This is the continuation of Sofia's story, the teacher sentenced to 7 years of slavery and 500 lashes for vehicular manslaughter, and Miguel, her owner. The story takes place in contemporary Portugal but in an alternative reality.
This story takes place after the events described in "Don't Drink and Drive" and "Sex on the Beach" and is set in the universe I created in the "Portuguese Crime Reduction Act." Although it could be included in the original series, I thought it would be better to present it as a separate and independent story. To better understand the universe that I am creating, I recommend that you read all my stories. If I have the time, I will continue to write more.
In this part, I also open the doors to new stories, in the same universe.
I would appreciate it if you could comment and give your opinions and suggestions.
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Sofia Pov.
TRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIM! TRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIMM!
08:00 am, the bell rang to call the students for the first class of the day. It had already been one of the most intense days of my life, but so far, the balance was positive. Despite the welts from the first 6 lashes of my 500-lash sentence still throbbing on my breasts, buttocks, stomach, and back, and the rollercoaster of emotions that had been the previous two hours, I found myself once again inside a classroom as a teacher. I was to serve my sentence, but I also knew that I wouldn't have to do it alone. Miguel had shown that he was more than just my owner; perhaps "Patron" would be a more fitting term for him.
My students began to enter the classroom. I had been absent for three days, and everyone knew why. Some of the students and their families had been present during my trial and subsequent sentencing. Most of them had testified on my behalf, and I suspect their testimonies played a part in my relatively lenient sentence. A few had also witnessed the enslavement ceremony where I was stripped naked in the courtroom, and then uttered the words:
"I, Sofia Daniel Santos, deemed a slave by the ruling of this court in accordance with the law of the Portuguese Republic, do hereby submit to Miguel Mourato as my master and rightful owner. I am bound by this oath to obey his will in all matters pertaining to me, abandoning my own desires and serving him with both body and mind to the utmost of my capabilities."
Most of them were surprised to see me, many were whispering, possibly having witnessed the display Miguel had made by parading me on a leash on the coffee shop and inside the school.
"Good morning, let's take attendance." I glanced around the classroom and didn't spot any empty seats, but it was a ritual meant to interrupt the chatter of recess and signal the start of the lesson.
"Ana Guerra?" "Here." "Antonio Ribeiro?" "Here." This chant continued until I finally called out the last name, "Xavier Mata?" "Here."
My 20 students from class A1 were all present, I had two more classes, A2 and A3, all students in their 12th grade. By the time students reach the 12th grade, they are usually from classes A or B; the most troublesome ones either get transferred to different schools or give up on education without even attempting to enter university.
I chose to silence the whispers and rumors before starting the lesson. "As you all know, I was involved in a car accident where a young man died, leading me to be sentenced to seven years of slavery and 500 lashes. However, this changes nothing between us; I still remain your teacher. The only difference now is that I must wear this collar and am owned by the gentleman some of you saw this morning, walking me on a leash."
I peered upon their faces, knowing that soon the questions would arise, some easier to answer than others.
Isabel Matos, the class representative and also the president of the student association, stood up and spoke in a formal tone. It's challenging to be formal at 17, but she straightened herself up and said.
"You are is our best teacher, and both as a student representative and on a personal level, I am very pleased that you will continue to be our teacher." Her words almost made me cry.
"Stora Why did that evil man have a leash on you? did you try to run away?" It was a question from a small shy girl in the back, it was a hard question.
"No Vanessa I didn't try to escape, and Miguel is not a bad man; on the contrary, the leash is just a ceremonial thing. It serves to show everyone that I am a slave and belong to that man and no one else." My answer was not really true, the leash served two purposes: it humiliated me but also protected me. Being Miguel's slave meant I couldn't be approached by other men. But every time I had to use the leash in public, I felt humiliated.
Carlos Braz raised his hand, and I nodded to indicate he could speak. "Miss, you told us that slavery is an outdated system of labor organization, but are we now back to having slaves?" The question was relevant since Portugal had abolished slavery in mainland Portugal since the 18th century, but unfortunately, it was making a comeback. I wasn't referring to cases like mine involving judicial slaves, but rather to the hordes of immigrants from Southwest Asia and Africa who, despite being free, were virtual slaves.
"It's a very interesting question, Carlos, my situation doesn't fit into the work organization; it's a punishment for a crime, it has no impact on the economy, but wouldn't it be good if you and your colleagues thought about the consequences of having 20% of the population made up of slaves again, like in the 16th and 17th centuries? I want a written response to this question in the next class." The other students looked at Carlos with displeasure, but I was a good teacher, not for providing answers but rather for asking questions.
"Stora, I saw the way your owner exposed your breasts in the coffee shop. How can you allow him to abuse you? If he is a such a good man, he should not treat you like that, it is legalized rape, you should fight him."The girl speaking was Sara Messias, one of my most intelligent but also troublesome students. Looking at her, you wouldn't think she was a straight-A student. With her blue hair, piercings, and Left Bloc t-shirt, she was the leader of an anarchist environmentalist movement. She was either going to end up with a collar around her neck like me or, in parliament, maybe both.
"What you're telling me is that you accept your situation voluntarily, how can anyone accept slavery voluntarily?" Sara was putting me in a position of moral weakness that could undermine my authority as a teacher.
"Yes, Sara, I accepted this sentence with all its bad but also its good, it was a voluntary choice All slaves made the same choice I did; I chose to be a judicial slave and not a prisoner or a corpse. Others in the past have chosen to be slaves on sugar cane plantations instead of being killed in a gruesome way. The choice is never easy, but there is always a choice. Perhaps you would have chosen differently; I hope you never have to." She was not convinced.
"How can you insinuate that slavery is the responsibility of the slaves, and what good can there be in slavery?" It wasn't a question but an accusation. For Sara, everything was black and white, but life was grey.
"I never said that slaves are responsible for slavery, but that it's an individual's choice when placed in a situation where they have to make that choice. I had to make that choice after being convicted for the death of a boy; others had to make that choice after being defeated in battle. And yes, there are good things in slavery; for me, being able to have this conversation with you is a good thing, preferable to being locked in a 6-square-meter cell." She gave me a condescending smile.
"I like you, Stôra, but no one should be enslaved," Sara said.
"Did you want Stôra to be in prison? Dahh!" Said a boy, but I couldn't tell if it was Mario Brás or Tiago Sá.
It was a hard conversation to have. What would be the most painful choice? And which one is the most honorable? I myself did not know yet; other students gave their opinions, and I decided to end it and switch to teaching history as I was supposed to do.
"Kids, No more talking about me! We were talking about post-World War II in Europe and the effects it had on the world order... Vasco, pay attention. Stop playing with your cell phone, and you too Isabel." They got faces red as peppers, and I continued my lesson talking about the importance of the colonial empires to europe, and how USA and URSS removed the old colonial powers to better exploit the resources of 3rd world countries, and how oil and other resources are located in all the major conflict areas of the world.
"We must end oil to get peace." Sara interrupted.
"And how do we do that? Sara, any Ideas?" If history teaches us anything, it is that there will always be a need for another scarce resource be it oil, coal or water. What would Sara's solution be?
"The government and the EU should ban Oil and gas, all cars should run on electricity only." Sara and her kind never stop to think about how electric energy is produced.
"That is a great idea, I want you all to write an essay about the quantity of power 4 million cars use and where can we get clean alternatives to gas and oil. We will read and debate the best essays next time." It was going to be an interesting debate, and they will learn better than from any textbooks why electric cars are a fraud.
TRIIIIMMMMM! The bell rang and all the kids started to leave the classroom, "Vasco, Isabel I need to talk to both of you!"
"Why Stôra?" Isabel asked in a shy voice.
"Because you two were messing around with your cellphones in class, can I see them?" They were very embarrassed.
"It is private... you can't..." Vasco Anjos protested feebly.
"Here, stôra, take mine... but it is... gross... It wasn't me." Isabel gave me her cell phone, almost crying, while Vasco was looking for a hole to crawl into.
I took Isabel's Phone and looked into her WhatsApp, there I saw the messages, pictures of me naked from the court, some messages, and a dick pic of Vasco
(See your role-model's tities I bet they are better than yours.)
(Stop it creep)
(image of a penis)
(See I showed you mine; you can show yours.)
(Pervert)
Isabel was crying, I took her apart. Isabel, you didn't do anything wrong, don't cry. Vasco and I will talk about what happened. Give me a strong hug."
"Stôra, he... I think he likes me... but I...he is a jerk!" She hugged me tightly.
