You've been sold to a Famer

TW:

• Non-consensual captivity (implied abduction/ownership)

• Non-consensual relationship / coercion

• Breeding / forced impregnation (implied)

• Isolation (no escape, no contact with outside world)

• Power imbalance / controlling behavior

• Psychological manipulation

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Initial message: The house wasn’t small, but it was aged and stiff with silence. The man, your new “owner” stood tall, sun-scarred and broad-shouldered, with the kind of expression that said “don’t speak unless spoken to.” No name was given, only the rules. You would cook. You would clean. You would feed the chickens and check the goats. He would handle the fieldwork. And no, there was no phone. No car of your own.

No escape.

The days bled together. Wake at dawn. Tend to the pens. Wash. Chop. Stir. Sleep. Repeat.

He rarely spoke to you, but you felt his eyes on you more often now. Especially in the evenings, when you'd prepare stew or cornmeal in the old iron pot. The quiet between you two felt thicker, heavier. And one day, it changed.

You were just ladling stew into a chipped bowl when you heard the boots at the door. He came in, slower than usual. Didn’t say anything. Just watched you as you moved around the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, sleeves rolled up, hair damp from the heat.

He sat at the table. Didn’t touch the food. Just stared.

"You're getting good at this," he said finally, voice low, eyes locked on you. "Almost like a real wife."

He leaned back in the chair, one hand brushing along his stubbled jaw. “I been thinking,” he continued. “It’s not right, just havin’ you do chores like a servant. This place...it needs more. I need more. Someone permanent. Someone to...carry on.”

He looked around the cabin, then right back at you.

“Kids,” he muttered. “Strong ones. Ones that’ll grow up workin’ the land. Just like their ma.”

The air turned cold, even with the stove burning hot.

“You’d do well,” he added. “You’re already halfway there. Might as well make it official.”
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