This slave: The Wear & Tear of Heartstrings

Many think of me simply being a slave. This slave is how I refer to myself aloud, so I don't see why they would think otherwise. I truly don't even have a name. I often thought that one day a Master would come along, sweeping me into his arms, a loving Master who would have me study and use me to keep his bed warm at night. A scholar, if you will. He would be a beauty of a man and a disciple of Melchior, my beloved Lord. He would come to love me, and cherish the work I did and the love I had for him, and he would give me a name. Alas, I know this shall never be, for my imagination is wildly out of sync with reality.

Ah, but it was never to be. From the day I was born, I was loathed. My mother, a pleasure slave who'd accidentally conceived, died giving birth to me, and I was handed off to a woman who'd lost her child. Her name was Matilda, and she hated me so. I never much cared for her, for she was stupid and thought I was more addled than she. In fact, I never got called anything but "Stupid Girl" by her - "Girl" if she was feeling affectionate.

However, Matilda was never really affectionate, not even with her Master. Now THAT was a man. He was kind and gentle and...Well, that's for later on in the story, isn't it? Back to Matilda...She was a cruel woman, who taught me nothing but to be quiet and always listen to her. I guess she was the root of my submissive behavior, and for many of my habits that linger still. If my eyes were away from the floorboards, I was beaten with her horrible cane, and I was never allowed to say "Me" or "I". She said I simply wasn't worthy of referring to myself as a person. I thought this was nonsense, told her so, and was subsequently beaten until I could no longer move. I don't say I aloud any longer.

Eventually, Matilda died and I secretly celebrated. I was thirteen by the time the old hag was sent off to Annwn, and the Master could finally put me to "use", or at least that's what he referred to it as. What he saw as use turned out to be what Matilda had once fondly (and drunkenly) described to me as love-making. Well, it didn't feel loving the first time, and I admit that I cried. In fact, I was rather frightened when the Master told me to take off my dress the first time. My jaw dropped, and my breathing quickened, I remember, and he tossed me onto the bed after shedding my clothing himself. I remember scrambling backwards to the pillows and finally feeling him atop my naked flesh, but I don't remember much more of what actually happened after that.

What I ~do~ remember is awaking on the floor with a collar around my neck and a chain attached to the collar, sore in all the wrong places. The Master peered over the edge of the bed at me, looking boyishly happy and told me that I wasn't to do housework any longer. Apparently, he was pleased with me.

So began my training as a pleasure slave, and the initial shock wore off quickly. I quickly found that I loved my "work". In fact, I often found myself begging for more, but my Master was a busy man and often had more pressing issues. A year after Matilda died, I was sold for the first time.

In all my short years, I had never left the household. Often, I had looked out from the second floor's window onto the street and watch things go by, wondering what it was like to live down there, but I never truly envied them, for they looked more and more miserable as years went by. The year before Matilda died, I heard a lot about the "Darkness" and was kept away from the windows. After I was allowed to return to my gazing, I found the streets to be more crowded then was normal, but no one answered my unspoken questions, and I didn't worry about it because I was never going to be out there, right?

Wrong.

So Master got married, and the Mistress ~hated!~ me. In fact, she beat me more than Matilda did and put my back to work doing chores about the house. She was VILE and made the old hag I'd been raised by look like a fluffy rabbit. One night, while the Master was sleeping, she took me from my spot at the end of the bed and ordered me to dress. I thought this was silly, but didn't say anything, for I had heard the argument earlier that day that Master lost. I was to be sold, but the Master didn't wish to be awake when it was done. So much for being loved.

In all honesty, I didn't think it would be so frightening! We went out under the red moon of Morhaig at what I knew to be witching hour, and by Melchior, it was scary. There were still people everywhere, but now they shuffled about in cloaks and such nonsense, and some leered at the Mistress and I. We traveled through disgusting, filthy places and finally stopped in an alleyway. The Mistress hissed into the darkness and I remember trying to bolt as a large man stepped from the shadows. I, of course, fell on my behind and nearly choked on my collar, and the man ~laughed~ at me! Angry now, the Mistress tugged me up to a standing position and I'll never forget the next exchange that was had:

"She's a pretty one," the man had said, and his voice made my skin crawl.

"Yes, yes, I don't care. Give me the money and you can have the slut." And this was from the Mistress, and I silently prayed she would be killed on the return trip to my Master's bed-chambers. A bag was handed to the snake holding my leash, and it wasn't even counted before she put the lead in the large man's hand. I was tugged toward him, and stumbled to my knees. He laughed and, breaking my rule, I looked directly up at him to hear the words, "She'll do nicely."

The last I saw of that miserable woman who had essentially ruined my life was the tail of her cloak swishing away into the night. Not even allowed the dignity of walking, I was scooped up and thrown over the nasty man's shoulder, the baggy skirt I wore sliding up above my waist as he adjusted me and walked away, down into the night. We walked for quite a while and, left without any dignity to speak of anyways, I sobbed quietly and eventually cried myself to sleep.