...of all Possible Worlds - Chapter Fourteen
I was still in the tub when Mr. Reiser arrived home, the water tepid at best and hardly soothing, but I didn't want to move. I half expected my Master to be angry with me, but Mercy hadn't told him about my behavior yet and so I suspected that she never would. It was an affair between slaves, as some things inevitably are, and there was no need to involve Mr. Reiser. Mercy probably thought he would notice my unfriendly attitude towards Tom Henry soon enough anyway, without any help from her.
"The bathwater's cold." He bent over and ran his fingers through it. "Let me take a shower. We'll go to the Owner's Club for dinner tonight."
"I'll wash you," I offered, smiling at him, opening the drain and standing slowly. I shivered and hugged myself while my Master returned to the bedroom and finished undressing.
"Did you meet the new houseboy?" he asked me from the other room, and I decided to be somewhat honest. I was never able to lie to Mr. Reiser anyway and he would probably know I if I did.
"Yes sir," I answered, watching the water swirl and drain around my calves. "I wasn't very polite. Mercy's mad at me."
"Is she?" Mr. Reiser entered, wearing his robe and looking at me as I stood there naked for him.
"Yes sir." I swallowed hard.
"What did you say to the boy?"
"I, uh...asked him if he was queer."
"And not nicely?" Mr. Reiser lifted an eyebrow, but I think he found my confession slightly amusing.
"No sir." I shook my head, sensing his mood. "I asked him if he was a cocksucker."
He laughed at that and admired my body, appraising me openly and honestly. I didn't fear his opinion, but longed for it.
"Turn around for me," he said. "You have some real hips now. A little bit of fat there, I think."
I turned for him, showing my Master my back and looking over my shoulder. The water was almost gone now, but I hardly noticed and I had goosebumps from the cool air on my wet body and more, from being examined by Mr. Reiser.
"I'm fat?" I gave him a pout, knowing what he meant, but playing with him.
"No, you're not fat, Danielle." He shook his head.
I reached back, pressing my palms over my hips, feeling them slightly wider perhaps than I remembered. Softer as well, and those hormones and drugs were working, putting my body into a more proper shape, although I did wish I could eat more sometimes. My diet was a strict one and Mercy had orders to ensure I stayed on it. I moved my hands to my butt, which was more round as well and somewhat larger, but no less firm than it had ever been. Not so big as a lot of the girls I knew at school, however; some of them had some huge asses and I thought they didn't look very sexy at all. I was happy with mine and so too my Master as he watched my massage my cheeks for him.
"My butt's bigger too, isn't it?" I asked, and Mr. Reiser grinned at me. "Is it perfect? Do you love my ass?"
I bent over slightly, moving my feet apart, and spread my tight brown cheeks so he could see my anus and my balls and cock hanging between my thighs. I was inviting him to fuck me, like the bedroom negra he wanted me to be. I felt wanton and shameless and my only desire was to seduce the man every opportunity I had.
"It's perfect," Mr. Reiser decided, taking off his robe and hanging on a hook at the back of the door.
"I'm the prettiest girl in school," I told him seriously. "The prettiest slave there, everybody knows it."
"You're proud of that, aren't you?" he asked, reaching for the shower faucets. "Stand back. I'm going to turn on the water."
"Yes sir. I'm very proud." I nodded and moved out from under the showerhead because the water would come out either too hot or too cold, and I wouldn't like it much either way.
"Do you know what makes a pretty woman beautiful, Danielle?" he asked, and I smiled, waiting for the answer. "Modesty."
"Modesty?" I frowned at that as the water sprayed out and it was cold, but Mr. Reiser adjusted it quickly enough.
"A little less pride, I think, would do you some good," he told me, and a moment later he stepped in with me, sliding the glass door shut behind him.
"I thought you liked me this way?" I said, standing at the rear of the tub as he turned to face me.
"I like the way you look," he said, hot water cascading over his shoulders and back, the steam rising. "But I miss the shyness, the innocence you used to have."
"You wanted me to be a slut," I blinked at him, not really understanding. "Your negra whore, that's what you said, Master."
"In the bedroom," he agreed. "Other places, sometimes, but not always and that's not what I mean."
"Oh." I wanted to touch him, but I didn't, we just stood close together. "What then?"
"Just a little modesty," he repeated, and I didn't think that was much of an answer at all. "Wash me now."
I didn't understand what Mr. Reiser was trying to tell me and I wondered how he could expect me to be modest when he dressed me in a thousand dollar dress, red and gorgeous. It was an evening gown made of silk that held my body close, caressing my skin with every small movement of my body. My shoulders were bare and the dress had an underwire bust that pushed my dark tits up and out, putting my charms on ample display. The silk barely covered my nipples actually, and even so, they were still plainly obvious. The full length evening gown covered my legs to the floor with slits on either side to a point just above my knees, and we complimented each other amazingly well.
I wore ruby colored heels and real ruby earrings along with a diamond tennis bracelet which must have cost a small fortune, it was so beautiful. I was beautiful. Where would I find modesty attired in that fashion? Mr. Reiser had made me this way and he would complain that I knew how perfect I looked? I smoothed the dress over my hard nipples and then my hard cock, because I always became aroused when I dressed for an evening out, it was unavoidable and especially if I hadn't orgasmed immediately before dressing. I would be hard all night and my unfettered girl cock created a small protrusion which my Master noticed immediately. He drew a happy sigh, enjoying that part of my appearance most of all. It's why he forbade me so much as a thong to keep my physical ardor in check.
"In a perfect world I should have to marry you," Mr. Reiser said softly, embracing me from behind in front of the mirrored vanity in my bedroom.
"This is a perfect world," I whispered, and I believed that with all my heart.
I rather enjoyed looking at myself, in the arms of a handsome and wealthy white man, dressed and appearing as a beautiful woman, and knowing I was a slave. Or more precisely, knowing that I was beyond the limits of a mere slave. I'd become something else and that was the source of my pride as much as anything else, that sense of worth I felt at being owned precisely because I was loved. It was the only way the man could have me and elevated me above everyone else. A romantic notion, certainly, the idea that I'd sacrificed my freedom for love, but I felt the truth of it and this was the only world I could imagine where such a thing might be. How mundane our love would be if we were free to marry and have children and grow old together as husband and wife.
Freedom would be a burden and a bore, and I wanted no part of it.--------------------------------------------------------
"Master?" I glanced towards the club's dining room, my stomach growling softly at the scent of food wafting through the door.
"We'll eat later, there's little time now," he told me, leading me by the hand.
"Time for what?" I wondered, but he didn't hear me, or chose not to.
I swallowed hard as I realized Mr. Reiser was leading me towards the cellars of the mansion. I'd noticed the club seemed strangely quiet for a Friday evening, now I could see why. There were a lot of men downstairs, talking and laughing. Not so many slaves, however, only myself and a few others, looking anxious and standing close to their owners. I myself was clinging to Mr. Reiser, not liking that place at all. I'd only been down there once before, on my first visit to the Owner's Club over a year before.
This was where they bought and sold slaves and it wasn't a place for me. Mr. Reiser was greeted by men he knew and he paused only briefly to shake hands and exchange a quick word or two before we moved on. A man asked him if I would be going on the block, but it was clearly a joke and my Master laughed and told him not tonight, which hardly made me feel better. My heart beat quickly and I felt flushed with nervous energy. There was adrenaline in my veins and I might have run from that place if Mr. Reiser hadn't held me close and I him.
My only fear in this world was to be sold and if my Master desired to instill some sense of modesty into my heart, a return to my shy and innocent past, this was working. I kept my eyes down, terrified to meet the assessing gaze of anyone down there. They were white men and Masters and assembled to one purpose, to trade slaves. They looked upon me then not as a beautiful woman, but a possession with a practical value in dollars and cents. I'd been stripped of my romantic illusions and I felt naked and vulnerable, and an irrational sense of panic rose in my belly.
"In here. We'll look first," Mr. Reiser said, and he glanced at his watch. "We have time."
The pens were crowded as well, with cages I'd seen previously empty now filled with people, black people of different ages and both sexes equally presented. There were several dozen at least, perhaps thirty all told, and a few had been withdrawn from their cells, to be inspected and touched. They were questioned, but it was all done gently. There was no rough treatment or harsh words, and that lent greater anxiety to my emotions as I wondered at my own reactions in such circumstances. I would hardly be so calm as those slaves, patiently waiting for their futures to unfold, and that sense of empathy, of imagining myself in one of those cages, made me dizzy with fear.
Mr. Reiser didn't notice my state, or perhaps didn't care, for he must have felt my fingers clutching at his arm. He chose to ignore me, touring the pens slowly and pausing every now and again as he looked at the slave within. He seemed most interested in females, but given my Master's natural inclinations, those young males which were particularly attractive caught his eye as well. I would have been indignant under other circumstances, to see my owner engaged so openly with appraising what he must have regarded as potential bedroom slaves, but given my nervous state, my emotions were chaste and turned inward.
"Hmmm…What do you think, Danielle?" my Master asked me suddenly, and I jerked at the unexpected sound of his voice.
"S-Sir?"
I looked at him, and then the slave he was intent upon. A girl of some thirteen or fourteen years, I supposed, pretty and perhaps half white, or a little more. Three quarters bred with a white parent, and one of her grandparents a white man as well, I suspected. She looked like a fair negra, lighter than most, but her eyes were blue and she huddled in the corner of her cell. It was difficult to judge her real beauty and I was hardly of a mind to do so. I didn't even know why we were there or what Mr. Reiser's interest in purchasing a new slave might be. We'd just gotten a houseboy, why another and why so soon?
"Stand up, girl," he told her. "Come here."
She did as she was told, looking nervous, but not frightened, not like I was. The negra stood close to the bars between us, wearing a plain white dress, a clean one and made of cotton. All the slaves were dressed like that, the females anyway, the males wore pants with drawstrings and loose shirts tied in the front. They had simple shoes, sandals really, and again of the cheapest sort. Their clothing wasn't intended to influence a buyer's decision in any way, but merely offer some sense of modesty to the slave's presentation. She wore nothing beneath her dress, this girl, and that was plain from the way her small brown nipples stuck out from her flat chest.
"How old are you?" Mr. Reiser asked.
"Thirteen years and some two months, sir," she replied in a soft, high-pitched tone of voice.
A few other men were nearby, appraising her and listening as they let Mr. Reiser ask the obvious questions. The information was available on a clipboard hanging nearby. My Master had looked it over briefly and now another man had it in his hands, reading whatever information it contained on her background and medical history, all that sort of thing.
"Are you a virgin?" he asked her, and she shook her head.
"No sir."
"What kind of work have you done?"
"Kitchen work, sir. I can cook and clean." She gave a little shrug and kept her eyes down, but mostly she looked at me.
"Have you ever been sick?" a man asked.
"No sir, 'cept I had the chicken pox once and some fever, but it weren't nothing at all."
"Any broken bones?" my Master asked. "Ever been pregnant?"
"No sir, never broke anything, and I ain't had any seasoning yet."
"Seasoning?" Mr. Reiser chuckled. "You mean you haven't had a period yet?"
"Yes sir, sorry sir." She nodded quickly. "I ain't had my first blood."
"Have you been to school? Can you read and write?" someone asked.
"I can read some, yes sir. I had some schooling until I was about ten years maybe."
"Your daddy black or white, girl?" the first man wondered.
"I don't know, sir." She shrugged at that and it wasn't important anyway.
We moved along then and looked at couple other girls, slightly older and less attractive than the first one. We looked at a boy too, for a long while, and he was pretty and my Master caressed my bare hip with his fingers while he talked to the boy. I'd calmed somewhat by then, but not a lot and I wanted to leave, to go back upstairs where it was safe.
We did leave finally, as a heavyset white man announced in a loud voice that the auction would be starting in ten minutes. I was led by my Master to a table where buyers were registered and made their payment arrangements in advance. Some with bank notes, some with checks or credit cards, establishing their credentials, so to speak, and thus avoiding later embarrassment. Everyone down there was a member of the club in any event, and so they all enjoyed some measure of affluence. It was my first experience with such a thing and I didn't really understand it very much. I watched as my Master produced a platinum Confederate Express card, which was run quickly through a computer and returned with a white stick, long and narrow and printed with a number in large black letters.
I suppose the event may have been enjoyable under other circumstance. Clearly the owners were enjoying themselves as black waiters and waitresses moved about quietly, delivering wine and champagne on silver trays. The men talked and the atmosphere became charged with a sense of excitement and expectation, not so much for the prospects of owning a new slave, but more for the contest itself, it seemed to me. The auction was very much like a game, calculated and subtle with strategy perhaps, but I was just a negra sitting close to my Master and such things were largely lost upon me. I merely wanted it to be over.
The slaves were paraded out one at a time and auctioned off. Some of them rather quickly, others after longer and increasingly heated bidding. It was confusing, some of it, and I had difficulty at times keeping track of who had bid and how much, but it was interesting and even enjoyable as my attention was diverted from the emotional turmoil I'd been suffering. I'd grown weary of my nervous fear and so I welcomed the distraction and took some refuge in it, smiling and even giggling as the men shouted over each other at one point. The slave in question was a wonderfully demure and attractive girl of seventeen, and a virgin according to the auctioneer who had detailed the finer points of her background before opening the bidding.
"She's the prize of the night," my Master whispered. He became my constant guide in such things as he tried at last to comfort me.
"Shouldn't they have saved her then?" I asked him. "To be the last slave?"
As it was the girl had been brought out towards the middle, the twelfth slave up for bid. I wasn't an expert, but it seemed to me that keeping the most valuable slaves until the end would be the most sensible approach. It would keep the men sitting and anxious, waiting through all the others if their intent was to buy that one negra, and perhaps during the wait they'd bid on others.
"Usually they would," Mr. Reiser said into my ear, for the men were loud again. "But she has a twin sister, a matching set. The other will be the last."
"Oh!" I giggled at that. "Why didn't they sell them together?"
"They'll be worth more this way," he explained. "Whoever wants to buy this one needs to think about the price he'll have to pay for the other."
"So they're all trying to bid low?" I wondered, because the bids were already pretty high for a slave, especially for a bedroom negra, virgin or not.
Unless she was whored out, I thought somewhat cattily, the girl wouldn't be anything but an expense. Bedroom negras didn't make money for their owners, they were a hobby, a luxury and nothing more, and I giggled at the silliness of these men spending so much for a girl like that. Until I remembered that a girl like that was precisely who and what I'd become. I was filled with chagrin at my own foolishness because I really had forgotten I was a slave, just for a moment, a second or two at the most, but nonetheless…
"The man who buys her will be desperate for the other," my Master said. "And the men who don't get her will want the sister even more."
"I'm glad she's not a boy," I whispered very softly into his ear, pressing my hand to his crotch. He laughed, but didn't agree with me and I felt his cock move slightly, perhaps as he imagined that negra with a long black penis between her legs.
The boy my Master had looked at was number eighteen and stood on the small stage as the owner read off the young nigger's background. He was all of fifteen and mechanically inclined, having spent much of his young life working for a cable and wire company as an apprentice machinist. The owner of the boy, and all the others, was a slave trader by profession and a guest of the club. He had a long Texas drawl and a handsome personality, if not appearance, and I thought he looked like a door-to-door Bible salesman.
My Master raised his stick, being the third one to bid on the boy, and I jerked my head as if he'd slapped me with it. I stared at him then, my mouth open as if I might speak, but I didn't make a sound and Mr. Reiser glanced at me without humor. We had a new houseboy and no need of an apprentice machinist, I knew that, so the only plausible reason for buying the boy would be for my Master's bed and I felt the heat rising in my face.
"I want to leave," I said, feeling my empty stomach lurch as if I might be sick.
"Be quiet," my Master told me, lifting his card again. The auctioneer pointed his gavel at us, announcing the current bid and asking the small crowd for more.
Mr. Reiser's right hand gripped my left bicep hard, painfully so that he held me in my place and I closed my eyes, feeling more humiliated than anything else. I should have been enough for him, that's what I was thinking, and for the second time in as many days, I struggled with my jealous vanity at the idea of my Master owning another slave, a boy who might replace me somehow. This was worse however, much worse than merely receiving such news in the comfort of our home. I had to watch it happen and the boy was pretty, and I knew my Master found him sexually attractive, but I was powerless to affect the outcome of this deliberate torment.
There were two other men bidding on the boy besides my Master, the others dropping out quickly as the price rose beyond what they considered prudent. Finally there came a pause as one of the men made a bid which neither my Master nor the other man was willing to contest immediately. The gavel rose and fell slowly, much too slowly for my taste as the matter was settled, and we did not own the boy. I sagged with relief then and my Master let go of my arm so that I could rub it, the skin indented and perhaps bruised from the force of his grip.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, but that meant little of course, coming as it did after my small victory. Mr. Reiser ignored it.
The girl we'd looked at was very near the end, number twenty-three and her name was Lilah, short for Delilah, naturally. There was a lot of energy in the room as the girl stood in front of all those white men. She did look frightened then and she held her hands behind her back, turning as the slaver told her to pose, extolling her virtues as a house negra all the while. I suspected very few of the men who wanted her were much interested in the young girl's ability to cook or clean, however. Her innocence had an enchanting quality, more so than her modest beauty. She looked fragile to me.
I was perhaps more surprised when Mr. Reiser entered the bidding for her than I'd been with the boy earlier, but I shouldn't have been. Not after he showed such interest in the girl before the auction started. I didn't speak or move and barely looked at my Master while he lifted his arm every now and again, holding that white card up and entering a bid. I didn't know why he would want her though. Mercy was more than able to take care of us and the woman didn't want any help, I knew that from personal experience. Or probably she didn't want my help, I thought with a frown, and I wondered if she'd mentioned to our Master the need for another set of hands in the kitchen. He wouldn't want her for his bed, I was certain. Mr. Reiser had no interest in girls and from what I'd understood in listening to Mercy talk, he'd never touched a girl in his life.
Except me, and I wondered if I wasn't a little too girlish. Was it possible that I'd made the man curious somehow? Maybe Mr. Reiser wondered if he wouldn't find a real girl just as enjoyable as he found me, since the only real difference was the small penis I sported and most often when we made love Mr. Reiser would hardly be aware of it, except in his mind. These were foolish thoughts perhaps, but they were mine and I felt as if my Master was deliberately provoking me for some reason. First with Tom Henry, then the boy he'd tried to buy, and now this girl. I was sullen and pouting, but I kept it to myself and ignored the man as best I could, only wincing slightly every time that card went up. It did so often as the price went higher.
Perhaps if I had said something, like I'd done with the boy, Mr. Reiser would have found the reaction he wanted and let her go. I'll never know for sure. In the end it was my Master and another man and to my utter dismay my Master had the final and winning bid.
"Going once…Twice…Going three times…" The auctioneer paused deliberately with his wooden gavel raised and then brought it down with a sharp crack, like he was driving a nail through my heart.
"Sold," my Master breathed a half-second before the auctioneer could say the same thing.
"…Sold for eight thousand three hundred dollars to bidder two-seven-seven," the man said, referring to the number on my Master's card.
That's a lot of money for a slave, for any slave, and more than number twelve, the beautiful sister, had gone for previously by nearly a thousand dollars. Doubtless the other twin would go for more, but eight thousand seemed a ridiculous sum for a house negra, especially one who was just thirteen, and there was a lot of talk about it from the men around us. I felt embarrassed by their envious congratulations as some of my Master's friends pressed their hands to his, or patted him on the shoulder. A few chided him for spending so much and one man in particular, Mr. Connelly, wondered what on earth Mr. Reiser was going to do with her. He was well aware of my Master's sexual tastes and shared it, having a several bedroom boys of his own.
"Put her to work, I suppose." Mr. Reiser smiled and that's all the answer we were getting for the moment. "Let's go, Dani. We don't need to see any more."
My Master stood slowly, pulling me up with him and we made our way back to the table where payment was made and the necessary forms completed and filed. I merely waited unhappily until Mr. Reiser was finished and arrangements were made for delivery of the girl the following morning.--------------------------------------------------------
"I'm being punished," I said softly, picking at my plate as my hunger had vanished.
"What? The salad?" Mr. Reiser smiled from across our small table.
"Why are you unhappy with me?" I looked up and I was crying. I couldn't help it.
"Shhh…This is no place for that." He drew a breath, looking around. The dining room was filling up quickly as the auction downstairs ended.
"I know." I used my napkin, dabbing at my eyes in a vain effort to avoid ruining my makeup.
"I'm very happy with you, Danielle. Eat more. Have some champagne."
"I'm not hungry." I let out a ragged breath. "Why can't it just be us?"
"Just us?" He chuckled. "I've had you for a year, Dani. It's been just us for a long time, but a man in my position has certain…expectations placed upon him."
"I don't understand." I sucked my lips.
"I have a lot of money, a big house, and no family." Mr. Reiser shrugged. "I have an old woman who cooks and girl, who may or may not be a girl, sharing my bed. It makes me suspect in some circles and I've come to realize I require a certain image."
"What image?" I shook my head. "Why?"
"Why?" He lifted his champagne. "I want to be the president of my company someday. I want to have more money. More friends. More influence. I want the same things everyone else wants, but to do it I need to look and act like people expect."
"So you're buying slaves?" I asked, smiling weakly. "What does that prove?"
"Nothing by itself, but the girl will be useful. I'll dress her, have her seen and she'll be beautiful," he explained, ignoring the pain on my face. "Everyone knows what she is."
"And me too?" I blinked at him.
"You're an open secret. Too many people have heard rumors, and of course your father works for the company and he's never kept the fact that you're really a boy hidden from anyone."
"My father…"
"He's very proud of you." Mr. Reiser smiled at me. "I treated him poorly the night I took you and I've always regretted it."
"I don't understand." I frowned, looking down at my hands.
"I'm going to need a wife soon," he told me, and I looked up. "A real one. A white one who can give me a child. I'm not getting any younger."
"But what about me?" I swallowed hard.
"Of course I'd prefer to find a wife who isn't very particular about her husband's, uh, interests," he said. "But at my age, in my social circles, my choices are going to be somewhat limited, I'm afraid."
"You're going to sell me." I stared at him and all my worst fears filled my mind like a fever. I felt faint and my hand trembled as I reached for my glass.
"I'll never sell you," Mr. Reiser insisted, and he reached across, intercepting my fingers before I could find my champagne.
"You're lying," I whispered. "You have a boy for your bed now, and a girl to replace me here, and you'll find a woman and she won't like me. She won't want me, or you if she finds out." I closed my eyes. "You can't keep me."
"If it comes to that I can put you in an apartment, a nice one all your own," he told me. "Men do it all the time, believe me."
"And visit me on weekends?" I laughed sadly and shook my head.
"Whatever I do, it'll be what's best for you, Danielle," Mr. Reiser said, and maybe he even believed that, but I didn't.