By Taurus

Part 18 – “Slavery”

It was day 210, and James was due for his seventh monthly checkup. As he woke, Russell was nowhere to be seen, despite sleeping together with him. When he left, James had no idea whatsoever.

It was Sam, the doctor, who opened the cell door and turned on the lights.

As he took his pill and water, per the procession of these checkups, he pondered his handler’s answer to his, admittedly, rather stunning question out of the blue. Miraculously, he had no sooner finished asking his question than dozing off.

As usual, he was laid out on a bed on wheels, gagged and blindfolded, with his limbs cuffed and attached to the railings that surrounded him, and electro nipple clamps – also chained taut to the railings – to ensure his meekness.

After he arrived at the medical bay and had his typical weigh-in, blood pressure check, eyesight test among others, Sam followed up on the panic attack James had the night prior.

“I’m feeling much better, sir. Thank you for helping me calm down.”

“How about your handler, hm?”

“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t seen him since we went to sleep.”

“He’s sobbing in his room and he’s refused to eat.”

Sam moved a table close to the left of the bed, close enough for the cuffed and bewildered slave to reach.

“Here’s a shake for you. Drink it and take a nap. I’ll go see how your precious Russell’s doing.”

Without even waiting for a response, Sam left the medical bay, leaving James alone once more, though this time much calmer than before. He obeyed the orders of the doctor and fell into a long, dreamless sleep.

***

“I didn’t know panic attacks were contagious!” Laughed Sam. The laughing stopped when he was punched in the arm.

Russell had a troubled look on his face. All the happiness it displayed had undercurrents of melancholy, and vice versa.

“What happened last night?”

“He asked if he could call me ‘Master.’”

Russell laughed sadly.

“And…what did you say?”

Russell blushed and hung his head, as if what he had done was shameful.

Knowing what this meant, Sam led Russell to the medical bay, with a reminder to stay quiet, and not to disturb the slave fast asleep.

“Look at him, you chose well,” whispered Sam.

And look Russell did.

His slave was by no means a twink when he arrived, but now he looked like a real man. A good looking man at that.

The muscles were toned, and further accentuated by the body hair that had accumulated over the months. The hair was immaculately manicured, and so were the nails.

So was the mind, perfectly shaped and moulded.

He had sculpted this slave, with his razors, with his trimmers, with his scissors. And most importantly, with his flogger and his hands.

With his unbridled love, he had turned James into perfection itself.

The presence of a person burned behind him. Sam was obviously intending to talk with him.

But he could not look. His eyes were enslaved by the presence in front of him, so powerful despite being that of one asleep.

Conflicting desires arose; he wanted to touch and hug, to defend his prize, but on the other hand he wanted to let him rest after the emotional ordeal he – nay, both of them went through.

To himself, in silence, Russell asserted his relationship.

“You are my slave, and I am your master.”

Sam had left long before Russell noticed it. No matter, he had his slave all to himself.

And he would stay there and guard his precious slave until he came to.

It was a few minutes before a hand was put on his shoulder; it was Sam, with a sandwich in his other hand.

“If you want to protect him, you have to eat.”

And Russell did.

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