Now I'm past puzzled. Or even scared. I'm exhausted. And hungry. I stop admiring my breakfast and consider how to consume it. He's such a bastard. Leaving me an exotic treat and no way of getting at it: typical him.

But I'm resourceful. I scrub the wallpaper scraper until it's spotless and score around the pomegranate and twist it apart. I guess it's a cliche to say the inside is like a jewel, but it's full of garnets. I use my fingers. Each tiny red sac is an individual treat. They burst on my tongue, and the tart delicious juice makes me shiver. I crunch the first morsels whole, but then, since no one can see me, I spit out the rest of the seeds after I suck away their flesh. It's a tantalizing experience. I sit in the tidied back garden and pick each and every one out and savor them. It's idyllic here. Away from the world. I'm not bothered by how I've been made to look.

I was bored out of my skull for the first weeks, as well as scared and tired. I didn't expect to be doing manual labor alone for my first owned month. After we landed, we drove for a few hours. We arrived after dark at a stone cottage in the middle of nowhere. I was freaked as Bill lit a storm lamp. The cottage was dirty and empty. He hadn't spoken to me except for basic instructions since I arrived in Seattle. I was already tired from flying from Ohio to join him. I called him Bill once and got an efficient slap on the ass. I frowned, but I called him Sir after that. I was stunned from travel and time zones, and my loss of freedom hadn't sunk in until he said, "Strip." I was slow, but I obeyed.

The English September night was cool, but my shivers were all from fear. He took my clothes and said, "Jewelry." He'd been irritated at the contempt it attracted when we went through security checks and immigration. I took off my earrings, bracelet, and rings and he shoved them in his pocket. Then I felt truly naked. I resisted putting hands in front of my prick. I knew he'd be mad.

I try not to be skittish, but I squeaked when I saw scissors. He said nothing reassuring, but beckoned me. I'd rather have backed out of the deal, but I was naked in a foreign country, miles from anywhere. Debbo swore he's a good guy. And Debbo and I trust each other with our souls. I stepped forward. Annoying him had to be stupider than obeying him. He grabbed my braid and sheared it off. Fuck!

I'd been prepared for beatings, piercings, fuckings, but, oh God! He cut my hair off. He really did own me.

I was too devastated to argue when he clipped off my long, red nails. They're my pride and hope, but I watched them go without a murmur, and I wiped off the polish when he held out cotton wool and remover.

He thought he'd bought a boy, I reminded myself. Even though he knew why I was doing this.