 |
|||
|
|
My name is Caitlin, and this is my story.
I am not Irish, my mother just liked the name. I don’t think my father, whoever he was, even knew. My mother was young, but she did her best, working as much as she was able, farming me out from a young age to a succession of minders, some paid, some just doing a good turn. Then I was at school, not particularly bright, but not stupid, and we were happy.
The thing I missed was grandparents, aunts and uncles. Most of the other children had them, and were fond of them. I often asked, but always met a wall.
Then on the day before my eighteenth birthday, my mother died suddenly. One moment we were in the house,, the next she had gone to the shops, then the police coming to tell of the heart just stopping. She was buried quietly, just me and a few friends. Still no family. I had no money, and no home, but I stayed with one of my pretend aunts for a few weeks. Exams looming, but I had only average expectations before this happened, and they were now very low expectations. So, One day I decided not to bother, set off for school, all my possessions smuggled out in a haversack, and hitched a ride to London. I left a message thanking her for her kindness, but I was an adult now, and needed to “find myself” I said I would be in touch one day. I don’t know even now why. I think perhaps I felt alone, and wanted a new start, and was a bit terrified of the exams.
By the next day I was seriously hungry and thirsty. A middle aged lady stopped me, asked me if I was alone, promised not to tell, but if I went with her to a local church I could eat and drink.
Soon I found myself drinking coffee and telling this lady the story of my life so far.
“My dear,” she said, “you cannot just continue to wander the streets. Would you come with me to meet someone who may have the answer for you. I shall come with you, and I promise you, on my honour, that if you decide no, you will be able to leave”.
Seeing no real alternative, and time not being an issue, I went with her to an office building, and then to a pleasant office where we sat down.
Then a man came in, well dressed, pleasant, non threatening. “Did I want coffee and biscuits”, he asked. I thought it best not to miss the opportunity. I told him much the same as I had told the lady.
When I finished he told me he had a proposition to put to me. I would have to trust him implicitly, but could leave whenever I wanted. He said I was young and pretty, but alone and with no visible prospects of supporting myself. I could return to my “aunt”, finish my studies, and hope to make a life. Or listen to what he had to say, right to the end, and then decide. I promised to listen.
He told me of a client, living in South Africa, in a remote spot, who kept a large number of slaves. Although they were slaves and therefore not paid, a sum of money was paid into an account for them. At any time after four years, they were free to request release. They would then be returned to their homeland, and given their accumulate capital to start a new life. I was ideal, as I could disappear relatively easily, I would still be young, and I needed a nest egg to start a normal life.
To say I was stunned was an understatement. I could hardly credit what I was hearing. But I was told to go away, take a day to think of what he had said, and only if I wanted to hear more, to return on the next day, at the same time of day,(4pm), and give his card to the commissionaire downstairs. Then I was ushered out.
I went to a nearby park, sat on a bench and tried to reason with myself rationally. I just could not go back, so what other alternatives were there? I was not entirely naïve, and knew the dangers of being taken off the streets and forced into prostitution or worse, probably unpaid.. I couldn’t see myself getting a job, and no way would I ever be able to save. I considered again going back, but there was nothing there for me. Soon the sympathy would go, I would become a nuisance, the scenario was totally unthinkable, I thought. They had been kind, no-one had tried to kidnap me, what could I lose by getting further information?
So the next day, after wandering the streets again, looking in shop windows, I was back. Sitting in the same office, but now alone with the man I had seen yesterday.
He asked if I was a virgin, and I admitted that I was not, although I had only had sex twice. I then said I had never had anal sex, but had once kissed a boy’s cock, if that counted as oral sex. I felt uncomfortable with these blunt questions, but inwardly said “Don’t be silly, Caitlin, things would be getting worse than this”. “Had I a passport”? Of course no. If I had one I knew it would not be an adult one. Any other papers? I handed over my birth certificate. .
I was then told that the location was a large farm, although it was not the source of his wealth. There were many slaves there already, working on the farm and performing whatever duties they were given. I did not need an explanation of that last bit. The slaves were fed and sheltered, but were not allowed any clothing, time off for any reason, (not even a half day to go for a walk or to just have private time), They were never to speak to each other, or to anyone else unless told to.
If I decided to go, I was to lodge with the lady I had met, while formalities were finalised, three to four weeks. I would help her in the flat, would not be allowed out alone, but would be taken twice a day to a gym for exercise. He asked if I liked exercise, and I told him I was better at sport than academic work, had done some dancing as a child, but still did some gymnastics. He seemed pleased with that answer, and said I was to take advantage of the time to get really fit. Had I made up my mind?
I had already decided to go, I knew, when I chose to go back, so I said yes. “Yes sir”, he corrected. The die was cast. I was made to hand over the small amount of money I had, he sat me down and took some photographs, head and shoulders, then I sat in the next room, the only door of which led back into the office, and waited until the lady came back. “Hello dear“, she said chattily,” so glad you decided to go. You will call me madam, and I am sure we will get along fine”. She then motioned me to follow, which I did, and we walked for about 10 minutes to a flat, she inserted her key, opened the door and ushered me in.
My room was comfortable, if sparsely furnished, and we had tea and baked beans on toast, which I needed quite badly.
The very next morning I went to the kitchen when I got up, and there was a man sitting with Madam,
(I never did hear her name).
I was told to undress, in a matter of fact manner, as by someone who knew he would be obeyed.
As I stood there trying to hide my private parts, he spoke again.
“One thing I want you to understand, you have agreed to go, so you have no free will as of now. You also have no modesty, so when told to undress, you will stand, feet apart, and your hands on your head. Do it” I obeyed instantly. “There are a couple of things we need to do to make you ready, and you will co-operate fully. He motioned to the table, which was clear, and I was made to climb on and lie down face up, replacing my hands on my head. Then he produced some cream and a razor, and shaved off all the hair on my pubes. Then he produce a cloth with some spirit, swabbed my nipples, and with a large pin pierced them both. I cried in pain, and was told to shut up, many young ladies had this done voluntarily. Then he pushed my knees apart and carried out the same operation on my cunt lips. He then inserted a bar in each of the holes. He explained they were to keep the holes open while they healed, which should be in 2-3 weeks. I felt totally humiliated by the way I was naked, and nobody seemed care. Then I was allowed to dress, the table was washed, a cloth laid and we had a very reasonable breakfast, When the man had left, I was given a track suit and walked round the corner to a gym. No introductions were made, but for an hour I ran a treadmill, skipped and did all manner of stretching exercises, hands above head, toe touching, swinging arms, that sort of thing under the watchful eye of a woman instructor. After lunch, at four, I was back for another hour of the same. My piercings were a little sore, and some of the exercises didn’t help, but I was fit, and I enjoyed the training, which I prided myself I was quite good at.
The next day I was given a form to sign, in two places, but nobody bothered to show me what I was signing.
In the evenings we watched television, and usually I went to bed early.
After nearly three weeks, a sort of monotonous routine was setting in. Every day I changed to my spare set of clothes, and washed the ones from the previous day. I washed up, I hovered and dusted. I was allowed out only to go to the gym, our conversation was becoming repetitive, when suddenly everything changed.
After lunch, I was told, without warning, that I was going, not to the gym, but back to the office.
There I was told to stand, and listen well. Then he handed me a passport. I had no idea how he had obtained it, but I recognised the photo as one from our photo session, (more from the clothes than anything else)
I looked at the main page, and there was my signature.
As I stood there in a whirl, It was explained that I was flying out that night. I would be taken o the airport
by taxi and given my haversack, with all the things I was allowed to take. When I arrived, I was to look for someone holding a card with my name on it, show the holder of the card my passport, give him my haversack, and follow him in silence. He repeated, with heavy emphasis, in silence. The next flight was at 9 o’clock that evening.
So there I was, with my ticket in my hand, sitting in a cafe in the terminal eating teacakes and drinking coffee, with Madam, who had taken me there in a taxi. The piercings were no longer sore, but the bars were removed for the flight. My haversack was very light, just a change of clothes, some toiletries, but no money. Any comments on my luggage were to be explained away by saying my boyfriend had gone out the previous day with all the luggage. Then passing through and boarding my first aeroplane, for an overnight flight, very excited, and only a little apprehensive.
I really enjoyed the flight, even the airline meals, it was all so new. The young lady sitting next to me chatted a bit, telling me they were on holiday. “And you?” she said. I had this mad urge to say, “actually I am going out to be a naked slave of a man I have never met.” But “me too” is all that came out. Then she admitted she was on honeymoon. We then had a few minutes of delicious conversation, as I realised she was hardly listening to me. They were going on a safari, off the beaten track. I thought that I was probably going on the beaten track, but just said I wasn’t too sure what was planned for me, but we would probably do something similar. She thought they might find a few creature comforts missing, I said I thought my accommodation might not be too comfortable. Then I was asked if I had been abroad before. I said no, I was looking forward to a brand spanking new experience. Then she asked “are there many of you?” I replied there would be quite a number of girls. “Don’t get up to any mischief”, she said smiling. “Oh no, they are quite a disciplined bunch, we will probably behave ourselves“. I thought, you are going on honeymoon, but somehow I will probably have more sex.
I slept a little, but found that economy class flights are not really designed for sleep. Then the thrill of landing. In Africa!
When I had gone through the formalities, and with only my hand luggage, I was first out. I saw a large black man holding a card with Caitlin on it, and walked up to him with my passport in my hand. He barely looked at it, young, female, no suitcase, he knew who I was. He held out his hand for my haversack, put my passport in it, told me to follow, which I did, out to a really big car. The rear door was opened, and in I got. Then we drove through Johannesburg, and I was struck by the large houses, with high walls, and lots of security. It was June, winter I knew, but still pleasantly warm. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but the words “in silence” came back into my mind.
Then we drove through some gates into a compound, with security men everywhere. The door was opened, I was motioned out, and followed my guide into the house, into what appeared to be a large storeroom, with no furniture except a wooden table, and a chair. He held out my haversack, and told me to strip, and place every thing I had, including my necklace and watch, in the bag, which I did. He tossed the haversack into a corner.
I remembered what I had been told, no privacy, no modesty. I stood with legs apart, and my hands on my head.
He walked round me, examining my body. Large gold rings were produced, one for each nipple, one for each cunt lip. Another man then came in, I remained standing as he placed a metal band round first my neck, then each wrist, then each ankle. They were pushed into place, clicked completely shut, and would only be removed with cutting equipment. Each band had a number of small rings set in. My piercing rings were also closed.
“We are ready now” one said to the other, “put her in the van“. I then walked out, still with my hands on my head, naked, with metal restraints in place, and all my belongings, everything I owned, left in the haversack in the corner. All the security men could see me, but I think they were used to it, and it was no great deal to them. There was a van with no windows at the back into which I was made to climb. My wrist was chained to the side, I sat on a small mattress which lay on the floor, the doors were closed, the two men got in the front and we were off again.
The journey was a very long one, lasting all day. Twice we stopped, I was allowed out and made to squat by the side of the dirt road to relieve myself. Of course they both turned their backs to give me some privacy, not. I was also given a drink on each occasion, but otherwise I was ignored. Finally we pulled up in front of a large bungalow style house. The door opened, I was taken out and made to stand as before. A well dressed man approached me. “Ah, my new possession,” he said, and turned to walk into the house. I was made to follow. He made himself comfortable, and looked at me standing there before him. I again had my hands behind my head, and stood with my feet wide apart.
He began to speak. “I will tell you now what you will do, and I shall not repeat myself. You will be given a cell to sleep in, you will be fed in your cell morning and night. Any disobedience, real or imagined, will be punished more severely than you can imagine. You will always stand as you are, but with your tits jutting out more”. I thrust my tits forward. “You will work the fields every day, diligently, slackness will not be tolerated. You will be available to me, and all my staff, every male, and any female visitor I have, at all times, in any way they can think of. You will always perform your sexual duties with the maximum enthusiasm. You will not speak at any time for any reason, unless told to say certain things, such as asking for a whipping, or counting strokes. Yow will relieve yourself in the open, and if you shit, you will be hosed clean. When told to speak, you will address every one as Master, or my lady visitors as Mistress. You will be able to tell the lady visitors, they will be the females with clothes“. He broke off to chuckle at his little joke. “If you are caught speaking to another slave, you will each receive 50 lashes with a sjambok. I hope you never experience that. You will be left until the morning, when your duties will begin. I will honour my agreement to offer you release after four years. Now , for one last time, you may ask me any question you may have, without fear of punishment”.
On the plane, I had thought of one thing I would like. I had not expected to be given the opportunity but I had been promised no punishment, so I ventured, “Master, I know I have no possessions, but I would like to remember these years. Could I please have some paper and a pen, to enable me to keep a journal?“
He actually roared with laughter. “I have never had a request like that”, he said . “Well, why not, but each week it will be brought to me for my reading pleasure. And if I do not object to what you are writing, I shall allow you to continue”.
He took certain rights, he explained, over new slaves, one of which was to get at virgin holes before anyone else. I was then made to spread my legs and bend down as far as I could. He then came behind me, pulled my cheeks apart, and entered my arse hole. His cock was huge, I had never offered my arse to anyone. There was considerable pain, and some bleeding as he pounded me. I tried to keep my anguish quiet, and succeeded in the most part, but he pounded and pounded, and eventually emptied his load. Then I was told “kneel”. and he placed his still large but limp cock in my mouth. I licked off the mixture of cum, blood and my own shit, with as much enthusiasm as I was able, until he was satisfied. I had been asked by some boyfriends to give them a suck, but had always found the idea repulsive. Well now I was doing it, and doing it right. As I knelt in submission he rang a bell, a servant appeared and was told to put me away for the night. Then he added, “But put a notebook and a pen in with her”.
And that is how my journal came to be written and I was able to remember events which otherwise would have been blotted from my mind.
I was taken outside , across a yard where about half a dozen men were standing, some white, some black, to an outbuilding, inside which were two rows of cell doors , with a central corridor. The windows in the doors were small, designed for looking in not out. One door was opened and I was led in. There was a bed with a single blanket, a table, on which was some food, barred windows looking out over featureless land, with the light just disappearing, and a chain fixed firmly to the wall, which was locked on to my collar. In the corner next to the bed was a small washbasin, with a toothbrush and some paste, and a bucket ( which I emptied every morning). Then the door was closed as my escort left, and I heard the key turn. I could just reach the food, and the bed. I was very hungry, so I wolfed down the food, and drank the water from a plastic bottle. Then I sat on the bed.
I thought then that I would be left for the night, but I should have realised, I was fresh meat. I had not been sitting more than a few minutes before the door was unlocked, and two men came in, one white, one black. Both wearing T shirts and slacks. I was roughly ordered to my feet and told to stand with my hands on my head. Then they both probed my body with their hands, feeling my tits my buttocks and between my legs. Then the white one said, ” Do you want front or back”, to which the answer was “Front”.
I was then made to kneel on the bed, while the white man climbed up behind me, and fucked me from the rear while his comrade pushed his cock in my mouth. He was very big, indeed they both were, and neither was gentle. I was there to be used, and they used me with vigour. I tried to show that I was prepared to co-operate, but I don’t think they even noticed. When they had both finished, they just got up and went out, leaving the door unlocked. Ten minutes later, two white men came in and the scene was repeated, but this time there was no conversation other than “Kneel on the bed slut“, as they had obviously already decided, but again I took two large cocks, one in the cunt , one in the mouth, before they left, and locked the door.
The next morning, I was woken early, and food was placed on the table. I had hardly eaten it, rinsed my face and cleaned my teeth, when the door opened again, the chain was unlocked and I was taken out into the yard, with my bucket which I emptied in a drain, and put down beside it.. There were other girls standing in a row, where I was placed, and a few others were also brought out and added. In all there were about twelve of us, which I eventually came to realise was about half the total. One of the guards had a hose, and when he shouted “Ready” all the other girls raised their arms and spread their legs. I thought it wise to follow suit. We were then all hosed down thoroughly. When the command was given “Turn” we all turned round and were hosed at the rear. We were not dried, but soon dried naturally. Each of us was then strapped into a form of harness, with straps over our shoulders, over and under our breasts and round under our arms, and round our waists.
There was not a lot happening in the fields at that time of year, so we were set to work taking hay from the barns and piling them on large handcarts. Each of the supervisors, or guards, had a sjambok, a whip made of hide, which I learned to fear, but they contented themselves with token blows to keep us working hard. When each cart was full, the slave who had filled it was put between the shafts, arms strapped to the shafts, then the straps from the harness were tied to the front, and they were made to pull the cart to where the hay was to be re-stored. I discovered that this was very hard work, and after a few hours I was tiring fast. Those who had been there longer were fitter, and therefore received less encouragement from the whips. I noticed that occasionally, one of the girls would go to the edge of the yard, squat and piss. When I could control myself no longer, I did the same. There were four men looking after us, (I discovered the correct term was handlers) and every hour or so, someone was taken outside and one or more would take their pleasure, in whichever way they chose. I was used orally twice, and made to kneel in the dust while one of them fucked me from the rear. This was part of the normal routine.
We were given some food at lunch time, and then taken inside a large building I had noticed behind the cell block. Once inside, we were made to perform gymnastics. Of course I had always enjoyed this, but I had never performed naked, to an audience of four men, who punctuated everything I did with physical punishment.
It was very structured, obviously to make us supple. We all performed splits, we stood on one leg, and raised the other, we bent over backwards, and bent down not just to touch our toes, but to place our hands flat on the floor. The others were all good at it, and I tried hard to conform, which fortunately I just about did. One of the hardest exercises was to kneel, fall back into a lying position, and pull our hands down towards our feet, tugging us into a bow. Then we were made to hang from an overhead bar, and do a kind of splits in mid air.
After about an hour, possibly slightly less, the performance became sexual. When we bent over backwards, we had cocks put in our mouths, when we bent forward, we were fucked front and rear.
Then it was back to work.
In the evening I was kept in my cell . I wrote my journal, and I thought of what was happening. I noticed that the sex was becoming easier, which probably meant I was being stretched. I thought of my fellow slaves, all so obedient, so well trained, and all ignoring each other. I thought of my gymnastics, and wondered what my coach would think of it.
Every so often on most nights, I would hear a key in the clock, and in a flash would be standing, hands on head, feet apart, and breasts thrust forward. Incorrect posture was often the first excuse for a caning or a whipping. Sometimes I was particularly pleased with how quickly I reacted, only to be told it was not up to standard, and told to ask if I could be caned to show me my place. I was usually asked to beg for 10 strokes, then to bend with my hands on my ankles, feet two feet apart, and receive my undeserved punishment. I counted the strokes in a loud, firm voice, as I had been taught, then said “thank you sir”.
I was fucked in every imaginable way, sometimes in poses which taxed me to the limit, usually on my bed, with my feet held up in the air, and stretched apart until I thought I would be torn apart. On a very few occasions I was left alone.
The routine was set, and continued for four weeks, as I calculated from my journal. That was taken away twice, read and approved. I was so desperate not to have the privilege taken away from me, that as well as saying what I did each day, I made sure to express the right sentiments. I even wrote a couple of times that although the sex with the guards was stimulating, I was disappointed that my master was so busy with his other slaves, he couldn’t be bothered with me. I think he liked that.
A couple of times I had heard reference to “The Parties”, and had even seen the other girls led away. It was as if I was not considered well enough trained. Until one evening, my cell was entered, the chain unlocked and I was led out.
I was taken to the office of the head handler, where he sat behind his desk as I stood in the usual manner. I was ignored for several minutes. Then he spoke.
“Your master holds large parties each weekend, at which his slaves attend. You are now considered sufficiently trained to be given the honour of assisting him in entertaining his friends. Your duties will vary from week to week, but whatever they are, you will carry them out to the very best of your capabilities. Remember that the honour of your master is in your hands, anything less than total obedience, and I do assure you, you will wish to be allowed to die, but you won’t, because that would end your suffering. Do I make myself clear?” I promptly said, in my most humble manner, that I would not let anyone down, and thanked him for the opportunity to serve.
I was then led out to join the others in the yard. We were formed in two lines of about twelve, one behind the other, our hands were clipped behind our necks, and we were linked to the slave ahead by a chain between our collars. Then a quick thwack on the rump of the first in line, and we were walked down to the house. We arrived at the back, and were detached. Each was taken by one of the housemaids, or our handlers, and we were thoroughly washed down, and dried. The head of the household then gave each handler a piece of paper which detailed that slave’s role for the evening festivities. There were quite a lot of different roles for us to play.
During my four years, I worked in the fields, harvesting, preparation of the land, storing of crops, which have already described. I was also used and abused unmercifully by my handlers, and by my master. I never slept in a comfortable bed, and I was always on call, day or night, to deal with the urges of the men who controlled me. I was continually trained until I could perform gymnastic feats I would never have dreamed of. I soon realised that the purpose of this was to make me more effective at the parties..
I also attended about 240 parties, and played every role. I think the most sensible thing is to document all the roles, so that my readers can understand the depths I sunk into.
That very first time, I was a living sculpture, occupying a plinth as a work of art. There were several such, and my first was to stand with one ankle attached to the floor, my hands tied to the opposite elbow behind my back, and my other ankle raised above my head and tied in position. There I stood, unable to move, effectively doing the splits sideways. Heavy weights were attached to each of my rings. I was like that for something like three hours, at the end of which time I could hardly stand. A huge ball gag was put in my mouth.. As the guests arrived, many, male and female, came over to stroke my body, inserting their fingers, and even hands into my cunt. Later in the evening, as drink gave people more courage, some stood by me and inserted their penises, and brought themselves to climax. I was expected, I knew to react to everything to ensure maximum pleasure, so in so far as I could, I squirmed and swayed vigorously. Whenever I orgasmed, which I did regularly, all around would cheer, and feel the wetness between and running down my legs. Even more humiliating, with all the other delights around, sometimes I stood like that, and nobody even bothered to look.
Other sculptures included being bent backwards over a large barrel, feet again wide apart, with mouth and cunt easily accessible. Often ladies would put strap-ons over their trouser suits, or even remove their skirts, and fuck us just as hard as their men folk. Some would put their skirts over our heads, having removed their panties, and we would lick inside their pussies, until they achieved orgasm. Of course just being bent double, with wrists tied to ankles, gave easy access to all three holes, for men and ladies, as well as providing plenty of spanking with hands or the paddles, floggers or canes provided, so that was popular. We were also hogtied, with ankles kept apart by a spreader bar, then attached to cunt lips, and arms taken over opposite shoulders and chained to the spreader bar. Then, and this was the worst part, we were turned over on our backs, and laid on a pedestal at waist height, offering easy access to our mouths and cunts.
But the pose I feared most was being suspended by the wrists, feet off the floor, and whipped. I think the guests were well aware that blood was not to be drawn, but the pain inflicted by both sexes was just about unbearable, and often we were given one or two days rest in our cells to recover.
The softest option, I always felt, was to be placed in a row in the hall, on tiptoe, hands behind heads, collars hooked to wall, to be picked out by guests, taken down, led to private rooms, and provide deluxe sex, usually to men, sometimes to women, very occasionally to couples. We really tried to please, and anything went. The worst guests were the sadists, who just wanted to give pain, and were given total freedom.
Also we had the waitressing option. Trays were placed over our breasts, a strong clamp was inserted in our noses, the other ends being hooked onto the tray, the inner corners of the tray were hooked to our collars at the back. And secondary chains taken down through our arse cheeks, to our cunt lips. This ensured that the inner corners would neither rise nor fall, and the outer corners were kept in balance by the way we held our heads. It was humiliating, and with our hands bound behind our heads, wandering hands were unrestrained, even if we had dared to protect ourselves. We knew we wouldn’t, but to the guests it was power. All evening we dispensed food and drink, getting our trays re-filled when necessary. At least, apart from the clamp and the pull of the chains, it was the least painful option.
Which leaves six slaves wishing they had been allocated. They were taken out to the lawn, to kneel beside six large posts rising from the grass. They were lifted from both sides, keeping their kneeling posture, and forced down on to the posts, which went a long way into the cunts. Further large posts were then pushed into their arse holes, and jammed into the grass. Chains were affixed to the breast rings, and pegged in to the grass at the foot of the post, forcing the slaves to bend forward. Then hooks were inserted in each nostril, taken up to the top of the head, tied to the hair, then down to the cunt rings. This forced the head back and the mouth open. Finally, each slaves ankles were stretched sideways to the next in line, the end two being pegged to the ground. The distance was calculated to make a real stretch, which drove the post further up. And there they stayed all evening, undisturbed. Except for the frequent visits from men pissing in their mouths, of course. And the people who came to watch.
So the years passed, the work was hard, the sun was hot, sometimes so hot we were given floppy wide brimmed hats (there is something incongruous about females working in the fields, naked except for wide brimmed hats), sometimes even hotter and we worked indoors. Occasionally sightseers would come to watch and marvel, which we did not enjoy as our handlers would act up to the gallery, and punishments were more frequent. I became fitter, browner, more supple, my pain threshold much higher, and the sex was easier. I also derived some satisfaction from being selected by the master more and more.
The parties were, if anything more, frequent. I heard the handlers sometimes commenting on the government officials and diplomats who attended.
But everything ends, and one day I was called in to see the master. I stood as I had been taught, and to my astonishment he said “No little one, your time is come. You may dress in these clothes, and sit.”
It seemed wrong but I obeyed, of course. “The time has come for you to return to England. You have 120,000 English pounds in an account in your name, which should enable you to start a new life. I have also given you a good reference, from my diamond mine business. Here is your haversack, with some extra clothes, you jewellery, the account details, and your passport. There is also a purse with some money, rands and pounds. Tomorrow you will be on a plane to London. You have done well, being a good slave is not easy, I am sure. For tonight you will share my bed, as a lover not a slave”.
Being free, reasonably well off, and in London was weird. After a few days I had rented a flat in the suburbs, and found a job as a hairdresser. I also wrote to my pretend Aunt to say I was comfortable, with a job and a flat, and thanks again. For a few months I pottered along, but hairdressing was not really for me, and I found forming a relationship and conversation difficult. I needed a direction.
So, here I am in Johannesburg airport, with a haversack, looking for a card saying
CAITLIN
|
|
|