By Taurus

Part 22 – “Contracts”

Russell had just woken up when he received a call from the director.

“Morning, I want you in my office ASAP. Need to tell you something about your slave.”

Naturally, Russell hurried, and was greeted by Director Daniel in his office.

“How’re you feeling, on your slave’s 284th day here?”

“I’m fine. Please get to the point; I’ve things to do.”

“Ha! Don’t be so terse with me. I know it’s always something with James, and this concerns him.

“Sit.”

Russell’s ears were perked as he sat down.

“You’ve been going off-script with the treatment of your slave. He’s only ever officially consented to only a portion of the things you’re doing to him.

“Including having him address you as, what’s that…ah yes. ‘Master’.”

“He asked for all of it.”

“Well then. Like I said before, I want you to be careful with your relationship.”

Daniel produced a tablet from a compartment in the desk, and pulled up a document. It was what Russell had dreaded all this time: “Severance Policy for James Amiel Leonard” – what happens to his slave when he leaves.

“It’s important for you to understand what happens when he leaves this place.”

Russell sighed. Work was work, and it was a fact of life that reigned supreme above inane trivialities.

Like his own fucking emotions.

***

James was marched back into his cell, his body glossy with sweat and skin oils liberated from his intense workouts and submissive training. He massaged his nipples, raw from the hours of torture they had received – vibrators, clamps, both of those at the same time, weights, electricity – the full country mile. Even was forced to run with weighted clamps hanging from his overworked nipples.

As he moved his arms around, the skin around the pecs stretched and slackened, and it took James all of his willpower to stay silent as he coped with the pain. Of course, there was no rule against making reactionary noises, and James exploited this freedom thoroughly.

It was time for dinner, but Russell was nowhere to be seen – it was his responsibility to give him his meal.

It was definitely not in Russell’s nature to miss two of his meals. Surely, his master would not have forgotten?

“Absolutely not,” James thought to himself. What a silly thing to even consider possible. His master made him a promise to take good care of him when he accepted his role as master.

As James believed, Russell entered the cell with a tray of the typical food for his slave, but also carrying a small lunchbox with him in addition. The lunchbox was small, too small to contain any meal fit for a dinner, not even a decent sandwich would fit in it, and James looked at it curiously.

“Finish your dinner first. Then we’ll move on to what’s in this little box.”

Obediently, and perhaps expectedly after a long day of hard training, James, on all fours, wolfed down everything to the last crumb.

Now came what amounted to a…dessert course?

Russell moved in front of James, and opened the lunchbox to reveal two white buns.

 Deja vu.

“Slave, I’m sorry I couldn’t come in the morning; I had work to do. But I have something that we could do to make up for it.

“Treats are for good boys. You’re a good boy, right?”

Enthusiastically, the slave clambered forward, closer to the handler in front of him, closer to the box of buns, but a raised palm on Russell’s end froze the slave in his tracks.

Yet, the gesture had no impact on James’ vocal cords; he shouted loudly, “Yes, Master!”, with the great volume shocking both. He was given a moment to regain his composure, and soon he fixed his eyes on his master’s, seeking affirmation as to what to do.

Russell slowly tore up the buns into smaller bite-sized pieces, revealing the red bean paste inside, and fed them one by one to the slave, now very much resembling a typical pet dog – unclothed, covered in fur, unable to breed, collared and leashed. Hell, even the collar was meant to be worn by dogs.

With each piece eaten, James felt enriched with energy. He could no longer contain himself after the last, and he launched himself at Russell. And perhaps he noticed his resemblance to a pet dog, which was why he stopped speaking and started barking, sniffing and licking his master.

Russell certainly noticed this similarity with a dog. After taking the tray away from the cell, he hurried back to lock his slave’s hands back in fist mitts before playing with him, by rubbing his abs and chest at a speed like one would a dog.

James was enjoying this. He laid on his back with his arms and legs folded up in the manner of a pigtie, which looked like a dog laying on its back, relaxing in the presence of people it trusted.

Russell’s eyes lit up; originally starved of ideas as to how to enrich and diversify the submissive training sessions, he now had endless inspiration. This was, again, a deviation (and a major one at that) from the terms James had agreed to before the year’s stay, but he practically asked for it.

What a shame he only had three more months to execute his plan, and what a shame this training would amount to nothing.

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