Master's Favorite Toy Ch. 03

"I told her... that Master didn't love her, and she was just a toy to him."

"I see," Winnie replied. She focused on her food for a second, moving her pancakes around to ensure an even coverage of syrup.

"Do you think you told her the truth?" Winnie asked.

"Yes," I didn't hesitate, I knew I had spoken truthfully.

"It was a problem with the way you said it, then. I'll talk to her," Winnie offered. I raised an eyebrow.

"You'll talk to her? You think that'll help?" I asked. Winnie nodded.

"I've known her a long time. It might." I sighed, feeling deeply troubled. I didn't think Margaret would ever change.

"What will you tell her?" I asked.

Winnie chewed thoughtfully before replying.

"You told her the truth. Master doesn't care about her. To him, she's just an object, a tool. A toy, like you said. To us, it's obvious. But it's never been obvious to her. She's in love with him, and she thinks he loves her... an idea he probably reinforced."

"It is obvious," I affirmed, confused, "How could she not see it?"

Winnie patiently formulated an answer.

"Imagine being told daily, continually, that you're special. That you're his favorite. You're the most beautiful, talented, and smartest woman in his life. He probably even says that he loves her. He's said it to me."

I winced as I remembered making love with Master, and the fantastic and unbelievably romantic things he'd said.

"Master buys her nice things. Tells her he loves her, treats her differently than the other girls. Even bought her a necklace so everyone knew how special she is," Winnie ran a finger over her own silver necklace sadly. She continued her speech.

"So then, Master treats her badly sometimes. He hits her occasionally,"

He does -what- occasionally? I thought, but didn't interrupt to ask.

"He calls her names. Tells her she's getting fat, or another girl is better in bed, or just plain out she's not as pretty as she used to be. Margaret doesn't see the abuse for what it is. In her mind, she loves Master, and he loves her. The problem must be with her. She has to fix herself, or the man she loves... won't love her.

Accepting reality will be very painful for her, but I think you've started her in that direction. She really trusts you. So hearing it from you... maybe it pushed her to reconsider. Just one more thing you could do to help her," Winnie looked at me hopefully.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Keep being her friend," Winnie said.

Kat scoffed, shaking her head.

"Winnie! Margaret slapped the hell out of Marcie, and you want her to just pretend like nothing happened?" She demanded. Winnie shook her head, pursing her lips.

"No, not like nothing happened. Margaret needs to apologize. She was out of line. But I hope you'll give her another chance," Mr. Morgan's second favorite slave gave me a pleading look.

"Yeah... I guess you've given me a lot to think about," I said.

We ate in silence for a while. Kat finished, and took her plate to the kitchen wordlessly. I sat quietly across from Winnie.

"I won't give up on her," I promised. Winnie smiled, and I smiled back.

"You're a tender soul, Marcie. Margaret needs someone like you."

[In the Margin: A simple outline in the shape of a pregnant woman.]

It was a cold and miserable rainy day. It was the kind of late February day where it was finally warm enough that we had rain instead of snow, but still cold enough to be a miserable, chill you to the bone, hateful rain. There weren't many chores to do, so many of the girls were gathering in the theater to watch a movie together. Ever the contrarian, I abandoned Kat, Yvette, and the other girls to their rom-com fate. Instead, I made for the gym, hunting down Abigail, with one goal in mind.

"You promised you'd teach me how to dance," I stood over the athletic slave, watching her perform a plank exercise. My eyes drifted to her perfect bubble butt, where I both admired the shape, and gained a clear understanding of why her bikini bottoms were so loose on me.

"Fifty-four, Fifty-five..." Abigail counted, ignoring me. I stood silently for the remaining five seconds of her plank. She released herself, breathing hard as she lay on the mat.

"So?" I asked.

"Give me a second," She exclaimed, rolling onto her back. I offered her a hand, helping her stand. She was sweaty, and wearing the tiniest shorts, and making me feel a lot of things.

"Yeah, I did promise that. I didn't forget." She replied.

"Great!" I exclaimed, "Let's get to it." Abigail laughed.

"Not even a breather for me, huh?" She collected a water bottle and we walked to the multi purpose room, talking as we went.

When it came to dancing, I was positively atrocious. I lacked all of the style, grace, and strength that Abigail exemplified. She taught me a few things on the stripper pole, but for the most part, I felt about as graceful as a tetherball full of lead shot.

All in all, we both had a very nice time. Abigail is a fantastic teacher, no matter how wretched a student I was. By the end, I could perform some passable moves on the pole. One bonus, I did get some very nice, private examples from Abigail of how to do some basic moves on the pole. She never fails to enchant me.

We took a break, and she shared her water. As we stood, breathing hard, Abigail looked at me, one eye closed suspiciously.

"What?" I asked.

"You'd do a lot better if you watched my technique and not my ass," she said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I smiled, offering only a weak defense of myself.

We were surprised to hear Winnie's voice.

"I'll happily watch instead," The pregnant woman said, entering through the double doors of the Multi-purpose room.

"If you can get Marcie out of here, I'll do it nude," Abigail shot back. I laughed, and started to object, but Winnie's tone quickly became serious.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I had a talk with Margaret," Winnie explained. My interest was piqued, and I paid careful attention.

"I won't go into details, but I think you should talk to her." I was overjoyed to hear Winnie say that.

"Uh, yeah. Okay," I replied.

"She's in Master's study." Winnie advised me.

"Now?" I asked.

"You should probably hurry," She said.

I handed Abigail her water bottle and made for the door, confused as to why I was hurrying.

"So, about that dance..." I heard Winnie say. Abigail laughed as the door closed behind me.

[Drawn in the margin: A choker, in a bin labeled 'TOXIC WASTE']

I stood outside of Master's office door, listening. I couldn't understand them, but I could hear the murmur of speech. Drawing a breath, I tried to calm my nerves. Winnie had wanted me to come check on them, and I trusted Winnie. So I steeled myself, and knocked on the door. They fell abruptly silent.

"Enter," Master's voice sounded, and I obeyed. Margaret stood in front of his desk, her flushed face and mussed hair a shock to see. Typically, her makeup was excruciatingly perfect. I was surprised to see she wore none. She was still gorgeous, of course, but different. She looked defeated.

"Marcie, glad you came in. Margaret was just telling me she had a disagreement with you." Master said, his voice curious.

I walked across the study to his desk, standing beside Margaret. With my head bowed, I waited for him to ask a question or tell me to speak.

"In fact, Margaret told me she deserved to be punished," Master leaned back in his desk chair, hands behind his head. "I have a hard time believing that. Margaret's always been an exemplary slave. So what's up?" He seemed impatient. I watched his face closely, and could see his boredom.

"It's my fault, sire, I was being rude to Margaret. She disciplined me appropriately," I replied. Master clapped his hands and leaned forward, satisfied.

"Okay, great, that's settled," He said, giving his attention to a desktop monitor.

"Sir, I was out of line," Margaret jumped in, and Master sighed with exasperation, returning his gaze to us.

"Do you forgive her, Marcie?" He asked me.

"Yes, sire, I do." I replied.

"Great. It's settled. You're both dismissed," He looked at his monitor again. For the second time since I met her, Margaret spoke out of turn.

"I'd like to say one more thing," Margaret replied. Slowly, dramatically, Master huffed, crossing his arms and spinning in his chair to face us with a patronizing look.

"Sure, fuck it, why not. This isn't important," He gestured to his computer monitor, "Three VPs are on hold in VOIP, but it's fine." His sarcasm and condescension were palpable, so much that Margaret hesitated.

"Sire... I'd like to turn this in to you," She said, reaching behind her neck and unclasping her golden necklace."

"Margaret, no!" I spoke out of turn too, and Master flicked his eyes between us with mild incredulity.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't want it," She laid the golden choker on the desk, stepping back solemnly. Master eyed the piece of jewelry. Margaret fought back sobs as she humbly explained.

"I don't... feel the way I did when I first accepted it. I don't feel the way I did about you," She said, tears forming in her eyes. I watched in shock. I couldn't have imagined Margaret ever doing this when I first met her. She was so proud of her position, so proud to serve her master... I felt sick with guilt.

"...Right," Master said, scowling. "Margaret, pick the damn necklace up. You're not my number one because you want to be," He waved a hand, returning to his monitor. Master was clearly growing very short on patience.

Margaret hesitated, and I stood nearby, silently watching.

"Now!" He raised his voice, his irritation growing. Margaret stood still, mouth open, a stupefied look on her face. I acted, grabbing the choker with one hand, and Margaret's arm with the other. I quickly exited the room with both. Once the door closed, Margaret was catatonic, staring into the distance.

"Ma'am," I started to talk, but I stopped when I saw her shocked face. Through the doors, I could faintly hear Master exclaiming.

"Fuck me!" His irritated voice was muffled by the door.

"Margaret?" I asked, "...Maggy?" Margaret leaned backwards against the door, sliding down to the floor. She still stared straight ahead, shocked. Delicately, as if it might break, I laid the necklace on her lap.

"He didn't care at all," She said. I listened silently, trying to be supportive. "It was just like you told me," She continued, "I tried to give him the necklace, tell him I didn't love him, and he didn't care. He never cared about me. I'm an object to him. I'm his favorite toy."

I stayed silent. I wasn't about to fuck up this conversation too. The tears came to her face quickly, and started to cry.

"Why doesn't he love me?" She asked. Still scared to speak, I sat next to her. She began to sob, fighting to keep her grief silent.

"Why don't you love me?" She yelled.

I waited to hear Master's reply. Margaret was so loud, I very seriously doubted he'd missed her cry of desperation.

With disgust, she picked up the choker and flung it down the hall. The golden jewelry hit the ground and slid across the wooden floor, stopping underneath a credenza. Margaret stared after it for a moment before pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. She cried, and I quietly wrapped an arm around her, holding her.

"It's okay," I said, "I'm here. I'm here. You're okay."

After a few minutes, she broke my embrace, standing up and straightening her clothing. I stood up with her, my eyes on her.

"Thank you for your support and comfort, Marcie. I appre-..." Her voice caught.

"...I appreciate your loyalty," She said, cold and professional. I noticed often that she struggled to be casual. I'd seen her hide her emotions behind a wall of formality before. She did the same thing now.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Her voice was a whisper. "You only told me the truth."

"I forgive you. Can we still be friends?" I asked.

She studied her feet.

"I'd like that," She said.

Finally, she collected her necklace from beneath the credenza. As she walked away, she clipped the choker back on. I stood alone outside of Master's quarters, absorbing whatever had just happened.

I told Kat and Winnie and the rest of the girls everything. They're all being really nice to me, saying I did more than they would have, and that I should just let it go. I guess they're indifferent.

Actually, when I told Abigail, she seemed glad that Margaret had tried to give away her necklace. When I asked her why, she told me:

"I guess somewhere deep down I was hoping that you'd be right. That you'd get through to her. I miss her. I want my old friend."

Abigail didn't talk much after that. She's been very sad. Well, me too.

Feb. 28

[In the margin, a heart shape, partially shattered. Nearby, a hammer labeled 'Master'. A stick figure labeled 'Marcie' is applying tape to the heart, piecing it together.]

Last night was the best.

After I'd written in my journal, we were all hanging out with Yvette in the servant's quarter's common room. She was playing her shooter game, I was sharing a loveseat with Kat, and Abigail sat next to Yvette on the couch. We were having a great time. Every time Yvette would enter a new area in the game, we'd all shout different instructions at her while she tried to navigate the space.

"The guy on the left, he seems nice, get his number," Abigail suggested, pointing to a rough-looking villain with a machete.

"Make out with that guy!" Kat pointed at another enemy, right before Yvette plugged the character with a bullet.

"These guys would probably stop shooting at you if you'd just ask politely," I interjected.

The three of us kept escalating the silliness of our advice to the point of absurdity. Yvette pretended to be annoyed, but we could tell she was having fun too. As it grew later and later in the night, we all grew more and more delirious and tired. Finally, Kat said something about marrying and adopting children with a crazed gunman, and we all lost it. I laughed so hard I couldn't breath, tears were flowing, and Yvette completely lost control of her character. A 'Game Over' screen faded into view amidst the four of us belly-laughing.

We quickly fell silent when the front door opened and Margaret came in. I hadn't spoken to her at all since she'd apologized for slapping me. We fully expected her to climb the stairs straight to her bedroom, just as she'd been doing for the last three days. Instead, she stopped in the doorway. She was wearing makeup again, and her hair was done. She looked like the same old professional Margaret, except for some... symptoms. Her eyes were baggy, and her skin was pale. She seemed small, a little nervous perhaps. She lacked the authority and confidence she'd had in the past. I wondered if her withdrawal was getting to her.

"Hi girls," She said, taking us by surprise. There was a scattered, murmured greeting from the group. "What are you playing?" she asked Yvette.

"Uh, Guns and Glory 3," the teen replied, surprised.

"Sounds cool," Margaret said, forcing a smile. The room was silent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, perhaps out of concern that fogs of confusion might be bad for the lungs.

"Marcie, Kat," Margaret continued, "I spoke with the Master tonight. He approved that, um, if the two of you want, you can take Winnie's old room. Together. It has a queen size bed like mine. I know you've been sleeping together some."

I sure wasn't going to turn that down. It had been very cramped sharing my bunk with Kat (Which was every night now). Cramped, but lovely, of course.

"Thank you ma'am," Kat said, "I think we will." She looked at me as if to say 'Right?' and I nodded. Margaret looked around the room. She flashed another quick smile, and no one spoke. Her smile faded a bit, and she made her way to the stairs.

"Well, good night then," She said, crestfallen. Once Margaret was gone, Abigail looked between the three of us, hoping to receive confirmation that everyone was as bewildered as she.

"Did... she just try to be friendly with us?" She asked.

"I don't think she's ever asked me a question before," Yvette confirmed.

I was in disbelief myself, trying to understand what had just happened. To my left, I felt an elbow in my ribs, and I looked at Kat. My beautiful friend smiled at me, nodding towards the stairs.

"Go get her," Kat said.

"Really?" I asked. Kat nodded, and I looked at the other girls. Abigail shrugged.

"Yeah, why not?" Said the older slave, "She seems like she needs some friends."

I bolted from my chair and hustled up the stairs. Giving a quick knock on the door to Margaret's bedroom, I entered eagerly when I heard her voice. The head slave stood in the middle of the room, facing me with interest.

"Yes?" She said.

"The other girls, and me, all of us, wanted to see if you'd like to come hang out with us." I said with a smile, "I mean, it's stupid, we're just like, making fun of Yvette and watching her play this weird shooter game, but it's fun."

Margaret was taken aback, but I saw her eyes brighten instantly. She thought for a second.

"Yes," She said, "Let me change. That sounds fun."

"Great!" I replied.

I reentered the common room with eagerness, dropping down next to Kat on the loveseat. There was only one more unoccupied seat, a recliner, and Margaret sat quickly and quietly once changed. She wore her pink nightgown, and tucked her legs under her body. She lay her phone face up on the arm of her chair.

The five of us watched quietly while Yvette played her game. The mirthful laughter was gone, replaced by an awkward silence. I struggled to find something to say, to bring back the joy. I didn't want everyone to be weird with Margaret around, I wanted everyone to be happy and smiling, Margaret included.

Abigail nipped the bud of the awkwardness.

"Thanks for coming to hang out with us. Margaret," she said, "I wish I could see you more. We used to be close. I miss that."

I was so excited to hear Abigail say that. I teared up right then and there. What a turn around from her previous attitude about Margaret.

"I'd like that," Margaret replied, unable to make eye contact.

For once, we were all appreciative of Kat's chattiness. She resumed the conversation and the jokes, and soon we were all laughing and having a good time. While we had none of the rolling on the floor, stomach hurts, throw up from laughing kind of mirth, we were still joking and carrying on.

I was surprised when Margaret joined in.

"You should, uh, sleep with that guy on the right," She said. "It would be funny." There was a moment of strained silence, as what she said was so weird and awkward and out of place. We all burst out laughing. The comment itself wasn't all that funny, but coming from Margaret, well, it was special.

Shortly after midnight, Margaret's phone lit up. With an instant reflex, she picked the device up, reading the preview of the message on the screen.

"Ooooh, is that your boyfriend?" Kat called, still in the spirit of silly mockery.

"It's Master," Margaret spoke solemnly, "He wants sex."

We silently watched for Margaret. She studied the screen of the phone for a moment, taking part in a silent internal debate.

"I'll tell him I was asleep and didn't get his message," She said, silencing the phone and laying it face down on the arm of the chair.

"Good for you, Maggy," I said with a smile. She smiled back, happy as could be.

[Across two pages: Realistic sketches of Yvette, Abigail, Kat, and Margaret, all in the common room, laughing and smiling.]