Release

After two long years in shackles, it felt good being able to take normal steps again. I had just been released from penal slavery, which meant that I was kicked out onto the street – exhausted, broke, and with nowhere to go.

During the first couple of weeks, I roamed the dusty town, sleeping outside, stealing, and sucking dick for pennies to earn my meals. Jobs were hard to come by, so I was stranded and unable to leave the planet to seek out the adventures and riches I yearned for.

When Emma found me, I must have looked feral, more like an animal than a human, with my auburn hair cropped short and unkempt, wearing a tattered smock, and the remainder of my beauty well-hidden under layers of dirt. The shackles had scarred my ankles, and the overseers’ whips had left ugly traces all over my body.

She paid for the skin regeneration treatments I desperately needed, and in exchange I signed a two-month contract at her brothel, one of the cheaper places in town. It was my first full-time job as a prostitute, and until I had paid her back, I wasn't allowed to leave, working long shifts and spending what little downtime I had locked in the cage with the slave whores.

But ten weeks into the job and with my debt paid in full, things were finally looking up. I had spent my first paycheck at the local thrift store to buy essentials like a t-shirt, pants, a pair of shoes, and of course a switchblade to protect myself. I even got my own place – I was more or less squatting in an abandoned shed on the edge of town – but after two months in a cage it tasted like freedom.

Once in a while though, I had a really bad day.