Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6865330.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Brooklyn_Nine-Nine_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Jake_Peralta_&_Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Jake_Peralta
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Slavery, Kidnapping, Police, math_joke, Forced
      Abortion, Complete, Non-Consensual_Spanking, Urination, Cages, Collars
  Series:
      Part 1 of Birdland
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-16 Chapters: 18/18 Words: 15645
****** She Says Thank You ******
by PariPassu
Summary
     Jake Peralta is a small town detective and slave rehabber who gets an
     unusual project, an erection, and his files organized.
     Basically, this is what happens when a non-submissive slave meets a
     non-dominant master. They actually have fun.
Notes
     My apologies -- this is only very tenuously connected to Brooklyn 99.
     I like to think it's Jake after a big glass of grow up juice. This
     was also inspired by "To Bend, Not to Break" by dont_hate_me01, a
     work I respect but thought might be different if the slave was not so
     malleable.
     I think the story is complete if you stop at the end of part one, but
     if you would like to see more than Jake's point of view, I invite you
     to read part two, which is also complete.
***** D Project *****
Because I'm sucker, that's why, Jake thought to himself as the orderlies
unloaded the cage with the rehab project. He got the call an hour ago that the
Authority Center had a slave who needed "a few months" of training before it
could be resold. A "D" project – discipline problems. As a cop, he was their
go-to trainer for D projects and, he knew – and they knew – he was a sucker for
rehabs.
7:00 am was a hell of a time to take a delivery. He watched the orderlies
wheeled the cage back into his playroom as he drank his coffee. The cage was
medium-sized and the slave fit in it easily. A not-very-big woman. They usually
sent him women, which was fine with him. But a small woman with a discipline
problem? That's not very common.
She was naked except for a collar, which was usual. Awake and not drugged –
unusual. No shackles on in the cage – unusual. Jake was intrigued.
The orderlies made him sign a receipt and gave him a thick file with her
history. Thick files were unusual. This was his kind of case. He finished his
coffee and closed the front door behind the men. Time to say hello to this
slave in his playroom.
He took a glance her name on the file. "Elena," he said to the woman. "How do
you say it? 'Eh-lay-nah' or 'Ell-en-ah'?"
However the fuck you want, she thought to herself. Clearing her throat, she
said "Eh-lay-nah."
"I am your new master," Jake said. "You may address me as 'master.' This is my
playroom, where you will receive your discipline and your punishment. Every
day, you will count the number of mistakes you made and you will receive
punishment for each one. This is different from discipline, which you will
receive at my discretion, and is for your benefit . . ."
She tuned him out. Nothing she hadn't heard before. Nothing she cared about.
He finally noticed the caged woman wasn't paying attention and kicked the cage.
"Did you get that?" he shouted.
She didn't respond.
He flung the door of the cage open and dragged her off the thin pad covering
the cage bottom. He stood her upright and bent down to glare at her. She stood,
expressionless, and stared at the floor.
"I said 'did you get that?'" he said loudly.
She glanced at his face and returned her gaze to the floor.
"When I ask you a question, you will answer!" he shouted. He spun her around
and bent her over a padded bench. Pressing down on her upper back, he spanked
her ass with his large hand. "Count!" he shouted at her.
Sighing, she said "one."
Whack.
"One."
Maybe she thought the first one didn't count.
Whack.
"Two."
Whack.
"Three."
Whack.
"Five."
"Four!" he said.
Whack.
"Eight."
"Five!" he shouted.
Whack.
"Thirteen," she said.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, spinning her around. "What the fuck?"
She looked him in the eye. "Fibonacci sequence," she said.
He looked at her. He knew he was angry. He knew it was inappropriate to
discipline a slave while out of control emotionally. He needed to suspend this
activity and return to it later when he was calm. That would be good for both
of them.
"Get back in there," he said and pushed her back into the cage and locked it.
He was breathing heavily. She wasn't. She was lying on the floor of the cage,
looking at him without expression.
He walked to the door and looked back at her. She was still looking at him. He
turned out the lights and shut the door. Let her think about her new master.
Let him calm down.
He went into the study and turned on the laptop. What the hell was the
Ribbonakki sequence?
***** Twist Tie *****
His house was only a few blocks from the police station, so he walked over and
sat at his desk in the detective bureau. It was still pretty early and there
were only a few people around. The *Fibonacci* sequence was a mathematical
series of numbers, he'd discovered. But why the hell would a slave know that
and why would she think it's appropriate to count that way in front of her
master? He knew she'd been owned before. Had she never had traditional
discipline? What kind of masters did she have?
Unfortunately, he'd left her file at home, so he couldn't find out until later.
Later . . . later . . . late. How did it get so late? He got to his desk at,
what, 8:30? Suddenly he looked at the clock and it was 6:00pm. He got involved
with his open cases and talked to his lieutenant about a few things and then.
Shit. That slave had been alone for a long time.
He walked back into his house and didn't hear anything. When he opened the door
to the playroom, he smelled it. Urine. He'd left her alone and she'd pissed
herself. Damn. Bad trainer. What had he been thinking?
He turned on the light and walked over to her cage. She hadn't moved. Still
looking at him with a blank face and no expression. He bent down and opened the
door of the cage.
"Come on out," he said.
Slowly, she wiggled backwards and got to her hands and knees. She looked at him
and she stood up. She put her hands behind the small of her back and stared at
the floor again.
Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to say. He was a experienced trainer and had
rehabbed slaves before. But this was a new one.
"I am your master. You need to understand that I will control your life. You
need this," he said.
She made a small sigh. "No, I really don't," she said.
"What?" he said, surprised that she would contradict him so openly.
"I know how to be a slave. I don't need this," she said, pointing with her chin
to all the discipline equipment in his playroom without lifting her eyes from
the ground.
"You didn't show me the proper respect . . . " he started to say, but then
trailed off. She was standing quietly, her eyes on the ground, and her hands
crossed at the small of her back. That was actually respectful. Maybe she did
know what to do.
Acting on a sudden impulse, he said "Elena."
She lifted her eyes to his face.
"What do you need?" he said.
The silence stretched between them. He had never asked a slave that question
before. She probably had never been asked it, given the wary expression as she
studied his face.
"Food, drink, a shower, and sleep," she said quietly.
Food. Shit. She probably hadn't eaten all day. He felt like a big time fuck up.
She was right. He wasn't giving her what she needed and that wasn't good
training. Time to fix this.
"Ok," he said. "Follow me."
He paused to throw the pad from the cage in the laundry room and then walked
down the hall to the kitchen. She walked quietly behind him. He stopped in the
middle of the room and she moved to kneel by the counter.
"Sit up on those stools," he said. His kitchen was too small for someone to
kneel on the floor.
Keeping her eyes on the ground, she sat on the stool with her eyes down and her
hands in her lap.
He made two ham and cheese sandwiches with mayo and mustard, poured a glass of
ice water for her, and opened himself a beer. He put their dinners on the
counter between them and sat on the stool across from her.
Without looking up, she said "thank you for offering me this food and drink,
master," but otherwise didn't move.
"You may eat," he said.
She glanced up at him to make sure he was serious. He nodded. She began eating
her sandwich as fast as she could without choking and drained the water. Dinner
over in three minutes. When she was done, she turned her hands to her lap and
her gaze to the counter top. "Thank you for allowing me to eat this food and
drink, master," she said.
That was interesting. Not only did she have a master before, he must have been
very strict. Not many slaves he'd rehabbed had thanked him before and after a
meal or waited for permission before eating. She sat perfectly still while he
finished his sandwich and beer.
"That was food and drink. Now a shower," he said.
She followed behind him as he went up the stairs to the master bedroom, never
lifting her eyes from the floor.
"Through there," he said, pointing to the master bathroom. "Towels are under
the sink, soap and shampoo in the shower, leave the door open," he said.
She nodded and he moved to the bed to watch her. As she washed, he undressed
and got under the covers.
She silently asked permission to bring a comb into the shower, which was
unusual, but otherwise did as he had told her to. After a fairly short shower,
she came out and dried off, squeezing the water from her hair, which he could
now see was pretty long. She braided it so it hung over her shoulder and looked
around for something to put on the end. He rummaged around on his messy
nightstand for a while.
"This ok?" he said, offering her a twist tie.
That got a tiny smile. She nodded and solemnly took the tie and twisted it
around her hair.
"Come here," he said, gesturing to the bed.
She moved to curl up at his feet.
"No, here," he said, patting the spot next to him.
She moved to lie next to him, on top of the covers.
"Underneath," he said.
She got under the covers with him and, watching his face, moved to lie flush
against his naked body. She was cold and damp and he was surprised to learn he
did not want to fuck her at all. Normally he made a point to sleep with his
rehab projects on the first night but tonight he just wasn't feeling it.
Instead he wrapped his arm around her and began to stroke her back and the top
of her ass. He liked the feel of her tits against his chest and didn't even
mind her damp hair against his shoulder. She had her fists underneath her chin
and was stiff and serious.
"Sleep," he said.
She closed her eyes. "Thank you, master," she said.
***** Weary *****
He woke up in the morning and had a brief anxious thought that he was late for
work and then the great feeling of relief when he realized it was his day off.
Then he felt the bed next to him and had another anxious thought.
Where was she?
He sat up and looked around the room. There she was – kneeling by the sliding
doors to the deck, her butt flat on the soles of her feet, looking out the
glass door into the neighbor's yard, and leaning her head against the wall.
He rested on his elbow and looked at her. She was older than he thought – maybe
late twenties. She had some scars, especially on her lower abdomen.
She was still naked except for the Slave Authority collar. He needed to get his
collar on her with his contact information in case something happened.
Her expression was sad. No . . . weary. That was it. Just tired of life.
"What are you looking at?" he asked her.
"The neighbors' children playing on the swing set," she said.
"Do you have any children?" he asked, curiously. Those weren't scars on her
abdomen. They were stretch marks.
She looked at him with the same weary expression. "Not really," she said.
That was weird. "Not really?" he said.
She licked her lips and then shifted her gaze back out the door. "My third
master liked to get me pregnant," she said. "He would let me think of names and
said I could keep it . . . but when I started to show . . . he would end it."
She paused. "The . . . they were too small . . . it was too early . . . and
they didn't live." She looked at him. "So . . . not really any children."
"How many times?" he said. "How many pregnancies?"
"Eight," she said.
Eight forced abortions? In, what? The fifth or sixth month? Third master sounds
like a real piece of shit, he thought.
"I buried most of them," she was saying. "But the last one . . . it didn't come
out and I couldn’t stop bleeding, so Master left me at the Authority.
They said I had too many scars and they fixed it so I couldn't have children
and I didn't get my period any more. Which is good, I guess . . . "
She kept looking out the window.
Ugh. That's just . . . hard to think about. "How many masters have you had?" he
asked her. He should really read her file before too long.
She looked at him and then dropped her gaze respectfully. "You are my fifth
Master, sir," she said.
Well, it's time to take that "no need for birth control" thing out for a spin.
"Come up here," he said, patting the bed next to him. He was getting hard
looking at her and thinking about how her naked body would feel against him.
She quickly moved back under the covers and pressed against him, opening her
legs. He slid into her cunt and began to thrust. She pressed her lips together
and hummed quietly, saying "thank you, Master. That feels so good. Thank you
for letting me please you."
It was a little distracting, but it didn't slow him down and he came pretty
quickly.
"Thank you for fucking me, Master," she said.
OK, the constant thanking was getting old. "You don't need to thank me all the
time, Elena," he said.
She looked at his face to see if he was serious and then nodded. "I will clean
you, Master," and ducked down to suck his cock clean. That was a nice touch.
"Ok," he said, getting out of bed. "Let's see what there is for breakfast."
***** Singing *****
He rooted around in his desk and found a collar with his contact info and put
it around her neck. The Slave Authority one was disposable and he threw it
away. He fried up a couple of eggs and made toast, but he needed to go to the
convenience store down the street or there would be nothing for lunch or
dinner.
She sat quietly on the stool while he cooked and ate her breakfast quickly when
he gave it to her. She did not thank him for anything, for which he was
grateful.
He thought about her as she ate. She was well trained, really. Not acting out
at all. Why had the Slave Authority marked her case with a D? Maybe she was
sneaky or crafty in some way that he was missing. He needed to give her a
little freedom so he could see what she did with it.
"Ok," he announced. "I am going down the street to the Quik-Mart. I'll be back
soon. Do the dishes and clean the kitchen when I'm away."
She nodded. He watched but she didn't seem excited or nervous that he was
leaving her alone. Probably meant she didn't have big plans for escape or
mayhem. That was interesting.
He went out of the house and locked the door behind him. None of the doors
could be opened from the inside without a key and none of the windows opened
wide enough to get through. Probably not ideal from a fire safety standpoint,
but safe to leave a slave alone. None of his rehab projects had ever found a
way to get out of his house. There was no landline, his gun was in a safe, and
he was taking his phone with him. Ready for the experiment.
He went two doors away to the Quik-Mart and picked up some more lunch meat and
bread. Dinner was gonna be frozen pizza. He got more beer. Ten minutes later he
was back on his own porch, coming through the door silently. He needed to see
what she would do when his back was turned.
Singing. She was singing. A pop tune from about five years ago. It was nice;
she had a nice voice. He looked through the open door into the kitchen and saw
she was elbows deep in sudsy water, scrubbing the dishes, and loading them into
the dishwasher.
"Hey! What are you sing—" he started to say.
She screamed. She whirled around, wide-eyed, and pale. Moving faster than he
could actually see, she dropped to the ground and slid sideways under the open
door of the dishwasher. He could hear her whispering something over and over
but couldn't make out exactly what she was saying.
He didn't know people could actually fit under a dishwasher door. He crouched
down to look at her. She was pressing her chest and crotch against the tiles
with her arms and legs splayed as far as they would go. She was face down
whispering "this slave is sorry, master. This slave does not sing, master. You
will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts. This slave is sorry, sorry,
sorry, master. Please forgive this slave, master. This slave does not sing,
master." Over and over.
She was shaking violently. Sweat was pouring off her. And piss. He smelled piss
again. Holy crap. OK, this was not normal. Pissing yourself is not normal. This
was beyond the standard respect and submission. This was fear – actually, this
was terror. Somebody – some master – terrorized this woman because she sang.
This rehab project was getting into some deep, deep shit.
He slowly pushed the dish rack back in and closed the dishwasher door but she
didn't seem to notice. He tried to put his hand on her back and she flinched
and tried to crawl backwards under the cabinets. She hadn't stopped whispering
and apologizing. He thought for a second and then went into the study and got
the polar fleece blanket off the couch. He opened it out all the way and just
put the whole thing over her, covering her completely.
Maybe it would make her feel safe. For the second time in as many days, he
didn't know exactly what to do.
Yeah, it was time. He needed to read that thick file she came with.
***** Dimples *****
For all the paperwork the file contained, it had darn little information. Lots
of bullshit certificates for training classes the Authority made her attend
like what to do if she's exposed to rabies or how to wash a chicken. There was
no registration of her birth, no sales records, and no health history except
for once when she was 14, when her master brought her to the Authority to get
antibiotics for a cough. Then nothing again until piece-of-shit Master Number
Three gave her to them after that last abortion. Then somehow she went to
Master Number Four, who had her for about a year before she started a house
fire and he turned her back to the Authority with a big D for discipline
problem. Then onto Master Number Five, Jake the Sucker.
House fire. That was interesting.
Also interesting was her age. She was 29. The Authority euthanized slaves 30 or
older, so if she was turned in again, she would die. Her next master would
probably be her last. The Authority was legally obligated to disclose she had
been a discipline problem, even if he rehabbed her, so Master Number Six would
probably be the kind of guy who liked to use a little extra force with his
slaves. And considering she was currently pissing herself in fear, this would
not end well. Not well at all. Hmmm. That's a lot to think about.
He heard a small noise and looked up. She was standing in the doorway, holding
the folded blanket.
"Are you ok?" he asked her.
"Yes, master. Thank you for the blanket, master," she said quietly. "I finished
cleaning the kitchen, master. May I go . . . clean myself?"
"Yeah, go ahead," he said. "And then come back here and talk to me about what
happened."
A few minutes later, she was back, kneeling by his desk with her eyes on the
floor. He looked down at the top of her head from his swivel chair and
considered what to ask her.
"Was that from Master Number Three again?" he said.
"Master Number Four, sir," she said.
"No singing?" he asked.
"Definitely no singing," she said.
"Tell me about that house fire," he said.
She glanced up at him. She shook her head. "I don't know much about it, sir,"
she said. "I know it was pretty bad. There were a lot of trucks."
"How did it start?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said.
That was odd. "How did you start the fire?" he asked more clearly.
She looked at him, puzzled. "I didn't," she said.
"Your master said you started a house fire and that's why you went to the
Authority with a D on your record," he said.
She stared at him. "That's . . . that's . . ." She shook her head and stared at
the empty fireplace. He could see her getting mad. "I can't believe . . .
considering I was naked and handcuffed to a tractor in a shed 100 yards away
from the house and *unconscious* when the fire started, I'm not really clear
how I was supposed to have accomplished this."
She's very articulate when she's angry, he noticed. Spits the words right out.
He thought for a second. Again, the urge to ask a strange question overcame
him.
"How do you think it started?" he asked.
She was still mad enough to answer without considering how he would react. "He
had another slave, a man, and Master used to play with shocking the slave with
bare wires. It made a lot of sparks, so I guess a spark landed on something and
caught fire," she said.
"The fire marshal didn't find any bare wires or equipment like that," Jake
said.
She snorted. "Master is the fire chief," she said.
Ah, that explains a lot. There was no way a fire chief could admit to starting
a fire in his own home, so the slave in the shed had to take the fall.
Interesting!
And it meant she was not a discipline problem. But there was no way he could
get the D off her record without proving her story, which was pretty unlikely.
Hmmm.
"Let me see that kitchen," he said.
After admiring the stellar job she did on his mountain of dirty dishes and
grimy appliances, she started twisting her hands and shifting her weight from
foot to foot. She wanted to ask a question.
"Yes?" he said.
"Sir – Master, are we far from a Smith's?" she asked.
Smith's was a grocery store that let slaves shop by themselves on Thursdays.
Slaves took a bonded taxi service between the store and their homes, and used a
cash-free billing system to buy groceries. It was as safe and secure as it
could get for slaves and owners.
"Nope, there's one about a mile away," Jake said. "Do you want to shop for
food?"
She smiled. "Yes! Yes, please. I have account. If you could change the owner
information and set a limit, I could get groceries for the week and make really
good meals, Master. You can add your information online, on their website.
Please." She looked at him hopefully.
He pretended to consider the offer but really, once he discovered she had
dimples, it was all over.
"OK," he said slowly. "It's going to be a pretty small budget for just the two
of us."
She nodded vigorously.
Good meals, no more grocery shopping, an excellent house cleaner, and a slave
who was not a discipline problem and had dimples. This was a pretty good day.
Only one thing would make it better.
"Any good at blow jobs?" he said.
There were those dimples again. "I used to be," she said sweetly. "But I need a
lot of practice." She dropped to her knees and began to unbutton his jeans.
"Lots and lots of practice . . ." She gently drew his cock out of his boxers
and kissed the tip. Licking gently down the length, she nuzzled his balls and
reached up to fondle his sac. "Practice . . ." she said softly and wrapped her
lips around the head and began to suck. Down and down she took him. Holy . . .
no gagging . . . she breathed against his pubes and sucked and slowly drew
back. This was crazy and very, very nice. Back and forth she sucked powerfully
on his whole length. He wasn't going to last – yup, his balls began to draw up
and he managed to say "I think – " before he started cumming down her throat.
She didn't stop sucking as he came and she swallowed his cum with no problem.
She slid her mouth off him and paused as that last drop came out. A little lick
and a kiss and she was tucking him back into his boxers.
Definitely a good day.
***** Inspection *****
After updating the website at Smith's and setting a reasonable budget, he
decided it was inspection time. He led her up the stairs to the bedroom and
spread her out on top of the covers on her back. He straddled her hips and
started at the top of her head, nuzzling and kissing his way down her body.
She had dark blonde hair, still in the braid with the twist tie at the end.
Green eyes. She had small scars on her face, especially on her cheek bones and
around her eyes, probably from smacks that needed stitches and didn't get them.
She did not have pierced ears. She had thick ropey scars around the right side
of her neck about an inch apart – a collar that was too tight or got pulled too
hard in one direction. He kissed the scars and continued the examination.
After checking several times with his tongue and teeth, he was satisfied her
nipples were not pierced. She had the stretch marks on her lower abdomen. Her
belly button was not pierced but she made a nice little squeak when he
confirmed this with his tongue. She had a red raised scar on her hip.
"Fourth Master?" he asked. It looked fairly new.
She nodded. "Whip," she said.
Fourth Master was also responsible for the broken pinkie finger that healed
without being set and the giant fading bruise on her side below her ribs
("Master's boots," she said when he asked.) The fact that two of her toes
didn't have nails was a gift from Fourth Master as were the shiny patches of
skin on the inside of her thighs near her cunt. ("Burns?" he asked and she
nodded.)
He opened her folds and checked everything thoroughly. The hood of her clitoris
was strangely ragged and seemed swollen.
"Did something happen here?" he asked, touching it with the tip of his tongue.
"A piercing pulled out," she said.
Oh, ow. That must have been -- . Yeah. Jesus. He couldn't imagine.
He inspected the inside of her vagina with his finger. Nothing seemed wrong but
it was good to be sure. Two fingers. He stroked the walls, looking for
imperfections, until she started breathing heavily and arching her back. Three
fingers. She pressed her pelvis onto his fingers and moaned. He pulled his
slippery fingers out as she snorted in frustration.
"Roll over," he said.
She stretched out onto her belly and he started at the top again. Not too many
whip marks on her skin. Some bruising on her ass – oh, yeah, that was from him,
spanking her on the first night. Can't remember why he did that anymore, so he
kissed all the bruises gently to help them heal. More burn marks on her legs
including a round one that looked like a cigarette. Fourth Master, you're
definitely a piece of shit, he thought.
She was still arching her back and gently trying to rub herself against the
covers. He peeled off his jeans and boxers and slid his cock into her from
behind. Her hips were nice. Not too bony, not too small, just nice places to
rest his hands. He liked the size of her tits, too. Nice handfuls but not too
big. He patted her ass as he gently thrust into her.
"You feel nice, baby," he said.
"Thank you, Master," she mumbled into the mattress. She seemed to be having a
good time, pushing back against him, and following his rhythm. He finished
smoothly and stayed in as long as he could before he grabbed a tissue and wiped
off. She seemed very relaxed.
"You want to take a bath or something?" he said.
She froze. "No? Thank you, Master?" she said in a strangely nervous way.
Something about baths was a problem.
OK, finally he could do his rehab job! *This* was the training problem she had.
Not discipline. Fear. He needed to figure out what she was afraid of and help
her get over it so she could be returned to the Authority and sold. Time to
start talking.
***** Pandas *****
They talked for days, off and on. She said a few things about the sadistic
Fourth Master and the Third Master who played mind games but she got defensive
and unhelpful when he pressed for details. He decided to take it slow.
In between talking, he went to work, stopping back at lunchtime to see how she
was doing. She washed his clothes and cleaned the house. On Wednesday, he
stopped at the Authority to pick up the tunic and sandals slaves wore when they
travelled. They gave it to him for free because he was a rehabber and, because
he could, he got the deluxe tunic lined with slippery fabric with the semi-
fancy belt and decorative stitching around the sleeves and at the bottom. The
sandals were gold with flat soles and laces that went up to the knee. He also
got her a cheap smart phone so he could track her movements and send her texts.
On the way home he popped into the Quik-Mart for another six pack and, on
impulse, picked up a set of little girl ponytail holders with panda faces on
the ends. More dignified than a twist tie, if not by much.
Her reaction was spectacular. She was thrilled and hugged and kissed the
underside of his chin, which was the highest part of him she could reach if he
didn't bend down. She'd never used a smart phone before so it was "amazing" and
she "didn't know how to thank him." The pandas went straight onto her hair and
she happily modeled the tunic and sandals. He was pleased the lined one was not
really see-through and wouldn't irritate her nipples. She was all set for
Smith's.
She started to make a list of what to buy.
"Master?" she said, thoughtfully. "How long am I . . . should I buy things that
I need, like a razor, or should I not plan to be here that long . . . ?"
"You're going to be here for several months," he said firmly.
"Oh!" she said and she smiled. He smiled. She was happy to be here. He was
happy about that.
The next day, he tried to focus on his work and not keep checking the tracking
app on his phone. She seemed to go right from the house to Smith's and back
again, but he sent her a text to be sure.
Jake: Everything go ok at the store?
Elena: Yes! It's the same one I used to go to
Makes sense. All four of her previous masters lived one or two towns away.
At 5:00, he came through the door to the smell of something wonderful. The
fridge was packed. The freezer had ice cream. She was sitting on the couch in
the study with a small pile of his clothes, doing something with her hands.
"What's up with that stuff?" he said.
"I'm mending them," she said.
He looked blankly at her.
"I got a sewing kit at Smith's," she said. "I'm fixing the belt loop on these
pants and putting a button on that shirt. That kind of thing."
Mending. Freaky.
For the next week, they ate great. She made him lunches that had healthy food.
She even got him to try unusual vegetables by sucking his cock as he ate them.
The plan worked fine until Brussels sprouts, which even her most creative
attempts at distraction couldn't help him enjoy.
They fucked a lot. She was playful and happy most of the time and had a really
good feel for what he liked.
For example, she liked to cook naked, with an apron that mostly covered her.
One night after dinner she stood close to him as he leaned over the counter
reading the sports section of the paper.
"Yes?" he said curiously.
"Doctor," she said quietly. "I have small burn right here." She pointed to a
tiny red dot on the side of her breast.
"Hmm," he said, playing along. "This calls for a closer examination." He put
her up on the counter and inspected the tiny burn, the rest of her breast, the
other breast ("for comparison purposes") and cleared his throat meaningfully.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This is very serious."
"It is?" she said with a breathy gasp. "Oh, Doctor, are you sure?"
"Yes," he said. "It's life or death. You need – " he paused dramatically – "an
injection."
"Oh, yes, doctor, I must have – "she paused -- "the injection."
Fucking was not the problem.
The problem was that she refused to let him control her without her consent. If
he tried to act like a traditional master and demand submission because she was
a *slave* and he was a *master*, she lashed out.
The worst incident was one morning when they were lying in bed together and she
started to roll off the mattress to go to the bathroom.
"No," he said. "Stay here."
"I am just going to pee," she said.
"I said 'stay here,'" he said, firmly. "Now lie back down."
"Master, I really have to go," she said.
He looked at her and pushed her down on her back. "Stay here until I say you
can go," he said.
She clenched her teeth and glared at him, lying stiffly beside him. He took his
hand off her chest and leaned back.
In an instant, she was on her feet, squatting over his pillow – his pillow! –
and drenching it in her pee. She stared him right in the eye as she urinated
and he gaped at her. What the actual fuck!?
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted.
She finished and stood up without taking her eyes off him. He grabbed her arm
and dragged her down to the playroom. He shoved her up against the wall and
rooted around with one hand until he found the riding crop. Forgetting his
general rule about not beating slaves when he was angry, he started wailing on
her legs and ass. She clenched her teeth and tried to breathe through her nose
without making any noise.
Finally, after more strokes than he could count, he started to calm down. He
spun her around and leaned into her face.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" he asked.
She met his eyes and glared at him. "I'd rather have welts than a bladder
infection," she said.
That was the stupidest – ok, it wasn't actually that stupid, it was just . . .
just . . . rude. "Don't pee on my stuff," he said into her face.
She sneered at him. "Oh, you don't like sleeping in a puddle? It's not so bad.
You get used to it," she said mockingly.
Fuck, was she still mad about that first night? When he forgot about her and
she slept in pee for a while? Well, too bad! She was a slave. Sometimes life
sucked.
But it still bothered him that she was right and he'd made a mistake as a
trainer. He shoved himself away from her.
"Wash the fucking pillow," he said. "It better smell great when you're done."
Then he went to work.
***** Arrest *****
Work was stressful. He had an open case that he couldn't make any progress on
but couldn't stop thinking about. For two days, he gave Elena the silent
treatment and went in early and stayed at late at the station, reviewing the
case file, and trying to come up with anything new.
Exhausted, he came home and reviewed the case file on the laptop in his study.
She was lying on her stomach behind him, reading the newspaper in front of the
fire on the furry rug.
Something caught her attention.
"Master," she said quietly. "What's that you're watching?"
She had come up behind him and was cautiously looking at the screen.
"It's the live stream of the surveillance video camera in the detention cells
at the station," he told her. It showed two girls huddled together in a corner
of the cell, whispering to each other. He turned the volume all the way up but
he couldn't make out what they were staying.
"Are those girls in trouble?" she asked.
"Not really. I think they are witnesses to a crime. They were discovered
covered in blood that wasn't theirs, but they won't say whose blood it is.
They won't talk to us at all," he said.
I bet they won't, she thought. She started to weigh her next action very
carefully. Master was . . . not as bad as some. This house was pretty
comfortable. She didn't trust him, of course, and had to be careful to let him
think that she was still broken so he wouldn't give her back to the Authority
too soon. If she helped him, would that make him more likely to keep her or
more likely to give her back?
She looked at the girls in the cell again. They were scared. They needed
someone to help them and it probably had to be her.
She sank onto her knees by the wheels of his swivel chair and held up her
wrists.
He looked puzzled.
"Arrest me," she said.
Master was not dumb. He put all the pieces together very quickly, in fact, and
she was pleased she didn't have to walk him through the plan step by step.
First, though, he put in a call to his lieutenant.
"Hey," he said into the phone. "I think I got a break on the Highway 10 case.
My slave Elena recognized that the girls we have in holding are slaves so she's
going to go in and try to get close to them. They'll probably talk to her and
then we can move forward."
She was pleased he gave her credit; he didn't have to do that.
A few minutes later she was ready. She had to go in as a free person because
slaves with collars were held in a different cell. The tunic and sandals would
also be a give-away. She wore his old workout t-shirt and a pair of shorts held
up by a cord from a sweatshirt. She had on his shower shoes and her hair was
loose and messed up.
Last thing. She moved over to the kitchen counter and braced herself. To look
like an abused runaway, she had to look abused. She nodded at him.
Oops, too hard. She fell heavily to the floor when he backhanded her, so he had
to help her up and put her shoes back on.
"Sorry about that," he said.
She waved him away. She was fine. Let's go.
He walked her over to the station and went around to the back door where the
cells were. He handed her off to the duty officer, not letting him know
anything more than he needed her in protective custody overnight. Then he
walked home to watch her on the laptop.
It was pretty boring, actually. The other girls were cautious around her at
first but within about five minutes, all three of them were huddled up,
whispering, and touching each other gently. The touches looked a little odd.
Like they were deliberate. Like . . . signals. Holy crap, like baseball signs –
they were talking through little touches and body movements. Right out in the
open and he had never, ever, noticed slaves talking to each other. Suddenly the
boring surveillance footage was not so boring.
He went to sleep after they turned the lights out in her cell and got up early
so he could be there at 6:00am when they came back on.
He kept out of sight as the duty officer brought her back to the check out
desk. She looked a little tired, but otherwise ok.
"How did it go?" he asked quietly.
"I have some information. Do you want me to tell you now?" she said.
"Upstairs," he said. "Let's go to my desk."
As they walked through the building, she sorted how she would tell the story so
it protected the girls in the cell. She owed Jake something but definitely not
everything. On the way, they ran into Jake's lieutenant, who wanted to meet
Elena and hear what she found out.
"Talk," he said as she walked into his office. She moved to kneel by his desk,
but the boss pushed her into a chair. "Can't see you on the floor."
She looked at Jake, who signaled her to begin.
"The girls are slaves. They did not run away. Their master took their collars
off and drove them to the highway and told them to run. He had done a bad thing
and was going to go somewhere and hide," she began.
She could see them about to ask questions, so she continued.
"Their master hurt many people. The girls said he brought people back to the
house and hit them and threatened them and sometimes threatened to hurt their
children if they didn't do what he wanted. The girls have many details, but
they are very scared and will only share them with you if you can protect
them," she said and looked at the lieutenant and Jake seriously. "Three days
ago, their master kidnapped a baby and a little boy. He hit the boy too hard
and he died. That's where all the blood came from. Their master is on the run
with the baby."
The men caught each other's eye.
"Who is their master, Elena?" Jake asked.
"Tony Marchetti," she said.
Shit, Jake thought. This is bad. Huge. The Marchettis were a powerful,
connected, family that owned dozens of businesses, legal and otherwise. Tony
was the enforcer, the brother who made sure the employees and business partners
did what they were told.
On the other hand, this was great. His slave – his! – had made an important
breakthrough on a case that had the other guys stumped for days. (Assuming
everything checked out, he added to himself.) But now they had leads – they
could connect with the guys from Major Crimes who could tell him everything
about Tony Marchetti and if those girls in holding were willing to tell him
details, he could maybe close some of his other open cases . . .
He looked at Elena, who looked tired and small in his t-shirt and shorts. He
reached over to put his hand on her arm and she looked at him.
"Thank you," he said.
Tiny smile.
"Food, drink, shower, sleep?" he said.
Bigger smile.
"Ok with you, Lieutenant?" he said.
The boss waved them out of his office as he began dialing SlaveCare, the agency
that arranged for compassionate care for slaves. That, Elena thought, was the
right move. If he'd called the Authority and had them returned for re-sale, she
would never help Jake again. With SlaveCare, the girls could be as protected as
possible. God, she was tired.
Jake was secretly thrilled she held his hand all the way back to the house.
***** G Rated *****
She slept most of the day, so he ran a few local errands and made frequent
stops between the house and the station, checking on his slave and his case.
When she woke up, he had a present for her. Sleepily, she sat up in the bed and
took the small card from his hand.
"Oh!" she said quietly as she realized what it was. A library card. "It's a G
rated card, Master," she said, looking at him to make sure he knew that.
He nodded. He did know. S cards meant that she could only look at slave rated
materials – nothing too inflammatory or political. R rated meant she could look
but she couldn't check out anything. G rated meant she could use the library
just like anybody else.
She hugged the card to her chest. She had never had a G rated card, ever. She
didn't know any slaves that did. He had no idea how wonderful this was.
She looked up at him and saw his big grin and a icy-cold realization gripped
her stomach.
He wasn't going to let her use it. He was going to give her the card and then
say she was fixed and he was going to give her back to the Authority and she
was never, ever, going to go to the library because her next master would never
let her and . . . and . . .
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't go back in the cage. She had shoes and a
phone and a library card and she never wanted to be stripped and sold and . . .
She started to slide off the bed and flatten herself to go under something
where Master's boots couldn't kick her . . .
Jake saw her start to lose it. She's not scared of the library, was she? Was
this a bad present? He made a grab for her as she oozed off the mattress and
just missed as she disappeared under the bed.
He bent down and peered at her. She was shaking and sweating, but not
whispering and peeing. Baby steps, Jake, he thought. Baby steps.
***** Mint Chip *****
Not knowing what else to do, he got the polar fleece blanket off the couch and
pushed it under the bed so she could reach it. Then he went back down into the
study to look at his laptop and see if she reappeared.
It took about 20 minutes, but she came in, put the folded blanket back on the
couch, and knelt by his swivel chair.
"Ok?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Can you tell me what that was about?" he asked
She cleared her throat. "I was worried about going back to the Authority. I'm
not sure . . . it's going to be . . . I guess I should make sure the cage is
clean so you can call them to pick me up." She started to get up.
"The what? The cage? Why are you going to get in the cage?" he asked.
Maybe Master wasn't that bright after all, she thought to herself.
"If I'm fixed enough to use the library, then I'm fixed enough to be sold," she
said.
"Who told you that? You're fixed when I say you're fixed and that's not going
to be for several more months," he said firmly.
It's already been a month, she though. Is it just going to be "several more
months" indefinitely? If he waited eight months to turn her in, she'd be 30 and
there wouldn't be a Master Number Six, just a few minutes with Needle Number
One and game over.
Maybe that's his plan. Maybe that was ok with her.
"Well, if you don't think I'm ready to go back to the Authority, I should go
shopping," she said. "It's Thursday." She pulled off his oversized t-shirt and
stepped up to the desk so he could put her collar back on. He kissed her mouth.
"You did really good today," he said. "The girls are out of the cells and into
a foster placement under fake names. Major Crimes is working on finding Tony
Marchetti and Forensics is going over his house to look for bodies" he looked
at her to see how gross she found his shop talk "and blood and stuff."
She didn't seem upset. "The girls said they knew about some of the other
children he kidnapped." she said. "Names or descriptions."
"Would they tell them to me?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I doubt it," she said.
"Would you mind going over it with them?" he said. "Maybe working with a sketch
artist?"
"I don't mind," she said. "I'd like to help. But I should probably call the
taxi before they get too busy."
She got changed into her tunic and was ready to go when the cab pulled up. He
walked her out to the curb and kissed her again.
"Get mint chip," he said. "See you tonight."
***** Dessert *****
He texted her from the station while she was shopping.
Jake: invited Lieutenant over for dinner tomorrow night. Make something really
good
Elena: Is the Lieutenant Catholic?
Jake: ? Why?
Elena: On Fridays during Lent, some Catholic people eat only fish
Jake: I'll ask
Jake: Fish.
 
On Friday, Jake opened the door of his house for the Lieutenant and let him go
in first. This was not the first time his boss had been in his home but before,
it was just for a beer after work and he hadn't cared what the place looked
like. This time he cared and that made him nervous.
Elena met them just inside the door, wearing only an apron that covered her
front. She was standing with her hands crossed behind her back, looking at the
floor.
"Good evening, Master, Sir. May I take your coats? Dinner will be ready in
about fifteen minutes. Master, I have put out appetizers in the study," she
said.
The Lieutenant gave her his coat and spent a long time watching her ass as she
turned to hang it in the closet. "Nice," he said to Jake.
So far so good! Jake thought.
The appetizers were some flaky pastry thing on little plates and tasted pretty
good. After a few minutes, Elena came in and offered them white wine, which she
poured into wine glasses that looked vaguely familiar. It was chilled and was
also pretty good. Jake started to relax.
After eating a few flaky things and talking about job stuff, Elena let him know
dinner was ready in the dining room. This was the first time he'd seen the top
of his dining room table in maybe years – it was usually covered with papers
and junk. This time it had a table cloth that also looked vaguely familiar and
a small bowl with a candle floating in it. The plates were the usual ones but
the silverware had been polished until it was super shiny.
She brought out plates of food – fish, some kind of vegetables in sauce, and
rice. The food was really good and there was plenty of it.
About halfway through the meal, the Lieutenant started to ask Jake about his
career plans and explained what a huge deal it was that they had the
information on Tony Marchetti.
"What would you think of heading a major task force to look into all of the
Marchettis' involvement with organized crime?" the Lieutenant said.
"I'd think that would be great," he said. "I have been looking into it enough
to see there is a lot to check out. I have some ideas about other people to
work with, if you're still taking names."
"Let's talk about that tomorrow," his boss said as Elena deftly refilled his
wine glass. "This slave of yours really did a good job with those girls," he
said as he admired her side boob under the apron. "What's her name?"
"Elena," Jake said.
"Nice," said the Lieutenant. "Had her long?"
"Nope. She's a rehab project from the Authority," Jake said. "She goes back in
a few months."
"Really?" the Lieutenant said. "I'll have to keep track of that."
Elena stood up and looked at the floor. "Master, if you and your guest would
like dessert in the study, I have lit the fire."
"That sounds nice," Jake said. "Lou, want to come this way?"
 
After dessert – some cakey thing and decaf coffee – the two men sat back in the
wing chairs in front of the fire and talked about the task force. When the
conversation slowed down, Elena walked quietly over to stand in front of the
fire place.
She'd taken her apron off and brushed her hair out of its usual braid so it
fanned out. She had her hands behind her back and was looking at the floor as
usual but this time she flexed her shoulder blades so her boobs stuck out and
stood with her feet a little wider apart so the firelight shown between her
legs.
"Can I offer you gentleman anything else?" she said.
"I could use a little refreshment," the Lieutenant said, spreading his legs.
After a respectful glance at Jake, who gave a small nod, she smoothly knelt
between the older man's legs. Her expression was neutral and she did not look
up any higher than the man's waist. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Using
both her hands, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper. His boxers
were loose and he was mostly hard, so she had no trouble freeing his cock.
Jake watched as she kissed and licked down the length of the Lieutenant's dick
and sucked on his balls while her hand stroked his shaft. She moved to swallow
him down and bobbed her head without touching him with her hands.
The Lieutenant groaned as she took him down to the root and reached out to grab
her hair.
"Come on, bitch," he said. "Take it. Oh, you fucking slut. Yeah, just like
that."
He pressed on the back of her head with his hand, holding her tight against
him.
Jake could see she was fighting not to pull back or choke. His boss was cutting
off her air but she never lifted her hands from her thighs or attempted to
fight him. Jake wondered if he should say or do something before she passed out
but really couldn't see himself getting involved in this.
Finally, the Lieutenant grunted and shot his cum down her throat. "Yeah, you
loved that," he said as he released her head. "That was a nice face fucking
wasn't it, bitch? Right?"
She rocked back onto her heels and looked at the floor. "Thank you, sir. Thank
you for letting me pleasure you," she said.
"Damn straight," he said. He reached out to pinch her nipples. "I bet these
rehab projects just love to be fucked, don't they, Jake? I bet they just didn't
get enough fucking and that's why they got sent back. Good thing you're young
and can keep them filled up." He grabbed her breast and pulled her into his lap
with his other hand. "Ah, this one's nice and soft. Nice big ass." He squeezed
her ass cheek with one hand and turned her face to his with the other. "Not too
bad looking. I bet the Authority will get a nice price for her when she's
fixed." He pushed her off his lap as he stood up.
"Well, Jake," he said. "I gotta go. Talk with you about the Marchetti business
on Monday. Take care."
Elena followed them into the hall and helped the Lieutenant into his coat. By
the time Jake was done saying good bye and locking the door, she had
disappeared back into the kitchen.
He figured she had some cleaning up to do, so he went upstairs to the bedroom.
 
Elena knelt by the refrigerator in the dark kitchen, leaning on its cold metal
side, and thought about the evening, sorting through everything she was
feeling. She was pleased with the dinner and how the house looked. She was
proud to help Jake entertain his boss and happy that the Lieutenant was
impressed. She knew she would be expected to offer herself to the man as
dessert. It was part of being a house slave. But when she looked at Jake before
kneeling before his boss, she wanted, just for a moment -- she wanted him to
say "no." That she didn't have to give his boss a blow job. And that was
stupid. She was so mad at herself – she had built up a stupid fantasy that,
what? That Jake loved her? Jake was an ok guy but a terrible master -- the fact
that he thought of himself as this experienced rehabber and superowner and he
let her pee on his fucking pillow and didn't say "boo" was frankly hilarious
but it only meant was he a dumbass who let slaves walk all over him, not that
he had any concept she was an actual person. And dreaming they weren't owner
and slave, that they were boyfriend and girlfriend, and she was shopping for
him and cleaning *their* house and the playing and joking and fucking was
because he wanted her to be happy and content and live with him forever just
meant she was a stupid fucking bitch. Wake the fuck up. Jake gave her to his
boss because she was a stupid slave whore and he would never love her because
she was a *thing*. What an idiot! She had had *five* masters and she still
didn't get the basic fucking fact that masters didn't love slaves and slaves
should never fall in love with masters.
She never cried and never made a sound but she sank into despair and self-
recrimination until she could hear that Jake was asleep and she didn't have to
let him see her this way.
***** One of the Good Ones *****
The next morning, she was sleeping next to him in the bed and he spooned up
behind her. She woke up and pressed her ass into his half-hard cock and
snuggled her back into his chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist and
petted her breast with his thumb.
Some questions had occurred to him as he waited for her to come to bed last
night and now it was time to play Jake the Detective.
First question, an easy one: "That dinner was really good last night. What was
in those flaky things?"
He could see her cheek rise up as she smiled. "A feta cheese and olive
tapenade. I'm sorry they weren't warmer . . . "
He kissed the back of her neck.
Question two, a little harder: "Those wine glasses looked familiar. Where did
you get them?"
She stopped smiling and started stroking the back of his hand. "I found them in
the closet next to the back door in a box marked 'Diane Wedding.' Was it ok to
use them? I wasn't sure."
He kissed her shoulder. "Oh, yeah, I remember them. My Aunt Diane got married
and then her husband left her and she gave us all the wedding presents.
They've been in that closet for years. This house used to be my parents and
half the stuff in this house is theirs. Sure, it was fine to use them."
Third question, the hardest: "How about that white wine? I know we didn't have
that in the house."
She stiffened and tried to turn to look at him. He tightened his arm against
her and refused to let her move. He knew she wanted to see his face when she
told him so she could edit the story to make him less mad. There had to be a
story. Slaves weren't allowed to buy alcohol. Did she steal it? Did she pay for
it with her body? He was going to hold her there until she told him everything.
"I got it as Smith's," she said quietly.
She tried to turn again and he squeezed her middle. She started to try to bring
her knees up and he threw his leg over her, pinning her down.
She sighed. "I know all the people who work at Smith's. All the cashiers and
managers and the people who stock the shelves. They know me and they know I
want to help the other slaves. All the slaves . . . we look out for each other
when we can. There's always one or two who need help – they need to eat or they
need medical care or they just don't know what to do. The ones with good
masters help the others and then the people at Smith's help, too," she squirmed
again but he held her down.
"There was a girl at Smith's who needed to eat and I had a little extra in my
budget, so I bought her bread and milk and made sure she ate it. The manager at
Smith's – he's really nice and he cares about us – talked to me about what I
was making for dinner and he said I needed to serve white wine with fish, so he
bought a bottle and gave it to me."
She held very still and listened to his breathing. Was he mad? Did he believe
her? The story happened to be the truth and would check out if he went to
Smith's but she really did not want him to talk to the manager, because it
would get them all in trouble.
Finally, he said "that was really nice of him" and moved his arm and leg off
her. He believed her. He wasn't mad. She turned and searched his face and he
seemed fine but she needed to feel him to be sure.
She leaned over and hugged him. "I am one of the ones with a good master, just
in case that wasn't clear," she said, kissing him and spreading her legs over
his hips.
He smiled at her. He could live with that.
***** Peachy *****
On Monday, he got home from work and the lights in the front hall and the
kitchen were off. The house smelled like something in the oven but he didn't
hear her moving around.
"Elena?" he called.
"In the study, Master," she said.
He opened the door to the study and beheld the sight of Elena kneeling before
the fireplace on the furry rug. The lights were off and her naked skin looked
golden in the firelight. Her hair was loose and hanging on either side of her
bowed head. Her hands were on her thighs, palms turned up in a perfect posture
of submission.
This was very, very interesting.
"Master," she said. "I have been disobedient and offer myself to you for
punishment."
Dang, he thought. "Tell me what you did," he said, seriously, faintly aware
that his pants were getting smaller.
"I opened a letter addressed to you. It was marked 'urgent' and came from your
accountants. It was a request for documents so they could prepare your return."
Oh, shit, he thought. He had no idea where the tax papers were in his chaotic
filing system and it would be a nightmare to pull them together in time.
"I organized all of your financial documents and filed them, putting the ones
the accountants would need in a special folder. I also created a bag of papers
to be shredded."
He looked at his desk, which was oddly shiny. There were no papers piled on it.
He could see the bare wood. He looked at the filing cabinet behind his desk,
which now had labels on the drawers and a bulging paper bag next to it.
She hadn't moved from her position. "I opened your mail without permission. I
examined your personal papers without permission. I touched your desk without
permission."
"That's true," he said.
"I disobeyed you a second time, Master. I noticed that your cable bill was very
high, so I called the company and arranged for you to receive an extra sports
package and for them to reduce your bill by $100 a month for 12 months. To do
so, I had to pretend to be your wife."
She lifted her ass from the soles of her feet and raised it high in the air,
pressing her chest into the rug and stretching out her arms.
"I offer myself to you for punishment," she said, again.
Jesus. The firelight on her perfect, peachy ass was too much. He couldn't
fucking think. She definitely wanted him to punish her, right?
He unbuttoned his pants and dropped everything covering his massive hard-on to
the floor. He sat on the couch in front of the fire. "You must be punished.
Come over here."
Without looking up, she moved to the couch and draped herself over his lap,
pretty much sticking her ass in his face. He caressed her cheeks and tried to
breathe as she brushed her breasts against his leg and parted her thighs so he
could easily reach . . . everything.
He started to spank her. "You acted without my permission," he said as he
reddened her bottom.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You disobeyed me," he said.
"Yes, Master."
"I must teach you to behave," he said.
"Yes, Master."
"If you love me, you must obey me," he said.
There was an odd hitch in her voice. "Yes, Master," she said.
"I must make sure you understand," he said as he parted her cheeks and began to
run his finger around her hole. It was very clean and rosy.
His eye caught something glinting on his desk, pretty much the only item left
on its super clean surface. A tiny bottle of lube within arm's reach.
Well, that's convenient, he though, as he poured some onto his hand and began
to push a finger into her opening. He inserted a second finger and began to
scissors them to loosen her up. Very convenient indeed.
He turned her so she was kneeling down on the furry rug with her ass in the
air. A little more lube for his dick and he slid into her easily. A moment to
let her adjust and he began to move in and out as he knelt behind her.
Wait a second. That lube was too convenient. She did that on purpose. I've been
manipulated! He thought himself. I have been manipulated into anal sex And I'm
Loving It! He grinned happily as he reached around to finger her clit. This is
the most stupid sexy fun punishment session ever. God damn, this was nice. He
rubbed the top of her back.
"You ok up there?" he said.
"Yup," she said from under all her hair.
"You definitely wanted to be fucked in the ass, right?" he said.
"Yup," she said.
Huh. You just never know. He sped up and finished with a big push and a tight
grip on her hips.
"You got a towel around here or something?" he said.
She turned to face him with a big grin. "Under the couch," she said.
He wiped them both off and curled up around her on the fuzzy rug in front of
the fire. "Did you really do all that tax stuff?" he asked.
"Yup. My second master was a CPA and I figured I could put together a package
for your accountants pretty well. I also included the figures for them to look
at to see if you can claim your study as a home office."
"And the cable company?"
"Oh, yes, that was pretty easy. The bill will go up in a year, but then you can
see what other discounts you qualify for."
"Not cool to say you're my wife, though."
"I know, Master," she said. "I'm sorry about that."
Dinner was in front of the fire that night, with some fooling around on the
shiny desk and some on the rug.
***** Bathing *****
After dinner he decided they needed to make some progress on her
rehabilitation. It was time for a bath.
She absolutely, definitely, permanently, and seriously did not want to. She
knew she couldn't tell him no, exactly, but she did everything she could to put
off actually stepping into the warm water until maybe . . . never. Even after
he climbed in and offered to hold her the whole time, she still had a hard time
actually putting her body in the tub and sitting down. She closed her eyes and
did it.
"OK," he said. "Tell me about tubs. Fourth Master?"
Third and Fourth, it turned out. Jake rubbed her back and petted her hair as
the story slowly came out.
Third Master was a banker who had money and several slaves but no family. He
had a beautiful home and travelled a lot. When he was home, he controlled the
slaves obsessively. One was basically a dog and crawled around after him. One
was like his mother, with lots of breastfeeding and baby talk. Elena was a sick
daughter/wife combination. His obsession was being thanked for everything
(that's where that came from, Jake thought.) She had to thank him when he
offered her food, when she ate the food, and when he stuck his finger down her
throat and made her throw up the food. She thanked him for each pregnancy and
each abortion. She thanked him for sex, beatings, kisses, being dangled out a
window and, most often, for the very air she breathed. Tubs weren't about
bathing. They were about breathing.
He liked to submerge her at that exact level where the water of the tub would
cover her mouth and start to fill her nose. If she struggled, he would simply
push her under until she went limp. For hours, he would make minute adjustments
to her face to find that perfect spot. All while telling her that she was
beautiful and perfect and that she would thank him later.
And she did. Every time.
"He sounds like a very sick man," Jake said.
"Yes. He was . . . " she paused to consider what Jake would say if she
criticized another master. She decided to trust him. "He was creepy." Jake
didn't react, so she went on. "After each miscarriage, he would spend a long
time touching the . . . fetus. Rubbing his fingers in the blood and saying
'beautiful, beautiful.'"
"Jesus," Jake said.
Fourth Master, the fire chief, was much more straightforward. He was impotent,
so straight sex didn't happen. He just liked to cause pain. He also liked to
push her face down in the tub, but he was much more likely to make the water
too hot or too cold or tie her up and throw her in. He liked to make her run
behind the tractor or tie her up outside in the winter. He would insert things
into her, including that clitoral ring that pulled out, and then run an
electric current through them. Elena and the Chief's male slave would be made
to hurt each other or kiss and fuck for his amusement.
Elena got very sad when she thought about the male slave, who probably died in
the fire.
The fire was well timed, in a way, because the Chief was planning to pull her
teeth out for accidently biting the male slave during oral sex while Master was
beating her.
"And you have such nice teeth," Jake said, while kissing her neck.
"Well, yes," she said. "Daddy is a wonderful dentist."
"Daddy?" Jake asked.
She blushed. "My first and second masters liked to be called 'Daddy'."
The water was getting cold, so they moved to the bed under the covers and
snuggled close to each other.
Daddy the dentist was her first master.
Daddy the CPA was her second. She was with him for a long time, from when she
was twelve to twenty-two, and she, clearly, loved him to pieces. He gave her a
library card (R level, Jake noted) and let her watch tv and taught her
everything she ever wanted to know about anything. (Including the Fibonacci
sequence, Jake confirmed.) She helped in the office, took care of his house,
and was treated like a daughter he could have sex with. She was devastated when
he married late in life and the new wife hated her and made him give her to the
banker.
"Give?" Jake asked.
"Yes," Elena said. She had changed owners three times but they had all been
private sales, never through the Authority. All of her owners knew each other
and were friends. Jake was the first owner she had had whom she had never met
before.
"That can't be right," Jake said. "Private sales were outlawed ten years ago. A
public servant like a fire chief definitely would have to go through the
Authority."
Elena shrugged. She could only tell him what she had experienced.
It was late. The story of Daddy the dentist would have to wait.
***** Double Stuffed *****
"Jake!" his Lieutenant shouted. "Answer your fucking phone!"
He was out at Tony Marchetti's house with the Lieutenant and some of the
Forensics team. Shit, the ringer was off and he missed three calls from the
station.
"This is Jake," he said.
"Detective, we have your slave Elena. She says she needs to report a theft and
major property damage. We think you should get down here," an officer he didn't
know said.
"Lieutenant, I gotta head back," he called as he jogged back to his car.
 
He rounded the corner from the lobby and saw her. She was kneeling by his desk
with her arms wrapped around her middle. She had no shoes, her tunic was dirty,
and her hair was messy with leaves and sticks in it. She was clutching a small
strip of paper in her hand.
"What happened?" he asked the officer who'd called him – Dawson.
"We found her on the bridge over the train tracks on the side of the road. She
was unconscious but woke up when we started looking for her id. She insisted
she needed to speak to you right away. She didn't seem too bloody or anything
so we called you," he said.
"Thanks, ok," he said. "I'll take it from here."
He went over to her and sat in his desk chair.
"Hey," he said to get her attention. "Theft and major property damage?"
She looked up at him. Oooh, there it is. Somebody had beat the shit out of her
face. Still, punching someone else's slave is not, technically, a major crime.
"Theft of groceries," she said, giving him the paper she was holding – the
Smith's cash register receipt – "and major property damage over $500."
She'd been raped. That was the charge for raping another person's slave.
Hospital time.
 
She had been coming back from Smith's using the bonded taxi service. The driver
took a left instead of a right and drove her to a deserted picnic area, beat
her up, and raped her. Then he pushed her out of the car on the bridge and
drove off with the groceries.
She told him the story at the hospital while the doctor was examining her
internally, which Jake thought was impressive multitasking. She didn't seem
that upset about the rape, really, just mad about the situation in general.
"I'm ok," she said, when he asked."I'm pretty sturdy. It's the next kid, you
know, Master? The one who can't go home and tell anybody. That's who I'm
worried about." She paused and turned to him. "And he stole our groceries! I
had cookies," she said, as she pretended to cry. "Oreos. Master, he has our
Double-Stuffed Oreos!"
"I'll save them," he said, kissing her hand. "I will not rest until they have
been returned to us."
The doctor shook his head. "Nutty," he said.
 
She held his hand again as they walked through the hospital lobby. Suddenly she
dropped down to kneel next to a row of chairs. Jake was aware that not that
long ago, he would have just dragged any slave that did that out of the
building and yelled at them for being disobedient, but he'd changed since
working with Elena.
He sat down in the chair closest to her and said "What's up?"
"That's him, Master. The driver. Outside the doors, tan jacket, dark pants,
dark hair, smoking."
"Got it," he said. He led her over to the hospital security desk and showed the
guards his badge. "I need this slave to stay here for a few minutes and I'll
need one of you to come with me while I apprehend a suspect." The bigger of the
guards followed him as Elena knelt in front of the desk.
Jake and the big guard went out to the sidewalk and stood on either side of the
driver. He showed the driver his badge and asked for the man's id, which showed
he was a driver for the bonded taxi service. "I'd like you to come with me," he
said.
"Uh, why?" the man said. "Are you arresting me? What's the charge?"
"Major property crime over $500 and theft," he said.
"Major property what?" he said.
"You fucked another man's slave," Jake said.
"What's wrong with that?" the driver said. "They're slaves! Nobody cares if you
fuck 'em!" He started to move to leave as the bigger guard moved in close and
put a hand on his arm.
"Fuck!" the driver said. "Look, I'll just pay the $500 bucks or something.
Whose slave is it?" He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and something fell
onto the ground. It was a little girl's ponytail holder with panda faces on the
ends.
"You're under arrest," he said and put his handcuffs on the driver. "And where
the hell are my Oreos!?" he yelled into the man's face.
The driver's expression was hilarious.
 
After lots of negotiations between the police and the taxi service, who took
the violation of their bond very seriously, Jake was able to take Elena home.
Their groceries had spent too long in the hot trunk of a taxi and were no
longer recoverable, so Jake drove to Smith's in his long-neglected backup car,
a Mustang convertible. He filled their shopping cart with snacks and desserts
while she tried to sneak in a vegetable or two. They spent a long time picking
out new ponytail holders (dolphins and kittens) and got two packages of Oreos.
Jake got to meet the manager who bought them the wine and secretly confirmed
her story and paid for the wine, over the man's objections. "Pay it forward!"
the manager said.
Dinner preparations that night were a slow affair as Jake hugged her from
behind and gently kissed her bruised face whenever she turned to respectfully
ask him to move. When the hospital grade painkillers wore off and the
exhaustion crept in, he spent a long time in the evening reassuring her that
she didn't do anything wrong and that she had helped to take a dangerous man
out of their community. They fell asleep wrapped around each other.
***** Overlook *****
Over the next few days, Jake got the good news that Tony Marchetti and the baby
had been picked up at a traffic stop and the baby returned to the parents.
Elena, the police sketch artist, and Tony Marchetti's former slaves were making
good progress identifying the kidnapping victims, as Jake and Major Crimes
worked to build the case against him. The task force was coming together with
Jake taking the lead.
The weather was warm enough for Jake to take Elena out in the Mustang and screw
around in the back seat like teenagers. One night they brought a picnic out to
an isolated overlook and ate while looking over the town.
"I think Daddy took me here once," she said.
"Daddy the dentist or Daddy the CPA?" he asked.
She smiled. "Daddy the dentist," she said. "I'm probably due for a checkup. I
wonder if he would still see me?"
"He's still your dentist?" Jake asked, surprised. Slaves don't often even go to
the dentist and they don't usually keep in touch with their former masters.
He'd definitely never heard back from any of his rehab projects.
"Yes, of course," she said. "Daddy sold me because I got too old, not because
he didn't like me."
"Twelve is too old?" Jake asked.
She looked at him with an awkward expression. She didn't want to spell out what
kind of person Daddy the dentist was, but fortunately Jake figured it out.
"Not a breast man?" he asked.
"Nope," she said. "He said he paid a lot for me and only got to use me for
three years, but he worked out a business arrangement with Daddy the CPA so he
got his money's worth."
"Three years?" Jake asked. "Who owned you before you were 9?"
"Nobody," she said. "I lived with my family."
Jake looked skeptical. Slaves were born into slavery, not sold into it.
She nodded at him, confirming her own story. "Mom, Dad, older brother, dog,
swingset, third grade, Sunday School, everything. No owner."
This was a very unusual story. "What happened? How did Daddy come into the
picture?"
"He bought me from my parents, I guess. I don't know exactly. He said he paid a
lot for me -- $16,000, which was a lot back then – and he loved me until I got
too old."
$16,000 was an astounding amount of money for a slave in any time period,
especially a 9 year old. He had a bad feeling about Daddy the dentist.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go back."
They drove back into town, but went to the police station instead of the house.
Jake sat Elena down at his desk and went off, bringing back some huge binders
with worn looking pages.
He pulled another chair up and sat next to her. "Was your name always Elena?"
he asked, gently. "Do you remember your last name?"
She looked at him curiously. "I do remember but I'm not sure what you're
thinking."
"Just tell me," he pressed.
"My name was Ellen Andrews," she said softly.
He flipped open the big Missing Persons printouts from twenty years ago and
turned the pages slowly.
A soft little cry came from the woman next to him. She reached out a finger to
touch the picture on one of the pages. A school photo of a gap toothed girl
with braids smiled out of the binder. "They looked for me," she said, as tears
started to fall. "They thought I was missing."
"Did Daddy tell you they didn't want you back? That they had sold you?" he
said.
She nodded.
"Yeah, that's pretty common," Jake said, wrapping his arm around her. "That
explains all the private sales, too. You weren't born a slave." He paused to
let that news sink in. "You're not a slave now."
She covered her face and pulled away from him.
Jake looked around in the empty bureau room, wondering what was going to happen
next. Sure, he was going to find out what happened twenty years ago and who
kidnapped her and what family members were still around. He was definitely
going to try to nail Daddy the dentist and all the other sick bastards who had
owned her to the wall for kidnapping, child abuse, illegal restraint and
whatever else he could come up with but really, the most important thing was
what does Elena think of him now? Does she hate him? Does she want to even look
at him?
He cleared his throat. "I need to call the Authority Center and let them know
the situation," he said.
"Ok," she said from behind her hands.
"You, uh," he started. "You don't need to wear that . . . collar. Any more."
She nodded but didn't move toward him to get him to take it off.
"I want to help you with, um, clothes and stuff. If you'll let me," he said.
A wordless cry erupted from her and she bent over, holding her middle like
she'd been stabbed. She started to scream and yell and kick the side of Jake's
metal desk like she was trying to beat it to death.
Jake has no idea what to do, so he stood back and let her rage exhaust itself.
She gripped the edge of the desk and lifted her head to glare at him. "Get this
fucking thing off my neck," she said.
She did hate him. Shit. He moved to undo the combination lock, making sure to
avoid her teeth or fists in case she was madder than he thought.
She started to leave the bureau and he moved to stop her – it just wasn't safe
for a woman in a slave tunic and sandals to be walking around by herself,
collar or no collar.
"Don't fucking touch me," she said in a growl.
"Please be careful," he said.
She stomped out of the station. He could see where she was going – back to the
house. He followed about half a block behind, not wanting to crowd her.
She had gone upstairs by the time he got to there. He could hear her rummaging
around and waited until she came back down.
She was wearing the t-shirt, shorts, and shower shoes she'd had on when she
went undercover. She had her phone and her library card. She stopped when she
saw him and glared at him. "Can I please take these?" she said slowly and
careful through her clenched teeth.
"Sure," he said, "but . . . where are you going?"
"None of your fucking business," she said as she pushed past him out the door.
***** Different *****
He waited about 10 seconds before he fired up the tracking app on her phone.
She was walking to Smith's. He had nothing to say about that. He hoped she
would be ok but he had no idea if she was going to live in the grocery store or
just visit or what. It really was none of his fucking business but he really,
really wanted to know what was going on with her. He wanted to take care of
her.
Well, there was one thing he could do. He called the Authority Center and
demanded to speak to the administrator, even though it was late. He explained
the situation and made sure they updated their records while he was on the
phone to show that Elena the slave no longer existed and that Ellen (aka Elena)
Andrews was a free person.
He had a long debate with himself about whether to send her a text to let her
know her legal status or whether that would make her throw the phone away and
he wouldn't be able to contact her. He decided information won.
Jake: I just wanted you to know I called the Authority and you're officially a
free person.
Elena: Thank you. Now fuck off and die.
Jake: Not a problem
 
He made himself a sandwich and wondered if she was going to spend the night at
Smith's. He decided to definitely check at the station in the morning to see if
she was picked up overnight if she decided to walk somewhere else. Their town
was pretty safe, but there were bad people everywhere. He hoped she would be
ok.
It was about 2:00am when he heard the distinctive creak of the Mustang's door
opening and padded downstairs in his bare feet to see what was going on.
She was curled up in the back seat, clearly cold and uncomfortable.
"Please come inside," he begged her. "Just on the couch or anything. I'll turn
the fire on."
She curled up tighter into herself and pressed her mouth into her knees. He'd
never really seen her so beaten down. "I can't do anything," she said.
"I have no . . . I can't drive a car. I don't know how to do anything with
computers. I never thought about being old or having money or having a family.
I can't even have children," she said sadly.
"You have friends," he said. "You have me."
She shook her head. "You think I’m a whore."
He was shocked. "I do not!" he said.
She looked at him like he was an idiot. "I sucked your boss's dick in front of
you. You know I'm a whore."
"No, but that's – that's different," he said.
"Why is it different?" she said.
"Because . . . because you were a slave and that's what they do," he said,
lamely.
"That's what they do? Seriously? Why do you think that's what they do, Jake?"
she said.
He tried to ignore the little thrill when she said his name.
"Ugh!" she said, sitting up and pulling the oversized shirt down over her legs.
"This makes me crazy. There is no difference between me yesterday and me today
except suddenly I'm a human and people are shocked and surprised to find out I
have a brain."
He loved her like this – angry and articulate and not mad at him, he didn't
think. Pretty sure she wasn't still mad at him.
"I always knew you were smart," he said. "Since the first night and the
Fibonacci sequence."
She grinned at him. "You made a great face when I said 'thirteen,'" she said.
There was a little silence between them.
"Can I use your bathroom?" she said.
She spent the night on the fuzzy rug with the polar fleece blanket and a fire
in the fireplace. He spent the night upstairs, alone in his bed, thinking of
her while he jerked off as quietly as he could.
In the morning he made her an egg, just as he did on the first morning she was
with him, and he tried not to badger her about her plans.
"I can show you basic computer stuff," he offered. "It might help you find a
job or something . . . "
She looked thoughtful as she considered his offer. "OK," she said.
***** A Complicated Way *****
She got a job at Smith's. SlaveCare helped her move out two days later into
supported housing. He missed her and tried not to watch her phone obsessively
on the tracking app. The Authority Center called and asked if he wanted another
rehab project but he turned them down. He tried to focus on the task force.
 
"Detective!" The front desk sergeant called to him. "You have a visitor."
A woman was in the lobby, wearing a fancy white blouse, longish brown skirt,
and her hair gathered up behind her neck in a complicated way. She had a decent
figure with nice tits, which were currently bouncing up and down as she came
toward him.
Hey! he thought. I know those tits!
It was Elena, with nice, professional clothes, and a big grin. "Jake!" she
called. "Are you free for lunch?"
"Why, yes, I am," he said.
"I got paid! I want to take you to lunch. Specifically," she said quietly as he
came closer, "I want to take you to a lunch that costs less than $10. This free
person lifestyle is expensive!"
"Let's go to Duke's," he said as he led her across the street to the diner
where all the cops ate.
They went to the counter to order and they each got a sandwich and drink.
"How much will that be?" she asked Duke, the owner.
"Oh, cops eat fr—" Duke started to say, but Jake made a furious gesture above
Elena's head and held up four fingers.
"That will be $4.00, miss," Duke said smoothly as Jake gave him a thumbs up.
Yeah, he was going to have to come back over later and explain that one, but
for now he was happy to see Elena carefully count out $4.00 and hand it over.
As she leaned over to sit down, he could see straight down her blouse to get a
good look at a lacy pink bra. She didn't seem to notice. She was beyond excited
to be eating with a guest in a restaurant with a meal she had purchased with
her own money.
The job at Smith's turned out to be kind of a big deal. She was the head of
their brand-new slave-owner relations department, which worked to make the
Thursday program work for everybody. She also was a liaison with SlaveCare, so
the underfed and abused slaves who turned up at Smith's could have some help
beyond what the store staff and other slaves could do for them. She also worked
part time at the library and was, apparently, happy. The fancy clothes came
from a library patron who let her live at her house in exchange for cat
sitting. She made friends. She was trying to save money and learn to drive. She
missed cooking. She wanted to know if she get her own phone service but he
waved her off. The thought of not being able to see her little phone icon on
his tracking app made his heart hurt.
When she was done and he was just picking at his potato chips, she cleared her
place and walked over to his side of the table and leaned down. She's going to
kiss my cheek, he thought happily.
She brought her mouth next his ear and pinched all the short hair at the nape
of his neck between her fingers, making him sit straight up and not move a
muscle.
"Oh, Master," she breathed into his ear. "I'm missed your cock so much. I need
you inside me now, please, Master . . ." and then she was gone. He exhaled and
tried to think about his painful erection as he watched her walk out of the
diner, giving one of those not-accidental-at-all touches to the slave holding
the door, step out onto the sunny sidewalk, and disappear.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!