It's a work of fiction, and all participants are over 18 years of age.
***
Raindrops on roses,
And whiskers on kittens,
Bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens.
Brown paper packages, wrapped up with string.
These are a few of my favorite things.
-A few of my favorite things (Rodgers and Hammerstein)
***
Julie Andrews was so cute as Maria, but if I sang the song, I would sing some very different lyrics. Leather, soft supple polished leather, would be prominently featured. Made into cuffs, blindfolds and pumps... And I need something much stronger than string to bind be as I am toyed with and fucked. Needles, nice sharp ones, they are fun too, and they have so many uses.
I am Four, it is my legal first name now. It's on my Missouri Commercial Drivers Licence along with a last name that I use only for the requirements of my job. In conversation with those who know me I am simply "Four," in our frequent playtime I am "Slave Four," or more formally "Slave Girl Four - Property of Master Joe."
In my mind, in both of my hearts, the muscle in my chest and the heart of indelible ink in my dermis atop that muscle, I am truly the owned property of Master Joe. There are other names and symbols, those of my family, inked in my pale Celtic dermis as well.
Five is my best friend and fellow slave girl, her number is one of those engraved forever in my dermis. So are the numbers of Two, Three, Six and Seven. Of One and Eight... Master Dan owns Two and Three, Master Ben owns Five and Seven. Five and I recruited Six for my master, Joe. One and Eight belong to our boss Master Jake. These dozen people are my whole world.
In high school Mr. Humprey taught that a story has a beginning and a middle and an end. I will start near the beginning, when I came to live here as Master Joe's first slave girl. It is a beautiful place; four acres on a dead end street backing to a wildlife preserve in a valley south of the community college. We have four large bedrooms, a nice communal room with a big kitchen on the main floor, and a well equipped dungeon downstairs.
We have mature trees that shield our home from neighbors, high privacy fences, and a nice big outdoor swimming pool that's normally usable five months a year here in Kirkwood, a western suburb of Saint Louis. We also have several large wooden posts sunk into the ground around that pool and its deck, and lots of tiki torches to keep the mosquitoes from distracting the helpless slave girls who are often bound to those posts.
We have a large detached garage and a gravel parking area for the big over the road trucks, called tractors, that we operate. It's 31 hours to 'Frisco or Seattle, 27 to El-Lay from here. We run three teams of three, a master and two slave girls out west each week. Saturday and Sunday everyone is here in Saint Louis. Wednesday nine of us are on the coast and then we come back. It's actually a fun way to live.
When I came to live here at 'home,' I already belonged to Joe in my heart. Five, she had a different name back then, was my best friend at Horton Watkins High School where we majored in Vodka and minored in Bourbon. We had fun, rarely studied and were always 'socially promoted,' it was easier for them than talking to our affluent parents. We found Merrimac Community College to be a just a tad difficult, likely because we had stopped paying attention to our teachers in eighth grade or thereabouts.
We met brothers Joe and Ben at the college. Ben took a liking to Five and made her his. She and I had been 'gay together' in high school so it was so cool finding two confident put-together dudes who were brothers and were into intense sex games, even if they did make us stop drinking. We were taking business classes, at Merrimac, we would certainly not make it as doctors. But my dad made a ton of money doing something called Commercial Paper for a bank or an investment company or someplace. He is totally clueless, so how hard could business be.
Joe and Ben's older brother Dan had already graduated and was working for Jake, their dad. They were owner-operators who ran two trucks to Texas and the Great Lakes with five drivers. With four trucks and nine drivers they could bid on and win longer, more profitable runs. We got ourselves CDLs and joined them. Now we run three trucks to the west coast each week.