A Gentlemen's Agreement (5 page)

Cherry shrugged. “I don’t know.” She
smiled bitterly. “People in my neighborhood don’t know anything about the
business of slavery.
Only about people who get pressed or
adjudicated into it.
Most don’t get pressed. I never knew anyone who was
as foolish as me and got herself into debt. I knew a couple of boys who were
caught stealing and were adjudicated. Not the first time they were caught, they
were only declared incorrigible after their third conviction.” She smiled
again. “Only bankrupts get sent directly to slavery.”

“Or murderers?”

“Murderers get hung. Nobody wants
a murderer for a slave. Not even as a labor slave.”

“I’m sorry that you were made a
slave,” Irene said.

Cherry raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You lost your freedom over three thousand
plaqs
.” Irene couldn’t help but think that she had owned
shoes that cost that much. They were lovely shoes, but they weren’t worth a
nineteen-year-
old’s
life.

“That was my own fault. Everyone
told me that I was foolish to borrow money. I had lots of warning.”

“Then I’m sorry that you didn’t
take their advice.”

Cherry looked hard at Irene. “You
told me a moment ago that you don’t regret trading a lady’s life to become a
slave. Do you think that I had a better life in the ghetto than a lady in her
manor? Here, I get fed regularly. I have lots of leisure time. I get the best
medical care. My cell is warm and dry. I’m twenty-five years old. You know what
twenty-five-year-old women are like in my old neighborhood? We weren’t the middle
class
. We were at the bottom of the heap. My childhood
friends are starting to lose their teeth. Their bodies are worn out from
bearing children. They collapse into bed in exhaustion every night and have to
crawl back out before dawn to take care of their families as best they can
before they go out looking for work.

“Me? I get fucked every day or two
and a bunch of times some evenings. I do a little light housework most days. You,
I don’t understand, but me? I know exactly why I don’t regret having been
pressed into slavery. I regretted it at the time. I was devastated when they
took me away and tattooed slave numbers on the back of my neck. But now, when I
can look back and see how it turned out, now I don’t regret it at all.”

Cherry shrugged. “I know what’s in
store for me. When I get close to forty and don’t bring much at auction any
more, I’m going to be sold as a labor slave. I’ll work hard at some dangerous
job and die before I’m forty-five.
But my childhood friends?
They’re going to work hard at bad jobs for their whole lives and still die
before they’re fifty. I was never destined to live a long life, so slavery
hasn’t cost me anything.”

“I understand,” Irene said. “But
that still doesn’t make it right.”

“And I still don’t understand
you,” Cherry said. “You know that you’re going to die as a labor slave when
you’re in your forties, too, right? So you’ve lost decades of your life. You
would have had thirty or forty years as an elderly lady in a big manor with
fine things and servants to take care of you. I’ll never understand why you
don’t regret throwing that away. Anyone in my neighborhood would have done
anything to have your life as a lady. I’m not exaggerating. They would have
done anything. Anything.”

Cherry didn’t take her leave.
Without another word, she rose and went back to her cell.

* * *

“I want you to fuck me.” Irene stared at Lord Snow
defiantly.

His eyes automatically flicked
down to her bald crotch before he could bring his gaze under control and roll
his eyes back up to look at Irene’s.

“No.” Then he laughed. “You
haven’t learned much about being a slave if you think that a lord cares what a
slave wants.”

“I’m a good fuck,” she said. “In
fact, I’m a great fuck. I’m truly amazing. I’m a master cocksucker. My cunt has
talents that you’ve never experienced. My asshole is to die for. You’re missing
out.”

“No.”

“You can fuck me up, down, and
sideways. Fuck every orifice in every possible order.”

“No.” But he sounded just a little
uncertain. He was weakening.

She looked down at his crotch. His
pants weren’t exactly tented, but they looked like they were bulging a little.

“Then beat me. Paddle me. Flog me.
Take a strap to me and make me regret my mistakes. You can even take a cane to
me and autograph my back with scars. Make me remember you for the rest of my
life.” There was definitely a leavening in his pants now. “Humiliate me. Turn
me over your knee and spank me with your bare hand. Make my ass twitch and
shudder. Use your brute strength to bring tears to my eyes.”

He had a tent pole now.

It took a visible effort for him
to say, “No.”

“Please. I’m begging you.” She
slipped from the chair and knelt before him. “Fuck me. Beat me. Whatever. Do
something to me. Please. I’m begging you on my knees. I didn’t enslave myself
to live a life of celibacy. If I wanted that, I could have stayed married to
James.”

“Be quiet, slave!” He looked
angry.

A slave who angered her owner past
a certain point was putting her life in danger. “Yes, sir.” She shut up.
Getting him to call her a slave instead of Irene was only a small victory, but
it was something.

She hung her head and waited.

“Get back in that chair.”

“Yes, sir.” She rose from her
knees and slid back into the chair in a single, smooth, graceful motion. She
kept her head bowed.

“I didn’t bring you in here so
that you could service me. I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

She waited.

After a minute, he said, “Oh,
hell. Get out of here and send one of the others in. Fuck, no. Send in two of
them.”

“Which two?”

“I don’t give a damn. Whoever’s
out
there.
And don’t make me wait or someone’s going
to regret it.”

“Yes, sir.” She scrambled out of
the room.

Tamarind, Cherry, and Peach were
in the kitchen. “Tamarind and Cherry, Lord Snow wants you right now.”

The two slaves ran to the pleasure
room.

Peach looked at her but said
nothing.

“What?” Irene asked.

“Nothing,” Peach replied.

One of the slaves started
squealing in the pleasure room. A minute later, the other joined her. They
didn’t sound like they were in much pain.

Peach stared at the door. “Some day,
you’re going to give Nickel some reason to tenderize your cunt. It’s going to
happen, sooner or
later,
as sure as I’m sitting here.
When that day comes, I’m going to laugh in your face. Count on it.” She left
the room in the direction of the cells.

Irene listened to the squeals from
the pleasure room for a few minutes. They rose in joyful crescendos and then
collapsed in happy giggles. She didn’t know what Lord Snow was doing to his
slaves, but she wished with all her heart that he were doing it to her,
instead.

She would cheerfully get her cunt
tenderized by Nickel every day for a week if it would earn her a single hour of
happy fucking.

She couldn’t listen any longer.
She retired to her own cell, took her vaginal weights out of the wardrobe,
assembled five ounces, and inserted it. That was a lot of weight. Having begged
Lord Snow to give her the treatment that he was heaping on Tamarind and Cherry and
then hearing their ecstatic ejaculations had made her as slippery as hell.
Keeping the weights from falling out required an extraordinary effort.

Then, to make it harder, she began
doing deep knee bends.

It was working – the
concentration was distracting her from thinking about what was happening in the
pleasure room – when Nickel opened her cell door.

The weight clattered to the floor.

“What the hell?” Nickel said.

“Nothing,” Irene replied and
scooped the weight off the floor.

“My cell, now.” Nickel left.

A minute later, when Irene entered
Nickel’s cell, she found her sitting on the edge of her cot, her legs splayed
wide to expose her open cunt.

There was no surprise here. She
saw this every day and was prepared to do what was required. She sank to her
knees in front of Nickel and put her tongue and lips to work on Nickel’s
crotch.

In a minute, Nickel was moaning
and, a few minutes later, coming to a screaming climax.

This was the only sex that Irene
ever got in Lord Snow’s kennel and it did nothing for her but to make her wish,
for the
dozenth
time, that Nickel had a cock instead
of a cunt. Irene would love to taste a cock again.

As always, Irene stayed on her
knees on the cold concrete floor, waiting for instructions.

After Nickel’s breathing slowed to
a normal rhythm, she said, “Now you tell me what the hell you were doing in
your cell.”

“I was exercising, ma’am.”

“Exercising what?”

“My cunt, ma’am.”

Nickel stare at her. “You better
tell me that this is some kind of stupid joke.”

“No, ma’am. I started exercising
to make my cunt stronger after I became a slave. I wanted to be able to service
gentlemen better.”

“What in hell does that mean? Make
your cunt stronger?”

Irene explained that there were
muscles in the vulva that could squeeze the vaginal walls. If they were
exercised, they became stronger and could be used to massage a man’s penis when
it was inside her. Holding slippery weights helped her develop those muscles.

“You think your cunt is stronger
than mine?” Nickel asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt you
squeeze anything with your cunt so I don’t know how strong you might be.”

“Stand up.”

Irene stood up.

Nickel shoved the index and middle
finger of her right hand into Irene. “Squeeze me.”

Irene squeezed.

Nickel sniffed. “Okay. Not exactly
crushing me, but I can feel what you’re doing.” She withdrew her fingers and
inserted them in herself. Her stomach rippled and her face contorted for a
minute. Then she looked at Irene. “What are you doing when you do that?”

“I’m tightening my muscles. It
takes some practice. Think of what you do when you have to piss real
bad
and you tighten your muscles to stop yourself. Do that.”

Nickel’s face contorted for a
minute. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.” She stuck two fingers on her left
hand into Irene and kept the fingers on her right hand inside herself. “Squeeze
me.”

Irene did.

Nickel concentrated again. Then
she frowned. She withdrew her fingers from herself but kept her left hand
fingers inside Irene. “What can you do? Just squeeze?”

Irene began massaging her fingers,
up and down, and from side to side.

Nickel looked amazed. “How long
can you keep that up?”

“Long enough to make a man come
from the massage alone. Half an hour if I have to.”

“And a man comes from that alone?”

“Neither one of us has to move a
muscle. He can lie flat on his back and I can mount him and we both stay
motionless while I get him off. Except not all men can keep themselves
motionless. A lot of them start bucking against me. It makes it harder for me
to concentrate, but it doesn’t matter. By the time they get to that state,
they’re about ready to come and I don’t have to massage them much more.”

All the time that Irene was
talking she kept massaging Nickel’s fingers. She had developed an amazing
amount of control.

Her breathing was quickening from
the stimulation that she was giving herself. She tilted her hips slightly so
that Nickel’s fingers were pressing against the magic spot on the front wall of
her vagina.

“It’s good for me, too,” she said.
“When I’m stimulating a man this way, I stimulate myself. I can–“ She
gasped involuntarily when Nickel’s fingers twitched a little inside her. “–I
can push my most sensitive area–“ She gasped again. Nickel was
stimulating her deliberately now. “–
against
the man’s–“ Another movement of Nickel’s fingers, this time a
stroke. And another. “–
parts
.” She lost her ability
to speak as her breath was now coming in deep gasps.

She redoubled her efforts to
squeeze herself against Nickel’s strong caresses deep inside her.

Nickel was looking at her with a
clinical expression.

It had been so long since
Irene had been stimulated by another person
. She didn’t care
that it was a woman’s fingers instead of a man’s cock. She wanted to come so
badly.

In another minute, she came so
well. She groaned as her cunt began contracting involuntarily around Nickel’s
fingers. Fluids were flowing so freely that they were running over Nickel’s
wrist and down her forearm.

Irene howled in pleasure. “God,
that feels good. Oh, God. Yes! God!”

She could barely keep to her feet.
She grabbed Nickel’s shoulders to support herself while she came and came.

Nickel, mercifully, never stopped
massaging her cunt, but coaxed her into the best orgasm that she had had in
weeks.

When her cunt finally stopped
contracting, Nickel withdrew her hand and Irene collapsed slowly to the floor
in front of her.

“Damned impressive,” Nickel said.
“Now, get out of my cell.”

Irene crawled a few feet to the
door and then used the knob to pull herself up. She staggered to her own cell,
twenty feet down the hallway, and collapsed on her cot.

She was half unconscious, floating
in bliss, when she heard Tamarind and Cherry returning to
their
own
cells.

They were giggling uncontrollably
and squealing about Lord Snow being a wild savage.
Apparently
in the best possible way.

Irene could take credit for that,
too.