I never thought that all the stories about the White Slave trade were true. I figured it was just a way to frighten women like me. But three days ago – at least I think it was three days, it‘s hard to keep track of time – while I was walking down a not-very crowded street, a van pulled up to the curb next to me, the door opened and two women grabbed me, held a cloth to my face and I passed out.
I woke up in just a pair of panties with a bag over my head in a dog cage and in some kind of transport. Maybe it was still the same van. I don’t know. My hands were bound and I was fed liquids through a tube. At some point I was put on a plane and hours later the plane landed and there was a loud diesel truck bouncing over rough roads. All the voices I heard were women’s voices.
When I was finally let out of my cage, it was in a locked room with a sunken tub and two woman who wore nothing but very thin sheer shifts. They wouldn’t answer my questions, but bade me to bathe and make myself presentable. Then one roughly grabbed my arms behind my back and the other tied the rope around my neck and my arms.
It turned out white slavery was a thing. But the people who engaged in it were powerful women, mostly white, who had a thing for helpless women and sapphic sex. I learned more about it eventually, but that first day my mouth was so busy I couldn’t ask any more questions.