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Elena - Ball and Chains

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Elena - Ball and Chains

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Elena sat in the barn she shared with her fellow field slaves and contemplated the ball - the ball that slowed her work each day and made it harder for her to meet quota, the ball she'd worn - along with a pair of equally-hindering shackles - for almost four months now. Yes - almost four months since she was released from the pillory, very nearly four months since the worst lashing of her slaveborn life, and four months exactly since she'd tried to run away.

Honestly, she still wasn't sure what had come over her. Maybe it was to do with her sister having been sold last year - Maria had always been the more sensible of the two of them. Or perhaps it had been to do with that ugly overseer who seemed to think his position came with more perks than were in the job description - he'd picked on her quite a bit after she wouldn't stop working to service him. (And he'd been even worse when she returned to the fields, whipping her hard whenever the ball slowed her down and brooking no refusal to his demands - until the other week whe he'd tried the same tricks on a girl whose mother had once been the mistress's handmaid and found himself dismissed without reference or pay. Her happiest day all year.)

But such things were hardly uncommon in slavery. Martin had barely complained when his brother was sold a few years back, and they were like twins! Jane had been given to Arthur as a wife even though she had no interest in the touch of men, just because the mistress thought them suited - they were happy enough, although that might be because he only lay with her to get her with child. And Maria had once been whipped nearly as hard as Elena's recent time for something she hadn't done at all, with barely a token apology when the true culprit was uncovered - yet even after that she maintained to Elena the importance of obedience, going to her own sale with much regret but no attempt at resistance.

No, Elena had to face facts - the problem was with her. A sudden fit of madness - she'd heard doctors had some fancy word for it, but she could only remember it started with a D. She had been sent away from the field on an errand - she really couldn't remember what - and on the way back she just happened to pass a gap in the bramble hedge that grew around the estate. When she and Maria had been young, they had sometimes tried to wriggle through those gaps for fun, and for some reason Elena had felt the urge to see if she still fit. And after it turned out she did - just barely - well, that was when she took leave of her senses altogether, and instead of returning through the gap set out along the side of the road.

Looking back, Elena really had no idea what her plan was - if she'd even had any. The most she could recall was a nostalgic desire to see Maria, but given that she had no idea where her sister had been sold to, it could hardly have been realsied. (And even then, what - plead with Maria's new mistress to buy her, or try and lure her obedient sister away?) In any case, her grand escape amounted to following the roadside until she got tired (not long, after a hard day's work), ducking into the woods as the sun set, failing to find anything edible-looking, somehow getting to sleep even though the ground outside was a lot less comfortable than her usual spot in the barn, and being woken by a gaggle of local lads who made good sport of her body before dragging her back home by a rope to face the music.

It was quite obvious that her owners would be displeased, of course, and her escorts had voiced many speculations as to her possible fate, from broken limbs to their hoped-for scenario of her being sold to a brothel in town. (One particularly imaginative one had brought up crucifixion, as the Romans sometimes did with runaway slaves, but even in her fearful state Elena had known better than to take him seriously.) In the end, forty lashes, a branding and a week alternating between the pillory in the daytime and the stocks at night was perhaps better than she could have hoped for (which was not to say easy to endure), and she barely even heard the part about her being "secured in irons' thereafter.

But it had been four months since then. Four months in which the whipmarks on her back had long faded to only the odd scar - covered over by fresh welts, because in shackles she couldn't pick fast enough. Four months in which the aches of the pillory had passed, but her ankle got sorer each day. Four months in which she had been cut no slack, accorded no privileges, and generally treated like she deserved everything she got by pretty much everyone (her friends were just a bit nicer about it). And four months in which no-one had given any sign when the ball or chains were coming off - she had begun to fear they were as much permanent fixtures as the still-itchy brand of an R on her hip.

But really, if they were - if she wore them till the day she was buried - did she have anyone to blame but herself?
 
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montycrusto

Slave Trader
Elena - Ball and Chains

View attachment 820061
Elena sat in the barn she shared with her fellow field slaves and contemplated the ball - the ball that slowed her work each day and made it harder for her to meet quota, the ball she'd worn - along with a pair of equally-hindering shackles - for almost four months now. Yes - almost four months since she was released from the pillory, very nearly four months since the worst lashing of her slaveborn life, and four months exactly since she'd tried to run away.

Honestly, she still wasn't sure what had come over her. Maybe it was to do with her sister having been sold last year - Maria had always been the more sensible of the two of them. Or perhaps it had been to do with that ugly overseer who seemed to think his position came with more perks than were in the job description - he'd picked on her quite a bit after she wouldn't stop working to service him. (And he'd been even worse when she returned to the fields, whipping her hard whenever the ball slowed her down and brooking no refusal to his demands - until the other week whe he'd tried the same tricks on a girl whose mother had once been the mistress's handmaid and found himself dismissed without reference or pay. Her happiest day all year.)

But such things were hardly uncommon in slavery. Martin had barely complained when his brother was sold a few years back, and they were like twins! Jane had been given to Arthur as a wife even though she had no interest in the touch of men, just because the mistress thought them suited - they were happy enough, although that might be because he only lay with her to get her with child. And Maria had once been whipped nearly as hard as Elena's recent time for something she hadn't done at all, with barely a token apology when the true culprit was uncovered - yet even after that she maintained to Elena the importance of obedience, going to her own sale with much regret but no attempt at resistance.

No, Elena had to face facts - the problem was with her. A sudden fit of madness - she'd heard doctors had some fancy word for it, but she could only remember it started with a D. She had been sent away from the field on an errand - she really couldn't remember what - and on the way back she just happened to pass a gap in the bramble hedge that grew around the estate. When she and Maria had been young, they had sometimes tried to wriggle through those gaps for fun, and for some reason Elena had felt the urge to see if she still fit. And after it turned out she did - just barely - well, that was when she took leave of her senses altogether, and instead of returning through the gap set out along the side of the road.

Looking back, Elena really had no idea what her plan was - if she'd even had any. The most she could recall was a nostalgic desire to see Maria, but given that she had no idea where her sister had been sold to, it could hardly have been realsied. (And even then, what - plead with Maria's new mistress to buy her, or try and lure her obedient sister away?) In any case, her grand escape amounted to following the roadside until she got tired (not long, after a hard day's work), ducking into the woods as the sun set, failing to find anything edible-looking, somehow getting to sleep even though the ground outside was a lot less comfortable than her usual spot in the barn, and being woken by a gaggle of local lads who made good sport of her body before dragging her back home by a rope to face the music.

It was quite obvious that her owners would be displeased, of course, and her escorts had voiced many speculations as to her possible fate, from broken limbs to their hoped-for scenario of her being sold to a brothel in town. (One particularly imaginative one had brought up crucifixion, as the Romans sometimes did with runaway slaves, but even in her fearful state Elena had known better than to take him seriously.) In the end, forty lashes, a branding and a week alternating between the pillory in the daytime and the stocks at night was perhaps better than she could have hoped for (which was not to say easy to endure), and she barely even heard the part about her being "secured in irons' thereafter.

But it had been four months since then. Four months in which the whipmarks on her back had long faded to only the odd scar - covered over by fresh welts, because in shackles she couldn't pick fast enough. Four months in which the aches of the pillory had passed, but her ankle got sorer each day. Four months in which she had been cut no slack, accorded no privileges, and generally treated like she deserved everything she got by pretty much everyone (her friends were just a bit nicer about it). And four months in which no-one had given any sign when the ball or chains were coming off - she had begun to fear they were as much permanent fixtures as the still-itchy brand of an R on her hip.

But really, if they were - if she wore them till the day she was buried - did she have anyone to blame but herself?
Very interesting story! I like this plantation setting too :) Reminds me of those great Tibool works! :)
 

KageKamen

Executioner
Have you or want you writing more short stories, @KageKamen ?
Nothing of this length, but ou can check out m new thread
Or the bdsmlr linked in it for more of m writing.

Very interesting story! I like this plantation setting too :) Reminds me of those great Tibool works! :)
I do find his stuff on chainganggirls compelling, if somewhat bleak. So I suppose ou could call him an inspiration?
 

fallenmystic

Executioner
I also like such stories which allows us to glimpse into a slave girl's mind. We all love to abuse and degrade girls (such a strange thing to say, to think of it :p), but what always has fascinated me was the psychological impact such an ordeal may have on their mind.

And I particularly like the theme of ball and chains. I don't think I've read too many stories here which involve putting that particular restraints on girls. I also like to see girls securely tied, making them almost immobile. But sometimes I love such types of restraints which allow some degree of freedom, like leashes for example. With a ball and chains, a girl is always dragging the heavy weight of her ordeal wherever she go. It's a burden she has to carry around as long as she wears the chains, and its bulky feature serves as a visual symbol of her degraded status to all who can see her dragging the weight.

Aside from that, I liked the part which mentions the childhood play Elena used to play with her sister. I think such little details are what make us feel that the character is an actual human being, rather than a plot device employed as a pretext to introduce another whipping or crucifixion scene.

I wish you could invest some time to extend the story, or at least the theme someday so I could learn more of her life as a slave girl.
 

KageKamen

Executioner
I also like such stories which allows us to glimpse into a slave girl's mind. We all love to abuse and degrade girls (such a strange thing to say, to think of it :p), but what always has fascinated me was the psychological impact such an ordeal may have on their mind.
Indeed - and the fact I'm much better at writing reccolective exposition than actual scenes with action and dialouge is just coincidental. :naughty2:

And I particularly like the theme of ball and chains. I don't think I've read too many stories here which involve putting that particular restraints on girls. I also like to see girls securely tied, making them almost immobile. But sometimes I love such types of restraints which allow some degree of freedom, like leashes for example. With a ball and chains, a girl is always dragging the heavy weight of her ordeal wherever she go. It's a burden she has to carry around as long as she wears the chains, and its bulky feature serves as a visual symbol of her degraded status to all who can see her dragging the weight.
It was just chance that this image in perticualr fascinated me - buv I suppose it did suggest a failed runaway, which shaped the whole story.

A working slave needs mobility, but those in need of extra security might see some of that sacrificed - without a corresponding lighter workload.

I wish you could invest some time to extend the story, or at least the theme someday so I could learn more of her life as a slave girl.
I'll onsider it - although I admit it would be more likelu if this or mi ovher threads had more response. I envy you your ability to write without much feedback...
 

fallenmystic

Executioner
I envy you your ability to write without much feedback...
It's just because I'm such a loner that I'm used to it :p

Seriously though, I'm writing a story that exactly suits my own fetishes. Of course, I can't deny that I'd much love to have more people leaving comments in my thread. But I think my own satisfaction has been the strongest motivation for me to continue the story.

If I don't write it myself, who would write a story that much dehumanizing and filthy enough for me to enjoy? ;)
 
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KageKamen

Executioner
It's just because I'm such a loner that I'm used to it :p

Seriously though, I'm writing a story that exactly suits my own fetishes. Of course, I can't deny that I'd much love to have more people leaving comments in my thread. But I think my own satisfaction has been the strongest motivation for me to continue the story.

If I don't write it myself, who would write a story that much dehumanizing and filthy enough for me to enjoy? ;)
A good point - I admit I can sometimes derive that motivation as well. But getting it in postable shape from there... well, we'll see.
 
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