The last thing I clearly remember was Master shouting at me.
"Get in the fucking hole, you stupid bitch! You know what you've done wrong, I've just about had it with your stupid fucking mistakes!"

We were out on Master’s estate, and ‘the hole’ seemed to be some kind of drainage outlet. I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes, but I knew he was mad as hell, and was not going to back down on this. So I sat down on the grass, put my feet into the round hole, and lowered myself in. My feet sank into about a foot of muddy water at the bottom, and the brick-lined sides seemed to be only inches from my naked body. As I looked up, I saw Master lowering the heavy iron drainage cover back into place.

"You'd better hope it doesn't rain too much tonight, slut." With that, he dropped the cover into place above me with a resounding clang. I let out a sobbing wail as the darkness enveloped me.

I don't know how long I was down there before I realised that the bottom of the shaft joined a large drainage pipe. Maybe if I crawled along it, I could find a way out! It had to be better than spending the next 12 hours standing here, freezing my butt off.

I crawled along that tunnel for I don't know how long, before it suddenly emerged into a room with bare brick walls, illuminated by a single naked lightbulb. I looked around in some confusion - was I back in Master's mansion? I certainly didn't recognise this place, but it had to be some kind of sub-subbasement or something. I got out of the pipe and stood up, moving cautiously towards the stairs I could see at the other end of the room. As I reached the bottom of the stairs the door at the top opened, and looking down at me was one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen!

With close-cropped dark hair and alabaster-white skin, she was dressed in a lacy basque, a tiny thong and hold-up stockings, with stilettos on her feet. She seemed not in the least surprised or perturbed to find a rather filthy, naked woman in her basement, indeed she looked down at me with a smile, placing a hand on one hip.

"Hello there, dear," she said pleasantly, "you must be my new arrival. Come up here and let's have a look at you in the light." Rather nonplussed by her confident tone, I nervously padded up the stone steps.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, doing what comes naturally to English people, immediately apologising. "W-where am I? W-who are you?"

"Now, now, don't worry your pretty little head about that, I'll explain it all in due course. Come on up, we need to get you processed." Processed? What was she talking about?

When I got to the top of the stairs, I realised that she was holding a pair of metal cuffs, joined by a short chain. With all the confidence in the world, she reached out and put one of the cuffs on my wrist, then she gently but firmly pulled both my arms behind my back and closed the other cuff, locking them in place. I don't know why I didn't resist, something about her confident attitude seemed to make me putty in her hands. I looked up and saw her smiling at me.

"That's it, darling, let's get you cleaned up." She led me out of the door and down a marbled corridor.

"I don't understand," I whined, "what's going on, where's my Master?"

"Oh," the woman said cheerfully, "he must've been the person who owned you in the old world. You're in our world now, dear, and you belong to me. I'm Miss Ashley, your new owner."

I stumbled after the woman in a daze, unable to comprehend what she had just told me. New World? She owns me?! None of this made any sense! I wanted my Master back!

"W-why do you own me?" I asked, completely bemused.

"Finders keepers, darling," she beamed, "you turned up on my property, therefore you are my property! Always applies to you ‘crossovers’. I just have to register you down at the slave hall."

She pulled me into a tiled area and grabbed a hose. Seconds later, I was squealing as the powerful jet of freezing cold water hit me right in the midriff. I tried to turn away, but the water followed me, soaking me from head to foot until I was shivering. When the water stopped, Miss Ashley moved in and began lathering me with soap, then scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my body with a painfully stiff brush. I felt shampoo being massaged into my scalp, and then the water was back, rinsing me off. At last it was turned off, and I was able to catch my breath.

My new owner gave me a quick rub with a towel, and led me off into another room, where she sat me down on a hard chair, putting my manacled wrists behind the back of the chair, and strapping me to it with a leather belt across my chest, just under my breasts.

"Now, this may hurt a bit." As she said this, Miss Ashley grabbed my head and pulled it back against the chair. I felt something tickling my nose, and then the most horrendous pain erupted from that same area. I let out a scream and felt tears immediately spring to my eyes, and I realised that a hole had just been punched through my septum! As I wailed at the terrible pain, Miss Ashley threaded a ring through the new hole, making me feel like some kind of dumb farm animal. Some time ago, I’d had my nipples pierced and also one through my clit hood, but they were nothing like as painful as this!

I was still crying when Miss Ashley started blow drying my hair, which seemed a very odd thing to be doing. However, when she had finished, her motives became clear as she approached me with a comb and a pair of scissors.

"I like my slaves to have neat, short hair, it makes maintenance so much easier." I started to shed fresh tears as I saw great chunks of my hair fall on the floor around me. Soon my head felt naked – I hadn’t had short-cropped hair since I was about six, and it felt so weird. I was not sitting in front of a mirror, so I had no idea how it looked when she finished, and clearly my opinion wasn't important to her, as she made no effort to show me.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked.

"J-jenny," I replied with a sob, unable to snivel due to my new piercing, which meant that a mixture of blood and snot was dripping onto my upper lip.

"Well, J-jenny, welcome to our world. I think you'll find life here as a slave is not too bad. You will be treated well, whether I keep you or sell you on."

Sell me on?! This was crazy! Although I was my Master’s ‘slave’ in what I now had to call the old world, that was an agreement between us, based on matching desires to control and to be controlled, he hadn't forced it upon me! This woman was convinced that I was her property, to dispose of as she wished! I had to get out of here, wherever ‘here’ was!



* * *

My new owner in this strange new world, Miss Ashley, has given me this diary and a revolting Vermillion pen to record my thoughts and experiences while in her possession. I don't know where I am, or when this is. So…

Day 1 in ?:

After cuffing, ringing and hosing me down, Miss Ashley locked a chastity belt around my waist and between my legs. She then put a collar and leash on me and led me out of her house.

"I just need to get you checked out by the doctor," she said, "I need a medical certificate before I can get you registered and marked, no need to worry."

"Marked?" I asked nervously. We were now walking out onto the street, and I felt terribly conscious of the fact that I was virtually naked, as well as in chains. Yet no one paid us any more attention than if I was a show poodle or something – slightly more interest than a common pooch, a few polite glances in my direction, but no great outrage or excitement at what I would have thought was an extraordinary sight. We even passed a police officer, but he just tipped his hat politely to Miss Ashley and walked on!

“Yes, dear,” Miss replied, “all slaves are marked, as well as micro-chipped, to discourage rustling.”

“Rustling?” I felt like I was in some kinky version of the Wild West! Miss Ashley, who had changed into the sexiest black catsuit I’d ever seen, could easily play the part of a gunslinger, she had that sway of the hips and confident swagger as she walked…

“It’s a big problem here, Jenny, we have women turning up from your world all the time, and there’s a lucrative black market in broncos like you. Chances are you could end up in some awful brothel or worse, maybe owned by a Wall Street trader or a banker!” Now I was scared, and looked around nervously, as if some man in a black hat might lasso me and drag me away at any moment
...