Julia. Her descent from Tourist to slave whore.

On the coast in Italy July 2013


Julia was bored, a typical American tourist wearing a floral print skirt and a tight red blouse which emphasised her ample D cup breasts she strolled along in the sunshine. One of the horde of foreign tourists thronging this ancient metropolis she had really wanted to spend the summer in California but her mother insisted they took a tour of the Mediterranean instead,

Seven cites in two weeks with the long days filled with short flights and long bus rides and now inn the late afternoon Julia was desperate for some peace and tranquility. She strolled idly towards the headland with its cliff top park and stunning views of the Mediterranean sea and the legendary golden sunset as the sun set behind the far horizon.

The cliff top park came alive each evening at sunset as the sun setting was the cue for an open air party which spontaneously erupted in the park, a large almost triangular grassy open space between the town and the cliff edge, a swathe of grass with plentiful picnic tables and benches with the headland’s cliff edges on two sides. A curving row of shop fronts pierced by narrow streets leading through the old town formed the third side of the triangle.

The old town, unchanged for thousands of years, narrow streets with stone sets for pavement, too narrow for cars or trucks so everything was carried on hand carts since even donkey carts were too wide and even two hand carts struggled to pass in places.

Traditional Mediterranean low rise buildings provided the shop fronts, seemingly hundreds of years old all painted white against the glare of the sun and each with gaily painted shutters, and all closed during the heat of the afternoon as they awaited the sunset and the cool of the evening, the time when the old town came alive.



“Don’t go anywhere alone,” the tour guide advised, “There are pick pockets and worse and when you get away from the main part of the town, the old town is known for drugs and prostitution and the Mafioso is very active so please do not rely on the police and be careful.”

Julia ignored the advice if she ever heard it, she just strolled along in the sunshine, past the stunted trees bent into the prevailing wind, towards the obelisk marked which marked the point of the promontory and occasionally stopped to hold the stout handrail along the actual cliff edge.

She saw no drug dealers or prostitutes or even gangsters, and after her stroll in the sunlight as she gripped the cliff edge handrail and gazed at the ocean she didn’t even realise she was in danger.

She didn’t even realise someone was behind her until she felt the strap of her handbag suddenly snap.

She grabbed at the bag but a teenage boy was already ten yards away running like the wind with her handbag in his left hand and the blade of the knife he held in his right hand flashing in the summer sun.

She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out, shocked, she grasped the cliff edge handrail and in panic she looked for help.

Two uniformed police standing by the shops in the distance so she gathered her wits together and shakily made her way towards them.

“I was robbed,” she explained as she met them.

“Robbed,” said the policeman, and launched into a tirade in a language Julia could not understand.

“English, por favor?” Julia tried hopefully.

“You is robbed, what is robbed?” the second policeman asked.

“My money, my phone everything!” Julia explained.

The police conferred.

“You have papers?” the second policeman asked.

“No, they are.” Julia explained.

“No?” the first policeman queried and he again patiently explained something in a language Julia could not even begin to comprehend.

“Must have papers,” the second policeman explained, “Is law.”

“But my bag,” Julia protested and the first policeman again began to explain.

A couple approached, he in a smart suit with open neck shirt, she in a black dress reaching to her knee, the woman smiled, “Are you having trouble?” she asked.

“My bag,” Julia explained, “Someone stole my bag!”

“Ah, no papers?” the woman agreed, “I am Carla and this is Giorgio, yes, you need papers or ID in the old town, you have no ID?”

“No,” said Julia.

Carla smiled, “Lots of girls come here from all over Europe, it is famous so the police crack down,” she explained, “Shall I tell him you are with us?”

“Please,” said Julia.

Carla spoke to the policemen, they agreed, “I have told them you work for us,” she said and she reached in her bag and extracted a dog collar and leash, “Put this around your neck,” she suggested.

“What no way,” Julia protested.

“Or they will arrest you,” Carla explained, “They think you are an unlicensed prostitute who didn’t get her money.”

“No, he stole my handbag,” Julia protested.

“We do this all the time,” Carla explained, “We rescue tourists and working girls, look either you play the game, pretend that you are with us and pay our rescue fee, or you will spend at least a night in the cells and maybe get a six month prison sentence.”

“No, that can’t be,” Julia shook visibly with emotion.

“It will be fine,” Giorgio explained, “Wear the collar which shows you are ours and we pay the bribe and you pay us back, five hundred dollar fee plus the bribe.”

“That’s outrageous!” Julia protested.

“It’s what we do,” Carla explained, “Do you want our help or not?”

“Ok,” Julia said reluctantly and she took the collar and tried to fasten it, it was too short.

“Oh, try this,” Carla sighed and she pulled a heavy metal slave collar with a chain from her bag
and handed it to Giorgio.

“Look!” Julia protested but Giorgio gently lifted her long blonde hair and pried the springy collar apart to slide it around her neck, but she realised to refuse would probably mean she was arrested so she just let him ease the heavy collar around her neck and fasten it with a padlock .

Carla handed each policeman an American hundred dollar bill and they saluted and walked away smiling.

“They’ve gone,” Julia said, “Can we lose the thing?”

“When you pay us,” Carla said, “Until then you are our slave whore.”

“What!” Julia protested.

“Look, if you have no ID you have to be collared and chained it is the law,” Carla explained,
“The city law, the town law from the days of Julius Caesar. It was for the protection of the slave girls originally but has remained in force.”

“Ok,” Julia agreed, “Look get me out of here.”

“You should have handcuffs,” Giorgio explained, “To look authentic.”

“Right,” Julia agreed, “In your dreams.”

“No,” he said as he gently took Julia’s hands and pushed them behind her back.

She felt the cold steel and heard the click as Carla fastened the hand cuffs around her wrists.

“Look, ok this is weird,” Julia protested.

“But we will all get arrested if we are found out,” Carla explained, “We will wait until it gets busy and sneak you away.”

“Why not now?” Julia asked.

“No, we need darkness,” Giorgio explained.

“Let me phone my dad,” Julia demanded.

“And where is he?” Carla asked.

“Down town someplace I guess,” Julia explained, “We are on vacation, we fly back to JFK on Thursday.”

“American?