Subjection (16 page)

“I dealt with him as necessary, Bobby,” I say quietly. I’m getting more and more irritated. “I haven’t brutalized him or anything.”

“You can’t expect him to be perfect!” Bobby protests, continuing to cuddle my slave against his will. “You have to train them, guide them, make sure they don’t have opportunities to fail. Beating him? It’s inhumane. He probably didn’t even understand what he did wrong; you probably just scared the poor little thing. Right, Sascha? Cash is just a big, mean man, isn’t he?”

Sascha looks ready to mouth off again. I probably wouldn’t even correct him if he did, at this point. He surprises me with the safe answer.

“I respect my master’s decision, sir.” Sascha is lying, but he’s doing it well. I’m impressed.

“As you should,” I agree. “The rules are clear and the consequences are efficient. I don’t have time for games, and I will not discuss it further.”

“Ah, yes, the busy man,” Bobby replies, deferring to my wishes. We move on to discussing work, leaving Sascha alone for a while. I can see that Bobby is letting his hands stray somewhere, and I remind myself not to have Sascha attend us in the future. He doesn’t need to be fondled for no reason.

As the night finally draws to an end, I can see Sascha’s relief at being able to get up and away from Bobby. Sascha has tuned out of the conversation, otherwise he would have heard Bobby suggesting that I lend Sascha to him for a vacation he is supposed to be taking.

“What do you think, Sascha, would you like to get away from this big mean brute of a master you have?” Bobby says, petting Sascha with familiarity.

“What—excuse me? Sir?” Sascha looks terrified.

Bobby continues to touch Sascha’s hair as he answers. “I could show you what it’s like to be spoiled a bit, maybe have a little fun. Not like Mr. Serious over here, all rules and expectations and efficiency.”

Sascha looks more terrified than he did when I beat him this morning. It throws me off. I expected that he would welcome such an offer; after all, I do nothing with him. I don’t hurt him, except when he deserves it, but I have neglected him in ways that I am not proud of. I would have thought that he would have been thrilled with the opportunity to get some adventure. Instead, he looks over at me for help, pleading almost.

“Please, sir,” he says, and for a moment, I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or Bobby. “That’s not my decision to make, sir. You’d have to ask my master if you want to borrow me.”

I study Sascha for a moment. Perhaps I underestimated him. Bobby offers fun, but only at the price of dignity.

“Bobby, as dear as you are to me, I like Sascha around for myself,” I say firmly. “Who knows what the future holds. Right now, he stays with me. He’s probably not well-behaved enough for your sorts of activities anyway.”

The little smile I see on Sascha’s face tells me that he knows I’m bluffing. I wouldn’t have tolerated misbehavior for this long, and I most certainly wouldn’t have taken him to the Peace Day Celebration if that was true. I’m pleased to see that Sascha understands what I’m doing.

“All right, all right,” Bobby laughs. “Have it your way. But be nice to him! He’s a good boy.”

I don’t reply. Sascha is not a “good boy.” I’d refer to a dog that way, but not a human. But to disagree would suggest that he has failed, which he hasn’t.

“Start cleaning up,” I order Sascha instead, sending him out of the room.

I lead Bobby to the door and outside, where he tries to convince me further that I should let Sascha have some fun with him. I play possessive, trying to downplay the fact that I highly doubt that Sascha would enjoy any part of his fun. But Bobby is convincing, talking about his beach house, and the other slaves, and how much fun everyone has. I tell him I’ll let him know if anything changes, and I go to find Sascha in the kitchen.

He’s content to be cleaning, working efficiently and quickly. If he resents the beating he earned earlier, he’s not showing it. More than anything, I think he was just happy to have something to do tonight, something to succeed at. The slaves that I used in my original research did so well in gentle environments. Am I providing the right environment for Sascha? I don’t know why I care; he’s not part of my research. I wonder why it even matters, and I realize that I want to find a place for him in my life. He’s like nobody I’ve ever met before, slave or free, and relegating him to washing dishes and whoring for my promotions seems like a waste. I wonder exactly what I could make him a part of.

He turns and sees me, going instantly from confident and efficient to mumbling and scared. Maybe he would be better off with Bobby.

“Would you like to?” I ask. Sascha looks utterly confused. “Go with Bobby, I mean. He would treat you well; he’s not lying about that. He doesn’t have slaves of his own, but he likes to borrow them and spoil them. He’d never hurt you as long as you at least tried to please him, or begged his forgiveness if you slipped up.”

Sascha looks torn. He takes forever to answer, studying his feet and the floor as he squirms. “I’d rather stay with you, master.”

He seems to resent the words, which is understandable. He has sacrificed so much to keep himself safe, and I am not safe in the way that Bobby is. “I thought so,” I say quietly. “You didn’t seem too thrilled about his attentions tonight.”

I consider the interactions, and realize that Sascha had been extremely uncomfortable. But then, I would have been, if I was in his place. While I’m pondering, I realize that Sascha’s all but stopped breathing, going pale and staring at me, waiting.

“Relax, Sascha, I’m not giving you to him,” I say, shaking his head. “I’m not even lending you to him, is that clear? I told you I wouldn’t do that again if it made you uncomfortable.”

He stands there, speechless, like he didn’t believe me when I told him that before. I’ve carried through on every promise and threat I’ve made to him, but I suppose I can still surprise him.

“You don’t have to be so formal about it,” I add. “If I ask you if you’d like to go with someone else, you can answer yes or no. Don’t try to be vague, and perhaps we can avoid the angst we had last time.”

He nods, silent, like he doesn’t want to trust me. It’s unnerving. I haven’t been that cruel to him, especially not when he tries to behave.

“Go to bed,” I order, dismissing him. I turn and leave, suddenly uncomfortable. I beat him this morning; that was easy. He deserved it. I had warned him, all the pieces were in place. I’ve been trained for years to deal with slaves in that manner. But tonight, I wanted to protect him, to find out what he really wanted and hoped for.

Those are things that nobody ever learns how to give a slave. Few learn how to give things to free people, friends, lovers… Sascha is none of these things to me, and even entertaining the idea makes me uncomfortable. It’s ridiculous to start a relationship like that with a slave, and yet, I find myself wondering how I can accomplish exactly that.

Chapter 14
Purpose

I focus on being a good slave over the next few weeks, the kind that doesn’t answer his master’s com calls disrespectfully and get his ass beat more than once. I try to be what my master wants, and tonight, that’s a waiter, bringing him dinner in his office so he can continue to work. He gets up to wash his hands before he starts eating.

While he’s gone, I peek at the papers on his desk and the files that he’s left open on his tablet. His company handles financial investments for major corporations, and I know he’s been having considerable difficulty getting the numbers on his most recent project to work out. It’s probably wrong of me, but I tend to listen to his conversations when he coms the office, as much for entertainment as self-preservation. I don’t mean to pry, or maybe I do, but it only takes a few glances at what he’s working on before I catch his error.

“Sascha, if you’ve brought everything, you can go,” he says as he walks back into the office, drying his hands on his pants and effectively eliminating any cleaning he just did. “I didn’t ask for dinner in here so you could bother me.”

It stings, and I recoil and respond automatically. “Yes, master.” I take a few steps toward the door as he seats himself and stabs at his food while glancing over the papers and tablet.

A good slave wouldn’t even
consider
mentioning it and embarrassing his master, but then, a good slave wouldn’t have been prying into his master’s business in the first place.

“Um, master?” I ask, tentative. He’s only beat me the one time, but I don’t doubt that I could irritate him enough to beat me again when he’s in this bad a mood already.

“What!”

“I just…” I feel my hands start to sweat. Bad idea. I should have just left and let him struggle. “I just noticed something, master, with what you’re working on, and I thought I could help—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve told you I don’t like needy slaves.”

The dismissal burns, and it’s the burn that gives me the stupid courage to walk toward his desk. “I apologize if I’m being too forward, master, but I think I am perfectly aware of what you’re doing
and
I know what’s been holding you up.”

He looks at me, something he rarely does, and I feel myself start to tremble. Fuck. If he
looks
this angry, what will he do?

“You
are
too forward,” he says, threatening. His expression is cold.

I move closer, figuring I’m screwed anyway, I may as well at least have the satisfaction of proving myself right. “I can help you, master.” He can beat me, but he can’t deny me this. It’s in his best interest, and I’ve never seen him act against his interests.

“Fine.” His voice is flat. He pushes himself back from the desk and glares at me.

I force my hands to stay steady as I grab the papers I had looked at while he was gone. I stare at them, not at him, while I explain what had happened and where there was an error and why this is what has been messing him up for days. I point to the details that he overlooked on the papers and on his tablet, and I point to the chain of errors that it caused, feeling the tiniest rush of excitement as I am finally doing something worthwhile, no matter the consequences. I finish and take a step back, bowing my head and waiting for my punishment.

He’s silent as he reviews the forms and makes a few notes, correcting things here and there. I know I’m right, but my heart still pounds. I don’t know whether he’ll be more or less angry that I’m right, and that he was wrong. Is his pride more important, or his work?

“You’re right,” he says, glancing at me and looking irritated. “Next time, you will ask before looking through my things.”

“Yes, master,” I nod, relieved to be getting off the hook. I start to walk away.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

He doesn’t sound particularly angry, but he’s hard to read. I freeze, wondering what my punishment will be. Prying into his business, looking through his things, correcting him… I was stupid to think he would let me get away with it. I try to disappear, to go somewhere else where it won’t hurt so much.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” he says, and I flinch as I hear him stand. “I want these finished by the end of the week.”

I focus my eyes again and he’s handed me a stack of papers and forms, most of which I recognize from the piles I had just pawed through on his desk. There are some new ones as well, but they seem to have similar data.

“I’ll flash some other files to your tablet tonight,” he continues, as if nothing is unusual. “I wish you would have mentioned this earlier—I hate this part of my job.”

I look at the papers, then at him. “You… you’d trust me to do this, master? You’d trust someone who’s Demoted to do something this important?” I know better to question him, but my worldview just got thrown off balance again, and I kind of want to hear his condescending tone to prove I’m not dreaming.

“Quit that passive-aggressive bullshit,” he snaps, and it takes me a minute to understand what he’s talking about. “I know as well as you do that you aren’t some mindless slave, and you’ve been terrible at pretending it from the first moment I met you at the brothel.”

I say nothing, stunned.

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you were one of those bright, cocky little bastards that got caught doing something stupid and got Demoted before even getting a chance to take the Assessment.”

“Something like that, master,” I mumble, not wanting to correct him. Let him think I cheated on it, or got caught with drugs or something. Nobody ever needs to know the real reason I let myself get Demoted.

“Too bad, really,” he shakes his head, and looks like he’s about to say something else.

I wait, wondering. So few people are opposed to the Demoted system; it’s almost heretical to criticize any part of it. Those who do are frowned upon, and those who do more than criticize it are accused of treason.

“It’s nice to have you able to help with something relevant,” he declares. “I’m enjoying the food, but you must be bored to tears.”

I’m amazed that he noticed. How much does he really notice about me, and why doesn’t he ever say anything? I never imagined he would care, but then, I never imagined he would think I was anything less than happy with my lot in life.

“Make the corrections and let me know if you have any questions,” he orders. “I’ll have something else for you when that’s finished. I’m about to become the most productive member of our team, thanks to you.”

I don’t answer; I just walk out the door in shock. He must think I’m selectively mute for as often as I don’t answer him.

I have the data finished for him by the end of the week, and he says “thank you” when he takes it from me, which nearly makes my heart stop. This long, and he finally says something normal? Something he’d say to a coworker? I can’t believe my good fortune, and I’m even more glad when he seems to overlook the fact that I gape at him instead of replying. He does overlook it, though, or maybe he really does think I’m selectively mute, because he moves on and gives me something else to do, a new set of financial projections that are just as complicated. He explains it thoroughly and carefully, but not in simplistic terms. I even force myself to ask him a question when he’s unclear. If he’s bothered, he doesn’t let it show, he just explains it in more detail until I understand. It’s not that the work is so complicated I don’t understand it, it’s just that I’m unfamiliar with a lot of the procedures and forms that his company uses. He seems to accept this, as though I am a new intern or something.