“Wow,” he said as he and Diego left Stan’s building. “That was incredibly boring and nerve-wracking at the same time.” He glanced at his slave.
Diego nodded. “I imagine it can be hard to deal with so much responsibility, Master.”
“It’s certainly scaring the crap out of me right now.” Perhaps he shouldn’t speak so freely about his feelings with a slave. Like board meetings, Jason had no knowledge of the proper way to own people. He didn’t care, though. Having Diego to talk to, to voice his fear to, helped him adjust. He believed even without any evidence to back it up that this boy would keep his confidences.
Time to put aside his worries and start really enjoying his new wealth. Insurance proceeds had already been dumped into his bank account. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to worry about how much things cost. At least not something as simple as a meal.
“Come on, let’s grab some lunch.” Pulling out his phone, he called up the address of the restaurant nearby that he’d found before leaving the house. The place allowed slaves to sit with their owners and from now on, that was a key requirement for anywhere Jason ate.
He took Diego by the arm to lead him, happy to not need the leash stuffed in his back pocket. Any restaurant that would seat a slave surely wouldn’t require them to be leashed and local ordinances didn’t require it on the street. Of course not. How would the slaves of wealthy people handle kids or shopping or cars if slaves couldn’t go out unattended? The day had turned slowly bright with a light breeze and the walk was short, so the journey put Jason in a good mood. And, really, no one had the right to be down about inheriting a gazillion dollars. He was being stupid.
Their destination proved to be an airy place with muted lights and tranquil music. The hostess didn’t even blink at Diego’s presence and more importantly, her welcoming smile didn’t dim one bit. Obviously the restaurant only hired those who were on board with the idea that slaves were people, too, deserving of the dignity of sitting on a chair and not the floor. If the woman had been only paying lip-service to the policy, something of her feeling would have shown through. Instead, she escorted them to a table right by the front window and gave them each a menu.
The only downside to the place was that it served vegan food. No surprise there. Anyone in the abolition movement tended to be on the leftish side of politics, and stereotype or not, a diet chosen to prevent animal cruelty made perfect sense. However he might feel about slavery, and his feelings were frankly mixed, Jason couldn’t resist the allure of a steak. But, to eat somewhere accepting of Diego and his dignity, Jason would find something on the menu to his liking. That was his plan. Once he started looking at his choices, however, his optimism dimmed a little.
“So, what looks good to you?” he asked in the hopes of punting the decision to Diego.
The boy looked up at Jason, obviously uncomfortable. His eyes darted around, and he closed his menu up. “I’m sorry, Master, I’m not used to ordering in restaurants. I really don’t have a preference. I’ll be happy to eat whatever you choose.”
Damn, there went that plan. He really couldn’t blame the guy. Obviously, things like deciding on what meal to eat came naturally to a free person. Slaves weren’t raised to make decisions, and no way Jason would rectify that during a single meal, or ever maybe. He settled on a vegetable couscous dish with fruit salad on the side and raspberry iced tea. Once he’d placed the order with their cheery server, he settled back and racked his brains for small talk. If he’d been on a date, he would have asked about the other guy’s family or interests. He already knew Diego’s meager and sad background and figured for all that he’d been trained as a drawing room companion, Diego probably didn’t have much to say about politics. Too heavy a subject. They’d already spoken at length about the DiPaola exhibit and other art-related subjects. As he thought, his gaze fixed on the shiny collar around Diego’s neck.
Jason leaned forward. “You know, I’m not a big fan of that collar.”
Diego touched the metal with the fingers of one hand. “Master?”
“I mean, it’s kind of ugly. Way over-the-top ornate. You know?” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s a choke one. I don’t like that. How about we buy a new one after lunch?”
Diego’s fingers and gaze dropped. “If it pleases you, Master.”
Their drinks came and they quietly sipped at the nicely sweetened tea. “I’m thinking gold with a simple M,” Jason said, picking up the conversation where they’d left it. He ran his finger along a seam in the table. “Not that I think you should have to wear a collar at all.” He picked up his glass and worked his thumb down the frosty side.
Diego shrugged without looking at him. “People like to know when they’re dealing with a slave, Master, and the tattoo on the back of my neck isn’t really visible with my hair so long. I don’t mind. It doesn’t hurt unless it’s being yanked.” His eyes popped open wide and he glanced up at Jason guiltily, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
“That’s exactly why I’m replacing it with a non-choking one.” He hated the tattoo, as well, although he knew there was nothing to be done about that. It was highly illegal to remove a slave mark.
The food arrived and they put aside conversation to scarf down the large plate of food. They were both obviously hungry, and given how skinny Vince had kept Diego, Jason was glad to see the boy eat. It didn’t take long for them to finish up, even after trying a vegan chocolate brownie that the server had sworn was as good as mother used to make. That boast turned out to be a bit of a stretch, and by the time he’d paid the bill, Jason was already dreaming of asking Ginger to make him a batch of real ones for an afternoon snack.
A quick look on his phone gave him a jewelry store nearby that sold high-end slave collars. He’d sent Alphonse home with the car the moment they’d arrived at Stan’s. No sense having the guy hang around in a parking garage. And, as the day remained a beautiful one, they walked the few blocks to a street Jason had rarely gone before and never would have thought to go for shopping on his old budget. It took him no time to pick out a simple gold collar that was really a nice necklace. When the clerk allowed him to try it on Diego, he couldn’t hold back his smile.
“Perfect.”
A few more minutes and a flat disc with a simple M engraved on it was added. The old choke chain made of platinum served as a sort of trade-in, so Jason actually made money on the deal. By the time he ordered an Uber to go home, Jason’s mood had picked up considerably. Having money totally rocked, as it turned out. During the ride, Jason’s thoughts turned to sex. Not surprising given that his thigh bumped up against Diego’s constantly. Reaching over, he twined his fingers with the slave’s and gave him heated a look. The way Diego’s cheeks pinked up, Jason knew he’d conveyed his message. His cock punched up against his fly in anticipation of how he intended to spend the rest of the afternoon. Thankfully, so did Diego’s. The slave was as eager as the master, and that made all the difference.
The moment they entered the house, however, Jason’s arousal deflated. Loud crying carried all the way from the back of the house. Alarmed, he raced toward the sound, Diego hot on his heels.
“Jesus! What’s going on?”
As he rounded the door to the kitchen, he saw Ginger and a crying Nina standing by the sink. The other slaves hovered nearby, anxiously watching, as Ginger wrapped one of Nina’s fingers with gauze. Even from a few yards away, Jason could see blood soaking through. The cook looked up briefly at Jason.
“Sorry for the commotion, Master. The girl here cut her finger along with the vegetables.” She sighed at the other slave. “I told you to keep your fingers curled when chopping.”
Nina sniffled and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.” She gave Jason a fearful look. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“Jesus,” Jason swore again and walked up to them. “You don’t have to apologize for bleeding.” Peering more closely at the partially bandaged wound, he shook his head. “That’s going to need
stitches.”
The room went suddenly quiet. No one had been saying anything, yet it felt as if they’d sucked air out of the room. Even Nina shut up. Every pair of eyes locked on him before those same gazes slid to the floor.
Jason looked around. “What?”
A few seconds ticked by before Diego spoke. “Um, the thing is, Master, she can’t get treated at the slave clinic unless you consent to it. And, of course, pay for it.” The guy kind of winced at the end as if expecting Jason to explode.
“Okay, so we go the clinic. Alphonse, please bring the car around.”
“Yes, Master.” The older slave raced out the back door.
Nina sniffled. “Please, Master. I’m fine. Truly.” God, she looked scared to death.
With as much care as he could, Jason slowly placed his palm on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Nina. I’m not mad. How could I be? It was an accident, and regardless, I’m not going let you suffer. I can afford the doctor’s bill.”
More tears flowed out of her eyes. “Thank you, Master.”
Jesus Fucking Christ, what kind of nightmare master had Vince been that his slaves were terrified about needing medical care? And, what kind of society made it impossible for slaves to get that care without an owner’s consent? Just when he started to feel good about his new life, something happened to bring him back to Earth. Griping about it was pointless, and he really had nothing to complain about. He wasn’t the one standing there bleeding, after all.
He ended up bustling Nina, Ginger and Diego into the car for the drive to the clinic. That was a depressing affair. So many miserable slaves and a lot of angry and put-upon owners. He wasn’t sure which part was the low point—hearing a woman berate her teenage slave and threaten the boy with punishment for breaking his arm, or the attendant asking Jason if he was willing to pay extra for Lidocaine because apparently stitching a slave up without pain-killer was a thing.
By the time they all trooped back home again, it was time for dinner. At Jason’s insistence, it was cold chicken salad. He didn’t want Ginger going to any extra effort. He felt so tired himself, having done essentially nothing, he didn’t have the energy to do more than strip down to his underwear and lie in bed with Diego to watch a couple of stupid movies. As the credits rolled for the second one, the slave tentatively reached over and massaged Jason into hardness.
“I this all right, Master?” Diego asked the question in a hushed tone and stilled his hand while he waited for an answer.
Jason let his eyelids droop. “Mmm. S’okay.” He roused enough to slide his hand along the back of Diego’s neck as the boy liberated Jason from the confines of his boxer-briefs. “Please call me Jason. When we’re in bed, alone, I’d like to hear my name on your pretty lips. Master’s too…” He let his voice trail off and shrugged. He wasn’t sure how to articulate his feelings. The request had popped up from somewhere deep inside, goaded no doubt from the day’s events.
“Whatever you say, Master. Jason,” the boy amended before he swallowed Jason’s cock down for a lazy blowjob. Pleased that he’d achieved some amount of equality between them, however, minor and transient, he allowed himself to surrender to the pleasure. It was so exquisite, especially when the boy’s humming sent vibrations of bliss through Jason’s dick, he couldn’t do more than lie back and enjoy it. It was nice, too, that the slave had initiated the contact. It had to mean something, didn’t it?
He came quickly, spending the last of his energy along with his cum down the slave’s throat. He tried to rouse himself to return the favor, but Diego gently urged him back down.
“Sleep now, Master. I mean, Jason. I’ll get the light.”
Jason was happy to comply, settling more into the bed, and vaguely aware of Diego leaning over him to shut off the lamp. A thud and a cry caused him to open his eyes again.
“What’s up?”
Diego had vaulted over him and was frantically pressing his T-shirt onto Jason’s sketch pad. “I’m sorry, Master. I knocked your bottle over with my arm.”
Jason pushed up into a sitting position and stilled Diego’s movement with his hand. “It’s okay, just an accident. There wasn’t that much beer left in the bottle anyway. The pad’s cover is pretty thick. No real harm done.”
Diego turned a stricken face toward Jason, twisting the damp shirt in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time the fear in his voice was obvious.
Tugging the shirt from the boy’s tight grip, Jason tossed it on the floor. Then he gathered him within his embrace and coaxed him back onto the bed. Once he had Diego lying down and pressed against his side, he turned off the light himself. He settled them both down with a slow kiss.
“I’m not mad. Don’t worry about being punished for an accident. Like Nina didn’t need to worry.” Jason chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Now, if you’d deliberately poured beer on my work, that would piss me off.”
Diego stiffened. “I’d never do that. I swear.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” With another quick kiss and a deep yawn, he added, “Let’s get some sleep.” Jason drifted off almost immediately, his last thought was that he’d return the favor of the blowjob in the morning.
Chapter Five
“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Jason, and we do hope you’ll seriously consider our offer.” The newly-elected president of McGill and Company shook Jason’s hand with an enthusiasm that didn’t quite ring true.
“Um, yeah, thanks,” Jason said with a pained smile. “I certainly will. This has been a real eye-opening experience.”
Hanging back as the attentive, yet unobtrusive slave, Diego watched the good-byes of the board members. He wondered if his new master—or Jason as he insisted Diego try to call him while in bed at least—had really understood what he’d heard over the last hour. And, did he truly get that these people intended for him to be gone? If he didn’t take their buy-out offer, they would shunt him aside. They might not be able to force him to sell his shares in the company, but they had the votes to keep him off the board and off the payroll. Unlike his uncle, Jason wouldn’t receive a big salary, and unless the board voted to give a dividend, the stockholding itself wouldn’t generate a dime for Jason.
As he’d knelt beside his master’s chair, the way he’d done for the old master during countless meetings, Diego had quietly seethed on behalf of the man. The old master had hated having to kowtow to the venture capitalists, yet had done so because their money had helped launch his immensely successful product. Those investors in turn had recognized the old master’s business acumen and had kept him at the helm. Jason had no such skill. Even Diego could tell that, and he’d bet Jason would be the first to admit the fact. The board members had treated the man as if he were some little kid with his legs dangling off the end of the chair while he listened to all the big grown-ups explain what he’d inherited. Diego had hated them for it, especially the men who’d used Diego on occasion with the old master’s blessing. They condescended to a man who was a far better person than they would ever be. After a few days in Jason’s control, Diego knew that with a certainty.
When the last of the board members had left, Jason let out a loud sigh and tipped his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “That was the most painful hour I’ve ever spent. It beat the office visit with Stan in that regard by a mile.” He gave Diego a quick smile. “Once again, both boring and confusing. I get the feeling they don’t want me around,” he added with a wink.
Oh, thank God. Jason wasn’t as naïve as Diego had feared. Not sure what would be an appropriate response, Diego flashed him a quick, sympathetic smile.
“Come on. Let’s go back to my office.” The master put the word office in air quotes because again, he apparently understood that the old master’s office was only Jason’s on a temporary basis. The new president would want to move into it himself once Jason cleared the old master’s personal stuff out.
Knowing the way well, Diego ended up leading his master through the connectin
g door to the plush, private office. The master plopped himself down in the overstuffed leather chair behind the enormous desk and twirled himself around.
“Vince sure wasn’t a minimalist, was he?” He gave Diego a toothy grin before opening up each drawer to peek inside.
Diego knelt by the side of the chair, as he typically did. The master’s warm palm descended onto Diego’s head. It was a familiar gesture at this point, and one that Diego appreciated. Far from making him feel demeaned, it had become a gesture of affection. Being with this new master was as close to perfect as Diego could imagine. Forget the food and the clothing, it was the consideration the man showed Diego, and all the slaves really, that was heavenly. For the first time, Diego looked forward to going to bed. Not only did the master make sure Diego enjoyed sex with him, he went the extra and baffling mile of actively showering Diego with the kind of attention a free person would show a lover. The man had actually given Diego multiple blowjobs in the last few days that left Diego almost paralyzed with pleasure.
In the light of such consideration, how could Diego feel anything other than protective of the man, if not outright love? Real love, too, not the dutiful kind that he’d been trained to feel for his owner. He knew that free people expected their slaves to love them like a child loves a parent, out of duty and respect. But, the feelings growing inside Diego for Jason were different. He just knew they were. It was like those fanciful novels Ginger liked to read about slaves falling for their masters and even sacrificing their lives for them. Diego had always thought those stories were too fantastical to be anything more than a free person’s effort to assuage their own guilt. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
The master pulled open the top right drawer and gave a little gasp. He looked down at Diego and held up a small tube of lube. “Did my uncle fuck you in here?”
Heir to a Slave Page 7