My next owner was a woman in Chicago. Other than my previous Mistress, who owned me with her husband, it was the only time I was owned by a woman. Her household consisted of herself, a paid servant, and me.
I was transported there in the same van that took me to Tampa. She was a senior partner in a law firm and had an apartment in a high rise on Lakeshore Boulevard. The actual transfer was made at a farm outside the city where I was cleaned off after the chains that I had worn constantly during my servitude to my previous owners were removed. I was also given the collar that I still wear today because it cannot be removed without cutting it off.
The collar consists of two semi-circles made of circular, stainless steel rod. At one end of both pieces, a hole had been drilled and the other ends had short posts with flanges. Once I was clean, I was made to lie down with a wooden block holding one piece of the collar under my neck. The other piece of the collar was fitted around my neck and another wooden block with a slot for the collar was placed on top. Then the farmer used a hammer on the top wooden block to pound the collar together. After checking several times, he was finally satisfied and I stood up so Mistress could examine it. Later, when I had the chance, I saw in a mirror that the ends were matched perfectly, with a very thin line barely visible to tell where the pieces joined. The flanges held the pieces tightly together, thus making the collar permanent unless the steel was cut.
Mistress was about 45 years old and well dressed in expensive clothes. She was slim and had black hair that came past her shoulders. She wore her make-up so it looked like she wasn’t wearing any at all and she held herself with a confidence and grace that came from having and using power routinely.
I was given a raincoat and a pair of sandals to wear for the ride back to the city. It was the first time I had worn anything in a long time and the coat actually felt strange against my skin. I also wore a pair of handcuffs with my hands in front of me. Mistress drove, a Mercedes, and I sat in the passenger seat. I expected her to at least tell me what was expected of me, but we made the drive in silence.
After she had parked in the garage, she asked me if I was going to be good if she took the handcuffs off. What did she think I would do, run away?
“Yes, Mistress.”
She leaned over and opened them, putting them in my raincoat pocket. I got out while she sat in the car. Finally, I realized what she was waiting for and went around the car to open her door. As we walked to the elevator, I stayed a step or two behind her.
The apartment she had was huge, about 4,000 square feet, larger than my last owners’ home. Once inside the door, I removed the raincoat and sandals, hanging the coat on a coat rack, as she directed. Once the coat was off, I became much more conscience of my new, steel collar. The metal was cold against my skin and the rounded edges felt strange. If I pulled it tight against one side of my neck, there was just enough room for me to slip my little finger between the collar and my neck on the other side.
“Mimi?” Mistress called out and it startled me. I silently thanked God that she hadn’t noticed I was wrapped up in my own thinking and not paying attention to her. In just a moment, Mimi came out from the room at the end of the hallway. She was about my height and just a few years older. Her skin was as white as mine was and her hair was light brown. She was dressed in black slacks and a white blouse. “Put her down for the night and let her rest from the journey.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Ma’am, what is the slave’s name?”
“What is your name, slave?”
“Whatever Mistress wishes it to be. I was born with the name Megan.”
“I will think about it and let you know.” Once again, I was nameless. That condition lasted as long as she owned me. She and Mimi just referred to me as slave.
Mimi led me to a bathroom down the hall. Once I had relieved myself, she took me to another room nearby. It was bare except for a good mattress on the floor and a chain set in the wall. The chain was attached to my collar by a small ring welded to the steel. Mimi disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a tray that had some fruit, a glass, and a pitcher of water. She set that on the floor next to me.
“Be careful about how much you drink. We won’t return for you for several hours while you rest. If you call out to us, or make any disturbance at all, you will be punished.”
I ate a banana and an apple and had one glass of water. I went to sleep wondering what my new life would be like.
After I woke up, I lay on the mattress for what seemed like hours before Mimi came for me. She had me turn over on my stomach and cuffed my hands behind my back. Then she undid the chain at my collar and had me stand.
She led me to the bathroom and allowed me to pee. Because my hands were still cuffed behind me, she patted me dry. I blushed all over at having someone else perform such an intimate service on me, but as I soon learned, I was to do nothing for myself. Mimi then bathed me in the tub, brushed my teeth, and did my hair and make-up. When she finished, she led me to the kitchen where I was given breakfast, which she fed to me as I knelt beside her. Finally, I was led back to the room where I had spent the night and chained at the collar again.
I spent the day until Mistress came home dozing off and waking up. I wasn’t really tired, but so bored with nothing else to do that I could not stay awake. I remember thinking to myself that this looked I would have a pretty easy time of it. I could not have been more wrong.
That evening, when Mistress came home, I heard her tell Mimi to fetch me to the room. I thought she meant the bedroom, but I was wrong. The room she referred to was filled with all sorts of equipment, almost all of it designed to inflict pain on someone. That someone was to be me.
When Mimi brought me in, Mistress instructed her to attach leather straps to my thighs. My wrist cuffs were locked onto the straps. Then she told Mimi to use the breast lift. The breast lift turned out to be a pair of nipple clamps attached to each other with a chain. The chain was then attached to another one that went up to the ceiling, through a pulley, and down to a wheel. When the wheel was turned, it pulled the nipple clamps up, forcing me to my toes. I was afraid of losing my balance and with the clamps attached so tightly, having my nipples ripped off. I strained to maintain a stable position on my toes.
“Let’s see how much she can take,” Mistress told Mimi as she took a whip down from the wall.
For the next twenty minutes, I was whipped. Every blow threatened to throw me off balance. Finally, I spread my feet apart to prevent me from falling over. By spreading my legs wider, I lowered my torso and the nipple clamps pulled even more cruelly on my breasts. At first, I just whimpered, but then I started crying out and begging for mercy. Mistress’ response was to have Mimi gag me before she continued flogging me.
Finally, my legs gave out and I had to get down off my toes. As my feet hit the ground, I felt a knife through each breast as the clamps and chains refused to yield and yanked them up.
When she finished whipping me, I thought we were through, but I was wrong. My hands were chained above my head and she hung up the whip and took down a cattle prod. As she touched me, I jumped and squirmed in my bonds, trying to cry out through the gag. My shoulders, breasts, stomach, bottom, and thighs were all fair game as she kept shocking me over and over.
Eventually, I sagged down, my weight held up by my outstretched arms and my chin on my chest. I could no longer even squirm to try to avoid the electric shocks and all I could focus on was the pain raging through me.
When Mimi released me, I fell to the floor. Mistress ordered me to my knees, but I was unable to move. She got a birch cane from the wall and whacked me with it several times. It felt like my skin was being ripped open and the new pain made me focus and provided an incentive for action. I got up on my knees and waited for the next torture.
Mimi directed me to a low table. When I was on it, on my back, my wrists and ankles were secured to it. Mistress lit a large, red candle and waited a moment for some of the wax to melt. Then she began dripping it on me. At first, she held it high enough that the wax cooled as it fell, but she slowly lowered the candle and I felt the hot wax burning me. As the pain increased again, I wondered if the burns would leave permanent marks, but she was an expert and didn’t want me scarred because it would decrease my value. She held the candle just high enough that the hot wax reddened the skin, but caused enough pain that eventually I passed out, unable to bear any more.
I woke up on my mattress, chained to the wall. The light was on (I soon learned that it would never be turned off), and I was able to examine the welts from the cane and the red marks on my skin from the wax. For really the first time as a slave, I felt self-pity and I also felt fear. I was completely powerless and my Mistress was a sadist.
For the next two years, I was Mistress’ plaything, and the play was often rough. She and her friends, mostly female, but an occasional male participated, delighted in finding new ways to cause me pain. There was the time that I served drinks from a tray suspended from my nipples by clamps all night, and another time they had a contest to see who could make me cry out the fastest.
That last one was a particularly bad night. I was bound to a table and every hour, on the hour, someone came in to whip me. I was instructed to not cry out for as long as I could. They timed the person to see how fast they could make me scream. I was allowed to whimper and moan; it was a scream that they wanted. If they felt that I screamed too soon in order to avoid further punishment, then I was to be whipped for fifteen minutes. Everyone used the same whip, but their techniques, strength, and the location of the blows varied. I think the winner concentrated on the bottoms of my feet and the insides of my thighs.
After one of the parties, I was allowed to rest and recuperate the next day; otherwise, I worked for Mimi until Mistress got home. She wasn’t nearly as sadistic as Mistress; I could almost feel that she felt sorry for me. Often, in the middle of some chore, she would interrupt what I was doing, raise her skirt, and I would satisfy her. Occasionally, (about once or twice a week) I was allowed to satisfy myself, or she would use her finger to give me an orgasm.
That never happened with Mistress. She really didn’t give a damn what I was feeling unless it was pain. Sometimes, I was allowed to sleep on the floor next to her bed, chained there by the collar, after I had satisfied her, but most often, I was taken back to my mattress.
About a year and a half after she acquired me, she had a friend over for the evening. I was made to stand in the center of the room, while her friend examined me. She felt my breasts, rubbed her hands down my sides and over my bottom, and had me open my mouth so she could look at my teeth. It reminded me of being at the pony farm, the way she treated me like livestock. She paid particular attention to my arms and legs, trying to gage the strength in them.
“I think she will be excellent,” the friend stated after the examination. “Let’s talk about the details.”
“Mimi, put her to bed for the night,” Mistress said. I was led away to the room where I slept, chained to the wall, and the light turned out. As she left, Mimi gave me a look that said she felt so sorry for me. I knew that the details Mistress and her friend were discussing concerned some new torture for me, but I had no idea what it was.
I found out two weeks later. I was taken from the apartment for the first time since I arrived. Wearing only a raincoat and shoes, I was led down to the garage and put in the trunk of Mistress’ car. After handing back the raincoat and shoes, the trunk was closed and I was driven out to the country.
It was about six in the morning when we left and the car stopped around eight. Emerging from the trunk, I found myself in the driveway before a large mansion. Instead of being taken inside, as I expected, my hands were bound behind my back and a leash attached to my collar. I was led around the back of the house and up a path toward woods at the top of a hill. We took a path through the woods until we arrived at a clearing.
There were eight other people there; four women, two men, and two male slaves. The slaves were collared, but they were not naked as I was. They wore breechcloths. I was taken to the center of the clearing and my hands were untied and the leash removed. Then I was given a shovel and told to dig a square hole the size of the shovel blade and two feet deep. As I worked, the slaves were setting up a grill, table, and chairs near the path were I entered the clearing.
It took me about an hour to dig the hole. It hurt my bare feet to press the shovel blade into the ground, so I had to loosen the soil by scraping it with the shovel and then scooping out the dirt. By the time I finished, the slaves had finished setting up and begun cooking brunch. They avoided looking at me, and I thought it was because I was naked and they were prohibited from using me. But it was something else entirely.
One of the men, my mistress, and the two slaves escorted me about twenty yards down another path. Leaning against a tree was a large cross made of heavy beams about eight inches square. The cross was about fifteen feet tall and the crosspiece was six feet long. The two pieces had been cut so that the crosspiece and the vertical beam fit smoothly together. Even seeing the cross, and after having dug the hole for it, I still didn’t realize what it was to be used for. I was told to take the cross back to the clearing. It must have weighed two hundred pounds so the slaves helped me put it over my shoulder so the crosspiece was almost straight up and down. I dragged it the twenty yards to the clearing, sweating and groaning under the weight. When I arrived, the slaves helped lift it off my shoulder and laid it down on the ground with the base near the hole.
“Lay down on the cross,” Mistress ordered.
I looked around to see if she was talking to one of the male slaves, and then I realized she was talking to me. Inside me, I began to panic, but to my credit, I didn’t flinch too badly.
I just stood there, looking at her, and then she repeated the order. It was the first time that I had to have an order repeated since the first few weeks of my slavery. There were images of them pounding the nails into my feet and wrists, of me hanging on the cross in pain for hours, and of me dying flashing through my mind.
Even with that, I laid down on the cross. I think that what I thought at the time was that it was her decision, not mine, if I were to live or die. Later on, I realized that my belief in my slavery ran so deep, that I did not bother to question whether she had the right to do that.
When I was stretched out on the wood, one of the men sat down on my arm while the other knelt by my wrist. He took a six inch long spike and a hammer from a bag at his side. But I saw none of this because the man sitting on my arm blocked my view of what the other was doing. I felt the prick as the spike touched my wrist between the two bones of my forearm. I was staring up at the sky when the hammer came down, driving the spike through my wrist and into the wood. I screamed and thrashed around with my legs and other arm, rolling over to try to get to my pinioned wrist. Four more blows with the hammer and I felt the head of the spike press into my wrist. Quickly, the men got up and moved to the other one and I saw the spike piercing my flesh for the first time. It had a large, round, flat head to keep me from pulling my arm off the spike and keeping it immobile.
Quickly, my other wrist was nailed to the cross in the same way. The men went to my feet and pulled them down as far as they could go before nailing a block of wood to the cross for my feet to rest on. Then my feet were held one on top of the other as the third spike was driven through them.
The two male slaves lifted the cross from the top. As it tipped upward, I began to feel my arms take my weight. As the cross neared the upright position, it slid into the hole I had dug and I screamed as the pain slashed through me. The slaves then pounded wedges into the ground with sledgehammers to secure the cross and prevent it from wobbling.
My feet were about five or six feet off the ground. Everyone gathered around the cross and looked up at me. I could already feel the strain in my body as my arms, stretched out and only slightly upward, took most of my weight. I could feel my legs bow out slightly, and knew that I was exposing my vagina completely. I watched from high above as Mistress got a long whip and came back to the cross.
“A few minutes ago, you made me repeat an order. You will now be punished for that indiscretion.”
Everyone stepped back to give her room, and she lashed up at me. The whip struck me diagonally across my torso, running from my hip, across my breast, and up to my shoulder. I whimpered in pain as she struck me again, this time across my thighs. I could feel them quiver with the strain of my body weight and the pain of the whip.
Eight more strokes followed quickly and my body had red slashes crisscrossing it. I was crying and my chin was down my chest. The slaves went back to their cooking and were soon serving brunch to the others who had seated themselves around the table in such a way that all of them could comfortably watch me.
The pain from the whip was soon forgotten as the pain from hanging on the cross grew. I remained that way for about an hour until my I felt my arms stretch slightly under the strain. For a moment, I thought my arms were being dislocated from my shoulders because they could no longer support me. I sagged just a little and my legs took some of the strain off as my feet rested solidly on the sloped block. But the pain in my feet was excruciating and I could not remain that way for long. I had to pull myself up with my arms after just a few minutes to give my feet some relief. For the next several hours, my dance up and down on the cross was repeated countless times.
One of the slaves was sent into the woods and came back with a ladder. He leaned it against the cross and climbed up to me. He gave me a drink of water from a squirt bottle and I thanked him. I made up my mind that if I got through this and was allowed to, I would make love to him and give him the best sex of his life.
A little while later, I had the urge to pee and held it for a few minutes. Then I laughed to myself because I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere soon and emptied my bladder. The spectators watched this as dispassionately as they had watched everything else that had been done to me.
I was trying to shift position some to relieve the strain on my body, but I was unable to do so because of the way I was stretched on the cross. Finally, after about five hours, I gave up and just hung there. My legs, arms, and shoulders were cramping and twitching and my breathing was becoming labored. Suddenly, I remembered something I had learned in catechism. When the Romans crucified Christ, He probably died of suffocation, as He was no longer able to pump air into His lungs.
About then, one of the slaves (I could no longer remember if it was the same one) climbed up to give me another drink. I almost choked on the water, but finally swallowed some.
At six hours, I became delirious. I thought I heard myself talking, but couldn’t be sure if the words were coming out. Later, I was told that I was just mouthing the words because I had no more breath left to spare for talking. The pain was still there, but now it had become part of my normal existence, something that I had always had with me. I could not even remember what I had done before I was hung on the cross, who the people looking at me were, or why I was there.
I know that I passed out several times, but whenever I did, the pain in my feet quickly brought me back to consciousness. As I became aware of the sun setting and the growing twilight around me, the slaves fetched posts with torches on them and lit them after placing them in the ground. They were placed all around the clearing and completely lit it up so that the darkness could not hide my pain and humiliation.
At one point during the night, I remember thinking that surely God would let me into heaven because I would die like His Son.
I finally saw the sun rising as I neared a full day on the cross. I wondered how long it would take me to die and what they would do with the body. After the sun had been up for a few hours, I felt the cross shake and tried to scream but no sound would come out. The slaves were knocking the wedges loose. I felt the cross being lifted out of the hole by the slaves and free men who had watched me suffer all night and lowered to the ground. Someone slipped a hacksaw blade between the cross and my wrist and began sawing the spike that held me. I passed out with the realization that it was over.
I awoke in a hospital bed in the mansion the next day. My whole body was sore, but I was alive. I was bound in the bed with the same kinds of cuffs that are used on mental patients in hospitals. I don’t know how long I lay there before someone came in. It was Mistress and one of the men. With one of them standing on each side of the bed, I turned my head from one to the other before I realized what felt so wrong. I was looking up at them, instead of down at them from the height of the cross.
“You did well the other day, slave. You spent twenty-four hours on the cross. My guests enjoyed watching you suffer. You did so well, that I will grant you one request.”
I thought for a moment and then I knew what I wanted more than anything. “Please sell me, Mistress.”
It would be another six months before my request was granted; six months that I hope I never have to go through again. The rehab after the surgery on my feet took three months; two months with casts on both my feet and one month to learn to walk again. They also did plastic surgery on the scars at my wrists and feet so that it is almost impossible to tell where the spikes pierced me.
Mistress was offended by my request, thinking that I would choose anything but that. When I was well enough to travel again, she took me to a cabin that she had in Wisconsin.
I hadn’t realized that she was taking more than the weekend, but this was her annual vacation. The cabin where she took me was very isolated, set on a hilltop, deep in the woods, overlooking a lake. The cabin itself was about thirty feet on a side and two stories tall, but the second story was only half the size of the first because it was built as a balcony with two bedrooms and a hallway running the length of the cabin. That meant that half the first floor was open to the roof and the other half was underneath the bedrooms. There was a long porch in front and a brick barbecue in the front yard.
We stayed about two weeks. During that time, she had male and female friends come up for a few days, then they left and a new group came up. The groups were up there for sport hunting, except they did not use rifles and hunt animals, unless, of course, you consider a slave an animal.
I would be turned loose early in the morning, naked, and given a fifteen-minute head start. Then they would track me and try to capture me. When I was captured, I became the property of that person until the next day’s hunt. The hunters used nets and ropes to capture me, except for one man who hunted with a bolo.
I will describe one of the hunts and from that, whoever reads this will know what all of them were like. It started at seven in the morning, with the dew still on the ground. I took off running when they told me to start, hoping to put as much distance between the hunters and myself before they started. Once I judged the fifteen minutes were up, I could either keep moving or try to hide. The first time I was hunted, I found a shallow gully and covered myself with leaves. I lay as quietly as I could and waited for my hunters. About twenty minutes later, I heard someone approaching quietly. The person seemed to stop nearby and I thought I heard him turning slowly around. Then all was quiet for a few minutes. I was debating whether I should try to make a break for it, or wait it out. Then I heard the person slowly walk away. It was another twenty or thirty minutes before I heard others approach. I thought I was safe because my hiding place had worked the first time, but it really hadn’t. I could tell there several people around because I could hear them whispering, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Suddenly, they started throwing the leaves off me and I was exposed.
There were four people there, and each one grabbed one of my limbs and lifted me out of the gully. As I hung stretched between them, they were laughing at how easy it was to catch the slave. They found a large branch that had fallen and bound my ankles and wrists to it so that I hung down like a piece of game. Then I was carried back to the cabin.
Mistress decided that since all four of them had caught me, that I would serve all of them the rest of the day and night. However, before I started, I was to be punished for not providing more sport during the hunt. Mistress told me that I was an easy catch and provided no difficulty to them. She also told me that I would have to do better in the future or I would face more punishment. I was bound head down on the steps with my ankles tied to railing on either side of the top of the steps so my legs were raised. Then Mistress stood between my ankles and whipped the insides of my thighs with a riding crop. It wasn’t long before I was crying and screaming but it had no effect on her. For the next twenty minutes she beat me until the insides of my thighs were bruised and purple.
Before I was released, one of the men said that it would be a shame to waste the opportunity as long as I was in such a good position. He opened his fly and took out his erection, then carefully got on top of me. His head was lower than his hips, as was mine, because of the incline of the steps. As he pounded up and down inside me, he did even more damage to my tender thighs and the edges of the steps dug into my back. It was the first time I had had a man inside me in a very long time, and at first, I was glad he was going to use me, but as he kept pushing in and out, the pain he was causing overcame the pleasure. It was the first time that I did not have an orgasm when a man used me. I was frustrated at first because of that, but I quickly remembered that I was there for their pleasure and enjoyment, not my own. I think that was a measure of how far I had sunk into my slavery. At first, I got involved in it because it was sexy and exciting to be a slave and I received a lot of pleasure in return. But the last several years, first with the couple and now with Mistress, my own pleasure was completely ignored. The times I had been allowed to cum had always been for the stimulation of others present.
After that first hunt, I tried different strategies to avoid being caught. I tried to backtrack to get behind them, I went down to the lake and hid underwater, I climbed a tree to get above them; and nothing worked for long. Each time I was captured within a few hours, but never again as quickly as I was that first time. A few times, hunters climbed a tree and waited for me to cross their path. Then they would drop a net on me and jump down. A few other times, I was lassoed while running or the rope was dropped from a tree. And then there was the man with the bolo. He caught me running and I heard the bolo whipping through the air towards me. I tried to dodge at the last second, but the bolo was about ten feet wide when the balls were twirling. He got me around the legs just below the knees and the bolo wrapped around my legs. I pitched forward and landed hard. As he caught up with me, I was trying to loosen the thongs from my legs. He picked me up and carried me back to the cabin over his shoulder. That evening, he kept me up all night and so the next morning, I was captured quickly and punished again for making it too easy. But this time, I really didn’t mind because that night had been the most satisfying of my life. It seemed that all of my pent up needs for the last two years were released in that one evening of pleasure.
After two weeks, Mistress took me back to Chicago. Now, instead of entertaining in her home, Mistress took me to clubs that catered to owners and slaves. It was at those clubs that I suffered the worst abuse. We would go once or twice a week. One time, Mistress locked me in place on a large, wooden X-frame and hung a sign around my neck that said, “Slave in need of punishment.” The other owners took full advantage and the next morning, I was covered in welts from my neck to my feet.
There were some rewards. One evening I was put in a cage with six other male slaves and they were told they could do whatever they wanted to me. I had been gang-banged before, but that night was actually heaven. Once they understood that I was cooperative, that is. And the paying customers got their money’s worth from the show, even if it wasn’t as brutal as they hoped it would be.
About two years after Mistress bought me and six months after my crucifixion, I was finally sold again. I guess she just grew tired of my attitude. Not that it was bad, just the opposite. I think she wanted someone who would fight back a little to make the punishment she meted out more enjoyable for her. My transfer to my new owner took place one evening at a private airport outside Chicago. Once the exchange took place, he escorted me out to a private plane. As soon as I boarded, I was told to remove my coat and shoes, return them to Mistress’ driver, and then the door was closed and we took off for my new home.