The Slave (10 page)

Chris returned, and leaned over her from
behind. She caught a glimpse of the object he held before he pulled
her head back and forced the gag into her mouth. It wasn’t huge,
but it felt like it filled her, and the shame of it crashed through
her with a powerful violence. He spoke as he buckled it on.

“
Since you haven’t learned to be
polite, I don’t see any reason why you should speak at all for now.
Perhaps this will remind you that speech is a privilege, not a
right.” His voice was slightly angry, enough to add another needle
of fear to her emotional state. When he raised her up and turned
her to face him, he seemed content with the tears that trailed down
her cheeks, but showed no sign of pity or compassion. Instead, he
told her to wash his coffee cups and the pot and last night’s
dishes, and clean the kitchen.

Later that day, when the doorbell chimed, he
went to answer it. Robin was now standing in one corner of the
living room, her hands behind her back, still gagged, posed with
her back and shoulders straight, her head bowed. She had been there
just long enough to feel a little cramped. She tensed and felt
another shudder of shame and fear run through her.

“
Chris, good to see you!” It was
another man’s voice. “Got yourself another project,
hmm?”

“
It keeps me out of the bars.” Chris’s
voice sounded lighter. “I’m glad you could come on such short
notice.”

“
How pretty!” The new voice belonged
to an older man, only a little taller than Chris, but well into his
fifties. His hair was a thick, wavy white and silver, and he was
wearing an exquisitely tailored business suit; Robin could spot old
money a mile away. She tried to keep her eyes cast down, but her
curiosity fought her every inch of the way.

“
But misbehaving already? What a
shame, what a shame!” He looked her over with frank but friendly
appraisal, snapped his fingers, and a third person entered the
room.

Robin felt a moment of dizziness. Her
eyesight almost seemed to waver, as though someone had smacked her
hard. Because the woman who joined this man entered with an aura.
And there was not a shred of doubt in Robin’s mind that this woman
was a slave, that she was utterly owned, meant to be that way, and
that she carried with her a sense of intense joy that permeated her
being.

It was as though this new woman were alive,
and Robin a shade. Robin moaned behind the gag, more ashamed then
she had ever been in her entire life. This wasn’t simple
embarrassment here; it wasn’t going to make her blush. This was
true shame, the sense of worthlessness felt only in the presence of
awe, and the power of it was overwhelming.

Without thinking, Robin sank to her knees
and bowed her head. It was so hard to think, she couldn’t really
determine if she were bowing to the slave or to the implied power
of the man who owned her. At this point, it barely made a
difference.

“
Oh, that was nice,” the new man said,
walking into the room and examining her.

“
And entirely unnecessary,” Chris
added dryly. “Not that I blame her. She’s had a trying morning.
Would you like something to drink?”

“
Oh, some coffee would be lovely, lad,
with a small dollop of something single malt. And some for Greta,
if you don’t mind. We’ll conduct the exam in here then? The light
is perfect.”

“
Make yourself at home,
Doctor.”

Doctor? Robin’s curiosity easily defeated
the shock, and she was surprised when she realized what position
she was in. She peeked up out of the corner of her eye to see the
older man smiling down at her.

“
Yes, yes, that’s right,” he said
easily, bending down. “You can come up for a while. Let’s have this
off, shall we? Greta?”

The woman crossed into Robin’s sight, and
put down two cases she was carrying, a slender portfolio style
briefcase and a Gladstone bag. Then, she came over to undo the gag,
and Robin got a real look at her.

Greta looked to be in her mid to late
forties. She had short, wavy blonde hair, streaked with
silver-colored highlights and cut in a rather severe, mature style.
Her face was a little long, with arched cheekbones and a pointy
chin. Gold hoops hung from her earlobes, dancing in the light. Her
ice blue eyes were deep set and kindly, noticing everything. When
she reached her arms around Robin’s head, Robin could smell
something light and floral, a perfect scent for such a woman. Under
the collar of the burgundy silk blouse she wore, the herringbone
edges of a heavy gold chain flashed.

The gag slipped out of Robin’s mouth,
dripping with spit. Robin flushed and shut her eyes, working her
jaw to shut and open again. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she managed to
whisper.

“
That’s all right,” Greta responded,
depositing the gag onto the coffee table. Her voice was carefully
controlled, like that of an actress or someone whose native
language had not been English.

“
Yes, it’s impossible to wear one of
those things without getting a good helping of saliva down your
chest, isn’t it?” The doctor sat down in one of the chairs as Greta
opened the briefcase and presented him with a file folder and a
gold pen. It was so seamlessly done that Robin felt even worse. Was
she expected to compete with people like this? To be so graceful
and so perfectly attuned to someone that you can slide something
into their hands the minute before they started to move toward
it?

I’m a clog dancer at the
ballet
, she
thought, the ludicrous image establishing itself in her
mind.

“
Now for introductions. I am Doctor
Emil Kaufmann, and this is my slave, Doctor Greta Mueller. And you
are?”

Slave-Doctor? Robin nearly lost herself
again, but struggled and held on, and coughed to clear her
throat.

“
I―my name is Robin, sir,” she said, not
knowing whether to give him her full name. It suddenly seemed so
odd to be totally naked in a room of clothed people who didn’t seem
to pay any attention to that fact at all.

“
Excellent, excellent. We are here to
examine you, my dear, to establish that you are in good emotional
and physical health, and to create your medical file for the
Marketplace records. As with all your files, the contents will be
considered confidential, although they will be released to your
owner when you are purchased. Do you understand, and give your
consent to be examined?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Wonderful! Then we shall begin.” He opened
the file, and Greta opened the Gladstone bag, and they started the
most comprehensive examination Robin had ever heard about, let
alone experienced, in her entire life.

Chris went back and forth, serving coffee
with a style and ease that Robin knew came from long acquaintance
with such tasks. And Dr. Mueller―Greta―worked with a cool
efficiency and a wonderfully assuring bedside manner, testing
reflexes, taking up instruments to peer into Robin’s eyes, ears,
nose and throat. She listened to the heart and lungs, probed
Robin’s body with expert fingers, took hair and saliva and blood
samples. At one point, she conducted a simple gynecological
examination, with a level of gentleness and care that Robin had
never experienced in a table fitted with stirrups, and the irony of
this didn’t escape her.

“
No evidence of past trauma to the
area, developed and healthy external organs, patient is shaven,”
Greta said when she finished. “A lovely cunt. You are erotically
functional, yes? You experience clitoral orgasms? Multiple?
G-spot?”

“
Yes, ma’am,” Robin admitted, almost
bashfully. “All of them.”

“
How fortunate,” the woman said back,
flashing a bright smile. “Mr. Parker, would you like her
pierced?”

Robin froze.

Chris looked as though he was considering
it. Then, the corner of his mouth turned up and he said, “No,
Greta, it’s too much in vogue. If her owner wants her pierced, then
they can outlay the money for the gold. Leave her with the holes
she already has.”

Robin nearly fainted with
relief, and Greta gave a short, light laugh and continued her
examination.
You bastard
, Robin thought, closing her eyes. She opened them again as
Greta began to ask more questions.

She probed Robin’s medical history for
almost an hour, finding out about childhood injuries and diseases,
and adulthood experiences. As she asked, Emil kept that beautiful
golden pen flashing, taking notes, marking off boxes on lengthy
lists, and interjecting questions from time to time.

Robin was asked about everything from
vaccinations to allergies, from venereal diseases to whether she
performed regular breast examinations, and if she knew how. She was
asked for the prescrip
tion for her reading glasses, and the names of her doctors.
Greta even asked her about her family medical history―heart
problems, high blood pressure, cancer? Did she exercise regularly,
and what did she do?

At their request, Chris brought out a step
aerobics block and Greta instructed Robin in doing a series of
movements, stepping on and off it in cadence. Her heart rate was
measured before and after, and her recovery time was
noted.

And then, as lunchtime approached, they took
a break. Leon came by again, this time with vegetable soup and
chicken salad sandwiches. Robin, still being punished, ended up
sitting on the floor in the corner while Leon served up the food
and some light, bantering chatter.

Robin was not allowed to speak, except in
answer to a direct question.

It was as thoroughly agonizing as any
beating she had ever taken. She watched them out of the corner of
her eye, watched as Greta took a seat at the table with the two men
and spoke and laughed at perfect ease. Was she being treated the
way Chris talked about this morning? Like a member of the family?
Were there no consistent rules regarding how slaves were treated?
Emil reached out and touched Leon intimately once, cupping the
young man’s ass cheek in one hand and making a joke about its
supposed tenderness, and Leon seemed neither surprised nor upset.
In fact, he sighed just a little and moved away with a slight show
of reluctance. Was he being teasing?

So many questions! And she was ordered into
silence!

But after lunch, she was given the
opportunity to talk as much as she liked.

After lunch, Dr. Emil sat her on the floor
and began to ask her questions about her life. And not in the
abstract, as Chris wanted to hear about her, but specific
questions. When was she first aware of sexual feelings? How were
her relationships with her parents? Had she ever been arrested, and
for what? What did the word friendship mean to her? How often did
she masturbate, and how? Who did she think was the best president
in her lifetime? What percentage of her life would she say she was
happy? What were her favorite books? If she had a penis, what would
it look like?

And the questions came at her seemingly at
random, never staying long on one topic. Emil did allow her to
think for a moment before answering, but encouraged her to speak
off the top of her head whenever possible. Now, it was Greta who
was taking the notes.

They only finished with her in the late
afternoon. She hardly realized that it was over, until Greta began
to gather papers and instruments and put them away, and Chris came
back into the room with what looked like sherry in two small
glasses. Emil took one and nodded before Chris offered the other to
Greta.

I might never have noticed
that
, Robin
marveled
.
It’s all so natural for them.

“
Would you like to stay for a while
longer?” Chris asked, giving the tray to Robin and pointing at the
kitchen. She rose, her knees more than a little stiff. “Robin is at
your service, of course.”

“
Thank you, Chris, your hospitality is
as generous as your employers’. But I’m afraid that we have another
engagement tonight, and cannot see to your charming new
acquisition.” Emil sounded jovial. He sipped his sherry with a
murmur of approval, and laughed at Robin’s retreating body. “You
know, I can see that you have a shy one in your hands. So
delightful! So enticing! She must be exhibited, and as soon as
possible. Can you not see her, mounted in some well-lit corner, her
thighs spread, her body opened and unprotected, inviting glance and
touch?”

Robin returned to the room, her face
flushed, her body shaking, despite all efforts to keep it under
control.

Chris didn’t even look at her, but pointed
to the corner she had been sent to before Emil and Greta arrived.
From there, she watched as Chris chatted amiably with Emil. Shortly
thereafter, the two doctors took their leave, without a single word
directed to her. Chris saw them out, holding their coats for them,
closing the door behind them.

The gag sat on the table where Greta had
left it.

But Chris walked past it, and without
warning, brought his fingers up between Robin’s legs, and opened
her. She was wet, a steamy, heated wetness that parted for him,
invited him. She moaned, suddenly, and the sound seemed to shatter
the silence of the room.

Chris smiled, and brought his fingers up to
her lips. She didn’t need a command to lick them clean, tasting her
tangy moisture.

“
Go and drink some water,” Chris said,
retreating to a chair. “And bring the strap back with
you.”

He posed her with her hands braced on her
knees, her head down, and used the strap on her in sets of ten
strokes. For each ten, he had another reason―pausing too long
before responding to a question, looking sulky, delaying before
obeying a direct order, sneaking glances at the doctors when she
should have kept her head down.