A Slave and Her Boy Pt. 02

(Everyone in this story is over the age of eighteen.)

"You might just have to do it." Margaret took hold of my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I could feel the pity and compassion in her gaze.

"Yeah. I guess so." I replied. "I just really don't want to." As was a common feeling for me, my stomach was twisting and knotting, shooting a pain through my abdomen like terrible hunger. I fought to keep my face from scrunching up in a show of internal agony.

Two hours ago, I had taken Margaret out for ice cream. That was my idea, but she had dropped plenty of hints that she wanted to get out. My debit card, the one I had been using since my parents had passed on, was rejected at the counter. We left, embarrassed, with our ice cream. The manager was very kind about the whole thing and told us not to worry about it. Once home, I was determined to call my bank and figure it out. That was my problem.

"I'm sorry," She says. "I didn't mean to imply anything negative."

"I know, I just... I don't like talking to people on the phone." The wind picked up, ruffling the edges of the picnic blanket.

She looked to the side for a second, then back to me.

"You spoke to your sister on the phone, sir." She says. "That didn't bother you." I rubbed my hands over my face, speaking through my fingers.

"Yeah but Bella's family. It's like, other people, you know, strangers. It just freaks me out."

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. I noticed, and I curiously pushed her to speak.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I was going to ask why, sir," She said.

That took me just a minute. Truthfully, I didn't have a reason why. I felt like a bundle of nerves speaking to anyone on the phone. It made my stomach hurt. It made me want to run away and hide.

"I'm a big baby I guess. I don't know." We both sat in silence for a while. Seconds ticked by. I laid back, resting my head on the blanket with a soft thump. More seconds passed.

"I could talk to them for you." Margaret suggested.

"You could?" I whipped my head up.

"Well, yes. But you'd have to authorize me to speak on your behalf. Which would require..." She stopped.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm gonna have to talk to somebody no matter what. I don't think I can do it."

She rolled her eyes.

My heart skipped two beats, and I think hers did too. Her face froze in terror. Rolling her eyes was a sign of disrespect.

I thought about my father. If one of his slaves had rolled their eyes at him, the slave would have earned a brutal beating. I knew it would be best for both of us if she thought I hadn't noticed.

"I guess I'll just have to do it." I said. She audibly released a breath, trembling a little. She knew the gravity of her mistake. And though I'm not nearly as cruel as my father, she didn't fully trust me yet. "Any advice?" I asked. She was thoughtful for a moment, running her fingers through the grass.

"Try to relax first. Do something you like, make the call after." She suggested.

I looked at her. She lay on her stomach, chin resting on her hands. Her feet kicked idly as she watched me, her beautiful freckled cheeks scrunched up against the bright sun.

"I know what I want right now." I said. Margaret squinted at me.

"Anything I can do to help?" She asked. My heart began to pound in my chest. My head felt light. I was nervous, but overcome by another feeling. I desired her, but not just sexually. She was mine. I wanted to own her.

"What if it's not something good?" I asked. She thought for a second, resting her legs.

"I don't think you'd want anything bad."

"You've known me for a week." I pointed out.

"Yes sir. But you've been... sweet." She breathed a deep sigh and smiled. "I'll trust you." I watched her a moment longer, making eye contact. My desire for her was quickly overpowering my shyness.

"Okay. Don't move." I crawled across the picnic blanket to her, watching her body closely. In the shorts and T-shirt, she was totally relaxed and inviting. "Stop me if it gets scary." I threw one leg over her, straddling her butt. She didn't move, and I lowered myself onto her, holding my own weight for the most part, but still resting some of my weight on her, lightly pinning her to the picnic blanket.

"Is this okay?" I asked her. Margaret turned her head to the side, trying to look back at me.

"Yes sire." She replied. I dropped my mouth down to the back of her neck.

"You haven't called me sire in a while." I whispered. She shivered, and I could see goosebumps along her neck and shoulders. I could feel her entire body beneath me, so small, so powerless. I felt intoxicated with my urge to dominate her. She was mine. A strange urge arose in me and I didn't even try to resist. Gently, I nipped the back of her neck with my teeth. I instantly regretted it. I knew I had made things weird. Margaret groaned loudly, which surprised me a bit.

"Nnnnngh, yes daddy." She said, lifting her hips and pressing her butt against my crotch. I flinched involuntarily.

"Uh, okay, I did it." Fumbling, I awkwardly climbed off of her and sat to the side. "I, um, thanks, Margaret. I guess I should make that phone call now." She looked flustered, but her eyebrows wrinkled with worry.

"I'm sorry sir. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin it. You don't have to stop."

"You didn't, you, you were great. I, uh, I'm, I'm just. You know, it was cool." My heart was racing. I was almost panicking. I was so nervous. My social anxiety was peaking. All of my strange desires fled my body, replaced by intense anxiety.

"Thank you Margaret. You performed as desired. I'm ready to make my call now." I hastily began to fold up the picnic blanket, and my beautiful slave helped me, a sad look in her eyes.

We sat at the kitchen table. I searched up the number for my bank, gritted my teeth, and dialed. My heart was racing as I spoke with the representative. He started out so smoothly. How do people act so naturally on the phone?

"Thank you for calling CNC Bank, How may I help you?"

"Hi. I hope you're doing good. Well. Doing well. I'm good. I hope you're good too."

"... Yes sir, what can I help you with?"

I physically cringed and almost put the phone down. What a stupid way to talk. It took enormous effort from me to continue speaking with him. Margaret urged me on with a smile, motioning in a circle with her pointer finger. I gritted my teeth and pushed through.

My social anxiety was flaring up by the time I finished explaining what I wanted. In order to appoint a slave as my representative, I had to establish an ID for her to use, and give her name and information to the bank. It was simple, plenty of people did it. Some wealthy people would purchase a mathematically inclined slave to work as an accountant and then never look at their own bank account again. That hadn't started as my goal, but by the end of the phone call, it was. I couldn't handle the anxiety of extended phone conversations with a stranger.

After completing the painful process, I ended the phone call with a touch, and sat back in the chair. Margaret sat obediently across the table from me, her eyes down. I took a moment to study her beautiful face. She had lovely freckles, and her eyes were so intelligent. She looked up, and I pretended I was looking elsewhere.

"Would you like me to call and inquire about the issue with your bank card, sir?" She asked politely.

"Yeah. I don't ever want to call anyone ever again." She nodded, and sat silently, staring at me. For a second, I wondered why she was hesitating. Then I remembered she didn't have a phone. Hastily, I unlocked mine and handed it to her.

"Sorry. Here." I said.

"Of course, sir." She touched the redial button and waited.

"Thank you for calling CNC bank, How may I help you?"

"My name is Margaret, and I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Gerrard Morgan. The representative ID is [...]. I have some questions about his bank card."

Her diction was extremely clean and confident, she was polite, clear, and efficient. I watched in awe as she dealt with my problem.

"I'm interested in why his card was declined. Of course I'll hold. Thank you very much." She cupped a single hand of the speaker, looking at me. "He's transferring me to the fraud department. Apparently they placed a freeze." I nodded dumbly. She continued.

"... yes sir, I'm Margaret, and I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Gerrard Morgan. The representative ID is [...]. I have some questions about his bank card."

"That's very good. Thank you." She cupped her hand over the phone, looking at me again.

"Someone attempted to buy a lawn mower on the other side of the country. You should have received an Email about it." I nodded, clueless. It had been years since I had checked my Email. "They'll be issuing a new card. Your account will be refunded the full amount of the lawnmower. What's your Card's PIN?" She waited expectantly.

"Uh... one, two, three..." Her eyes narrowed. She must have thought I was a moron. She was right. "...Four."

"...Really?" She asked, incredulous.

"Yeah."

"That may have contributed to the problem."

"It may have, yes."

"Shall I change it?"

"Please." I couldn't look at her as she kept speaking to the guy on the phone. How stupid could I be? I wanted her to think I was cool. I had made every advance in the opposite direction.

"Would you like to know your account balance?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." I hadn't bothered to check since my parents had died. I kept using my bank card and it kept working, so I never questioned it.

"Yes, Mr. Morgan would like to know his account balance....Oh, sure, all four accounts I suppose. Thank you." She glanced around quickly, then grabbed a pen from a cup I had forgotten about on the kitchen counter, wrote a series of figures on a napkin, and slid the napkin across the table to me. As I picked up the napkin, Margaret finished with the bank representative on the phone.

"... That's all. When can I expect the new card? Thank you. Goodbye." She terminated the phone call while I stared at the napkin. "Is that satisfactory, sir?" I was at a loss. The amount on the napkin was simply too much to be real. Four accounts, all of which were enough to buy and sell my own car a hundred times over. One of them a thousand times.

She watched me silently as I examined the bank's figures. I was jealous of how confident she had been on the phone. More than that, I was impressed and proud. I decided to treat her.

"What would make you... feel good?" I asked. "I mean, like, what's something you've always wanted to do?"

"Sir?" Margaret looked confused, thoughtful. As if she were trying to figure out a hidden meaning of my question.

"Yeah, I mean why not, right? I've got more money than I ever thought I would," I waved the napkin around to illustrate my point. "I want to do something for you. So what's something you like? I'll make it an order if I have to." She didn't answer, still looking confused. She looked at me, then the floor, then the wall.

"Um, well, I guess I don't know." She replied.

"Don't overthink it, just something simple can be a good start." Margaret's eyes darted around the room, almost panicked. I thought it was a minor thing, but she looked so worried.

"What I want most is to please you." She finally answered.

"That's not really..." I stopped myself. This was clearly getting nowhere. "You know what? We'll sleep on it. If you think of something, just let me know."

She still looked confused and a bit troubled, so I didn't want to press it. I stood to exit the room, and she stopped me. Poor Margaret, she had the same expression I'd seen many times before. She was worried she might disappoint me. She looked sad, worried, and afraid. In her mind, if she didn't have an answer I liked, it was a failure.

"I'm not explaining myself well." She clarified. "What I want most... what I've always wanted most is to be the best possible slave." She bit her lip and leaned forward. "I used to daydream about having a kind master, and he'd... he'd tell me how proud he was to own me. And We'd go out in public, and I'd make him look good, like I'd be on his arm when we go to parties and everyone thinks we're so cool together. He'd be so proud to show me off." Margaret blushed. "I want to make my master look good, or whatever. It sounds stupid out loud."

"It doesn't," I insisted. "You're just with the wrong guy. I don't do parties or anything like that. I'm not cool." She nodded.

"It's a weird dumb idea anyway." She hastily stood. "I should go do some laundry." I called out as she tried to walk away.

"Wait, Margaret, no. I asked what you wanted, and you were honest with me. Let's make it happen." She turned to face me, her arms folded tightly across her body.

"If you like, sire. I feel stupid for saying it." I could tell she was embarrassed, she had slipped back into calling me 'sire'.

"Don't. That sounds super cool. What you want, I mean. Sounds really cool. I mean, I imagine walking into a party with a gorgeous woman on my arm, and just like, being super cool. Yeah, that sounds cool." I lied, badly. In reality, social situations scared me. I'm the idiot who could barely call his bank. Small talk at a party sounded like a nightmare. "What kind of party are we going to?" I asked.

"Um, I haven't thought about it. I guess a really nice one. With champagne in tall glasses." It was starting to sound like she had thought about it a lot.

"Okay... I don't know how to get in one of those, but I'll... I'll figure something out."

I looked into Margaret's big beautiful eyes and faked a smile. She smiled back, looking down at her feet. She blushed.

"It's very kind of you to entertain me, sir." I watched her leave, my lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed with thought. How do I get us into a fancy party? How do I even find any fancy parties?

I would regret it, but I typed a message to the one person whom I knew could help me. And also the one person I knew. My sister, Isabella.

'Hey, know of any fancy parties? Like champagne and cocktails and stuff?'

I hesitated, staring at the message. I was almost certain Bella was going to gloat about this. She had purchased Margret for me in the midst of a depressive spell. Her goal had been to cheer me up and get me out of the house, and now I was preparing to send her proof that she had been completely, totally, 100%, effective. She would be unbearable in conversation. I sent the message.

I didn't have time to set the phone down on the table before it rang, showing my sister's name. I physically cringed, preparing myself for the 'I told you so,' I knew was coming.

"Hello?" I answered.

"I told you so," Isabella replied.

"I'll hang up." I threatened.

"Wait, wait, wait. One more," She paused for effect. "...I told you so."

"Can you help me or not?"

"There's an upcoming charity event. Tomorrow evening actually. Do you have

a tux? It's in the city, so less than an hour drive. Of course, this notice is so late that tickets would be almost impossible to get."

"Well, don't stress yourself out." I was regretting my decision to text. "I don't want to make things hard on you."

"Oh yes," Bella replied snidely. "It would take someone with incredible power and vast influence to procure some tickets with this little notice."

"Mmmm."

"Yes, you'd need friends in high places for that."

"Thanks Bella," I cut her off. "I appreciate that you're doing this."

"For you? Anything. I'll text you your tickets. And Gerry?"

"Yes?"

"It's black tie. Like seriously high-end formal. Buy a tux. And get your girl something nice too." She was stern, almost scolding me.

"I'll do my best. Thanks again." I terminated the call and sighed. I was not going to enjoy this.

I was helping Margaret transfer hot pasta into a colander as I spoke. "So we'll be going tomorrow to get us both something nice to wear, and then the party is in the evening." I explained. Through the steam of the boiling rotini, I saw Margaret's smile grow as I explained what was happening.

"Thank you. So much." She said, "It was just like a weird, idle fantasy. It's so sweet how much you'd do to make it happen."

"Well, yeah, I mean, I don't know." I felt awkward, nervous. I didn't think I deserved compliments.

I stepped out of the way as she tossed the strained pasta into another pot with ingredients I didn't recognize.

"I mean, I just want to make sure you're happy, you know?" As soon as I said it, my social anxiety flared up, and I felt as though I had bragged too much. I had to correct myself. "Like it makes me happy to make you happy," Ah shit, that's not better.

"Thank you sir." She sat her spoon on the counter, gently wrapping me in a hug. She squeezed softly, and I had no choice but to reciprocate. My heart pounded at the feel of her warm body in my arms.

"Y...yeah." She was so beautiful, I almost couldn't handle it. She nuzzled into my chest a little bit, and I short circuited. My mind abhorred awkward silences. Maybe they weren't awkward to other people, but to me I felt like I had to say something, anything.

"If there's anything you need at all, you know, let me know. Anything I can do for you. I'll, I'll, make it good." I was panicking. I quickly broke the hug. Margaret, the clever woman, seemed to notice I was uncomfortable. She went right back to cooking.

"Just one thing, sir." She replied.

"Anything at all." I tried to be cool.

"My bedroom, sir. It gets lonely at night."

"Oh... um, okay." I wasn't sure how to fix that. "Decoration could help? Maybe posters on the wall?" I suggested. She seemed to deflate a little bit. She was terse when she responded.

"Yep. Posters." Her response was flat, almost disappointed. I made a mental note to let her pick out some decoration for her room. If she was going to stay with me, it made sense to personalize.

The downtown mall was more spacious, decorated, and more expensive than my usual shopping place. The shoppers could be described the same way. It seemed like each person we passed had at least one slave, and many had multiple slaves. They all wore designer clothes, or name brand, even the slaves. It was a strange mix-up from the family shopping mall I had taken Margaret to in the past.

"Okay, the place is called 'Rouge Affairs'. According to the website they do same day fittings. We can give it a shot." I walked quickly, studying my phone. Margaret had both hands around my right arm, walking along next to me. I liked having her so close. Honestly, the more she touched me the better, but I never could quite shake the nerves. I was with a pretty girl, my brain told me I had to be cool and witty and entertaining. I tried to be, tried to make myself talk about anything interesting, but conversation had never been my strong suit. I kept making short statements that were just observations, and then panicking at how weird I sounded.

"This mall is nice." I said, walking past a shop full of sunglasses.

"Yep," Margaret would reply. And then we'd fall silent, and I'd start panicking again, because for some reason I always felt like silence was bad and cool guys could talk about anything. I certainly wasn't one of them, and I couldn't hold a conversation in a bucket.

Eventually, I felt so weird I pulled my arm free of her touch. I mumbled something about being hot. Margaret looked slightly crestfallen, her smile fading. My gut twisted up. How weird was I? She fell in behind me, following instead of walking alongside. I felt like such an idiot. I should've said something nice, but I couldn't figure out what words to use.

We found 'Rouge Affairs', and I told them we both were in need of fitting for an event that night. It was a rush order, but they were more than happy to take my money. I said something to the effect of 'Money is not an object,' and they were off. Prices were not discussed.