The Slave (28 page)

“
So many people know,” Robin marveled.
“But no one tells.”

“
Oh, someone always
tells,” Chris answered smoothly. “But very few will believe them.
The ones who
do
believe come and find us.”

Regrettably, Chris was no party animal. He
stayed just long enough to be polite, and directed Robin away from
the affair before it really started to wind down. Robin had noticed
that he rarely stayed in conversation more than a few minutes, and
that most of his time was spent explaining where his employers
were, and introducing her. In a way, she felt bad. She would have
liked to stay some more, and maybe get a chance to talk to Robert
again, but it was obvious that Chris was only taking care of a
chore. She sank back into the cushions of the limousine as the ride
started, and then sat up again.

“
Ken wasn’t there.”

“
No. She is away on business. But she
may be back in time for your sale.”

“
Really? How do you know?”

“
She told me.” Chris covered a slight
yawn, and at the end of it, made a subtle gesture. The dim lights
of the passing cars almost made it invisible, but Robin acted on
instinct, pushing herself carefully off the seat and curling her
knees under her on the carpeted floor of the car. Under her legs,
she could feel the pulsating vibrations of the frame.

“
Tomorrow, you go back out to finish
your business.”

She nodded.

“
When you come back, I will allow for
no imperfections, do you understand? All this past week was a test,
to see how much you knew, and how fast you learned. Now, there’s
nothing else to be done but make every move and every twitch or
reaction as perfect as you can. Every response to me will be exact
and respectful, containing all the information requested with a
minimum of hesitation and embellishment. Your most minor flaws will
be punished out of you, even if it makes you into one walking
bruise. And Robin... when I place you in the list of properties to
be auctioned, and I sign my name as your trainer, I am in effect
swearing that your behavior and appearance are guaranteed by me. If
you fail me, you will have lost your best hope of attaining the
status you seek.”

“
Sir, Ken told me that you were the
best trainer I could get. She was right.” Robin swallowed hard. “If
anyone could get me perfect, you could.”

“
Ken wanted me because she knew it
would mean an excellent opening bid,” Chris snapped. “Any trainer
could have gotten you prepped for some sort of appearance on the
block. But right now, only I could make sure that you were accepted
as an experienced servitor, instead of a novice. And that may make
all the difference in the world for you, little girl. It may bring
you exactly the life you crave. So when you’re concentrating on not
disappointing me, also remember that your own happiness depends
upon your being seen as an excellently schooled and driven
slave.”

Robin nodded, and sighed extravagantly
when Chris reached out and drew her head toward him, pushing her
down onto one hip so that she could rest her cheek against his leg.
And like that, they rode in silence toward the city. Fighting the
urge to cry, Robin never felt more frightened. Or, when Chris’s
hand strayed to smooth down her hair, so happy.

Robin’s Story: Bank Shot

“
No, no, Jes˙, no! You’ve got to thrust
your hips up, higher! Make me feel you surround me, take me into
you, and now! Yes, n
ow!
Open your eyes, you stupid slut!”

Robin panted and bent her back into a bow,
pulling her body back for a wild, desperate thrust, her legs
spreading wider, her stomach rippling. This time, when she brought
her hips up, her pussy lips splayed and soaked with her juices, she
gasped at the licking of cool air that swept across her flesh. Her
clit seemed giant, pounding with an agony that was too furious to
be released by one orgasm. Between her legs, Ken Mandarin stood,
her dark face even darker with excitement, her hair matted around
her forehead. She had one hand inside Robin’s body, and the effort
and strain in getting it there was paying off for them both.

Robin groaned as Ken’s hand began to
naturally form into a fist. “No, no, Master, I can’t!”

“
You already have! Feel it! Look at
me!”

Robin forced her eyes open, looked down her
body and moaned, and then whimpered. It seemed impossible that
there was an entire hand in her cunt, the fingers curled and
pressed against her internal walls, pressing smoothly up, and down,
and back and forth. Robin felt like crying, like laughing, like
pulling away in horror. One twist of the hand and she felt a
desperate urge to pee, and then it was replaced by that wonderful
sensation of fullness.

“
Oh, oh, I don’t believe it, I don’t
believe it,” she finally sobbed, allowing her head to fall back.
“Oh God, yes, please, don’t stop, please...”

“
I’m not going to stop, not yet.
Answer me quickly: can you come like this? Will you come for me,
like this, with my hand inside your wet cunt?” Ken’s voice was
harsh, like it always got when she was being cruel, and Robin knew
that whatever she answered, her orgasm was in Ken’s hands.
Literally.

“
I don’t know,” Robin gasped out.
“It’s too much! Please, I don’t know!”

“
But you like it? You love
it!”

“
Yes, oh, yes! Ahhh, please,
please...”

Ken laughed, and tossed her head back,
sending spikes of inky black hair flying past her ears. Her eyes
glittered in possessive pleasure as she hunched forward, rocking
her wrist back and forth to spread Robin open even wider, and then
to press her strength against Robin’s exposed clit. Robin panted,
and then moaned, and pressed back, her hips shaking, her entire
body now trembling with tension and need.

“
Tell me, little pet. Tell me if you
can come for your Master.”

Robin bit her own lip, her head rocking
almost in time with Ken’s hand. “No, no,” she gasped, “too much...
It’s too much....”

“
Then you won’t. Today.”

And Ken relaxed her hand a little and went
back to the rhythmic stroking movements that had enabled her to
ease her way in before, twisting her hand comfortably to find the
easiest ways in and out, gently now, always gently. “Can you
imagine people watching this?”

“
Yesss!”

“
And afterward, your owner will allow
them to use you. Perhaps they will scorn to use such an open hole,
and fuck you only in your mouth, or they will thrust into your
asshole. That is what being a slave is like.”

Robin moaned out loud and thrust her hips up
again, and Ken laughed.

“
You like that, too? Tell me the
truth, little slut, there is nothing you would not submit to. You
are truly a slave already.”

“
Yes, Master, yes, yes!”

“
I am going to stop soon. Do you want
me to stop?”

“
Please, Master, please... Do as it
pleases you....”

“
Ha. Then it pleases me to stop now.”
With a cruel smile, Ken stopped moving her hand, relaxed the
fingers, and slowly drew it out. Robin whimpered for every inch,
and then collapsed back onto the table with a moan, her legs
shaking. When Ken gave her permission, she drew her legs together
and then pulled her knees up toward her body, slipping over onto
one side. She shivered, and whimpered while Ken went to wash her
hands.

Kendra Mandarin. “Ken” to her friends,
“Master” to her slaves. All four of them. Real slaves. People who
did not have day jobs with paychecks deposited in their own
accounts and their own friends and their own activities and their
own places to live. Four people who lived only to do her bidding,
who used the title of Master in some magical way that Robin could
not only hear, but feel, deep in her soul.

How desperately Robin wanted to be among
them, serving this charmingly cruel, hauntingly beautiful, exotic
woman. Foreign and familiar. Caring and sardonic. A talented and
voracious lover and an implacable sadist. But it wasn’t going to
happen.

“
You are very nice, very natural,” Ken
conceded early on. “Cute, too, and fun to play with. But I don’t
need you. I have all the workers I require, and your skills are of
limited use to me. But we shall be together for a while, and enjoy
each other.”

It wasn’t enough. “Tell me about your
slaves,” Robin begged. “Where did you get them? Can I go
there?”

“
No, no, it takes more than a cute
bottom and an earnest smile to be what they are,” Ken scolded.
“Leave them be and enjoy what you can have.”

It wasn’t hard to enjoy time with Ken
Mandarin. She was fabulously wealthy. She had a large house far
away from the city, and kept a duplex apartment on the Upper East
Side as well. She was a genuine heiress, a child from an ancient
trading family based in Singapore. Her family’s heritage was mixed,
and rich with fascinating historical tales, which she only told
when plied with drink and steady flattery. But she was obviously
Eurasian, and had spoken Malay, Chinese, French, and Portuguese
before she had learned English. She spoke her English with a faint
trace of a British accent, mingled with French endearments and an
occasional Chinese oath. No one, she claimed, could curse as well
as the Chinese. No other language even came close. But she never
actually translated what she had just muttered. She was a woman of
an almost mercurial temperament, rising to extreme heat in passion
and anger and cooling to a businesslike exterior that could make a
person shiver from the lack of warmth.

Her slaves seemed eager to serve her. One, a
slender and somewhat aged man, took care of her houses. He was also
the one who applied his powerful hands and gnarled fingers to
Robin’s body, drawing out every knot and every ounce of tension
before Ken would deign to play with her for the first time. When he
smiled, his strong, white teeth gleamed against his dark face, and
his eyes flashed with pleasure. He almost never spoke, and when he
did, his accent was strong. Ken addressed him only as Yaro, and
Robin never found out if that was a name or a title. She did find
out that he had been with Ken since her childhood, which was a
daunting thought.

Two of her slaves, Andy and Cindy, looked as
sweet and corn-fed as any Midwestern newlyweds, except that they
were brother and sister and as sexually ravenous as two humans
could be. They served various functions in Ken’s life, ranging from
cleaning tasks to bookkeeping, secretarial work and errand running.
They also served their Master’s desires in bed when she was in the
mood, or entertained her with their own antics, or their attentions
upon her guests. The weekend that Ken had them take Robin, again
and again and again, was overwhelming. Robin had to call in sick on
Monday, staying home to wrap herself up among her blankets and
pillows, not daring to think about what it would be like to
experience such repeated pain and ecstasy on a regular basis. Andy
and Cindy were always friendly and cheerful, painfully so, and
Cindy told Robin that they had been slaves for three years. It was
their use of the title of “Master” which had taught Robin the power
of the word, so much more than an endearment, so much more than it
had ever seemed before. She yearned to use it as they did, with
such respect and awe and pride that it became more than a word.
Sometimes, she succeeded.

And then there was Celia, who was French
by birth and whose English was also a late acquisition. Celia was a
chef whom Ken claimed to have belonged to her older brother. The
brother apparently traded Celia to Ken for a male slave whose
talents were in construction work and looking good. The male slave
was even now working on site at a petrochemical plant that her
brother owned, leaving work to strip his clothing off, displaying
the many rings her brother would have had attached to him, and then
squatting to take her brother’s prick in whatever hole the man
desired. “My brother,” Ken would sigh, “is so predictable. If I
sent him one such slave every year, for Christmas perhaps, he would
love me forever. Personally, I couldn’t tell the difference between
them, especially with all their body hair off. It looks
so―robotic.”

But the result of that trade was a plump,
happy slave in the kitchen, who regularly turned out masterpieces
for the delight of Ken’s household and her many guests.

“
And she is already a
luxury for me,
ma petite
. She is the only one of my people who does not
have more than one function. No, no, you must be content with what
you have!”

“
But I’m not!”

“
Then you must learn to live with
disappointment.”

“
But I love you.”

“
Ah, and I love
you,
ma chérie
! Especially when you cry. Will you cry for me
tonight?”

That night, and many more.

* * * *

It took four months of regular begging to
actually get Ken to consider the problem.

“
Look, you know I’m good enough,”
Robin insisted. “You’ve taught me almost everything I need to know,
haven’t you? All I need is the way to get in.”

“
You don’t even know what it is you
would be getting into,” Ken scoffed.