Acquisition

I was a couple of miles upstream and another couple inland. There are several overgrown dirt tracks back here in the woods. When they put the highway through about thirty years ago it cut off access, which is fine by me - miles from anywhere and the whole place to myself. Perfect for my morning nature walk. I got skunked again, didn't see much to shoot, but I took a few shots anyway. Two days ago I came upon a fox. Critter just sat there like a house dog watching me watch him. I walked slowly toward him, firing away. Unfortunately I had my little pocket rocket of a camera, which means it was slow to focus and slower to save the shots, but I got a few keepers.

I was on a cleared track, a right-of-way over a buried gas pipeline. They come through a couple of times a year to clear the debris, I guess to ensure access in case of an incident. Off to the right was another swath of cleared land. Why it was cleared I had no idea, but now it was chest deep in thick grass. I like walking that path in winter, but with the grass, I avoid it. Snakes, you know. The theory is that the snake will sense the vibrations of your footfalls and slither off, but that's a theory I was in no hurry to test, being several miles from home and all. But today there were tracks - wide, tire tracks that had laid the grass more or less flat. I headed in.

The tracks wound through the grass and came up against the edge of the woods. Only one set, so I guess the guy had turned and retraced his route. The path led into the trees for about a hundred feet, then became more and more overgrown, then became a game trail that led down to the creek. I'd seen a truck parked here once, probably six years ago, probably a hunter. Truth is I can count on one hand the times I've run into someone out here in the past ten years. You can get back here, but it takes determination and 4WD. I stepped into the woods.

There wasn't much to see, so I turned and walked right by it before my brain registered its presence. I turned back.

It was a tube, a black plastic tube or hose. And I noticed the ground around it was disturbed. The bed of leaves was a different shade than the surrounding area, darker compared to their paler cousins. I placed my hand over the tube, then bent my ear to it. There was definitely air flow. Faint, but steady. Little puffs of air on my cheek. I scraped away the leaves.

There was a dark outline of freshly turned dirt a couple of feet wide and maybe six feet long. I clawed at the dirt. It came away easily enough. I got about a foot down when I hit something hard. Some more scratching revealed a stretch of plywood. I continued scraping out dirt until I had the whole thing exposed.

Something, or more probably, someone was in here - and he or she was alive.

The ply was held in place with screws. I pulled the multi-tool from its pouch, flipped open the philips head screwdriver and got to work. The multi-tool is great. It does everything - just nothing particularly well. I took several minutes to remove the dozen screws. But the wood still wouldn't move. Then I noticed the glob, several globs about the edge. Sealant of some kind. I traded the philips for the knife.

I worked slowly and carefully. I didn't know how much clearance I had. The box seemed awfully small. But I managed to run the blade all around the edge. When I lifted it it still was stuck.

"Damn!"

I realized the tube was also sealed in place and it was attached inside somehow.

I raised the wood enough to get my hand in there. Had a bit of a fright when I touched warm flesh. I probed a bit. The tube was fastened with straps to a face. I carefully slid the knife between the person's mouth and the lid and sliced the tube. I pulled off the sheet of wood.

It was a girl. A naked girl bound hand and foot. A rope attached her wrists to her ankles. She winced. Even in the deep shade of the woods, I imagine it was something of a shock seeing the light of day. Wincing was good. It told me she was alive and conscious.

I reached in, sat her up, sliced the straps that held the tube in her mouth. I chucked it aside.

"You okay?"

She nodded, licked her lips.

"Yes, Master."

Those two words answered all my questions, even ones I hadn't thought of, and raised a couple of more.

I cut the rope binding her ankles. It would be easier to haul her out by her bound wrists. And I did.

She was shivering, shaking violently. Even on this warm day, the earth would still be fairly cool. I wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out into the sun, sat down, pulled her back against me, shrugged off my windbreaker and draped it over her, hugging her to me.

Yes, Master. So much said with so few words.

First, she was okay. Second, she was not the victim of some violence. Whatever was going on was voluntary. Third, it wasn't some kinky game couples sometimes play. She had been left there to be found by someone else, by a stranger, someone she didn't know. Obviously, she didn't know me and, yet, called me master. And lastly, whoever found her owned her.

So many questions answered, but, still, the big question: What the hell was going on?

"How long have you been buried?"

"Don't know, Master. What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Three, no four days, I think."

Four days. No food or water. I keep two bottles in my fanny pack, I pulled one out, cracked the cap, held it up to her lips. After the first couple of sips she became frantic, tried to gulp it straight down.

"Easy. Just sip. When you finish this one I have another."

She nodded, but still tried to gulp. As she drank the tremors eased until she was sitting quietly in my arms.

"What's your name?"

"You haven't given me one yet, Master."

"What was your name?"

"Usually pig or cunt or slut."

"You don't have a given name?"

"Uh uh. Just a number."

"A number?"

"I was number five."

I keep a few granola bars in the pack. I pulled one out, unwrapped it, broke off a piece and fed it to her. I cracked open the other bottle and fed her sips between bites.

"Listen, I'm not who you were expecting. But, then again, you didn't know who to expect, did you?"

She swallowed and shook her head.

"No, Master."

I fed her the last of the bar and the rest of the second bottle of water.

"I don't know what's going on, but if I hadn't come along there's a good chance you would have died. I don't know who he was, but I'd rather not meet him or any of his cronies. I think we need to get out of here."

I contemplated freeing her wrists, but she was still very weak. I fastened the windbreaker around her neck like a cape and hoisted her up piggyback style.

"Tell me about it."

"He didn't want me anymore."

"No. Wait. Back up. Tell me the whole story."

"I'm a slave. I was born that way."

"Born that way?"

"Yes. Poor women are paid to have babies. The babies are raised to be slaves, to be purchased, property. "

"Okay. Start from the beginning. You have no name?"

"Number five. I was the fifth of eight my age. Each year they added my age to the number, so I was five one, five two, five three, like that."

"There were others?"

"Yes. We lived in what you might call an orphanage until we were ten."

"Ten? If you had eight in your group, then there must have been, what, eighty children?"

"Mine was a large group. It was closer to fifty."

"And no one knew?"

"I'm sure someone did, people with money and power. People who can buy other people."

"Hm. Okay, go on."

"I was, er, adopted when I was ten. Not adopted, but sent to a kind of foster home. There was another girl."

"A girl from the orphanage?"

"No."

"Which means yours wasn't the only orphanage, as you call it."

"No."

"Go on. Here. Wait a sec."

I had come out to the pipeline right-of-way. I pulled off my boots and fit them onto her feet. The track is grassy and mossy. Walking in my thick, wool socks was no problem. It was a bit over two miles, a straight shot back to my place.

"Okay."

"She was owned, the woman I mean. We called them ma'am and sir, but she called him master. He had a candle company, had a real shop in the city, but we made candles in the basement, too. It did wonders for his profit margin."

"No offense, but you speak very well."

"I guess I'm well educated. Owners want more than just a body, more than just something for sex."

"Speaking of owners, what was your owner's name?"

"Jason. People called him Trey because he was Jason Whitfield the third."

"Okay. Go on. About the foster home?"

"It wasn't bad. We were well-fed, clothed. We even had birthdays. Well, we don't know our birthdays. All of us were "born" on January first. But they gave us gifts. Usually a new piece of clothing."

"Mornings we would prepare breakfast. Then after cleaning up we had school. Ma'am would give us a video to watch each night. It had two programs. One was the nightly PBS news and the other was an educational show. Everything from nature, to cooking, to gardening, to home repair, you know, the usual public broadcasting fare. During school Ma'am would quiz us. That was the first thing. Then we had reading, writing, and math. It was all practical application. She gave us three books, one for each subject, and, once we'd learned the subjects, we spent the rest of the time with real-world situations. We'd spend a half hour doing our morning quiz. A half hour doing math. A lot of it was accounting problems. We'd write or edit other writing for a half hour. And lastly we were given a book to read. That was our main source of entertainment throughout the day. During breaks we read."

"After school we worked in the shop, about six hours. When Sir came home, we'd make dinner and afterwards we'd work in the garden. That's what we did at the orphanage, mostly, gardening."

"How long did you live with them?"

"Six years."

"Six?"

"Yes. Yes, Master. I, er, meant no disrespect, Master. By not addressing your properly, I mean."

"No problem, just mind your manners."

"Yes, Master."

Truth be told, I was kind of warming to the idea of having a cute little slave girl. She was beautiful by anybody's standard. Petite, maybe five-three. Tits that were more than a handful. An ass that was way more than a handful, but she wasn't bottom-heavy by any means. And everything jiggled nicely as she walked. Her chestnut hair was in a ponytail.

"Go on."

"Yes, Master. When I was sixteen I was sent to what you might call a finishing school. It was for sex training."

"There was no sex before that?"

"No. We were virgins."

"Virginity is overrated."

"Yes, Master. Anyway, I was assigned to another girl, kind of a mentor. I called her "slave" because she had completed her training and was available for purchase."

"And you were, what?, sixteen five."

"Five sixteen, Master. She was seventeen and worked in the brothel. I got to watch. There were mirrors everywhere, two-way mirrors and secret passages. And whenever she was selected I'd be hidden away watching her. And then there was the device."

"Device? What was that?"

"Training device, Master. It was a metal base with a vertical shaft. Mounted to it was a horizontal shaft, a rubber penis. There was a button above it and I had to learn to take the shaft in my mouth and press the button with my nose. I had another shaft in my bottom and it had electrical contacts on it and if I didn't do the exercise properly I'd get a shock. There were different exercises. At first it was just a matter of taking the shaft in my mouth and pressing the button. But then I had to learn to work my mouth back and forth and keep pressing the button so many times in so many seconds. Other times I had to keep the shaft down my throat for at least a minute. It was meant to simulate various forms of fellatio."

"I had similar exercises for anal sex. I hung a bar, kind of like a plastic ruler, over the button and would have to work the shaft in and out of me from behind, press the bar with my bottom. The electric probe was in my vagina. It was small, about finger size, so it didn't break my hymen."

"Interesting. Go on."

"I started with a small shaft, not much bigger than your finger, but after about a month I'd progressed up to one that was about twice the size of the so-called average penis. The point being that once I'd learned to accommodate that, I'd be able to please any owner."

"No intercourse?"

"No, Master. When I was seventeen I was given a girl to mentor and I went to work in the brothel. I became officially a slave. The first night several wealthy men showed up to bid on the new batch of virgins."

"Hm."

"Also during the first year, Master, we got mods, modifications. I had my wisdom teeth out, was fitted with braces, and had a bit of a nose job. One girl had two ribs removed to give her a smaller waist. A couple of girls had boob jobs. I was happy it was just my teeth and my nose."

"I don't want to make light of it, but it doesn't seem to have been all that horrible. It's not like you were kidnapped and sold off. You weren't abused, were you?"

"No, Master. We were always treated well. And it's the only life I know. This," she gestured around, "isn't real to me. It's alien. It's like a foreign land where I don't belong."

"Would you want to be free?"

"No, Master, I don't think so. I don't think I could be."

"Why?"

"Well, technically, I don't exist. No birth certificate, no driver's license, no social security card, no passport."

"Those things can be gotten."

"Yes, Master, I guess so."

"And still you'd rather be owned?"

"Do you not want me, Master?"

"Me? Like I said, I was not the person you expected. This is a bit of a shock to me, I'll admit, but I'm warming to the idea."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master"

"Speaking of not what you expected, tell me about that fuck, Jason. You know he left you to die."

"Yes, Master."

"You knew! And you went along with it?"

"There was no other choice. He owned me. If he decided to dispose of me," she shrugged, "that was his right. Besides, how could I resist?"

"I don't get it, but go on. What's his story?"

"I was a graduation gift, high school. His father felt that having a girl available would help him focus on his college studies. I mean if he was getting all the sex he wanted he wouldn't be so, er, distracted."

"He set me up in an apartment near campus, the father I mean, Jason senior. Actually, for a couple of months, he made use of me. And he was good to me. Bought me nice things, teated me like a mistress. Trey was a different story. A typical spoiled brat. Not like his father who actually knew the value of something. He joined a fraternity and made me available to his frat brothers."

"After college, he made me his secretary. His father set him up in business and I ran the office. They are in the import/export business, so it was just me and a phone and a computer. He never came to the office. I was pretty much just a body to answer calls and collect mail. He spent his time doing deals or gambling, but given the nature of the business, it amounted to the same thing."

"So what happened? I mean, why did he want to get rid of you?"

"His father decided he needed to get serious about his life, decided he needed a wife, start a family."

"And you didn't fit into that picture."

"No, Master."

"And he just, essentially, threw you away."

"He's very possessive. If he couldn't have me, no one would."

"What a prick. What a total fucking prick."

We'd reached the ravine. It was only a couple of hundred yards to my place. I pulled the boots from her feet and slipped into them.

"I live over there. You can see the tip of my chimney. Stay here. I shouldn't be long, maybe twenty minutes. Okay?"

"Yes, Master."

"By the way, how old are you?"

"Twenty-six, Master, give or take."

I headed down the ravine, glanced back. She looked lovely, naked beneath the windbreaker, wrists bound, kneeling in the dappled shade, just lovely.

Revenge

It took almost a half hour and when I got back to the spot she was gone. I felt a moment of panic, but when I stepped out of the truck she appeared from behind a rock.

I settled her on the floor by the passenger seat. I didn't have a plan yet, but I didn't want to advertise five twenty-six's presence to my neighbors. Five twenty-six?

"You need a name. Pick something."

"Master?"

"A name, woman. Pick a name for yourself."

"Lisa, Master."

"Lisa?"

"Yes, Master. I don't laugh a lot, but when I smile I kind of look like the Mona Lisa."

"Okay, then, Lisa it is."

Getting into the woods was easier than getting out, but I managed with only a bit of bumping and scraping. I pulled into my driveway, thumbed the remote. The door rolled up and I rolled into the garage.

In the house, I removed the windbreaker and untied her wrists.

"Bathroom's in there. Take a shower. Towels are in the closet. There's a fresh toothbrush under the sink in the plastic bucket. I'll make something to eat."

"Yes, Master."

Lisa padded off. What a great ass. Man! Don't get me wrong, I love tits as much as the next guy, but if there was a Wiki entry for the perfect, female ass, it would have her picture.

I threw together a quick soup, kind of a chicken curry thing with rice and veggies. Lisa came into the kitchen just as it was coming to a boil.

"Won't be but a few minutes. I like my veggies cooked, but not mush."

"Yes, Master."

I poured a glass of wine. Yeah, it was only nine a.m., but, hey, it's five o'clock somewhere.

"Tell me about the prick."

"What about him, Master?"

"He has money, right?"

"Yes, Master."

"How much, and where is it?"

"About a half million in cash in a secret spot in the bedroom closet, and roughly two million in his bank accounts. A bit more."

"Whoa! A half a mil in cash? In his house?"

"Yes, Master."

"Lisa, talk to me. Don't let's play twenty questions, okay?"

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master. He likes to gamble and he keeps his cash in a valise in a false ceiling in the closet. A couple of times a year we go to Vegas and he takes about half."

"And he wins?"

"No, Master. But he plays cards every Wednesday and he's pretty good at it. That and I think there's some kind of payoff going on. Business partners slipping him a few bucks. Or in this case a few thousand."

"And he plays cards on Wednesday? Tomorrow? At his place?"

"No, Master. Wednesday is his golf day. He leaves at around noon, plays a round of golf, has a few drinks, then goes to his club."

"Club?"

"Yes, Master, a private club. I've been there. They allow women in on Thursday and he took me there on Thursday nights for dinner sometimes. He spends the night there on Wednesdays. They have rooms upstairs. So, he'll play cards until who knows when, then crash there."

"So he won't be home tomorrow? Do you have the key to his place?"

"No master, but I know where the spare is hidden. And I know the security codes. He uses the year and month with a four in the middle."

"So it would be, what?, 1247?"

"07, Master."

"Go on."

"The key is hidden under a plant. At least I think it is. He told me it was there, but I've never seen it. It's the third plant to the left when you go through the back gate."

"Back gate?"

"It's a condo. Two long buildings, actually. Back to back with an access road between them. The driveways are there on the back side and each unit has a small courtyard."

"So we have the access code and the key and he won't be there tomorrow?"

"No, Master."

"Excellent!"

"Master? There are the bank accounts."

"Oh, right, you mentioned that. But I don't see any way to get at them, although I'd love to."

"You can, Master."

"Oh?"

"He does his banking on-line and he has an address book in his computer bag with the accounts and passwords."

"Won't he have the bag with him?"

"No, Master. Wednesday is his day off. He works six days a week. He may be a prick, but he's a hard-working prick."

She shot me a look.

"Sorry Master."

"Go on. About those accounts."

"Yes, Master. He has the account numbers in the address book listed alphabetically in amongst the other entries. Just the initials and an account number, kind of makes it look like a phone number. In the back of the book are passwords. There are no names, but he lists them in reverse alphabetical order."

"But the bank names aren't there either?"

"No, Master, but I know them."

Lisa glanced over at the stove and I realized I'd become distracted.

"Sorry."

I dished out the soup and watched her eat.

We talked about her life with the prick, about the orphanage, the foster home, about the prick's money some more. After her second bowl of soup, I led her down the hall and tucked her into bed.

I have a set of fuzzy handcuffs and I snicked them onto her wrists. I retrieved a length of chain and a couple of padlocks from the garage and locked the chain around her ankle and to the bed frame. Why? I don't know. I guess I have a kinky bent and it seemed in keeping with the situation. And she looked so damned good chained and naked in my bed.

I climbed into the truck and headed for the city. It was as she'd described. A newish development with a half dozen buildings, situated in pairs with a narrow road separating them. I rolled slowly by his place. Just as I approached, a monster 4WD backed out. I hit the horn. He flipped me off. I couldn't help but smile.

Have a nice day, prick.

I was tempted to go in, but I wanted to sit with Lisa one more time to make sure I hadn't missed something. She was still a bit befuddled from her ordeal, so I'd cool my jets 'til tomorrow.

I'm glad I did.

"Cameras?"

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry. I forgot about them."

"Outside and inside?"

"Both, yes, Master."

"Okay, then, time for plan B."

Plan B wasn't much different than plan A. I would need another vehicle and a disguise of sorts.

I had already planned for the disguise. I swung by the used uniform place and bought your basic blue pants and white, striped shirt, and a ball cap. Then I went to the costume rental shop and bought a beard, told the gal it was beard day at work.

I decided I didn't need another vehicle. My truck is pretty common. I removed my license plate, then made a cardboard sign that said Tag Stolen and then listed a bogus registration number.

I threw a ladder and my tool box into the bed and headed back to town. Lisa lay curled up on the floor next to me just in case there were any last minute surprises. I threw a blanket over her.

At the condo the number Lisa had given me let me into the courtyard. I hefted my ladder and tool box and stepped in. I found the third plant, but no key. It took a moment to realize the roots had grown through the hole in the bottom of the pot and when I dug into them I was rewarded with a bit of tarnished brass.

I disabled the house security, went into the garage, and flipped the electrical breaker, killing the cameras.

Things went pretty simply from there. The closet had a panel that looked like attic access. It wasn't. I found the valise and, sure enough, there was a pile of cash inside, mostly hundreds.

Thanks, prick.

In his office, I booted his laptop computer. The address book was there and I had the list of bank names Lisa had given me. I have an LLC. Why? Seemed like a good idea at the time. Had a bank account in its name. Never used it. But now it came in handy. It would take a court order to find me and given I was using the prick's computer and his access codes to move the money, well, I didn't see that happening. Try explaining to the judge exactly how the money was stolen using your computer and your secret codes.

Still, I had plan C. Close to three million dollars? Shoot. I'd be set for life. Use cash. No one would find me. Belize was starting to look very good.

I moved the money.

I flipped the power mains, grabbed my ladder and tool box, stepped out onto the back porch, and damn near shit my pants.

There was the monster 4WD just turning the corner and headed my way.

I let myself out of the gate just as the prick pulled up.

He stepped out of the truck.

"What are you doing?"

"Gutters," I said pointing at the building. "Association wants 'em checked. Part of your service contract."

"How'd you get in?"

"Hm?"

"Get in. How did you get into my courtyard?"

"Oh. That. Computer. The locks are part of the security system. Ties in with the main system."

I slipped the ladder into the bed of the truck, tossed in the tool box.

"It's not part of any system. I installed it".

"Yeah, but the company has a contract with the condo HOA. A courtesy thing. You know in case there's a fire or something. That way you can change your code, but don't have to keep telling them. They know. Wireless."

I opened the truck door. He was looking at my shirt.

"Bob," I said. "Nice to meet you."

He didn't answer.

I climbed in, started the truck, and pulled into the alley. I resisted the urge to peel out. I drove slowly past the next unit, stopped at the one after, got out of the truck, looked around, put on a show, climbed back in, turned the corner and sped off, heart racing. I ripped the blanket from Lisa.

"Plays golf!"

"I'm sorry Master."

"What the fuck happened to plays golf then goes and plays cards?"

"I'm sorry, Master. I don't know!"

I wove through traffic, driving hard, tore on to the interstate and headed north. I live south. I'd take the state road back to home.

"His putter!"

"What? Is that what the kids call it now days? I don't need any frickin' euphemisms here."

Yes I was a bit ticked, but I was also relieved, and a bit giddy. I could see the humor in the situation.

"His putter, Master. He likes to practice putting in the den. He probably forgot his putter."

There were jokes about men being attached to their putters, but I passed.

"It's okay."

An hour later we were parked by the hole in the woods.

"Was I really in there?"

"Yeah. Here, help me fix the lid and fill in the hole. He may suspect you and I don't want it being real obvious. If everything is like he left it, he may figure someone else ripped him off. Grab the lid."

She did. We scraped in the dirt, used a branch to scatter leaves. It looked about as I had found it, but I began seeing holes in the plan. Not big holes, but mistakes I'd made, like not wearing gloves in his place. I've never been arrested, but who's to say my prints aren't in a file someplace? That and Lisa would be the only one to know the bank names. And even though the money was probably safe, wealth brought power and certain privileges. Money would change hands, names would be revealed.

"So, Lisa, how do you feel about Belize?"

 

30.06.12