearance, but in the end, I just wanted to get rid of any reminders of my time in that horrible place. I still carry the shame for what I did to survive when I was a young woman who just wanted to feel good for a few moments when everything around me seemed designed to fuel my misery and despair.

In the end though, I did get lucky with Andrea adopting Alexander. Not only was he born free, but he also had knowledge of who his birth mother was from a young age, and I got to see him every Thanksgiving and Christmas. He was always so happy with them, and I treasured every picture of him that Andrea gave me. They even had Alexander call me ‘Aunt Anna’ like I was still part of his family. I couldn’t be his mother, nor did I want to, but being part of his life in those small doses made me long for the chance to have my own family one day when I was free.

I didn’t have a ton of time to dwell on that, though. Nursing school took up most of my time, and it was difficult, to say the least. Before I was a slave, I wanted to be a teacher, and becoming a nurse was almost the opposite of how I saw my career turning out when I was young. Miss O’Connor also wasn’t bluffing when she told me what would happen if I didn’t do good enough on an assignment. There were more than a few occasions where I “failed’ an assignment and ended up on the floor in tears from the cane or shock collar after she was done with me.

Despite this occasional brutality, Miss O’Connor always made a point to take care of me after my punishments and go over where I went wrong on the “failed” assignment while she was taking care of any wounds on my back. It was an odd dynamic, and it took a little getting used to, but in the end, every beating I got resulted from my negligence and lack of studying hard enough. She knew how smart I was, and since college was my job at the time, there were high expectations of me no matter how interested I was in the profession at first. I did get lucky, though. After the first beating left some fun scars, Miss O’Connor realized how dangerous her dad’s old cane was and reduced it to two strokes per point. Thank God.

Still, the punishments were the exceptions, not the rule, and Miss O’Connor was surprisingly supportive and helpful while I was in school. Since Michael had moved in with his girlfriend by that point, I was the only “kid” left in the house, and this meant that I was her new project, even if I was just a slave. This meant every day that she had time I would have to sit in the kitchen with her going over what I was learning while she corrected me and taught me what she knew as well. The skill set of a doctor was a bit different from that of a nurse, but her years of experience were an invaluable resource that helped me more than any book could have when it came to practical skills. By the time I graduated, she was even able to help me prep for my Certified Pediatric Nurse exam and put me on the path to becoming a Nurse Practitioner. In the end, what she showed me gave me a passion for what was originally just a job I had no choice in.

I even got the chance to visit Jessica on school breaks after getting my permit to leave the state by myself. She was a hot mess during her residency, and I spent half of my time up in Syracuse getting her apartment in order and meal-prepping for her while I was there. That being said, it felt nice to take care of her a bit and bring some order to the chaos that was her apartment. As much as she denied it, that place needed a maid service at least. There was also some good dirty fun when she got home from work those days I was up there, but as the years went on and she met a nice woman she needed me for that less and less. At first, I felt like I was being thrown away, but our calls got more frequent, and we became each other’s closest confidants. In the end, despite her ownership of me, we became so sister-like that Miss O’Connor even started treating us like we were a lot of the time. That definitely killed her desire for my “services” after we noticed that.

I was happy for Jessica finally finding Mrs. Right though, and after a few years working with Miss O’Connor at the hospital I even hit it off with this X-Ray tech named Adam. He was nice and good-looking, but I still had to get written permission from Miss O’Connor to date him because of my status. She was a touch overprotective of me and practically interrogated him to the point of running away when she met him, but in the end, she let me go on a few dates with him and stay over at his place a few times. It wasn’t much, but for a slave, dating a free person was a risk that needed to be managed to avoid breaking any slave laws. This meant that even though I had a boyfriend, I couldn’t live with him, nor could I have a kid with him lest it is born a slave. We couldn’t even go to real restaurants for a date most of the time. Unfortunately, Adam wasn’t willing to deal with this after too long and broke it off with me.

Afterward, I was sitting in the living room crying while Miss O’Connor told me, “Slaves and free people never work out, I just had to let you learn that lesson yourself. That being said, any man who ’can’t handle your status and all the BS that goes along with it isn’t worth your time anyway. If you want my advice, go for one of the slaves working off their indenture. It will be a lot easier for both of you.”

It was harsh and not what I wanted to hear, but it was a helpful truth that made me stick to the doctors and nurses working off their indentures as hospital property. The Admins didn’t care that they dated, and Miss O’Connor seemed happy that I wasn’t reaching too far above my station. At first, it felt shallow, but after a while, it was nice dating someone who was like me. I didn’t have to explain that I couldn’t go into any of the good restaurants, I didn’t have to worry about not being able to have a child or move in, and both of us knew that it could end anytime if our owners decided that the relationship was an inconvenience to them. In a way, relationships with other slaves were liberating since we made the most of what little time we had together. I was permitted one date night a week where I could to stay the night in the hospital’s slave dorms, and me and my series of “boyfriends” made the most of every moment we could be together. It was a touch shallow, but at the time, I was the best I could have and wanted to get the most out of it.

It was odd working with Miss O’Connor though, since she seemed like a completely different person at work. She was still mentoring me, and even though I was a slave at home, I was a skilled nurse at work and she treated me accordingly. It wasn’t equality, and that barcode on my wrist made it so I was still looked down upon by even the people I was taking care of, but in the end my certifications and skills were respected, and most of those parents appreciated me in the end for taking care of their child while they were in the ER. Some rules only applied to slaves employed there though. I still had to use the slave bathrooms, eat in the slave’s special break room, respect my betters, and keep my barcode covered as much as possible.

I didn’t mind the last one though, since there was more than one “incident” over a slave treating their child when they accidentally saw my barcode. Usually, I would just be switched with another nurse and the parent would be happy, but occasionally my charge nurse would have them removed from the area if they got violent or too nasty about it. She was an old crone who gave the slave nurses under her some of the shittiest jobs, but we still respected her for going to bat for us when we needed it. Some of us even cried when she retired and got replaced with some corporate pushover who would let the parents verbally abuse us out of some desire to reduce "customer complaints". Thank God she didn't last too long before realizing she couldn't handle the stress of an ER as busy as ours.

With my nursing job, I even got some more privileges at home. I was given the guest room shortly after I started working, and as much as I liked my glorified closet of a bedroom, it was nice to have more space to myself. I even earned the right to pick out my own clothes now that I was responsible for buying them, even though I still had to follow Miss O’Connor’s standards which meant that I would be dressed like a middle-aged mom no matter what I picked. I was also allowed to pick up some new hobbies since I had more spare time after work now, and started to use the old PlayStation that Michael left me for more than watching movies.

The weirdest part of working a regular job as a slave was the three weeks of vacation time I received every year. Miss O’Connor had to put it in for me, and I didn’t get to pick when, but apart from cleaning and cooking I was expected to just relax like a regular person would if I was at home one of those days. I even spent Christmas with the family whenever they went down to Texas every year. It was a little triggering at first to go back there, but Miss O’Connor always made sure to make me feel like I was part of the family when they were on vacation. I was still limited by my status, but I could ride horses and have some fun with everyone else for the most part.

I did make a pilgrimage to the breeding farm every year, even though I vowed to never even look at that building again. I could never explain why I went there, and it fucked with me a little every time I walked through those doors into the barracks and saw what finally broke me. I hated that place, but so did the breeders. Under the guise of learning how to better take care of pregnant women I tried to spend the day talking to them, and giving them little massages and snacks to help make their existence a little better in between the exams I needed to observe and practice. It always threw the doctors there off, but when I treated those women like regular people I could see how much more at ease they were compared to how I felt when I was the one on the table. These poor women had nothing but an endless cycle of pregnancy and milking to look forward to and I just felt like I owed them after all the support I was given when they thought I was going to be with them forever. It didn’t even matter that half the slaves that were there when I was pregnant were gone. It just felt nice to play with a slave’s hair while her head was in my lap, or make her day by treating her like she mattered for once

It was also nice to see Martin on those trips. We didn’t usually hook up or anything, we were just friends by that point, but he always took me around the ranch and showed me how beautiful the prairie was underneath all those stars at night. To him it was normal, but to a city girl like me just lying there looking at the night sky was more beautiful than even the best sex we could have under those stars. Still the few times we did have some fun were pretty good, even if I did get dust all over my ass and almost get bit by a snake once.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses though. Earl and Edna weren’t getting any younger and slaves working as long as they did rarely made it past their mid-sixties. This meant that as the years passed, it became my responsibility to help them as much as I could and take care of them in their old age. Combined with all the overtime I was pulling in at the hospital, I was getting burned out to the point where Edna was begging Miss O’Connor to buy another housekeeper after Earl passed. Luckily Miss O’Connor didn’t want her daughter’s investment property to have a heart attack or a mental breakdown from all the work and finally admitted that it was time for someone to replace Edna. I could tell it was killing her to replace the woman who raised her, and she was almost in tears as we walked down the very aisle I was in 8 years earlier, looking for a new housekeeper.

I felt guilty helping Miss O’Connor pick out a slave, but I also knew that she was using this trip to prepare me for my Nurse Practitioner exam as a distraction from the guilt she was feeling. She had me examine half a dozen slaves under her supervision just like she did with me, and eventually, she decided on this plain-looking white girl named Sabrina. She was a little taller than me with brown hair and a relatively nice body and was in relatively good condition. She was even trained to cook, massage, and sew at some school she was sent to when she was a teenager. Her intelligence score wasn’t the highest though, but when we interviewed her, she seemed like a pretty hardworking and agreeable young woman to have around the house. Her profile had her listed as a chattel slave like me, and “luckily” for her she had spent all 20 years of her life as a slave so she didn’t know any better. I still felt like a piece of shit for helping with it all, but at the same time, I wanted a slave in the house that I wouldn’t have any issues with either. In the end, she was a complete ditz, but she did her job well, and I was happy to help her get used to how Miss O’Connor liked things done.

Shortly after, Edna passed and Miss O’Connor fell into a deep depression and had a mental breakdown shortly after. That woman practically raised her, and nobody could help her until she finally hit rock bottom and almost lost her job. Luckily the hospital took mercy on her and called it a leave of absence while she worked through some things. It was tough for a while, and I made sure to be there for her whenever she needed me, and after a while, she could finally look at Edna’s urn or go into her old quarters without crying. With some help, she was even able to get the courage to donate her husband’s clothes after they had been sitting in his dresser for the past 17 years. I always knew she had her issues, but as a slave, I couldn’t help her until she asked. Those were hard times, but in the end she appreciated all the help I gave her when there was nobody else around the house to hold onto anymore.

Then one day after she was getting better she hugged me out of the blue while crying and said, “I don’t deserve you Anna. Even after everything I’ve done to you, you’re still loyal, and still care about us. I literally left you at my asshole brother’s breeding farm and you still forgave me.”

Then she held me a little tighter and said, “When you get your freedom, I would love to bring you into my family. I already treat you like a daughter anyway, so we might as well make it official.”

I didn’t think I heard it right when she said that, but it floored me when she saw how confused I was and explained that she wanted to adopt me. On one hand, she literally purchased me and brought me into her home against my will, while her daughter used me like a sex slave whenever she felt like it. That’s ignoring her stunt that got me pregnant and stuck in a breeding farm. At the same time, however, she did take good care of me and essentially took on the role of surrogate mother after she brought me here. Then she sent me to college and got me a job that pays me almost 20,000 dollars a year even after Jessica took her cut. In a way, I felt like I owed her for it all, even though she repeatedly told me I didn’t over the years. A small part of me felt like I was betraying the family I was born into, but as far as I knew they were all either enslaved or dead by that point. I was literally the last Perez as far as I knew, and as far as I could see on the internet. At the time I didn’t know if I wanted to take her up on the offer, but in time I hopefully made the right decision.

It was a pain in the ass to buy my freedom though. As much as Miss O’Connor wanted Jessica to just take a symbolic dollar from me after her loans were paid off and call it a day, it simply wasn’t possible. Jessica and her wife made almost 80,000 dollars a year off of my nursing job and they weren’t going to let that income go without proper compensation, even if I was supposed to be part of the family.

Miss O’Connor even pressed her about it one day and all Jessica had to say was, “Mom, I depend on that money from Anna. I love her like a sister, but she’s still my slave and she still has to pay me something so I can get another investment to keep the money coming in.”

It was callous, but I understood. If I was in her shoes I would be pissed too if my mother told me to suddenly cut my income by a third without any plan on what to do afterward. My 80,000 dollars a year fueled a lifestyle creep that Jessica and her wife couldn’t come back from, and I had to accept that I needed to fund the purchase of another investment slave that would replace me. Jessica did tell me that some of that money would be put toward helping me when I moved out of the house though. Her and Miss O’Connor wanted to make sure that I had some nice things and a cheap housekeeper that would give me the quality of life that a member of their family deserved.

Miss O’Connor even convinced Master Walsh to give her a good deal on a housekeeper from his ranch. It felt wrong to have my own slave right after I received my freedom, but the members of this family had to keep up appearances and that meant I was getting one as a gift no matter what my opinions were. It was a bit of a consolation knowing where she would come from though. Master Walsh treated his slaves like shit, but I could see how hardworking and reliable they were whenever I went down to Texas. This also meant that I could make myself feel a little less guilty about my future “housewarming gift” by telling myself that I would be a nicer owner than Miss O’Connor’s brother could ever be. Still, I was putting the cart before the horse, as usual, and needed to focus on my own freedom before I could even have the chance to take someone else’s.

My assessed value for tax purposes was almost 115,000 dollars and the government wanted their cut when I bought my freedom. There were already federal laws against a master freeing their slaves outside of a will without “proper payment” going back 100 years, and Miss O’Connor’s idea that Jessica could just take a dollar from me and call it a day clearly ran afoul of that law when she looked it up. This type of thing was regulated to death, and I hated jumping through all these hoops just to get a chance at freedom.

In the end the government seemed more interested in keeping chattel slaves right where they were, even if our owners wanted us to be free. This was a system designed by corporations to keep bodies in factories that made half the shit the world bought and on farms that fed half the world as well. Slaves like me who spent years waiting for the freedom they deserved were just an inconvenient side effect of a broken system that nobody was willing or able to to change, and since we were considered inferior our complaints weren’t listened to anyway. It was soul crushing, but every time I looked at my account all I could feel was hope as I imagined getting my papers and getting my barcode removed. I didn’t even care how much the tattoo removal was gonna hurt,I just wanted to be free.

Overall it was a long, hard road full of suffering, happiness, and god knows what else I can think of, and I am proud to say it has shaped me into the woman I am today. For better and for worse. My name is Anna Perez, and I am a 34-year-old slave still serving my owner’s family every day while I work for my freedom. Jessica accepted my money a few months ago, the government approved my freedom application, and I passed my citizenship test with flying colors. Now all I can do is wait until the lottery drawing this December to find out whether I get to stay a slave for another year, or start the new year as Anna Perez O’Connor. A free woman.

UPDATE:
1/1/2024
My number was picked and I’m free. Here’s to a new life with my new family. Still don’t want the slave though, even if it’s a gift I can’t say no to when I finally move out and get my own place.
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