Subjection (2 page)

We continue to play, and I’m careful now, both for myself and for Melinda. I let us win and lose money steadily, and I let some of the other plays come close, but I don’t separate either of us from my master. When the stakes are for money, I throw the game, signaling for my master to make bad plays, especially when it’s his boss who’s eligible to win large sums.

As the game draws on, I wait for my chance, and when I see it, I lean in and dare to whisper to my master, “her.” It’s not something we discussed, but he takes the bait, offering Melinda—and
only
Melinda—up for trade. We throw the hand, and Melinda goes back to Mr. Dean, looking honestly relieved and happy.

She can look the way that I feel.

She’s not put up for trade again, and neither am I. I don’t even know how to express how happy that makes me. I keep my master winning, and he draws quite a crowd—teasing him for his good luck, joking about the “good luck charm” sitting in his lap.

I’m happy to be his good luck charm, then I realize that I don’t care that I’m being referred to as some sort of object. The realization bothers me more than anything. When did I let this become my life? But it is still better than any other life I could hope for, so I keep up the act, keep being a perfect slave and making my master win.

The casino would probably have called us on cheating hours ago if we were playing for real, but this is Peace Day, and the proceeds are going to charity, and the house has made plenty of profit just by hosting the event. The fact that my master and I are cheating is ignored by the staff, just like the casual inclusion of slaves and sexual favors into the barter pool. We continue to win and dazzle for the rest of the night.

Finally, it is our time to leave, and the company head comes up to shake my master’s hand, making some sort of business small talk and hinting toward a promotion. I’m tired, and let my head rest against my master’s shoulder as I sit there, eyes half-closed. Nobody minds a sleepy pet, and if that’s the role I’m supposed to play, I figure I may as well take advantage of it. As harsh as he can be at times, right now his shoulder is warm and soft, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

I let their words wash over me, becoming pointless noise until I jerk back as a hand caresses my chest. It’s been too long since I’ve been touched so casually, it shocks me and scares me, and I force myself not to glare. My master’s arm tightens around my hips.

“Perhaps some other time, Mr. Dean,” my master says to his boss with a smile. “The poor boy seems a little bit tired tonight, doesn’t he?”

The other man nods, but his eyes are still roving over my body. I shrink down as much as possible, wishing I could disappear. Melinda glares at me like
she
wishes I would disappear.

“That’s true, that’s true,” the older man says, still leering at me. “I wouldn’t want to exhaust him. Perhaps you should stop by sometime for a few drinks; we can talk about the future and get to know one another a little better.”

A cheesy business come-on if I’ve ever heard one, but this man does seem cheesy.

“That would be spectacular, sir,” my master replies, smiling and charming.

“Make sure this one gets some rest, hmm? Don’t keep him up too late!” the boss teases, actually daring to pinch my cheek.

I want to punch him, but I can guarantee my master would happily beat the shit out of me for trying something so terribly stupid. I turn and hide my face against his chest, instead, wishing I were a cute little girl who could get away with it. But it’s better to look stupid or get smacked for being clingy than to be called out on my shitty attitude.

He doesn’t smack me, though; he doesn’t even push me away. He just stands up, placing me on my feet next to him.

“Most certainly, sir,” my master replies, calm as ever. “May peace and prosperity find you.”

“You as well!” My master’s boss smiles and puts his arm around Melinda, who looks relieved. I’m amazed to realize that she views me as competition.

We take our leave, and I can’t help but to be glad that we are away from the crowd and the commotion and the lustful eyes of wealthy businesspeople. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and I stumble a few inches. My master puts his arm around me, and I’m more thankful than I probably should be. I know it’s still an act, but his touch feels firm and secure.

“You were excellent tonight,” he whispers, and the words send almost as much of a thrill through my spine as the soft brush of his lips against my ear.

I start to relax as he leads me to wait for the valet, so I’m surprised when he curses and pulls me off the sidewalk and down a dark alley.

“Sir—”

My protests are cut off by my master’s hand wrapping hard around my mouth. “Hush,” he orders, keeping his voice low.

I don’t fight him, but I look to see what—or who—he’s hiding from. A group of people pass us by, chatting and laughing. They are dressed well, obviously out celebrating Peace Day as well, and the focal point of the group seems to be an older woman, comfortably in front, flanked by a pretty slave on either side. There is nothing I recognize about any of them, but my master clearly does. He’s tense, nervous, and he doesn’t release his grip on me until they are down to the next block.

“Someone I’m trying to avoid talking to,” my master explains. He doesn’t elaborate, but he does release his grip on me, and we meet our valet to pick up the hov-car as if nothing ever happened.

I fall asleep on the drive home, but my master doesn’t seem to mind. He wakes me gently once we get to the house, his hand light on my shoulder. He puts his arm around me again and leads me up the stairs, and I just want to lean into him, let him hold me, pretend…

Just pretend.

But I don’t, because pretending would only be fun now, and tomorrow I already have to worry about if he’s going to get rid of me or not, now that the Peace Day Celebration is over. That’s what he bought me for, after all.

Once we get inside, he looks at his hand, slightly smeared by the paint, which is starting to rub off ever so slightly.

“Make sure you wash up before going to bed,” he comments. “I don’t want green paint all over the place. I’m sure it would be impossible to get out, and it will track everywhere.”

“Yes, master,” I mumble, wishing I could just collapse into bed. I head toward the shower instead, surprised when he follows me, stripping off his shirt.

“Master?” I ask, too tired to guess at what he wants. I’d like him to fuck me, right in the doorway to my room, but he hasn’t shown any interest in touching me, much less fucking me, since he bought me. That sort of interaction is reserved for my own private fantasy world.

“You won’t be able to reach it all,” he says, matter-of fact. “I could use a shower, too.”

Maybe I am in a fantasy world.

Of course, my fantasy world would involve a lot more kissing and touching and a lot less scraping with the exfoliating brush, and certainly
no
scraping with nails, at least not in the absolutely unsexy way he does it.

I do my best not to whimper from the pain, and I really do my best not to get hard from it. It sucks, having your sexual responses all fucked up from slave training. Really messes with your mind.

But the areas with the most freshly healed scars are sensitive, and those are the areas where the rhinestones seem to be glued on with something stronger than latex body paint. When his nails scratch over one of those just the right way, I can’t help but yelp and pull away. I cower, waiting for the smack.

All I hear is a sigh.

“Sascha, for fuck’s sake, could you manage to tell me, with actual words, if I’m hurting you?” my master mumbles, placing a firm hand on my shoulder and using the other one to rub gently at the spot he has just hurt, easing the pain at least a little. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you—your skin’s quite sensitive. I really should have gotten something to remove this, but I didn’t think it would be quite
this
difficult.”

“Sorry, master,” I mumble. I’m focused on squirming as far away from him as I can, trying to will my erection away.

He continues rubbing at my back, much more gently now, and that doesn’t help my current state at all. “I’ll be more careful with the rest,” he says quietly, and he makes good on his promise, peeling the remainder of the paint and glue off with only the slightest irritation and rubbing the places where I’m sure my skin is red and blotchy.

“Turn around,” he says, his hand insistent on my shoulder.

I hesitate. Is it worth it? “I can get the front on my own, master, and let you get to bed sooner if you’d like.” I wait for his response, praying that he won’t just order me to turn around and reveal how excited he’s made me.

“You’ve got a point,” he says, as though it’s nothing out of the ordinary for me to contradict him. “Hand me the shampoo, then.”

I hand it to him, silent, unable to believe my good luck. I work over the paint on the front of my body, a bit gentler than my master had been, and I’m relieved when he finishes and steps out before I do, bidding me good night.

I paint my own dick green as my paint-stained hands rush to work off the burning excitement and energy of the night. I’m thinking of nothing but my master’s lips against my ear and the feel of his hands on my skin as I come.

Chapter 2
Opportunity

I saw my master for the first time a month ago.

I was down on my knees, scrubbing the floor and trying to avoid the pain that radiated through my battered body. Mistress Bethel, the owner of the brothel, had turned me into a torture-whore, suitable for little other than beating, fucking, and meeting her demands.

When the two men walked in, the first thing I noticed was that they appeared much wealthier than our usual clientele. I expected them to turn and walk right back out.

“Bobby, I can’t believe you brought me to
this
part of town!” one of the men said. His voice was filled with disdain and disgust at the low-class establishment.

“I can’t believe that
you
are so unprepared all the time,” Bobby replied, laughing and teasing. He sounded like the type that liked to come down from his high-rise and take an e-train to go slumming for “fun.”

“I didn’t expect Emmett to break things off a month before the Peace Day Celebration, and I wasn’t exactly looking to book an escort when I had a boyfriend to bring as a date and conversation piece.”

I risked beating to put a face to these voices. Chances were pretty damn good that I would be getting beaten anyway, because that was how every day ended. I studied them as they discussed the difficulty of finding a suitable slave for the Celebration at the last moment.

Even though I didn’t know so much as his name at the time, the man who would become my master was stunningly attractive, so much so that I tried to push the thought of him fucking me far out of my mind, focusing on the bucket I was cleaning with. And then I peeked out again, hoping to get a look at his ass.

It was nice.

He was dressed in black, head to toe, except the button down shirt, which was blue. Navy blue, of course, nothing too colorful. He was the picture of a slightly depressed, just-got-dumped, climbing-the-professional-ladder twenty-something. I peeked at his face again and decided that early-thirty-something was more accurate.

Next to him was a blond with scruffy hair, a wide smile, and a trendy jacket thrown ultra-carelessly over an ironic t-shirt that hinted at a very well-maintained physique. I assumed, correctly, that this was Bobby. He looked more like a surfer than a business professional, but the cut of the clothes and communication device built into his wristband suggested the latter. He had an open, friendly face, but I wasn’t drawn to him. Bobby kind of reminded me of the strong, athletic guys in school who used to try and beat me up before I arranged for them to get caught with drugs and sent to the “special” school. Clients who were that friendly were the ones who tended to like to disfigure me, or at least threaten to.

The other man seemed calm, relaxed, put together. He was still in comparison to his friend’s movement, quiet in response to his noise. His voice was smooth, lulling me into a strange sense of security, and his eyes were so piercing, so blue…

“Is there someone who runs this place who I can talk to?”

He sounded impatient, but his voice was still nice to listen to. “Yes, sir,” I said, allowing myself to be smitten with the fact that someone was deigning to speak to me. I only noticed the awkward silence once it had gone on too long.

“Sorry, sir,” I muttered, standing and ducking my head away from an imaginary blow. “I’ll fetch Mistress Bethel at once.”

I got her, and she cuffed me. She enjoyed hitting me so much that there didn’t even need to be a reason for it. I followed her back out and resumed cleaning, surreptitiously wiping some of the dirt and blood off myself. I was suddenly aware of how dirty and beaten up I was.

“He waited too long and all the high class hookers sold out,” Bobby explained, grinning as he pointed a finger in his friend’s direction. “What can you do as far as merchandise?”

Mistress Bethel looked puzzled. I could almost see her greedy pig fingers counting the money she would make from such a transaction; she knew good and goddamned well that she didn’t have any such “merchandise” that could reasonably be passed off as anything other than a cheap whore. She had no clue of what I could do. I thought about how nice it would be to see a Peace Day Celebration again, and how much of a respite I would have from being able to leave Bethel’s Brothel for even one day.

Mistress Bethel stalled, asking questions and trying to think of some way to rake in some money off of the situation. Trying to figure out a way to dress up a donkey as a steed. A whore as a courtesan. The man wanted a pretty boy to keep him company at one of the nicest casinos in town, in hopes of getting a promotion.

He wanted a party favor, and I was happy to play the role. I even had a trick…

“Sir,” I crawled out from behind the counter, heedless of the fact that I was beaten and bloody and scrubbing a floor like the lowly, smelly slave I was. “Sir, please, let me go with you! I’ll be the best good luck charm you’ve ever had!”