This is an excerpt from the first book of my series "Slave Girl at the End of the World."
I'd welcome some feedback.

He emerged, carrying a heavy metal tray with iron handles, which bore a brown ceramic pitcher and five mugs. He had a towel over his arm. He set the tray on the rough table in front of the futon where the COs had been sitting. He took the towel and spread it on the floor beside the recliner. “You sit here,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” She sat on her heels.
He handed her a mug. Took a mug for himself, and sat on the recliner, reached over and fluffed her hair. “You look dehydrated. Drink up. Drink as much as you want.”
She nodded and cautiously took a sip. God! The taste! It was mint tea and honey on crushed ice. She gasped in pleasure. It was the best thing she’d tasted since the whole prison experience started.
“This is good,” she said. Then remembered: “Sir.”
He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”
She gulped the fluid down, looked around not knowing what to do with the empty mug. Her owner placed his own drink on a side table, stood up and walked over to refill her mug.
The women returned and took their seats. “Serve yourselves, ladies,” Terry said.
He returned to his seat and handed Denise her refill.
“So, the slave gets her drink brought to her but we don’t?” One of the COs jibed.
“Maybe if you showed him your tits, he’d be nice to you, too,” the Sheriff said as she took her seat directly across from Terry.
Everyone laughed. Denise blushed furiously.
When everyone seemed to be through with their drinks, Terry announced, “I was about to start supper. If y’all care to stay…”
The Sheriff shook her head. “I’ve got to get back to town. I was going to take these two to the restaurant then get them set up in the boarding house.”
“Okay.” He produced a shoulder bag from beside the chair. “You folks deserve a tip. That must have been a harrowing flight.”
He gave the two COs two currency bills each. “Two hundred dollars?” one of them exclaimed. “Federal money? That’s worth…?”
“It’s worth two hundred dollars, face value,” he snapped. “Don’t forget to split it with the pilot. “And, Sheriff, as always…” He handed her a hundred dollar bill.
Denise didn’t know what two hundred dollars was worth. Apparently, a lot.
The Sheriff stood up and sighed. “I got to read this.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket.
“Denise Marie Sager,” she intoned, “I am Claire Higgins, Sheriff of Narvaez County, Florida, and the chief law enforcement officer of the county. I am turning custody of you over to Terence McNally, your new owner. You have been found guilty of four counts of felony murder and sentenced to death by hanging. However, your life has been spared because of your sale to Terrence McNally, of Ruffin, Florida. Therefore, you are no longer a citizen of the United States and no longer a person under the laws of the state of Washington, nor the state of Florida, nor of the United States. You are entirely the property of Terrence McNally, who may use whatever force he deems necessary to enforce his will on you. As you have been convicted of a capital crime, he may kill you or have you killed if he desires. He may use corporal punishment or torturous treatment as he sees fit.
“There are restrictions on Terrence McNally as your owner. He must pay the animal registration fee and secure registration tags to your body. He must ensure that you are never clothed, or your body concealed in any way. He must ensure that you are securely restrained whenever you step outside his residence, and he must ensure that you are securely confined within his residence. You may not step outside unless you are leashed and accompanied by your owner or someone to whom he has delegated authority over you.
“As you are a capital offender and not a person before the law, the penalty for being off your owner’s property without a leash and unaccompanied is death, which may be administered summarily. No trial or hearing is necessary.”
She looked down at the girl. “Do you understand?”
Denise nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.
The Sheriff turned to McNally. “That’s some good tasting mint. Are you selling it?”
McNally grinned. “I’ve planted it all around the property. Cut a few sprigs, take it home, and sprout it in water.”
“Hell,” she replied. “I can’t grow nothing. No green thumb at all.”
After the officers left, McNally turned his attention to his slave, who was shivering like a puppy in a new house full of people. He motioned her to stand. “Did they explain what you’re supposed to do here?”
“Sort of,” Denise replied softly.
“Still shy about being naked?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. She started to cry.
She was surprised when he put his arm around her and hugged her to him. “It’s okay, little girl,” he said. “You’ll get used to it. I know this isn’t the life you’d choose for yourself, but it’s not going to be that bad. And it is life. Don’t you think?”
Denise was soothed by this strange man’s hand stroking her hair. She hadn’t expected this. She felt vaguely stirred by the feel of the man holding her tight against him, by the smell of him – the smell of sweat, and of what must be soap. For the first time in the past few years, she felt – what? – Safe?
“Yes,” she whimpered.

Comments? Suggestions?