La Kajira

I looked at the floor, unable to help myself from a small snicker that made Christopher roll his eyes at me. "I don't know why I bother to ask, but what would the third one be, you ridiculous slave girl?"

She met my gaze again, too, before she answered easily, "Yours!"

Christopher's smile was playful and he touched his slave's nose. "Not this time, my love."

Deirdre nuzzled him, curling to his touch, and the action had a hunger to it with how edged she was. Her skin was still flushed even with the moment of sensual flirting. She lifted her tethered hands, dressed like a red silk slave, her collar's chain rattling with her motion, and her body curved in the most graceful motion when she lightly touched mine.

The truth is that no matter what your philosophy, slaves may live to serve their Masters, but the same holds true in reverse.

The service merely takes two different forms, ones that complement each other, and I think both positions are very dignified in the sense that they require loss of self in favor of another's needs. There is something of an extreme trust in these things.

It was a moment that made me look down and smile even if I wasn't getting off for a while. Because these were some of those reasons that made me remember all the more why this was the thing I wanted, even if it would be hard to get, even if it was difficult. It was the kind of trust that was exceptional, the kind that felt like something to be righteously earned.

I think I should probably cut it off there. There's too many stories and thoughts in my head at the moment. If I keep writing, I'll only torture myself with the sight of it.

Actually, there is one last thing. When I'd started this, to be honest, it had been with the knowledge that I could not serve Christopher in the same way that someone like Deirdre could. She adores him and I'm a straight male who can't have those kinds of feelings. I still maintain there's a difference, but it gives me something else to think about. Wearing his collar isn't as bad as one might expect, even if I don't have a submissive's touch on subspace, when that's not something I'm easily capable of. I think, though, maybe trust and respect are things earned in different ways for different people.

----

Missy

It took about 45 minutes after taking what Tara had given me before I ended up finding my childhood bedroom during the New Year's party at my parents' house, hoping to God that no one saw me disappear. I had thought that the painkillers would be a good idea.

They weren't a good idea. They were so not a good idea. They were the worst idea ever, in fact. For the first 20 minutes or so after it kicked in, I did feel it and it did actually feel good. I even felt like I could talk to people, but then, slowly, it started to feel too good. And then my world felt like it was spinning without the spinning. Vertigo hit me like a steel beam across the head and I sank against the wall, placing my head between my knees. My dress was as perfect as every other evening dress I chose in a heightened state of anxiety for these kinds of events and the cool of the silk felt nice on my forehead, but not nice enough. My heart pounded a little with the fear of someone seeing the perfect princess named Missy in this state and it made the spins worse. Maybe I could pull off an excuse of being sick. That was a thing that happened to people. It didn't happen to me very often, but it was believable.

The person who saw me leave the crowd was the worst person it could have been. "Missy?" His voice was soft, gentle, and all those things I had started to hear during his phone calls, all the good things. "Everything alright?"

I tried to make it work, even then. "I'm fine. Just needed a minute." But it was pretty laughable when everything was obviously not very fine at all. My voice had this strange quality of hoarseness to it, a scratchiness.

He didn't let me get away with it. "Hey there. Look at me for a second?" It was still so gentle. I thought he might have been the first person in ages to make me talk to someone, anyone, an idea that made all this worse, when I was a breath away from ruining the image of Missy Hall for him. I was shaking, I realized, and needed to stop that because I wasn't sure what all was a symptom of what I'd taken.

I hesitated in raising my head from my knees and then closed my eyes, sighing. "I might throw up on you if I do."

"Ah." He settled against the wall beside me and his voice made me whimper a little bit. I thought it pretty damned likely that he already knew what was up. "Easy. Breathe and let it happen until it passes."

Something about the mix of being high and sick made it far too easy to lean against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around me while I thought about how good it felt to have him do that. How strange when I had always shied away from another's touch. Although, arguably, he was the first person who had this perfect blend of a caring and assertive personality. His phone call, for instance. It was the type of thing I would have never initiated, but once he had made that first step, he had taken control and he had kept the conversation to my work focus at the time, in a seamless dance of social adeptness that only he could pull off. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Did anyone else notice?"

"No one did. It's okay. If anyone comes up and sees us, just don't talk and I'll answer. Here, give me a second. Just keep still and I'll be right back."

Like I could do anything else. Jesus, this was embarrassing. It was the most stupid idea I'd ever had. I couldn't even handle alcohol, so why would I ever think this would work? Why would I ever try to leave my little world of social anxiety in the first place, when something that deeply ingrained most definitely couldn't have such an easy fix? It didn't even make philosophical sense. I kind of hated myself for a moment and then had the thought that self-loathing felt awful strange while on a painkiller too strong and then-

"Here." My mind calmed when he wrapped an arm around me again, pressing a cool washcloth to my forehead. "That should feel better and no one will question when I tell them you just feel sick and need a minute."

I had to laugh nervously at how good he was at just about everything, and that included foresight. Over our conversations I'd gotten to hear more of the philosophies locked in his head and sometimes it was frightening, how absolutely perfect he was. He was something I couldn't fathom being. He thrived in a high stress work environment where I had to be hidden, my name off of all my work because I couldn't deal with any kinds of attention. "Thank you. This... isn't how I intended this night to go."

He chuckled. "No one ever does. Will you tell me about it? Talking seems to help you and, ah, to put it delicately, this is something a bit unexpected." There was a smile in his voice, a calm one that no one could ever mistake for his making fun of anything in a mean way. "Walk me through your logic, if you will."

"Er. I don't have a problem."

He outright laughed at that. "Oh, don't worry, that much is clear. People who have problems usually know their tolerance levels right up until they build too much tolerance, mix a few substances, and die. Which is the problem."

It made me smile, so much so that it even managed to soothe some of the sensation of humiliation. I had once heard someone say that a bad drunk was nothing the same as an alcoholic. An alcoholic needed their liquor to function and, by nature, functioned well while on it. "I'd heard it makes social interactions easier for some people." I hesitated and I would have never said the next part if I wasn't so high that it was sickening. "Don't laugh, but I... think I was trying to act like you."

He was silent for a moment and then he finally answered, "Oh? And why would you want that?"

I kept my eyes on the floor, finally managing to open them. "You're so good at talking to people. You're so good at everything, you know? Everyone thinks I'm the perfect mouse and... Will it sound childish if I say they look at me as if I'm broken?"

"No." His answer was quiet. "It doesn't, but I think I should correct your wording. They don't look at you like you're broken. No one knows enough about you, Missy, to think that. Trust me, they don't. They look at you like you're so scared of everything. And I think you are." He said it and then he followed it up with things that a knight in shining armor would say because he truly was something out of place, something from a story. "That night on the balcony I wanted to tell you something and I think it fits with what I'm saying now. See, I wanted to tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes and it felt like a pity that you averted them from people so often. It felt too forward and it seemed too much when I wouldn't want you to feel pressured if lowering your gaze is more comfortable. Sometimes it is for people and I'd prefer if a compliment didn't make me an asshole. But it felt like you did it out of fear."

I laughed in a shaky voice. "Well. It's not out of fear right now."

His voice was warm when he answered. "Oh, I can see that. Here."

Christ. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, like something from a medieval tale. Sometimes he would have these moments or a turn of phrase. I remember one time when he was talking about his father's demands and how they sometimes ended in shouting matches between the two of them when Nathan gave an honest answer and had to defend it. I asked him why he wouldn't just lie, when the numbers always came out right at the end. If it was just micromanaging nonsense, why wouldn't he just not tell the whole thing? If I'm honest about it, that's what I would do. If it didn't matter and the person above me didn't explicitly ask for the details, and if I knew what I was doing, I just wouldn't bring it up.

Nathan had softly answered over the phone, "Because I feel it would be a form of cowardice if I did it, when things like foresight, intention, and knowledge matter for me from others."

He'd rather spend his day snarling his defense than avoid it when it felt wrong for him. He felt like the kind of person that shouldn't exist. I curled up under his jacket, feeling small under the size, thinking about the rest of it. Because the other part of Nathan was that he didn't expect the same treatment from others and he was so without outward judgment. I didn't understand, but it fascinated me when he felt like the perfect standard of that golden rule, "Do unto others", when he did unto others and didn't expect the return.

I shook a little less under his jacket, even if my shaking had nothing to do with warmth or being cold. "Thank you."

"But of course." He let me lean against him even if I was a little too close for social propriety. It was a little easier to look up and he smiled down at me when I did. "Can I ask what you took?"

I grimaced and remembered those words from before again. It would be a form of cowardice. I didn't want to tell him and I knew he wouldn't make me. You're so afraid, was what he'd told me and I hated how true it was. "Two Percocet 10s."

His eyes widened and he made a low whistle sound. "Wow. That... is an interesting choice for a first go for someone small like you."

"I don't think I know what I'm doing."

"I'm going to say you definitely don't and also that we should get you out of here. Come on. Let's go down the back balcony stairs and..." He trailed off. "You drove?" He paused again when I nodded, then quietly made his suggestions. "I can, ah, cover for you in a sense, but I can't let you drive, no offense. I'll bring you back tomorrow to get your car, but would you prefer- Missy?"

He cursed above me when I collapsed against him, a wave of the Percocet hitting me all over again, right as I thought I felt a little better.

I don't know how he managed it, but he got me out so seamlessly that my parents only called the next day to ask and see if I was okay from whatever had made me sick. And that's how I ended up learning a little more about Nathan, when I next came to at his penthouse suite, throwing up in his bathroom while he held my hair back, unable to really remember the car ride home and barely remembering the walk up his building's stairs or why we even took those instead of the elevator.

----

"I feel a lot better now."

Nathan laughed and sat against the opposite side of his bathroom from me. "I would imagine so."

"Like. Wow, seriously, I feel okay."

He grinned. "From my understanding, Codone hangovers are actually less painful than alcohol hangovers. Once you get it out of your system, it's generally not so bad. Well, until the morning. Once you fall asleep and wake up, it won't feel as amazing as you do right now, that's for damn sure, but it's stunningly not awful. Although, this is all hearsay for me because I had a college friend who was the worst hedonist I think I've ever seen in my fucking life. He was truly awful about knowing anything to do with his limits. This isn't the first round I've had."

I burst out laughing and he helped me stand again. I felt far better than I ever deserved, too. I felt like heaven actually and I still wasn't scared of talking. It seemed like whatever excess of the drug my body couldn't deal with was what made me feel so awful and once it was purged, the parts that it could handle actually felt... dangerously amazing. Nathan got me a spare travel toothbrush and watched while I brushed my teeth. He was kind enough to give me a hairbrush as well, while I processed his words. Of course it was hearsay for him. Of course he would know these things without letting them touch him directly because he was perfect like that. He was too much like a worldlier version of Eddard Stark from Game of Thrones, maybe, or like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. "I don't have spare clothes your size, but if you don't mind it, I can let you wear some of mine, ones with drawstrings. If you want to take a shower, feel free."

"I'd like both of those things, please."

His eyes were warm and he nodded, getting the clothes for me and leaving me be with one last quiet suggestion. "Do you feel up to something to eat? It helps sometimes."

"Yes, please."

I don't know what it was about him, but now that I was thinking a little more clearly, he just inspired these polite, quiet things. It was just him and it was something... mysterious, in a way that makes a girl on drugs think things she probably shouldn't. The nature of how I'd come back more to reality in his arms, at his place, unaware of how I'd walked at his side up until the point where the spins got too bad and I had staggered, whispering, "Bathroom," made me feel like I had been taken out of time, like I'd stepped into a different place. Evidently, Nathan lived by himself.

Even his shower was wide and clean, but stark. Of course, it could be argued that it was his guest shower, but every single one of my mother's guest bathrooms had decorations and was presented to impress. His had nothing like that. It was almost cold in a way, but it was more of a sterilized appearance and it felt strangely nice. It felt as clean as he did and I had the sensation that these were dangerous thoughts, the kind that everyone knew was dangerous when hero worship only led to disappointment and pain. No one was perfect.

I toweled off with the softest, fluffiest towel I'd ever touched in my life, feeling aroused with thoughts of him and stories and how soft everything felt on the pleasure of painkillers.

Another wonderful thing was how it felt rather nice to put on his cozy, drawstring pajama pants and roll up the legs of them, to pull on his oversized shirt when I didn't have a bra or panties with the dress I'd chosen that night. I know that sounds strange, but when you live in a constant state of fear of being seen as less than perfect, getting to dress in a guy's pajamas for an off night and looking down at a perfect dress with perfect heels feels... It just feels good, like stripping off a mask maybe. Very few people in my life had seen me look like this. Somehow, it felt a little fitting that he would be the one to get to see it, too. It was one of my outwardly low moments, even if I internalized the truly low moments, hiding everything bad from everyone.

I carried my dress out to his spare room, neatly laying it on the bed with the shoes tucked away, and I had to pause at a sight that made me smile. It was another one of those things that was uniquely his touch, something that was odd, but not in a way that was threatening.

There were, you see, decorations in his spare room and I loved them. At the foot of the bed was one of those chaise couches, and it fit perfectly at the end, too, in a way that made me feel like it was custom designed. It was a thought to make me smile, too, when it was one of those things in life that made you feel like these were those extra joys, those indulgences that made life worth living. In front of the chaise couch was another thought like that, too.

It was a massive furry rug, a fake animal design that made me feel like laughing because it was definitely one of those cool things that you dreamed of when younger, but so few people ever made those thoughts into reality. He had and it was playful and delightful. I didn't even dare to step on the rug, but I took it all in with the rest of everything else. There were hooks on the wall for a medieval feel and strange iron rings in the floor between the couch and the fur rug. Wall sconces made it feel like stepping into another world all over again and there were candle holders by the bed as more decoration, along with electric candles that were turned off at the moment. The ceiling made me laugh, too, when it had the strangest painting of an odd night sky.

I didn't want to step on the rug, but I couldn't resist kneeling beside it, staring at the rings in the floor while I stroked it. Like I said, it had that oddity to it, sure, but it was the kind of oddity that all fit together in a way that fit him, in the strangest way when he was something surreal all over. I was more than charmed and I grinned when the rug was as soft as it looked.

I jumped when he spoke behind me. "Sorry. This room had the easiest shower setup to help you between the bed and the bathroom, depending on when you got sick and how it went. It's... kind of an indulgence, actually, one I renovated for recently."

"It's a kind of indulgence the world could use a little more of," I answered with a laugh. "It's so cool."

He actually blushed at that, his smile turning briefly shy in a way I didn't think I'd ever seen him have it. "It's probably something fueled from too many bad movies as a kid, but I'll tell you a secret to make you feel better about tonight. I'll come in here and lay on the floor when the world seems a little too damned loud sometimes."

I laughed and then bit my lip, feeling... happy in a basic way that I hadn't felt in a long time. "To be fair, I have a hidden library that you reach by opening a wall I turned into a moving bookshelf. I begged to change the summer home specifically for that reason."

His eyes lit up in humor. "Well, everyone needs a hidden bookshelf wall. Wait, do you open it by pulling a book?"

I mock sighed. "Sadly, no, the design work for that was difficult to pull off so it's just a door handle behind a book. The hidden room isn't even very big at all. It's... probably a nightmare to someone with claustrophobia, if I'm honest, and it's covered wall to wall with books except for a single corner cut out of the shelves where there's a big butterfly chair."

His eyes were so alive and he paused for a moment before he abruptly kicked off his shoes and got on the floor with me, so that I laughed. "Come here. I'll show you what I do, but once you have the secret, you have to keep it."