642 is the story of a young woman on a distant planet in the distant future who is wrongfully convicted of theft and sentenced to two years of judicial slavery. This book, divided into twelve chapters, is her mind diary as her slavery goes through some very interesting– and erotic– twists. This is the final chapter.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2021 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Twelve – A Gold-eyed Slave

Cycle 4378, Day 421

I have decided to move my daily mind records out of my diary and just make a record of what has happened in the past weeks. It is not that I want to hide anything from anyone, it is just that things were so overwhelming that my thoughts were too chaotic to make sense… to me or to other people who may some day read my diary.

Master has been off planet for the past week on business. Hopefully he will be home tonight. If he is I will be ready– and anxious– for him. I am currently seated at a desk in my new bedroom. It is a slave’s bedroom, but it is the most luxurious slave’s bedroom on Farpost. And it is connected directly to my Master’s sitting room. That is what he calls the room just outside his bedroom where we take our evening meal when he is home.

My old slave collar sits on a little shelf above my desk. The clock display is still counting down. According to it my judicial slavery is nearly half completed and I have 358 days remaining, but in reality I am now a permanent slavewife of Master Karl Burcroft. He wanted to throw the old collar away, but I begged to be able to keep it. It is a reminder of how I came to be slavewife to Master Karl.

My new collar is, of course, around my neck. It is a beautiful soft, black leather collar. On the front in golden *********** similar to my old collar it says, “shishi.” And beneath that in a regular, but very ornate ***********, it says, “Slavewife of Master Karl Burcroft.” My eyes still fill with tears when I look at that collar in my mirror. But unlike the tears that came when I first looked at my old collar, these are tears of joy.

I still have trouble looking at my face in the mirror… well, not my face, my head. I expect there to be hair on my head, but there isn’t. There is just a tattoo that looks like hair. The laws on Farpost are very strict. It is forbidden for a shorn slave– even a slavewife– to wear a wig or any other hair covering. Besides, the tattoo of a slave rope would still be visible on my back.

That tattoo has changed. There is a gold ribbon that Master had worked in over the original. It is real gold, just like the ribbon a slavewife would wear in her rope. The gold ribbon starts in the front almost like a crown and then winds back into the rope. The tattooing on my head hurt a little, but the ribbon going down my back hurt a LOT. Master asked if I wanted something to dull the pain, but I said no.

He didn’t give me a choice when they applied the gold to my eyelids. He said it was because they had to be sure that I didn’t move. I expected it to be like when they made me a purple-eyed slave, but they didn’t give me the same sort of drugs that they used then. As before, I could not move and was aware of what was happening, but there was no pain at all.

I was afraid of what they would have to do to change my purple eye pearls to gold, but Madame Loretta just used a strange thing that looked like a screwdriver with a hollow blade and unscrewed them. There is a little post on the bottom of the pearl that went down into my skin and screwed into whatever it is that is embedded in my skull. “Pearls break,” she said flatly, “so they have to be easily replaced. Besides, it’s not like you are going to put the wrong color in or go without.” She batted her eyes as she said, “The eyes tell all.”

Then she smiled at me and touched her eye pearl. I gasped slightly. I had never noticed before that her eye pearls were only half purple. The bottom half was clear like glass. I think she means that to proclaim that she is slave in name only.

Slave lucida is still with me always. She even has a bed in the corner of my room. But when Master is away she sleeps with me in my bed. We have grown very close to each other. She jokes about washing my hair when getting me ready for nights with Master, but all she has to do is clean and oil my body.

Just before he left, Master took me over to see the new House of Free Women. The title to the house and land are in Master Karl Burcroft’s name, but there are also legal documents saying that Madame Loretta has full authority as if it were her own. Mandy and Mindy– that’s 33 and 34’s names now that they are free– run the house on a day-to-day basis. Madame Loretta has a special room on the top floor for when she wants to be alone or is in the mood to entertain a special guest.

The day Master and I were there an obviously very rich young man came swaggering into the house. He asked for time with Madame Loretta. Mindy told him that wasn’t possible but she or Mandy or any of the other women could fulfill all of his expectations. He said, “But I wanted to be able to tell my friends that I spent a night with Madame Loretta.” He set a small bag on the counter that clinked like it was filled with gold coins and said, “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.”

Madame Loretta was standing nearby with us.