The Slave (58 page)

“
She’s gonna look like she’s fourteen years
old,” Carl commented as he watched Robin head off to find a place
to purchase the garment.

Raul nodded. “Some of the guests will like
that, though.”

“
Maybe too much. How are you gonna
make sure no one grabs her as a party favor?”

“
Not my job. The Masters
will make it clear the new boy is off limits. I mean,
the
other
new boy.” He winked at Muscledog who grinned happily. “This
one will have them lined up.”

“
Life is harsh!” the bodybuilding
slave exclaimed.

* * * *

Preparation for the party was more than
costuming, though. All together, there would be thirty-two guests
for most of a day and far into the night. There were no scheduled
meals, nothing to break up the potential for sex, play, or leisure
time. Instead, Raul planned an ever-changing buffet of finger foods
and barbecue. There would be four additional slaves borrowed from
two of Jimmy’s friends, just for non-sexual service. All of them
would be assisting Raul with cooking and bar tending, and covering
those times when Raul would be conscripted for his masters’
pleasure. “And that’s another reason why I want you here,” he’d
said to Robin as she struggled with the number of things she had to
learn in order to be acceptable. “For all this time, I worked these
parties and never got to play!”

“
Well... I’m not going to get to
play,” Robin said with a grin.

“
Not my problem, sugar!”

Play was the whole point of the party. Bowls
of condoms and piles of gloves and dental dams were procured, in
both latex and nitrile along with bottles of several different
types of lubricant and tubs of Crisco. Extra cushioned outdoor
furniture was brought in, and hammocks slung from frames around the
edges of the spacious acre behind the house. A sturdy steel frame
was erected on one side of the pool, with bondage points, and
another one mirrored it on the other side, supporting a sling of
black nylon. Every whip, flogger, paddle and crop was brought out,
examined for flaws, and cleaned or restored as needed. Electrical
toys, cupping sets, a pirate’s hoard of silvery or bronze-colored
clips and clamps, and all the strange or rarely used implements of
pain and pleasure were dragged out and placed into Carl’s
hands.

He was the one who went through the house,
back deck, yard, and garden and found every space where bondage
points could be made. He rearranged the furniture, and oversaw the
placement of spanking benches, kneeling frames, and oddly shaped
cages. Then he erected smaller racks for the toys, so no one would
have to go far to grab something for impact, torture, pleasure, or
penetration. Extra video screens were rented to show non-stop porn
in almost every room.

The side effects from all of this
preparation were laughably predictable. The tight swimsuits favored
by Eric and Jimmy as the preferred uniform for their male house
slaves did not hide the steady stream of erections. Robin couldn’t
hide her stiff nipples against the thin Lycra of her running tops,
either, but she did slip a panty liner into her shorts after
finding herself far too wet for her own comfort. Then the Masters
made things worse by commanding the slaves to torment each
other.

“
No orgasms,” Eric commanded. “But
Muscledog, I want you sucking Raul and Carl hard, three, four times
a day. Raul, I want you working on their tits, I want ’em sensitive
and fucking huge by the party. Carl, every morning, everyone gets
twenty-five lashes, and every night before bed, everyone gets ten
on the ass with the leather paddle.”

“
Lashes anywhere, sir?”

“
Yeah, anywhere. And you’ll work on
Raul’s tits. Jimmy will beat you whenever he feels like it, as
usual.”

Carl grinned at Raul who rolled his eyes.
“What about Robin, sir?”

Eric thought about that, staring at her.
Robin blushed at the thought of this pre-party regimen and didn’t
know whether to hope she was included or hope she was left out.

“
OK, leave her tits
alone, last thing we need is her nipples getting
bigger
. But she gets beat on, too, every day. And she can suck
Muscledog hard three times a day, too. Every morning, I want to
inspect you all―I want you sore and fucking horny, not bruised or
battered. Got it, fuckers?”

“
Yes, master! Yes, sir!” They
chorused.

* * * *

Yet another addition to the
list of things that are hotter in books than in real life,
Robin thought as
she bent over for the second evening paddling. True, she didn’t
even feel anything from the morning flogging on her shoulders and
back; Carl didn’t thump her as hard as he did the male slaves, and
she had rather enjoyed the feeling of the expensive moose-hide
tresses. But the paddle, long and stiffened by something sewn
between two layers of glossy black leather, stung as well as
thumped. And she suspected that as with Chris’s strap, the build-up
of these evening beatings would be considerable.

“
Don’t know why they’re bothering with
you,” Raul mused, as he tugged on Muscledog’s clamped nipples.
“It’s not like anyone is going to see your little ass.”

“
Yeah, but she’s got such a cute ass,
I bet some of ’em will at least grab it or give her a spank over
the jeans,” Carl grunted as he swung.

Raul nodded. “Yeah, I can see
that. OK, Dog, up here and get me hard...
again
.”

Steve the Muscledog grinned and licked his
lips. “Harsh!” he barked, before diving in.

Robin groaned as the leather paddle struck;
she was right. It hurt more than it had the previous night. Her
hips twitched involuntarily and she lifted one foot in the
exquisite agony of arousal. Carl laughed in a good-natured way.
“Could be worse, sweetheart,” he said. “You could have Raul working
on your titties, too, and no way to come!” He swatted her again,
with enthusiasm, and she yelped.

* * * *

In addition to the clothing, and how to
lower her voice, and how to walk, and how to hide her hands, and
other tips on how to pass, somehow, as a very young man, Robin had
one more thing to learn as well.

“
But I know how to polish boots,” she
protested to Raul.

“
Sure, but you don’t know shit about
bootblacking. You think of it as getting the boots clean―I’m
talking about a sex thing here. Every morning, start with Carl, for
at least two pairs of shoes or boots. And in the evening, work with
the Dog and let him show you how to make it sexy. I doubt he’ll be
allowed to bootblack for more than a few guys here and there, and
it’s the perfect way to keep you busy and dressed.”

It took all of five minutes for Robin to
realize Raul had been right. Of course, she’d seen bootblacks
working in leather bars―it seemed something that went with the
masculine atmosphere of beer, leather, cigars, and testosterone.
And although she had some sense of the fetishism involved―leather,
feet, service, kneeling in front of someone―she’d never thought of
it as a particularly sexual or even sensual act before.

“
No, no, don’t wear gloves, that just
gets in the way,” Muscledog insisted.

“
In the way of what?” she asked
plaintively, imagining the horrors of the deep black polish getting
under her fingernails.

“
You gotta really feel what you’re doing,”
he said patiently, digging his fingers into a can of saddle soap.
“OK, so, you got the surface dust and dirt off with the first
brushing, right? Now, we’ll clean the leather. Take this stuff and
just a little water, like this, and work it up to lather. Lots of
guys won’t need this; their leather is gonna be sharp. And really,
if you have to clean ’em first, sometimes it’s real hard to get a
shine after. But if they’re dirty, then first you cleanse...
“

Then you exfoliate,
Robin thought with
a sigh.
Or
moisturize. I’m giving facials to boots.
But it turned out the steps of
bootblacking were similar to a facial―
and why not, it’s still skin,
she
realized.
Except I don’t set fire to my foundation before putting it
on.
Muscledog liked to ignite a can of black polish to soften
it before spreading it thinly onto a boot. Raul sniffed at that
practice and called it showy and lazy. But Carl liked it. “What’s
wrong with showy? Besides, the less she has to show she doesn’t
have the upper arm strength, the better.”

It was useless, the boys agreed, to practice
on empty boots. So every evening before she got her ten spanks with
the leather paddle, she first knelt before one of them while they
wore a pair of their own or one of the Masters’ pairs of boots, and
she worked her hands into soaps and polishes and leather
conditioners. She used different brushes to remove dust or to buff
to a shine; she worked greasy lotions into the seams and creases of
old leather. She learned when to bring out the mirror gloss of a
high intensity shine and when she shouldn’t. Then, they brought out
more pairs of boots for her to learn different lacing patterns as
well.

The aroma of the waxes, creams, and polishes
seemed to hover around her as she slid between her sheets at night.
The sharp bitterness of the inky polishes leavened with the pine
scent of the shoe grease, and under it all the faint echo of
leather. Despite herself, she found it tantalizing, curling one
hand up against her mouth and nose to breathe in the scents of her
labor. Now she understood why Chris’s boots had that distinctive
smell; he must have used some of these products. It was awful to
lie there, her ass aching from the paddling, nipples erect despite
not being teased by Raul’s endless array of clamps and cups, and a
taste of latex on her lips from the last chance every day to bring
Muscledog to erection. That, at least, was easy. He sprang up at
the slightest touch, and didn’t mind at all that she was a
girl.

Deep inside, she resented that
she couldn’t serve along with the rest of them.
I can suck cock!
She thought,
curling on her side.
And I know I have a tight ass, too. God, to be
just another body at the party, instead of the costumed, bound-up
reject not allowed to do anything but polish boots. But that’s what
I get for belonging to a gay couple.
She signed and tried to relax, hoping she
could pull it off. For all that it felt awkward, it would be her
first party since... that incident with the earrings.
I want to fit in
again,
she
thought, her fist tight in her pillow, the scent of boot polish and
saddle soap enveloping her.
I want them all to like me again. It almost feels
like it used to be. If I can get through this and be useful and
cheerful, it’ll be like old times.

* * * *

Raul did as much cooking and prep work as
possible even before his four assistants arrived. Two bars were set
up, one inside and one out by the pool, along with an ice-maker and
rented freezers to make sure no one would lack a cooling drink when
he wanted one. And of course, for all those guests, Raul, Carl and
Muscledog would not be the only slaves providing sexual service or
play. Most of the guests were Marketplace owners, or at least
aware, plus a spotter or trainer here and there. Some of them would
bring their own playthings, to use exclusively or to share. And of
course, some guests would prefer to bottom.

“
God, I hope someone grabs me to fuck
’em first off,” Carl said with a groan as he got up the morning of
the party. “I feel like I did when I was thirteen. A passing breeze
could get me off today.”

“
We’ll see what you say after the
fifth one needs you to get it up,” said Raul.

“
At this rate? I’ll say, hot damn,
toss those legs around my neck, cowboy!” He stretched and grabbed
the flogger hanging from the post of the bunk bed and nudged Robin
with one foot. “And speaking of legs, spread ’em, sweet
cheeks.”

“
Huh?” Robin threw back her sheets and
looked up. “My... legs?”

“
That’s where this morning’s twenty
five are going!” He whirled the tresses with delight and grinned at
her.

Robin gasped as the first thud hit her pussy
and then groaned, her head back against her pillow. Muscledog
laughed and Carl did, too. “Remember, no coming,” Carl said with a
wicked leer. “And don’t fall over laughing too hard, Dog, your
balls are next.”

“
Oh, man,” Muscledog sighed, cupping
his cock and balls for the moment. “That’s...”

“
Harsh,” the other three slaves
echoed.

* * * *

The four service slaves showed up, and Eric
dressed them in black Lycra shorts and little shirt cuffs and bow
ties like Chippendale dancers. They also wore skimpy, black gauze
vests with “hands off!” painted on the back in bold orange
letters.

“
Subtle,” Jimmy said, when he saw
them.

“
Well you know this crowd; once they
start getting in gear, they’ll start fucking anything that moves.”
Eric eyed the four men critically and then handed them over to
Raul. The house manager was attired in a bright red latex
jockstrap, tight around his small asscheeks, with matching bands
around his wrists and ankles. Attachment rings were steel wound
through with more red, and a chain half-harness had been laced with
long scarlet latex straps as well, glinting in the light across his
tan chest. Somehow, he managed to look as cool and elegant as
always, escorting the four slaves to their service positions and
showing them the day’s schedule.