A New World, Chapter 5: Daisy's Tale

Chapter 5

In the morning twilight Mr. Kim made his way across the empty yard. It was his favorite time of day, the silent buildings silhouetted against the sky, mist rising from the fields, most of the staff, slaves and other animals still asleep, as dawn began to flood the clouds with gold.

This was his farm in quiet perfection. The day would bring work, plowing, planting and harvest, change, problems, needs and difficulties, but now all was tranquil and well. He wanted each day to begin like this and was pleased that all was well this morning.

He passed the pillory and hotbox, and the combination whipping post and gallows, noting that none were in use at the moment; Mathias had found no shortcomings among the slaves. The gallows, with a looped braided wire cord, had not been used for executions in quite a while, but it was useful and convenient for securing a slave for a whipping, arms overhead or strappado. The ratchet wheel and handle could be adjusted to various levels of tension. It probably should be maintained and greased, he thought. Nonetheless, all seemed well on his farm, the small part of the world he could manage to his liking.

Until he saw the mess in front of the slave sheds.

An empty bucket of slave mush was upended and laying on the ground, with scattered bowls and spoons around it. It seemed the bucket had not been brought back to the kitchen after the last slaves were fed, and a raccoon or other animal had been attracted to the scent of the residue, scattering the bucket, bowls and spoons. He sighed, the sigh of a man who often thought of himself as the only adult in a world of children. Of course, he could have slaves clean it up later, or directed the staff member who didn’t return the bucket and bowls to handle it; but he was a man who believed authority is best shown by humility. It would be a better lesson for the responsible employees to scold themselves for their lapse than for him to scold them. He began cleaning up the mess, stacking the bowls and spoons in the empty bucket.

Later that morning, in a room in the big house, Daisy awakened to the distant tapping of hammers, as the sun and morning breeze played with the sheer curtains hanging on an open window. She thought, I am in a bed, with sheets and a pillow, not on a straw-filled pallet in the female slave shed, and there is a man sleeping behind me. He didn’t push me onto the floor after fucking me like most men do, and I must be as quiet as I can to prolong this rare and blissful moment.

 Trig, flat on his back, snored lightly as Daisy tried to make herself as small as possible on her quarter of his bed. More hammering, and louder, commenced as more slaves began working on the female slave shed roof, making Trig stir, his eyes opening sleepily.

Sensing the female presence and warmth beside him, Trig stretched out on the bed, yawned, and hooked his finger under Daisy’s collar, guiding her to his hips and soft cock. She began licking it, tasting the unpleasant residue of last night’s sex, but did her best to please her master of the moment, her hair splayed out over his belly and abdomen. When it stiffened, she took it into her mouth, gently sucking, using her tongue more than her lips. Soon, she began tasting his precum.

By her collar, Trig pulled her up to the pillows, laying her on her back. He pressed a kiss into her mouth, her lips slick from fellatio. He climbed between her thighs, his hand under one knee, lifting her leg to his lips, kissing the instep of her foot, her calf, and inside of her thigh, then back down her other leg, the chain dangling from her ankle.

Daisy opened her thighs wider as he centered himself, and there was a brief moment of amusing awkwardness as they both reached down to guide his hard penis into her. Trig deferred to her knowledge of herself and let her rub the head along her labia, until she opened herself with her fingers and guided him into her with a sigh and a smile. He kissed around the mounds of her breasts, before sucking and nibbling her soft pink nipples, making the slave squirm under him, then kissing her slender neck along her steel collar, making the tags jingle.

His hips began thrusting, with Daisy’s small feet pointing at the ceiling, Trig grunting with pleasure, his arms under her knees, folding her legs back against her, each thrust deeper and stronger than the last. Daisy wrapped her arms around his neck and crossed her ankles around the small of his back, pulling him into her, their mouths and tongues and lips pressed together, master and slave. With his grunts and her quivering whimpers, they orgasmed together, his penis spurting and spurting into the far reaches of her clenching vagina. When his spasms had quieted, he collapsed on top of her, pillowed on her breasts. Her feet uncrossed from his back and lay besides his hips, her thighs wide and open. They both enjoyed his cock twitching with his heartbeats, deep inside her, as he lay panting on her chest. She was disappointed when he pulled out and flopped down beside her, his hands clasped behind his head.

Daisy took advantage and snuggled into his bicep, glad when he put his arm around her shoulder, his fingers stroking the soft velvet of her skin. It was almost like love, but she knew that it was not.

The curtains fluttered slowly in the summer breeze, creating a flickering square of sunlight on the floor.  They had both slept late, and it was well past breakfast, halfway to lunchtime. His dick satiated, Trig’s belly now spoke up and demanded attention. He gave Daisy a soft tap on her shoulder. “Go see if there’s any breakfast left and bring us some,” he said reaching for the key to her ankle cuff. The key was on the bedside table, within easy reach of them both, but Daisy would never dare touch it; slaves were forbidden to undo a bond. A slave could be bound by a thread, and would tremble at the consequences of breaking it. It was a common training method.

Just as she did the night before, Daisy lifted her slender ankle to be unbound.

She respectfully asked her master for permission to us his bathroom before her task. Daisy did not close the door, in full sight of Trig, enjoying the simple pleasure of peeing in a toilet instead of a rough board of holes over a smelly trench. She dabbed herself like she was a free woman, slipped out of Trig’s room and scurried down the hall.

She passed several slaves, males and females, assigned to various tasks in the main house, carrying laundry or cleaning supplies. When she passed the occasional free person, she flattened herself against the wall, eyes down, until they passed. There were a few people she was especially keen to avoid. To her, the voyage from bedroom to kitchen was more worrisome than the trip from the farm to Market Town. She wanted to return to the rare safety of Trig’s room as soon as she could.

Daisy entered the kitchen like a furtive and timid animal. There were slaves cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes and cookware, or setting the tables for lunch.  A male slave was grilling and stacking sandwiches of toasted cheese while a female was stirring a large pot of tomato soup, made with fresh tomatoes and fragrant basil from their own farm. The warm and alluring scents filled he kitchen.

Daisy was the only slave in the kitchen not wearing a ball gag. Mistress Janice preferred a simpler method of preventing food theft by slaves. “I’m not playing mind games with slaves,” she had said regarding Mathias’ method of psychological motivation at a staff meeting months ago. “It’s your job to keep them disciplined. I cook for people, not livestock.  I don’t want to see any ungagged slaves in my kitchen,” she had said.

Barefoot and silent, Daisy slipped her way to the breakfast warming tray, still stacked with a dozen tortillas stuffed with scrambled eggs, bacon and cheese. She placed three of them on a plate, and then with a lawyerly memory recalled Trig’s exact words: “Bring us some breakfast.” She added another burrito to the plate and covered them with a cloth napkin.

Turning around to return to Trig’s room, she almost bumped into the buttoned bosom of Mistress Janice, glowering down at her.  “What are you doing?” Mistress Janice demanded.

Daisy dropped to her knees, balancing the plate carefully. “Master Trig sent me to bring him breakfast, Mistress.”

Janice regarded the kneeling slave with a sour and skeptical expression. “Master Trig’s breakfast? Fine, but those are not for you, and there is no mush for you if you missed morning feeding. You’ll just go hungry until evening feeding. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress.” Daisy wanted this interview to be over as fast as possible.

“Go on. Git!” Janice waved her away and Daisy scurried off down the hallway.

Trig was still abed when she returned to his room. He smiled at the sight of a naked woman bringing him breakfast in bed, as she knelt and held up the plate to him. Trig took the plate from her and placed it on the bedside table besides his whip. He motioned for Daisy to get back in bed beside him. He took a bite of a warm, soft breakfast burrito and held one out for Daisy. “Thank you master, but I am not hungry,” she lied.

“Go on, have one,” said Trig with his mouth full of bacon, egg, and melted cheese. “It’s okay.” He felt generous after Daisy’s pleasant services and wanted to reward her.

“Please master…I can’t. Mistress Janice has forbidden me.”

Trig was just an apprentice slave manager, in the first year of a three-year vocational program, but he knew that slaves given conflicting instructions by different masters put them in a very precarious, possibly dangerous, position. No master or mistress wanted their commands countered, and it was usually the slave who paid the price. Often, it led to conflict and ill-feeling between masters who had different wishes for the slave in question. Trig wanted to avoid all that. He ate three burritos and Daisy watched him toss the fourth into the trash can.

“Did you like being owned by Alice’s family?” Trig asked, his mouth full.

Daisy was silent for a moment, and then said, “They almost killed me.”

Trig was stunned; Alice and her family had seemed no worse than most slave owners, and Alice seemed to have some affection for her former slave. “What do you mean?”

Daisy rolled over in the bed, facing away from him. “The children—Mistress Alice and Master Tommy—wanted a dog, but Master Alexander and Mistress Eleanor were reluctant. So, they made a deal with the kids. I would be their dog, and if they could take care of a ‘pet’ for one month, they could have a real dog.”

Daisy paused in her reminiscence, then continued. “I would always be on all fours, not allowed to speak, just whimper, whine and bark, kept in a dog crate in the back room. The children were responsible for feeding me, filling my water dish, walking me, and training me. I had to learn to eat dog food, since their parents wanted it to be realistic for them. The sight or smell of it still makes me retch.

“At first, they were very excited, training me to obey commands, heel, beg, play fetch, do tricks and so on. They would both take me for walkies around the neighborhood. Whenever we met someone walking a real dog, I had to sniff and lick the dog’s ass and let it sniff and mine. They gave me table scraps and treats when I pleased them. They would smack my nose or ass when they thought I was a ‘bad dog.’ They thought it was fun to have a doggy slave.

“After about two weeks, they began to get bored with their pet. I was left in the dog crate for hours, sometimes all day. I was punished for not being ‘housebroken.’ They neglected to feed me or refill my water dish. They argued over whose turn it was to walk or feed me.  At first, Master Alexander and Mistress Eleanor would just remind them to take care of ‘the dog.’ Their parents never interceded. I could barely crawl on the rare occasions I was let out of the dog crate. If I whimpered or whined, they would smack the crate and tell me to be quiet.

“When it was close to a month, I hadn’t been fed, watered or walked for days. I was lying in a puddle of my own piss in the dog crate.  I heard the parents debating about what to do with me. Mistress Eleanor said if I died, it would be a good lesson to the children about owning a pet. Especially because there were laws against neglect or cruelty to dogs.

“Master Alexander agreed but said it wasn’t worth losing the deposit if they just let me die in the dog crate. Besides, he missed using me for the things he wouldn’t do to his wife, or she wouldn’t allow him to do to her. So they brought the kids in, pointed to me and explained that if they let a dog die of neglect, they might be in serious trouble, and that they would not be getting a real dog now, because they almost let this ‘dog’ die. And that they were lucky because I was just a slave, not a dog. Mistress Eleanor supervised them feeding me, filling my water dish, exercising me, and I was soon doing my household chores and pleasing them like any house slave.”

Trig could hear the bitterness in her words, but she had been treated no worse than any slave might be; he had seen far worse from other masters and mistresses, who tortured slaves for their pleasure. Being a dog for a few weeks, even a neglected dog, seemed like a temporary unpleasantness. Some owners enjoyed training human pets, and kept a slave in “dog mode” continuously, for their amusement.

“Did everyone in the family use you?” he asked.

“Master Alexander was very fond of…oral sex, and Mistress Eleanor did not enjoy that. She gagged on his cock, he told me, and hated the taste of semen. And he never dared to ass-fuck her—husbands don’t do that to their wives. That’s what slaves are for.”

“Did you serve Eleanor?” Trig cautiously asked. He was aware of the hard edge in her tone, and didn’t want to push her to a place where he would be forced to discipline her.

“Mistress Eleanor enjoyed me licking her when Master Alexander was at work. Often, I couldn’t get my chores done because she wanted it so much, and then she punished me for that. Her pussy always tasted like piss,” she said with a sour expression.

“I see. Are you inclined towards women?” Trig asked.

“No,” she said firmly. Then added, “master.” She had been forgetting to add that word, lulled by Trig’s casual attitude.

“What about Alice and Tommy?”

“Alice was too young to have any interest in those things. I was Master Tommy’s first woman.”

Trig decided to ignore Dasy’s reference to herself as a “woman.” A woman was a free person of the female gender; Janice and Erika were women. Daisy was a female slave, a bitch, or sow if she was on a breeding farm. She would be cute with a big belly and swollen tits, he thought to himself, curled up in a little pen. But she was not a woman.

“What’s Alice like?” he asked.

“She’s very smart. She likes to read books and talk about big ideas. No one else in her family was like that. She was never cruel to me…she just didn’t understand how much power she had sometimes, or how to use it.” After a pause, Daisy shared a small secret with Trig. “She tried to teach me to read. She liked playing school, and she was the teacher, and I was the school girl, even though I was older.”

Trig was disturbed by Daisy’s casual confession; teaching a slave to read was expressly forbidden, and a slave suspected of such knowledge could be put to death. But did that law really apply to a child’s game with a family slave? He doubted it. Trig was about to ask her if she could read, but stopped himself. Better not to know.

With a light slap on her ass, Trig told her to make the bed and clean up his room while he took a shower. “Mathias wants me to bring you to the staff meeting after lunch. Do you know what that’s about?”

Daisy stiffened at his words, but Trig did not notice. “No master.” Indeed, she did not know, but had a pretty good idea. Her stomach sank.

While he showered, she made his bed, folded and put away his clothes, and tidied up his room. She licked up a few crumbs from the breakfast plate, and looked at the burrito in the trash can. If it had been in pieces, she might have stolen a few nibbles…but it was whole, and its disappearance, or even a bite taken out of it, was too risky. Slaves knew there was no such thing as “proportionate punishment.” Any disobedience or disrespect, no matter how minor, could result in anything from a spanking, to whipping, severe torture, even execution. It made it impossible for a slave to play the odds or calculate the risks and rewards. The burrito in the trash could cost her an agonizing death. Daisy had seen slaves killed for less, once for merely drinking water from a trough before his master’s horse, drowned in the same trough. She put the temptation out of her mind.

Finished with her housekeeping, Daisy knelt, waiting for Trig. When he finished his shower, she helped him dress, holding his clothing for him, bending to tie his shoes. As Trip opened the door, he told Daisy to heel. She fell in behind him following him down the hall, her mind racing, wondering what awaited her.