With a mewing cry, Diego’s whole body spasmed. He shot bitter cum down Jason’s throat with a quiet, yet intense, orgasm that shudder through him. By the time Diego stopped writhing against the floor with muted movements, Jason had swallowed every drop and slowly licked the softening dick in his mouth clean. He pulled up his head and stared down at his slave. The boy lay utterly relaxed, a genuine smile graced his lovely lips. Jason couldn’t resist looming over him and taking them in a soft kiss. On a quiet moan, Diego kissed him back.
Eventually, they made it to the pool, although they both moved with the languid slowness of the recently fucked. Jason gave Diego an old pair of board shorts to wear. Soon he had the slave take them off and get thoroughly wet by diving into the pool, something Diego did with the same amazing grace he did everything. Jason sketched a totally nude and glistening Diego while he lay on a lounge chair in a decadent pose. The boy fell asleep while basking in the sun, and seeing the guy relaxed and maybe even happy made Jason feel good. He still wasn’t sure slavery could be justified as being right, but at least he could make this slave’s life a better one. He was willing to bet no free person had ever given the boy a blowjob, and Jason couldn’t wait to do it again.
In even this one small way, Jason could make a difference in the world, and he supposed that would have to be enough for now.
Chapter Four
Once again Jason woke before the birds, a function of jet lag that he knew from experience would take a few more days to dissipate. He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could without disturbing Diego, who continued to sleep soundly. Vince had sprung for some kind of mattress that didn’t budge much when one of its occupants moved, so it proved easy to leave and return without sending out ripples. Jason didn’t bother to cover himself. Reclining against the mound of pillows at his disposal, he picked up his sketch pad and pencil and drew quick outlines of Diego’s face. A sliver of muted light had started to spill into the room from the crack in the curtains. It wasn’t very good, but he didn’t need accuracy. It was more a way to pass the time until his slave woke.
Of course, he knew that if he wanted to, he had every right to turn on the lamp, or throw open the heavy drapes to let in more light. He could even shake his slave awake and demand a morning BJ, if he were so inclined. Oh, his cock latched onto that fleeting thought, hardening in an instant. He ignored it. No way he would wake the poor boy out of his much-needed sleep to cater to Jason’s sexual whims. He had no doubt his uncle would have, that lots of people would without a second thought. He was trying to be better than that. Besides, Diego really was an adorable sight in his sleep. His pouty lips pursed on puffs of breath while his fingers clutched at the sheet covering him. Jason worked furiously to capture it all.
A whimper forced his attention back to the boy. The pretty face was scrunched up and tossed back and forth. The dream had turned into a nightmare, it seemed. Another whimper and now it looked as if the boy tried to shrink into himself. Jason didn’t like that. He hated to imagine what might have happened to a slave to disturb his sleep. He didn’t want to even consider it because if he pictured his uncle using Diego, it made him vaguely sick. People like Vince couldn’t be trusted with the care of others, and yet somehow fate had given the guy a stupid amount of money to indulge his every sadistic whim.
When another whimper morphed into a muted cry, Jason felt he had to do something. Dropping his pad on his lap, he reached over and ran his fingers lightly over Diego’s head.
“Hush,” he crooned. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He tried to keep his voice low so as not to actually wake up the boy.
It seemed to work. Diego settled down, his face relaxing again and his breathing evening out. Jason gave it a few more minutes of petting and muted murmurs of comfort before reluctantly removing his hand and going back to his sketching.
Another couple of hours went by before Diego fully woke. With a quiet yawn and a constrained stretch, Diego blinked up at Jason and gave him a small smile.
“Good morning, Master.”
Jason returned the look. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” he asked, returning his gaze to his pad where he filled in the last strokes.
Diego sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “Yes, sir. And you?”
“Fine.” Jason glanced at the tempting sight of the slave’s semi-erect cock peeking out from the sheet. “Jet lag’s still a bitch.” He sighed and put his pad and pencil on the nightstand. “But, it’s Sunday and Sunday is museum day, as far as I’m concerned.”
He twisted a bit to face Diego. “Have you ever been to the Museum of Fine Arts?”
“No, Master.”
“Hmm. I bet Vince wasn’t much of a museum-goer.”
“No, Master.”
“Well, I love them for obvious reasons and it’s been years since I’ve been to this one. I looked it up on my way back here and there’s a special exhibit showing some of Jorge DiPaola’s works. Have you heard of him?”
Diego wiggled with obvious enthusiasm. “Yes, sir. He’s regarded as one of the greatest modernist painters.” He ducked his head. “Which of course you already know, Master.”
He looked so cute, Jason couldn’t resist reaching over to ruffle his hair. The boy cringed, just a bit, as his hand descended, making him feel bad. He hadn’t intended to scare him. What had Diego thought, that Jason would hit him because the slave had dared to even appear to school his master? Yes, that’s exactly what he’d expected. Jason was careful to keep his touch light and friendly.
“He’s one of my favorites, and we need to get going for the ten o’clock showing.”
“Shall I order tickets, Master?”
Jason shoved himself out of bed and stretched. “No need. I bought them last night on my phone.”
“Oh.” Diego slid out on his side and came padding over to Jason. “I would have been happy to do that for you, sir.”
With a yawn far louder than his slave had given, Jason worked the kinks out of his neck. “Yeah, I know, but I’m not used to having a body slave. Seems kind of silly for me to have you do something that took me, like, two seconds. Anyway, let’s shower and go scrounge up some food in the kitchen.”
Although Jason had already started for the bathroom, he didn’t miss the look of alarm on Diego’s face. “Please, Master, let me go fetch your breakfast for you.”
That idea struck Jason as being as silly as the ticket thing, but Diego’s expression had become even more distressed, so he relented.
“Okay, fine. Thanks,” he added before going into the bathroom with a shake of his head.
This being rich was going to take some getting used to.
****
Diego scrambled out of the back of the car, following his master to stand outside of the museum. He shot Alphonse a smile. The chauffeur wasn’t used to holding the door for another slave. Usually Diego sat up front. This master, however, had wanted Diego sitting next to him and not so that he could get a moving blowjob or anything. He simply seemed to like having his slave near him. Diego clutched the master’s art case against his chest, making sure he didn’t drop it.
The master beamed up at the imposing building. “God, it’s exactly as I remembered it.” He turned back. “Thanks, Alphonse. Pick us up around three, please.” He turned his gaze to Diego. “Do me a favor and keep track of the time. Once I get sketching, I usually get lost in my own world.”
Diego nodded. “Yes, Master.”
“Okay, let’s go. It’s nearly ten.” He took a step, stopped. “Shit, sorry, I almost forgot.” He took the leash tucked into a front pocket out and attached it to Diego’s collar. “I can’t believe they require this. What do they think you’re going to do, poke a hole in one of the paintings?”
With another shake of his head, the master led the way. Diego didn’t mind the leash. He was too happy to be going somewhere new and exciting. He had to work at tamping down his impatience as the master ran his card through the automated ticket machine, then passed
through the guarded entry point. Although the man had said he hadn’t been to the museum in years, he headed unerringly for the special exhibit space. People with tickets for ten had already started passing through the doorway. The ticket-taking slave eyed Diego dubiously, yet said nothing as she took the tickets from the master and handed him a program for the exhibit.
Diego didn’t care. He was too intent on seeing the first painting. He would have stayed back away from the free people, but the master kept him close and pressed as far to the front of the crowd as he could without being rude. They stared up at the large painting of a reclining nude woman, her lush, pale skin set off by vivid red bedding. Her black hair coiled around her face and neck, not quite hiding the gold collar she wore.
“Most of the exhibit is from his Marisol period,” the master said, holding up the program. “These were his most controversial paintings, naturally.”
They shuffled on to the next one, another study of the woman. No, girl. Marisol had been DiPaola’s pleasure slave, and a slave was always a girl or boy no matter their age. In these first few pieces, she’d been older, perhaps late twenties, early thirties. Her master had painted her until the day she’d died in her early fifties, old for a slave in those days. He must have taken very good care of his muse. Diego could tell by a glimpse of the program that some of the pieces farther down were from DiPaola’s earlier period and featured a much younger Marisol. She was probably no older than thirteen when he’d started painting her, and the seductive nature of his work left no doubt that she’d been his pleasure slave even back then. Of course, laws restricting the use of a slave based on age was a modern sensitivity. Go back less than a hundred years, and one could fuck a slave of any age. Some countries still allowed that. Diego supposed he was lucky to have been born when and where he had been. Although the training had been brutal, at least his body had matured enough to handle the use.
A free woman bumped into Diego and glared at him as if it had been his fault. Naturally, Diego apologized to her, and hugging the master’s art case tight to his side, tried to make himself smaller and less obtrusive. The master’s head came up at the same time, and he tugged Diego closer, shooting the woman an irritated look. He edged them down the line to look at Marisol, once again nude, lounging under a tree.
“They say he was in love with her.” The master spoke close to Diego’s ear, tickling his skin in a way that sent a delightful shiver down his spine. “Seeing these paintings up close, I can believe it.”
Diego wasn’t so sure. Not that he’d ever gainsay his master. He couldn’t imagine a free person loving a slave, not in a romantic way, at least. Maybe if you had a nanny slave as a kid, you might love her enough to keep her around as an adult rather than sell her off. Maybe. Ginger’d been raised in a large household, the by-blow of her master, and she’d said people often kept old slaves that were no use any more out of affection. His life-experience so far didn’t give him any expectations of such a fate. He’d be lucky if the master kept him until his late twenties. Pleasure slaves were considered old by then, and sex seemed to be the only thing this master wanted him for. Well, that and to be his muse. As he took in the majesty of the painting in front of him, he couldn’t imagine being so compelling that the master would want to draw him for the rest of his life.
The thought was so strong, he gave it voice without thinking. “If you had a female slave as beautiful as her, Master, I bet you’d be drawing her instead of me.” His eyes went wide at his own impertinence. Before he could stammer out an abject apology, the master wrapped an arm around him and spoke into his ear.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I like boys, remember? Besides, I keep telling you how lovely you are. Do you think I’m lying?”
Diego stiffened at the horrible notion. “N-no, Master. I’m sorry.” He hung his head, half expecting a slap even in a public place. “I’m just a dumb slave. Please don’t pay me any mind.”
The master chuckled softly. “You’re not dumb. Look at this picture. Do you think DiPaola could paint Marisol with such care if he’d thought she was unworthy? There’s no difference between the two of you. Not to my mind, anyway.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
Diego pressed his lips together tightly. He needed to keep his tongue in check. This new master had been endlessly kind, and maybe he would continue to be so. He might even develop some affection for Diego given time. The idea that he’d come to love him, though, was too absurd to dwell on however much some stupid part of his mind and heart longed for that kind of fantasy. If they hadn’t been before, his feet had become firmly planted in reality the first night Vince McGill had owned him. Shaking off thoughts of what might be in some world he didn’t live in, he resolved to enjoy the here and now.
The crowd at the exhibit crawled through, most people taking no more than a cursory look at each piece. He wondered why they bothered to come if they weren’t very interested. The master, though, took his time, studying each painting for long minutes. Diego was happy to stick by his side and do the same. Nevertheless, by the time they spilled out on the other end of the long, narrow exhibition hall, he welcomed the coolness of the relatively open space.
“Wow,” the master said. “Just, wow.” He beamed at Diego. “I need a bathroom, then I want lunch.”
Diego followed him into the nearest men’s room. Only one urinal was free, so Diego stood to the side while the master used it first. In a stall at the far end, there was some banging and low moans. Diego’s cheeks flushed when he realized that someone, probably some slave, was getting fucked. Public sex wasn’t allowed even when performed on a slave, but no one seemed to pay too much attention in a restroom. At least no one had the one time the late master had dragged Diego into a stall at a restaurant. Diego had hated it—a dry fuck that had left him sore and sticky for the remainder of the evening out.
The master took the art case from Diego when it was his turn to pee. Yet one more surprising thing about this man. Slaves were supposed to do the impossible, always. Juggling a case while unzipping his pants and yanking out his dick would have been the norm for Diego. He wondered yet again how long it would take this man to get used to being a slave owner and start using him in the expected way.
Because the overpriced restaurant in the museum wouldn’t allow Diego to sit, the master ended up taking him to the cafeteria. Diego felt mortified that his master had to eat among the nanny slaves, squawking children and people unable to afford the restaurant’s high prices. At least he agreed to sit at a table with his art case while Diego went to fetch the meal for them both. It wasn’t bad by a slave’s standards and the master scarfed down his cheeseburger and fries with gusto. Diego supposed the man was used to this kind of food more than the other. And, Diego didn’t feel uncomfortable sitting across the rickety square table from a free man the way he would have in a nicer place.
After the quick lunch, the master took them to one of the long halls with portraits displayed all along the walls. The faces of long-dead people stared out at them from every angle. Sitting down on one of the low benches in the middle of the floor, the master pulled his case out of Diego’s hands and got to work sketching one of the paintings. Happy to sit and watch, Diego knelt down beside him, careful to keep himself out of the way of the other patrons.
The master frowned while he drew quick lines. “Why don’t you sit next to me?”
Diego caught one of the guards eyeing him. “I’m pretty sure it’s not allowed, Master.”
The frown deepened. “Hmm. Please don’t forget to keep track of the time.”
Having no watch, Diego made sure to glance at the master’s now and again. The time passed more quickly than he would have thought. He split his attention between looking at the paintings within his limited field of vision and watching the master work. The man truly was very talented. It was a pleasure to be part of the process. He felt as if he truly was by the side of a master artist, not simply a man rich enough to own people. Each time t
he master moved to another place, Diego stayed with him, of course, enthralled by the activity. He almost hated having to tell him that the time was up.
“I’m sorry, Master. It’s two forty-five.”
With a sigh, the master looked up from his paper, then at his watch. “Yeah.” He rubbed at his eyes. “It’s so easy to keep going and going.” He gave Diego a tired smile. “Let’s hope the weather held, so we can have a swim.” He rolled his shoulders. “I could do with some exercise.”
“Would you like a massage, sir?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a thing, isn’t it?” His smile brightened. “That would be great, thanks.”
****
Jason’s life had taken on a rollercoaster kind of quality. After a blissful Sunday filled with art, lazing about and hot, acrobatic sex, in bed and out, with the amazing Diego, Monday started with drizzle and dreariness. Diego had remembered to call Stan’s admin to make an appointment, which ended up being late morning that day. Alphonse had driven them into town to meet with Stan and go over the specifics of the will, and yup, the final total of Jason’s estimated new wealth made his heart stop for a moment. Of course, most of it was illiquid, the value of the company stock he’d inherited. Stan said a special board meeting had been called for later in the week, a few hours before Kurt was due to arrive in town, actually. Thoughts of meeting the board made him nervous. What did he know about board meetings? But Kurt’s arrival excited him. He missed the guy. Kurt always made him laugh and feel safe. He was a pretty commanding guy, and Jason needed that from time-to-time.
Heir to a Slave Page 6