This White Slave Girl

I have considered myself black-owned for a very long time, so the prospect of becoming an actual slave was surprising.  I didn’t expect such a huge change in the psychological aspect since the physical change seemed to be minimal.  I was owned by black men before.  Why was this so different?

The physical reality of true black ownership was different in subtle but important ways.  In past relationships, I surrendered my freedom for a pre-determined period of time – I knew going in when the time was up, so the surrender was partial and incomplete.  I would recover my freedom, usually in a day or two, seldom more than a week.  Now that I was faced with permanent loss, the depth of my surrender was vast and overwhelming.  I was committed to another human being in a way I never really contemplated before.  The enormity of the commitment frightened me as nothing else in my life ever had.

But the fear of that unknown experience, linked inexorably with the searing permanence of the existence I was about to endure, also bestowed on me an absolute sense of helplessness that relieved me of every responsibility I had ever known. 

As much as my mental state was changing, my physical being was being transformed even more completely.  William wasted no time in enlightening me of the stark difference between consort and slave.

As soon as we arrived at his compound, William led me to a cabinet at the back of the tool shed that contained an array of heavy shackles.  I contemplated asking why the restraints were necessary, given my acquiescence with my new status, but I sensed that questioning anything would be almost profane. 

As William silently fitted the irons around my wrists and ankles along with a thick iron collar around my neck, I watched with a profound detachment that felt so appropriate that I was almost overcome with gratitude.  Once the shackles and collar were in place, William pried open a trap door in floor and led me down a dark flight of steep stairs to a cellar beneath the shed.  

At the bottom of the stairs William pushed open a heavy wooden door that opened into a concrete room.  I had no idea the place existed.  The only light in the dank gloom filtered dimly from a high window at one end of the long room.  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed a round bed such as a dog would sleep upon, along side a small bucket and an even smaller bowl. 

William roughly pulled my arm as he led me behind the door at the bottom of the stairs and I saw a small sledge hammer next to a large solid wooden block.  He positioned my hand on the block and used the sledge to hammer an open link on a heavy chain through the two halves of the shackle, locking it to my wrist and binding my wrist to the chain.  William then turned me around and hammered the chain into my other shackle, trapping my hands and arms behind my back.  The chain was slack enough to permit me some range of motion but not slack enough that I could hope to use or even see my hands.  My ankles and collar were soon secured to the chain in quick order, effectively hog tying me as I lay on the concrete floor next to the wooden block.

I heard William drop the sledge once I was securely restrained.  Suddenly he lifted me off the ground and carried me to the dog bed at the far end of the room.  I laid me down on the bed and, without saying a word he used a pocket knife to cut my clothes off my body.  Once I was naked, he walked back to the door and closed it behind him.  I heard his steps fade into the distance as he mounted the stairs.  Finally I heard the trap door positioned over the stairs and door to the shed closed and locked.