The Family Business Ch. 02

I slept deep -- my dreams pleasant and warm. Tonight I found the gate of ivory and passed into a wish-born world of green fields and rivers. My cares and sundry crises dissipated like mists. No more tests or trials. I was the dominus Titus and all that lay ahead were wanton splendors and wicked wonders. Nymphs frolicked in the pastoral expanse and I reached out and claimed the fairest. She smiled at my touch. Her love was so simple and so certain.

And then... And then, what? The nymph began to pull away. The dream was dying and yet, I still felt some of its warmth. I opened my eyes and saw only soft light filtered through faded motel curtains. I heard the gentle rustling of bed linens and the low thrum of the air conditioner. There was a moment of uncertainty. Something was out of place. Something had followed me over from the dream world. There was movement in the bed and ...

Ah, yes, Sam was blowing me.

I closed my eyes and let the sensation simply happen. Her mouth, warm, wet and eager, suckled my already hard cock. I felt her tongue dancing up and down my shaft. I sighed. Barely awake, almost dreaming, I was already close to release.

"If you don't stop," I cautioned her, "you're going to get a mouthful."

She gazed up and pierced me with those sorcerous green eyes. "Feed me, dominus. I starve."

That was enough. I came. Not desperate and frantic like the night before. Not the pent up pressure of months and years, exams and expectations. This was gentle. I made no effort to resist her capable oral efforts. I just let it go. Marvelous. She drank down all I gave her and when I was done, smiled almost innocently.

"Good morning," she chimed.

"Good morning," I answered with a laugh as if the sentiment was so obvious as to be absurd. "You, my dear, have permission to do that every morning."

Her innocent smile melted into something far more wicked as sucked on a slightly sticky finger. "Cream before my coffee, sir?"

"Exactly." Thanks dad.

"You were a beast last night," she whispered.

"You were an angel."

"The best sort of angel -- the fallen kind." She kept her wicked smile even as she nibbled at my ear. "Alas, I wish we could spend all day in bed, dominus, but you should take a shower and get cleaned up. C.C.'s opens in less than two hours and I'm sure you would like some breakfast after all your exertions."

This almost jarringly practical suggestion managed to dig its way into my sex-addled brain and find some purchase. "That, my dear, is an excellent idea. Know any place local?"

"I'm afraid I don't get out much, sir."

"Right. We'll ask the front desk. And please...Ty. Not sir."

"Of course. I will not forget again, Ty."

"I liked the 'dominus' though for, uh, special occasions." She gave me a mischievous giggle.

I leapt out of bed naked and almost directly into a hot shower. I was in fine spirits -- the sort of mood that only a young man freshly sucked and sexed could feel. But as the steady spray of liquid warmth cleansed me, I still found a moment or two for doubt. She had been so eager last night. And such a convincing tale of being ignored and cast aside. I recalled a moment from days long departed.

I was not even six when I had caught the child of a house slave with one of my toys. I couldn't even remember what it was. A race car? Action figure? Book? What did it matter? The child of slaves and thus, also a slave. I took it from him. The boy wanted it back. He grabbed it brazenly and cried it was his. What was his name? Only the gods remember.

I yelled for that toy, angry and indignant. It was mine. The slave boy had other ideas. He pushed back. My father and the boy's mother arrived on the scene just in time to witness the shove. I remembered my father's fury, seizing the little slave.

"You dare strike your dominus?!" I wondered then and there if he would break the boy's neck. At first, I felt vindicated and vengeful.

Short hours later, as the boy was tied to a post I felt instead nothing but guilt. My father uncoiled the lash. "Something to remember us by when you're on the block." The rawhide whip uncoiled in his hand like a serpent. The crack of leather lightning. The angry red welt. The crimson stripe. One and then another and another. Five lashes. I can't remember the slave's name but I remember every one as if it was made into my own flesh.

The mother begged, eyes full of inconsolable tears, that her son not be sold. Though my father stormed and threatened, Carl did in time relent. I still remembered my father's words after the matter was done.

"Do you know what really happened here, Ty? That boy didn't steal your toy. His mother did. Probably thought you wouldn't miss it."

"Why did you punish the boy then?"

"Punishing him punished her worse than anything I could have done. She felt every lash, son, I'll guarantee it. There will be no more theft."

"Why would she lie, dad? Why not take the punishment herself?"

"A child I can forgive. An adult thief? I'd have to really punish her or household discipline would be endangered."

"So, she lied."

"Slaves lie, son. All of them. Never forget it."

Slaves lie. All of them. Was Sam lying now? Was Sam trying to seduce me, control me? Was this all a ploy to win my heart so that I would go easier on her? I sighed. Gods, the shit going through my head sounded exactly like my father. The curse of an active mind is constant doubt, I mused. I shook it away. I didn't have time for this. And besides, if Sam was trying to seduce me, that sounded like the most fun I had in years. We should all be so lucky as to be seduced by a raven-haired twenty-something sex kitten.

I emerged from the shower and quickly prepared myself for the day to come. Sam was ready, of course. She had showered before I awoke and getting dressed was almost trivial. Her gloves and boots had returned. Her collar had never left. "Ready, Ty?"

I nodded, smiled and we were out the door. Over pancakes and coffee, I finally raised a question that had been on my mind for a while. "Samantha, do you like going everywhere naked?"

She paused. She was in a fairly crowded breakfast joint at about eight o' clock in the morning wearing basically nothing and seemingly completely at ease. Nudity of course was neither prohibited nor even uncommon on warm summer days like today. It was deemed somewhat unseemly by the more sophisticated classes, of course, and could be a serious social faux pas depending on the occasion. It was a simple enough question. Still, Sam seemed a little taken back.

"I was trained in House DeMornay, Ty. Nudity is a hallmark. I haven't worn anything substantial, weather permitting, since ..." she paused, trying to recall. "Gods, has its been more than a decade? I was fourteen when we did our nudity conditioning. I don't even notice anymore."

I nodded. "I'm not saying I don't enjoy seeing all of you, but it's not necessary."

"A little possessive, Ty?" she leaned over in the booth and whispered in my ear. "Are you going to keep me all for yourself?"

I chuckled. "Yes, actually, but that's beside the point."

"Your father always kept the office staff naked," she paused to take a bite of her short stack. "If it bothers you, Ty, I'll wear whatever you like."

"I really want to know your opinion. I'm not my father."

"Thank the gods," she said quietly. "Honestly, if you're offering, I want two things."

"Let's hear 'em," I said.

"I hate the chastity belts. They are required in the guest rooms because it allegedly keeps the guards and the girls in line. Idiocy! Has no one ever heard of a blow job? Chastity belts don't keep the guards away from the merchandise. Jojo and the security cameras do." She took a sip from her coffee. "I understand their value for the new stock. A certified virgin is worth anywhere from twenty five to fifty percent more than a used girl. One amorous new guard in a single night could do hundreds of thousands of denarii in damage.

"But, Ty, I am a used girl and proud of it. Regardless, whenever I stay there, even for one night, I get locked up to protect a virginity I lost more than seven years ago."

"Well, I don't plan to let you stay there again," I interjected.

"You say that now, but situations..." she paused, her voice almost quivering. "They change, Ty. Please revise the rules. Let used girls go without a chastity belt."

I smiled. "Done. I'll talk to Jojo as soon as we get to the office. The second?"

"How about business suits for the office staff? They can even be sexy business suits. I know what line of work I'm in. Sometimes nudity is a hassle. There was this young repairman who came up to fix the printer last year. He couldn't even look at me. He just stuttered. I needed that printer working for the quarterly reports.

"I'll happily disrobe around you, Ty. Why don't we make that special for our private time? Besides, naked slave girls are so twenty-seventh century."

I laughed. She was right, of course. My dad had always been seriously old school about slaves, religion, everything. Carl Rayburn wouldn't hardly take a piss without sacrificing a ram to Janus. I didn't see it that way. I honor the gods as much as the next man, but I just couldn't imagine that the gods were really all that fond of animal cruelty. "Also done. Tonight, we'll go shopping and pick something out," I blinked and finally caught her meaning. "Wait, did you say office staff? As in plural?"

"Yes, I was hoping that we could pick out the girls for the office staff today. Remember? We talked about this yesterday. I can't handle the office on my own."

"Right." New girls. I took a bite of my pancakes. Sure. Why the hell not? ...

"So La Noche's already got you changing the rules, eh, jefe?" I looked up from my monitor to see Jojo towering over me, sporting an enormous toothy grin.

"Getting rid of the belts is a bad idea?"

"No. I actually recommended it years ago, but your father thought it might be bad for discipline," said Jojo with a shrug. He took a seat. The office furniture looked almost comically small compared to the massive security chief.

"That sounds like dad."

"Jefe, your father is a very smart man. Maybe the best slave trader I've ever met. Do you remember the uprising in Matamoros a few years back? When it looked like every slave in the province might make a break for it and join up with the Zapatistas? The Spartacus of the South they called him. Here, not even a murmur. That's discipline, jefe. C.C.'s is famous for its well-trained, enthusiastic girls. You play with that reputation at your peril."

"I get that. Maybe I am being too lax..." I considered. Slave lie, son. They lie.

"Nah. Not yet, anyways. The ladies, they are kept separate from the girls. It's no problem. Your the boss, of course. But if you want to change any more rules, how about a heads up first?"

"Sound reasonable, Jojo." I paused, "The ladies?"

"No offense but I despise 'new' and 'used'. It's disrespectful. They aren't cars, jefe! We have 'the ladies' and we have 'the girls'. I think you know the difference."

I smiled. I was having trouble not liking Jojo.

"Anyways, I actually didn't call you over here to talk about chastity belts. I have another problem."

"Whatever you need, jefe."

"I need office staff. Samantha is a very talented girl, but she can't handle the office alone. Let's say three 'ladies'. I've been looking over dossiers all morning and these files have almost nothing relevant to being good at desk work."

Jojo smirked. "Yeah, that's not... How would you business school types say? That's not our core business, jefe."

"Right. So, you've been here a long time. Could you pick out three smart ladies? Pretty too if we've got them."

"Pretty is all we got, jefe. If we ever get anyone much less than perfect, they get sent to Martigan's Discount damn quick. But, yeah, I can recommend three La Noche might get along with."

"Thanks, Jojo."

"De nada. Now, if you'll excuse me, no rest for the wicked. Speaking of which, you should get some lunch, jefe. Something hearty. La Noche can really take it out of you, no?" Jojo walked away, his booming laugh trailing behind him.

His laugh proved infectious. "True enough." I chuckled and then I got back to work. Lunch could wait.

...

Later that afternoon, Jojo's recommendations landed on my desk. I approved them with a glance and a nod. There was paperwork to do, of course: taking the ladies out of the listings; changing their status; notifying sales. Sam handled all of that, working her usual red tape miracles. She reported back after the heavy lifting was finished.

"The troops await your inspection," Sam reported with a faux-military salute. "One signature from you and they're officially not for sale."

"At ease, corporal," I answered with a smirk returning her salute.

"Corporal? And here I thought you were interested in my privates."

I rolled my eyes. "That was painful. So, they're ready?"

"Lined up and waiting," she reported.

"Fine. What are their names?"

"We have Cassandra, Isabel and Aine," she read from her clipboard and then handed me the listing. . "Got it ... Cassandra, Isabel ... A-I-N-E? That's an unusually spelling for Anya."

"It's Gaelic," she explained.

"So, what's the story with these ladies?"

"Ah, I see Jojo has converted you."

"He's got a point. Calling someone a used girl isn't exactly flattering."

"There are a lot of ugly things about slavery, Ty. Even if you dress them up with euphemisms, the truth remains. Still, if you want to call me a lady I promise not to be offended."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Jojo was right about one thing, Sam. You are dangerous."

She batted her lashes and managed for just a second to look as innocent as a young spring lamb. She couldn't hold it for long. That 'Sam is a sinner' grin crept out in short order. "So they tell me."

I want to make this perfectly clear. Running and managing one of the southwest's largest high-end slave dealerships is actually a lot of work. I had spent the whole morning and much of the afternoon trying to understand the ocean of paperwork that stands at the heart of the venerable institution of slavery.

Every girl has to be properly trained, cared for, marketed and sold. Anything less constitutes inhuman treatment of slaves and can get your trader license revoked. It must sound odd, but in this modern civilized era, royal decree ensures that slaves are treated with some modicum of decency. The paperwork that documents their treatment follows those girls wherever they go. And it fills trucks. Literally. Electronic media had helped some, but not as much as it could. Slave trade law remains archaic, tradition-bound and poorly understood outside the industry. I bring this up only because I want you to understand that being a slave trader isn't just one magnificent draw-dropping moment after another. It isn't just me inspecting naked slave girls. It has it downsides. Honest. Gods of the inferno, Jojo had been right. Pretty utterly missed the mark. These lovelies beggared me of speech.

I finally stopped staring long enough to find a few words. "At ease, ladies. I am Titus Rayburn, the new owner and manager of C.C.'s. We need office workers and years ago my father thought it would be a good idea to use slave labor instead of hiring. So, you are being given the opportunity to join staff. You would be working underneath Samantha here. You would no longer be for sale.

"I know as your owner I could simply order you to do this. However, I prefer a motivated staff who wants to be here. Say the word and I'll send you back to the showroom floor. No questions. No punishment. No hard feelings. Any takers?"

Deathly silence. I hadn't expected anyone to take me up on my offer. Who would be foolish enough to risk the showroom floor if they had a choice? It was possible you could end up with a nice master who expected little. But more likely, you wouldn't.

"Glad to hear it. So, tell me a little about yourselves."

The littlest spoke first, barely waiting for me to finish my sentence. This was Cassandra, a short spunky half-Vietnamese, half-Gallic girl with brown hair page boy cut and a tight athletic frame. She was the youngest of the three -- only nineteen and on paper, she seemed a bad fit for the job. 'Lively, fast paced, and ready for action.' Her brief bio actually used these words. Do those say clerk? Actually, none of those were the first thing that leapt in to my mind as I looked at her: cute. Maybe high energy would be even better. She almost vibrated when she talked, "I'm Cassandra but please everyone calls me Cassie. House Capulet. I arrived more than a year ago and was sold almost immediately to a total fucking deadbeat who couldn't make his payments. They repossessed me last week and I just yesterday got out of medical with a clean bill of health! Yay! And I would love to be an office girl for such a young, fucking smoking master."

She smiled. She had said all that in about three seconds.

"Right," I said. "I think you got the job." Had she just called me 'fucking smoking'? I puffed up a little. I had never really thought of myself as being a handsome guy. I'm okay, I guess. Medium build. Medium height. Medium brown hair. Medium everything really.

In college I wasn't any of the things that had women prowling after you. I never had much interest in athletics. I know I'm in the minority here, but wrestling does nothing for me. I can appreciate its technical merits, and I know it's the damned national sport. But seriously? And I like watching chariot and gladiator matches as much as the next guy, but getting in the ring? No thanks. Even the classic Olympian events seemed daunting. I wasn't a bad runner, I guess. But to do it naked in front of cheering crowds? Ummm...again, no thanks. No athletic accolades, no noble titles, no real talent at oratory or acting. I was the quintessential quiet nerdy scholar banished to school steps and library cells. Maybe if they had known I was inheriting C.C.'s, I would have gotten more action. Money can be very sexy.

But right now regardless of my personal insecurities, Cassie was checking me out like a slab of sirloin. It was more than a little flattering. I probably pondered this a little longer than decorum would normally have permitted before moving on.

The second slave was older. Her file put her age at the dreaded forty. It was almost impossible to sell a pleasure slave over forty. At that age, female slaves are almost destined for domestic servitude if they were lucky or grueling factory work if they weren't. Either sells for a tiny fraction of what a high end pleasure slave commands. Definitely not our business. And yet the sales staff had kept her. Why? One glance gave immediate answer.

Isabella was a classic beauty. Tall and stately, almost a marble statue breathed with life. Her bust size was impressive, natural and firm even compared to women a decade her junior. Her long black hair went to the middle of her back. A single shock-white stripe ran almost perfectly centered down her long flowing mane. Her countenance said wisdom and experience. Her figure, her physical presence and perfection, said goddess. Nothing about her said slave except that she was naked before me, tagged and collared. If most of the girls here were Venus, she was Athena. And she was old enough to be my mother. I've got to admit, I found her intimidating as hell.

"Isabella, dominus. I'm a..." she paused almost painfully, "voluntary. I am glad to be spared the humiliation of the block. I will serve you faithfully if you give me the chance."

How could I refuse her? "You will have that chance."

She gave me a weak smile. She was proud. I saw it in her stance. I saw it in her eyes. This was agony. I tried not to dwell on it and moved on.