Subjection (17 page)

For the first time in three and a half years, I’m being used for something that interests me, something that challenges me on occasion, and I feel a new sense of satisfaction every day. Even when I miss something, or have to rework an entire set of numbers because I’ve done it wrong, I can’t help but feel accomplished. I feel almost immeasurable joy at the fact that I actually have a purpose.

It gets slightly better between my master and me as well. Things seem to shift, just a little. Like the way he nods at me when he passes me in the hallway, or the way he actually deigns to ask me what else I might be helpful with. I feel like a goddamn idiot, because I stutter and mumble when I do manage to speak, but eventually the words make their way out, and I realize that he really is interested in something about me, even if it’s only what I can do to help make his life better.

I’m a slave. I should make my master’s life better. And this is more than just cooking food that he could have afforded to order anyway, or cleaning instead of having a cleaning person take care of it. I’m providing him with something of actual value. I am needed, if only for this specific task. We work side-by-side, as much as we can from separate rooms. He still doesn’t seem particularly fond of me, but he appreciates my help. I know that we’re not going to cuddle up and share a soda while we work or anything, but he does come over and sit next to me sometimes while he explains the most recent project, and he doesn’t seem completely opposed to having me in the same room with him anymore.

I don’t forget that I’m a slave. It’s clear, from the way that he gives me orders, to the fact that I’m the one doing the majority of the work around the house. Remembering it is necessary for my survival.

Remembering that I’m a slave makes me start to dread Bobby’s visits.

Now that I’m helping my master with work things, he’s suddenly got a lot more free time on his hands, and while he still goes out more often than not, he’s having Bobby over more as well. I don’t know why he doesn’t have any other friends over, hell, maybe he doesn’t
have
any other friends, but I am getting quite sick of Bobby’s teasing and touching and suggestions of what he’d like to do with me.

I get it. I’m a sex slave. I’m cute. I’m like a fresh steak in front of a hungry dog, except my master doesn’t treat me that way and I’ve gotten rather used to it. It makes my skin crawl when I feel an unwanted hand on my shoulder, or eyes undressing me. He never goes further than that, my master never allows it, and sometimes I feel ridiculous for being so bothered by it. After all, if my master wanted, he could just lend me out to him, and I would have no right to protest.

But he doesn’t, just like he said he wouldn’t, and on more than one occasion, I start to suspect that he’s actually keeping me out of sight.

“Sascha, don’t you have work to do?” He asks sharply one night, after I’ve finished serving them dinner and brought out a bottle of wine that he’s ordered me to leave on the table.

I freeze, the tone of his voice startling me. “Uh, yes? Yes, Master.” Great. I sound like an idiot again, but I didn’t realize he wanted it done so soon. More importantly, I thought that my presence attending him and Bobby took priority.

“Well, then, I suggest you get to it.” He looks at me, and the way he raises his eyebrows contradicts his harsh tone. It’s like he’s challenging me to figure out what he’s really saying.

“Come on, Cash, let the boy relax a little,” Bobby protests, although I suspect his protests are more about his own interests than my playtime. “I like having him around. He’s nice to look at, and I’m sure we could—”

“Sascha. Now!” My master orders again, cutting his friend off. “Quit standing around wasting time. If you don’t finish up by the deadline I gave you, there will be serious consequences. Go.”

“Yes, master,” I reply instantly, almost running out of the room. My heart is pounding, and I entertain the terror for minute, wondering how I am going to get everything done in time, wondering what “serious consequences” will entail…

And then it hits me. There was never a deadline.

Chapter 15
Enough

I drop a small box on Sascha’s desk, full of papers and different kinds of data. Instead of the usual financial reports that I have given him from Dean & Chanu, these are performance ratings and compliance ratings from re-education centers around the world. While there are some financial statements included, the majority of the data has nothing to do with the usual aspects that my company deals with. No, these things are from my private research, the reboot of the project that almost landed me in prison last time around.

“I need you to be discreet with these,” I say, quiet. “Not that I could imagine anyone asking you about them, but if you hear anything mentioned about the people or the companies or the other information mentioned in here, I need to know that you’ll keep your mouth shut about them. Can you do that?”

I’m risking everything by having Sascha help me with this, but I need a second set of eyes, and from what I’ve had him do for me with my legitimate business, I can tell that he will do as well, if not better with this data. I can’t handle it all myself; between my day job and the meetings I’ve been setting up with key players, I just haven’t had the time or energy to devote to this project. I try to pretend that I’m just giving him an order, just providing him with work to fill his time, but it’s far more than that. I need to know that he’s capable of keeping my secrets. He could destroy me with this information, although it wouldn’t be in his best interest to do so. I need to know that I can trust him.

“Of course, master,” he replies. I can see how desperate he is to please me, not to mention find out about the secret project I’m working on, but he just waits, staring up at me hopefully.

“Good,” I reply, nodding. I try not to let the relief show, but it is there. Having someone else involved in the project is a relief; having Sascha involved is a treat.

I thoroughly explain what he’s supposed to do, telling him more than enough for his task. I don’t explain anything about what the names and numbers actually mean, and I explain even less about why I am so attached and personally committed to it. It’s better this way; if he’s in the dark about it, he’s safer than if he knows what I actually do.

“Can I ask what this is for, master?” he asks tentatively. “This doesn’t seem like your usual work.”

I glare at him for a moment, and he cringes away a little, like he’s waiting for me to slap or berate him. But I would have asked the exact same question. I force my face back to a blank mask.

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” I answer, drawing a surprised look from Sascha. “It’s a side project of mine and you don’t need to know much about it to complete the tasks I’ve given you. Please don’t ask about it again.”

“Yes, master.” His reply is instant, automatic in response to my tone.

“You show initiative. I like that,” I admit. “But some things are not for you to know. Thank you for respecting that.”

I walk out of the room in a hurry, embarrassed to have been so brusque when he’s being so helpful, and unsure of how to continue after delivering the compliment. It’s not that Sascha lacks things to compliment him on; I just don’t usually mention them out loud. It doesn’t happen quite as infrequently as it used to, but it’s not a commonplace event, either. It’s not the way I was raised, or the way I’ve been taught to treat slaves. It’s better to keep strict boundaries.

I leave Sascha to his work, amazed by how diligently he addresses it. He tries so hard to please me, going over the details of the projects I give him again and again, making sure they are perfect. He seems to think I don’t know, but I peek in on him occasionally, when he’s too engrossed in what he’s doing to notice. When he’s working, he’s extremely focused, and the terrified look on his face gives way to curiosity. He’s attractive; I find myself growing more and more attracted to him, but I wouldn’t sacrifice our comfortable relationship for base needs. I know enough about what he’s endured to be horrified at the thought of forcing something like that on him, and he gives no indication of feeling anything but fear and perhaps grudging respect for me.

I try to smile at him when I can, remember to thank him for his hard work and excellent cooking. The way his eyes light up is enough of a reward for me, and fact that he is starting to seem more comfortable assures me that I am doing the right thing. I know how to train a slave to be obedient; I have never considered how difficult it would be to train a slave to be comfortable in my home. I never realized it would matter.

My home is my sanctuary, the place where I can escape from the demands of work and other people. Bringing Sascha home made it tense, and I resented him for that, even as much as I knew I had to have a slave, had to keep a slave around in order to present the correct social image. I snap at my coworkers far more than I do at Sascha, but at least they fight back. I don’t like people around me when I work, but when they must be around, it inspires me to have some lively debate. I’d have it with Sascha, but it just seems too inappropriate.

Instead, I arrange for a night out with Bobby. I’ve started to spend fewer nights at home with him, because he insists on cuddling and groping and leering at Sascha. I pretend to be possessive, but I don’t do those things with my slave. It’s demeaning to watch, and Sascha deserves better.

Bobby arrives, and I leave him for a moment while I get changed to go out. As I do, I see him wander into the small office that Sascha has claimed as his own.

“Well, if it isn’t the little assistant!” Bobby teases. I consider asking him to wait in the living room, or even out in the car, because I’ve been putting up my best effort to keep him away from Sascha. Bobby is far too free with my property, and I don’t want to increase the friction between them. Still, I’ll only be a moment, and I trust that Sascha can manage a few minutes alone with him without any sort of drama. If anything, he can outsmart Bobby.

I make quick work of finding an outfit, changing into it quickly and running a comb through my hair. I’m not sure why I bother; it’s not like I’m looking to pick anybody up, it just seems like the thing to do. I used to enjoy the nights out with Bobby, but these days it just seems like a waste of my time. I wonder if we are outgrowing each other. I stand at the end of the hallway, using the decorative mirror that my interior designer placed there to fix my tie and taking advantage of the fact that I can hear more of the exchange between Bobby and Sascha.

“Everyone needs a little rest,” I overhear Bobby saying, using the flirty voice that always works well for him at bars, but not so well with my slave. “If you were mine, I would never keep you so busy all the time! No time to play.”

“I’m
not
yours, sir,” Sascha reminds him, sounding rather annoyed.

I can’t hear Bobby’s response, but I do hear Sascha’s next statement.

“It’s up to my master, sir!”

I sigh, picking up the pace as I finish getting ready. Bobby is wearing on Sascha, and I want to intervene before anything else transpires between them.

“Aw, too much work making you grouchy?” Bobby teases. I can’t hear what he does, but I can only imagine the foolishness he’s subjecting Sascha to. “There, now you only have one thing to occupy your pretty little head.”

Sascha’s response is immediate and loud. “Unlike yours,
my
pretty little head is perfectly functional! I’m sorry if you’re too thick to get it, but the only thing I’d like right now is for you to leave me alone so I can get some goddamn work done!”

I shake my head when I hear the appalling stream of curse words and insults spew from my slave’s mouth. I pick up the pace, making my way down the hall in record time and storming into the office.

I catch Sascha’s eyes, and as angry as I am at him, I can’t be surprised. Bobby antagonizes him, and Sascha has difficulty holding his tongue. I shake my head as I try to decide how to deal with him. I would rather deal with Bobby, but he’s been through so much with me. I can’t bear to tell him off for being playful with my slave; it’s just how he is. He never means any harm.

“Little bastard,” Bobby mutters, flushing with embarrassment. “I should slap you.”

I go to Bobby and put a hand on his shoulder. I don’t want him hitting Sascha. “I’ll deal with him. His discipline is my concern.”

I glare at Sascha until he remembers his place. He jumps up from his chair to move in front of us, dropping to his knees.

“I apologize, sir,” he says, looking terrified. “I behaved disrespectfully and was very rude. Please, don’t allow my insolence to affect your view of my master. I know better, sir.”

“I guess you were right when you said he wasn’t trained all that well,” Bobby mutters. “I’ve been nothing but nice to the beast.”

I’m not sure who’s irritating me more right now, Bobby, or Sascha. “Bobby, really, I apologize as well. He’s usually not like this.”

“You shouldn’t let him work like a free man,” Bobby suggests, frowning at me. “They start getting uppity that way.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Sascha turning red, looking like he’s about to cry. I know that he values his work as much as I do, and I wouldn’t dream of taking it away from him. If Sascha is uppity, he’s always been this way, and the fact that Bobby dares to criticize my lifestyle irks me almost as much as Sascha’s defiance.

“Go wait for me in the hov-car,” I tell Bobby quietly. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Just go and let me deal with my slave!” I snap at Bobby, and he finally gets the point, turning and leaving quickly. Sascha is looking sick and scared, and I want this all over with.

Once I hear the door close, I walk over to Sascha and grab him by the hair. I resent the rift he’s caused between Bobby and me.

“Sascha, what the fuck were you thinking?” I snap, tempted to just punch him. But I can’t allow myself to lose control like that. Instead of waiting for an answer that will anger me further, I let him go and step back. “I want you undressed and leaning over this desk by the time I come back!”