By Taurus

Part 17 – “Sorry”

Russell was almost bursting into tears like the slave in his arms, whose arms clamped around his handler with all his might.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

Russell shushed and stroked the back of his slave to the best of his ability in order to quench the crying.

Taking initiative, he dialled the doctor.

“Ugh…it’s way too fucking late, just let me -”

“Sam, my slave just had a really bad panic attack. I need you here at Cell 1 right now.”

“Be right there, keep him alive.”

James continued his panicked chant of “I’m sorry” before Sam rushed in after five minutes and directed him to breathe deeply and slowly.

After half an hour, at 11 pm, James was more or less calmed, and able to talk again. Russell took off his shirt and sandwiched James’ head between his fuzzy chest and the shirt, wiping his tears off in the process.

Now that he could sniff at a smell he associated with safety, James could begin freeing himself of the grips of desperate fear.

After checking James’ vitals – all of which have returned to normal, Sam interviewed both slave and handler to understand what went on, and signaled for Russell to have him for a private conversation. Having confirmed that James was under control, the handler and the doctor left the cell to talk.

“He really loves you, you know.”

“I know, and I love him too. But punishment was needed.”

Sam sighed, “You idiot, you threw him in the deep end and you almost drowned him.”

A pause.

“This isn’t standard protocol, but neither is a slave staying for a full year standard. Spend the night with him, make sure he knows how much he means to you.

“And now if you excuse me, I’ll get some sleep.”

With that, Russell was left alone with his slave.

He entered, closed the cell door and changed the lighting arrangement to that of a traditional room – lighting coming only from above, not from all six sides of the cube-shaped cell. He approached the slave who had just been crying in his arms a while ago, and knelt.

He now had a decision to make.

Should he reinforce his position, follow through, finish the training, and break the slave as he intended to?

This would be great. Slaves should not get to call the shots, and with James broken, he could forge him like eternally hot steel into whatever shape he wanted. James would be perfect.

Or should he admit guilt, and console the slave, at the risk of undoing every last bit of progress that had resulted from this punishment?

He steeled his resolve and committed.

No.

Never.

To get the steel red hot, he had to put it into a crucible and continuously blast it with heat.

He could never let tears come out of his slave’s eyes.

“Do you want to see me naked again?” Russell asked, remarkably gently.

“Yes please, sir…”

Now naked, with his clothes thrown into a corner, Russell picked up his bottle of jasmine tea and offered it to James, who happily took a swig.

“Thank you, sir.”

James crawled over and instinctively began giving a blowjob – the only way he, as a slave, could show appreciation other than saying “thank you”.

Before Russell blew, he pulled out. Dimming the lights further, he placed James in his embrace again and laid on the leather mattress.

“Tell me something. What were you sorry about?”

James stammered out incoherent phrases here and there.

“Think before you speak.”

A few minutes passed before James organised an answer.

“Sir, I was sorry about disappointing you. You meant everything to me and I wasn’t grateful for what you gave me.

“And the buns, I believe it hurt you too to have to order me to break them.”

Russell stroked his slave’s hair.

“Good boy. You’ve learnt your lesson. For that I’ll sleep with you tonight, just tonight.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir!”

Russell reached for his phone, and removed what little brightness was left in the cell. Remembering Sam’s advice, he decided to express how much James meant to him, in certain terms this time.

“I love you. I’d never want to leave you alone. Remember that everything I do is for making you a better slave.”

The darkness, previously austere and cutting, now shrouded the pair like a cozy blanket, or a sturdy shield. It also acted like a blindfold, a throwback to when James first talked to Russell as simply the barber counselor, a reminder of innocent joy and a most comforting notion.

They had no pillow, and the mattress was in an awkward size, but they found comfort in each other. The pair had just started to drift off when James jerked awake.

“Sir, could I make a request?”

“Depends on what you want.”

“Could I call you ‘master’, sir?”

Almost by magic, or because he was that tired after screaming and struggling for an hour, James fell instantly into a deep slumber, oblivious to the world around him and the machinations of fate.

For he had, once more, spurred fate on. This time, with just an innocent question.

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