Danny didn’t know how to respond. He’d never socialized with non-slave-owning free people, or any free people for that matter. He didn’t know the protocol and besides, Paul was the only free person he’d ever called by first name. It was still strange on his tongue. Fortunately, Mr. Graham saved him from saying anything.
“Hey, son, how about a beer?” the older man called over.
“Sounds great, Dad, thanks.” Paul subtly steered Danny away from the young couple.
The older Mr. Graham bent down to pull a wet bottle from a cooler on the ground. “What about your boy? Do you let him drink beer?”
Paul tamped down the instant irritation he felt toward his father over the question. The situation was an awkward one for all of them. His family had very little chance at interaction with slaves in general and none on a social level. It would take time for them to get used to Danny’s presence. He really should have warned them in advance, but hadn’t because he’d worried how they’d respond. So far, the only hostile reaction had come from Brent. He shouldn’t be surprised. The abolition movement was much stronger in the younger generation.
“He can drink whatever he wants, although he doesn’t like beer very much.” Paul looked down at Danny. “Would you like some lemonade instead?”
Danny looked up at him with a grateful smile. “That would be great, thanks.”
Paul smiled back, pleased that Danny had answered without any honorific. The boy used Paul’s first name more and more, but still used “sir” a lot, as well, and occasionally “master.” Paul had considered reminding him before the party to not call him by the loathsome title, then decided he’d put too much pressure on the slave already.
“One lemonade coming up.” Paul’s mother moved to the picnic table, already laid out with place settings and side dishes. When she reached for the pitcher of lemonade, Danny pulled free from Paul’s embrace.
“Please let me do that, ma’am.”
Paul’s mother kept right on going, grabbing a large plastic cup. “Nonsense, dear. You’re our guest.”
Paul caught up to his boy and leaning down, said in a stage whisper, “You’re fighting against a force of nature. May as well give up and let her have her way. It’s a lesson I learned early in life.” He winked at his mother as she handed Danny the glass.
She frowned at Paul good-naturedly before turning her attention back to Danny. “So, do you work construction for Paul?”
Paul held back a wince. This was the tricky part. “No, Mom. He’s an apprentice woodworker at Tanner Lumber. I just lease him on the weekends.”
“Oh.” His mother’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “I expect you need some help at your new house.”
Swallowing his mouthful of lemonade, Danny nodded. “That’s right, ma’am. I’ve been working on the yard, and I, ah, cook,” he added before burying his face in his cup.
“Danny baked cookies for dessert, Mom,” Sarah called out from where she stood by the grill, platter in hand while her husband, Bill, piled on burgers and dogs. Thank God for his sister. She knew how to deflect their mother.
“How nice. As clever as he is with his hands, Paul never quite got the hang of cooking. But that doesn’t seem fair for you, working all week at the lumberyard and then at Paul’s house. You seem awfully young to be working anywhere frankly.”
“He’s nineteen, Mom.” Even as he said the words, Paul knew he was jumping the gun, although he realized he didn’t know by how much. When was Danny’s birthday? How did he not know that important date? He intended Danny to be his boyfriend more than his slave, yet he hadn’t bothered to find out a fundamental piece of information. He mentally kicked himself for being so insensitive and hoped he hadn’t missed it already. He didn’t think he had, but it wasn’t as if Danny would have said anything.
“Slave children can be sold away from their mothers at the age of twelve.” This from Brent, who sauntered up hand-in-hand with Emma. Great, just what they needed added to the conversation. “They can be sent to work outside the home by sixteen.” Brent was on a roll. He paused a beat before adding, “And, they can be turned into sex slaves by eighteen, assuming of course that their owner pays attention to the rules.”
What little beer Paul had managed to drink soured in his stomach. It wasn’t as if the kid was wrong. Everything he said was correct, and Paul couldn’t argue with the obvious truth that he wanted Danny more for fucking than gardening or cooking. In fact, he wanted the boy entirely for the fucking. The other skills were just a bonus that he appreciated.
An awkward silence followed Brent’s legal lecture for a few seconds before Danny broke it. “I work with my father during the week at the lumber yard,” he volunteered. He took a step closer to Paul and reached for his hand. Paul gladly clasped it, twining their fingers together. “We were at a barbeque yesterday at the Tanner’s home. My mother is their housekeeper. Master Paul tells me, ma’am, that your potato salad rivals my mom’s, so I’ll have to try it and see.” His face split into a dazzling smile aimed right at Paul’s mother.
Just like that, the tension broke. Paul had to fight against the urge to pull Danny into a kiss. He settled for a sideways hug and took a long pull of his beer. Brent opened up his mouth to say something more, but Emma quietly shushed him. Sarah and Bill came up with the platter piled high.
“Let’s eat,” his sister said.
They all grabbed seats, Sarah and Bill taking the ends, and Danny sitting between Paul and his mother. Paul’s father, Emma and Brent sat on the opposite side of the picnic table, the boy’s gaze more on Danny than the food. Jesus, would the kid give it a rest? For all his obvious concern with slavery, he was treating Danny more like an object to study than anyone else at the table. Everyone heaped their plates with food and got down to the serious business of eating. Paul noted approvingly that Danny wasn’t shy about taking food for himself.
After a few minutes, Paul’s mother said, “So, Danny, what do you think of my potato salad?”
Danny swallowed his mouthful before answering. “It’s wonderful, ma’am, every bit as delicious as my mom’s. But please don’t tell her I said so,” he added with a shy grin.
Paul’s mother beamed back, totally seduced by the boy. “Don’t you worry, I won’t say a thing.”
Brent’s mouth opened again, and once more Emma stopped him from speaking. From then on, the conversation turned to casual family matters. Sarah announced that Emma had made dean’s list, making her daughter blush and roll her eyes in embarrassment. Bill and Paul’s dad asked about how business was going and Paul felt a measure of pride in describing his latest projects. His father had loaned him some of his start-up capital, which Paul had already paid back. He still liked being able to relay his continued success. No one in the family had ever started their own business before.
They polished off the food over a leisurely couple of hours. Dessert came out in the form of Danny’s cookies and Sarah’s blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream. Both were a success and once more Paul felt some pride even though he had nothing to do with Danny’s skill in the kitchen. It was while they lingered over the final crumbs and some coffee that Brent slipped his leash, or maybe Emma let him off it.
The boy leaned across the table. “So, Danny, how do your parents feel about your being Paul’s sex slave? It must be hard on them, not being able to protect you.”
Fuck! Seriously, what did this kid hope to accomplish other than making everyone, especially Danny uncomfortable. Far from pulling him back, Emma stared at Danny with her eyebrows raised. Obviously she’d become involved with the abolitionist movement, too. Not that he could blame them, but his most immediate concern was Danny. The slave kept his gaze down on his plate, body completely still. Before Paul could say anything, though, Sarah jumped in.
“Brent, please! We all understand your point, but this is a party, not a rally.”
Danny’s head came up. “It’s okay, ma’am. I don’t mind answering.”
Placing
his palm against the top of Danny’s back, Paul rubbed in gentle circles. “You don’t have to, Danny.”
Danny turned to Paul, his eyes wide. “I want to. Mr. Brent is making it sound like being with you is something bad. It’s not.” He turned back to the young couple. “My parents believe me when I tell them that Master Paul is kind. He treats me really well and is very generous. I’m happy being with him and that’s all that matters to them.”
Brent snorted and shook his head. “You’re saying that because he’s sitting right next to you. If you say anything different, he’ll probably beat you.”
Paul’s mother gasped out loud and Sarah muttered, “Oh, good lord.”
“That’s not true, sir! Master Paul has never hit me, and I’m not worried that he will.”
“Yeah, sure he never hits you, just rapes you.”
Now the sound that came out of Paul’s mother’s mouth was more like a small shriek. Sarah jumped up and started gathering dirty dessert plates. Paul’s father stood up, too. “Young man, you’re upsetting my wife. Knock it off.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, but you have to see that what your son is doing is wrong.”
Before Paul’s father could respond, Danny dived in once more. “No, he isn’t. Doing that. I had a choice about being leased out. I wanted it.” Danny turned to Paul, his expression kind of dewy. “I want Master Paul,” he added in a soft tone that managed to both melt Paul’s heart and stir his cock.
Brent huffed out a breath. “You’re a slave, Danny, you can’t give consent. Just because he doesn’t brutalize you doesn’t mean what you two do is by your choice.”
A small tremor ran through Danny, noticeable only by Paul because he still had his hand pressed against the boy’s back. “With all due respect, sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I know the difference between being willing and not.”
A quaver laced the boy’s words and the trembling increased. Paul felt it in his stomach as nausea rose up. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to his body’s reaction. Danny knew the difference, how? Had he been raped in the past? No, he’d been a virgin, Paul was sure of that. The memory of their first night together loomed in his mind. Danny, on his knees, retching into the toilet, vomiting Paul’s cum. Perhaps that was what he referred to. Maybe Danny hadn’t been willing at first and now had grown accustom to Paul’s touch. Or, at least he’d convinced himself that he liked what Paul did to him because what choice did he have? It was the slave’s version of Stockholm Syndrome.
Paul’s brain went straight to DEFCON 1 within seconds, fearing the worse. Being a good boy, a good slave, Danny had thrown himself into the situation whole-heartedly. Not just feigned enthusiasm, but developing a deep-seated determination to actually love being with Paul so much that he’d ridden Paul’s dick hard enough to hurt himself. He pictured Danny’s raw, puffy hole from the night before, the skin just shy of being torn and bleeding. His stomach roiled. He’d been fooling himself about everything, Danny’s consent, his ability to turn a slave into a boyfriend. Holy fuck, he was a sadistic moron.
Paul stood abruptly. “We need to leave. We both have work early in the morning.” He ignored Brent’s snort of derision. For all his obnoxious qualities, the kid had been right about slavery and Danny and Paul’s role in it all. Slipping his legs over the picnic table bench, he gently tugged on Danny’s arm to get him up and over, too.
With his head down, Danny docilely followed Paul as he bade good-bye to his parents.
“It was nice meeting you, Danny,” his mother said in a cheery voice that Paul knew was genuine.
“Thank you, ma’am. It was nice meeting you.”
Paul didn’t like the tone of Danny’s voice. Low and meek, it made Paul’s heart ache. His boy hurt and so did he on his behalf. Brent had ripped whatever façade Danny had managed to erect. He steered Danny to the house and through the kitchen. They paused only to bid good-bye to Sarah and Bill. His sister gave him a sympathetic look.
“Sorry about Brent. He’s a little intense, but Emma’s over the moon about him.”
Paul shook his head as he marshalled Danny past the doorway. “Don’t apologize. The guy’s right at the end of the day.” He shot his sister what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though his heartbeat raced with every step. He needed to get Danny into the truck so that they could discuss where to go, literally, from there.
Danny remained passive and quiet, allowing Paul to hand him up into the truck. As soon as he pulled away from the curb, Paul uttered the words that had been pressing to get out for the last few minutes. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take you back to the lumberyard barracks so you can spend the night with your father.”
Danny let out a cry. “What?” He then swallowed audibly. “I mean, I’m sorry, Master. I’m so sorry I ruined your family’s cookout. Please don’t send me back to the lumberyard. Please, Master!”
The pleading tone, the abject begging, wounded Paul to the core. It also confused him. “Danny, you didn’t ruin anything.”
The boy ignored him. “Please, Master, can’t you just beat me instead? I promise I won’t cry or struggle. I’ll be good. I promise. Just please don’t send me away!”
With a quick yank of the wheel, Paul pulled the truck over and slammed on the brakes. He put it into park and twisted to look at his boy. The sight undid him as nothing in his life ever had before. Danny sat hunched over, arms wrapped around his waist. Unshed tears shown in the corner of his nearest eye. His body shook and his chest heaved with hard breaths. When Paul reached over to clasp his shoulder, the boy jerked, but otherwise didn’t try to avoid the touch.
Well, he had said he wouldn’t struggle. Christ!
“Danny,” Paul said in as low and soothing a tone as he could manage. “It’s okay, baby. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m not going to punish you.”
Danny turned his stricken face toward Paul. “You’re sending me back. That’s the worst punishment possible. I don’t understand, Master. If I didn’t ruin the cookout, what did I do to deserve punishment? Please help me understand what I did wrong.”
God, Paul wanted to slide his palm up and cup Danny’s cheek, dry his tears. He didn’t want to impose himself on him more than necessary, however. “You didn’t do anything wrong and you’re not being punished.” He could tell by Danny’s expression that this reassurance made no sense to the slave.
With a sigh, Paul let his hand drop. “I’m taking you back to the lumberyard so that you don’t have to worry about spending another night with me. I’m the one who is sorry, Danny. I saw you at Tanner’s one day about a year ago and it was like being hit by a bolt of lightning. My reaction was that intense. When I drew closer to you and realized you were a slave, I told myself to forget it. You were out of bounds. I couldn’t forget, and every time I went to Tanner’s, I’d go looking for you. Eventually my stupid head, you know that one I shouldn’t think with, but somehow do anyway, started to convince my brain that I could find a way to have you.”
He scrubbed his face with his hands as if he could wash away his memories and his actions. “Brent is right, there is no way for you to consent. In my conceit, I figured I could seduce you into wanting me as much as I want you.”
Paul turned his head toward Danny. “Look at me.” When the slave instantly complied, Paul looked into those wet eyes and said, “I’m the one who ruined everything right from the start by trying to buy you.” When Danny shook his head in denial, Paul decided to stop pussyfooting around. “You told Brent you knew the difference between being forced and not. Our first night together, I made you suck my cock.”
Danny shook his head again. “No, Master.”
Paul rode right over the slave’s words. “It made you puke, and I rationalized my way through it so I could keep you.”
Danny’s head practically swiveled off his shoulders he shook it so hard. “That wasn’t what I meant by knowing what it was like to be forced. Please, Master, believe me. It wasn’t about you.�
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With his mouth hanging open to continue to override Danny’s assurances, Paul suddenly stopped. The boy’s words had sunk in and with that came a worse feeling. If it hadn’t been anything with Paul, what had happened to Danny that he considered “force” and who the fuck had done it?
“What then, and who?” he demanded, his tone turning to ice just thinking of someone hurting his boy.
“Please, Master. It doesn’t matter,” Danny whispered.
If Paul heard the word “please” or “master” out of the guy’s mouth one more time, he might scream. In less than an hour, everything that Paul had thought he’d built with Danny, like trust and familiarity, had been obliterated. He couldn’t take his frustration out on the slave. So, he forced calm into his own voice.
“It does matter. Very much.” He turned to the wheel and shifted the truck into drive. “We’re going home and you’re going to tell me everything. Understand?” He kept his voice calm, yet put a hint of command into it. Right now, Danny needed firmness, the kind only a master could provide.
“Yes, Master,” the slave replied meekly.
Paul ground his molars and drove on.
Chapter Thirteen
Danny stayed as quiet as he could on the ride home. He willed his tears back even as he swiped away the moisture still threatening to leak out. He’d already screwed things up, making Paul think he’d done something to hurt Danny. The fear of losing the man, of having to return to the barracks like a discarded toy, turned his stomach and made his head pound. How could he have been so stupid? As mad as Mr. Brent’s words had made him, he should have kept his mouth shut. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter; only his master’s did. Now that man expected answers. The truth. He would make Danny tell him what had happened three years ago. He trembled with fear thinking of the consequences of letting out what he’d striven so hard to forget.
Memories flashed through his mind, much of it mere hazy impressions—confusion, the smell of harsh liquor on his master’s breath, the choking and gagging as he struggled to do as ordered, slime coating his tongue and the desperate gorging on the ice cream bribe to mask the bitter taste still lingering in his mouth. Most of all, he remembered the terror. Not for himself, but for his parents.
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