Reina in a Strange Land Ch. 05

Mr. Jamison sighed, looking down at her. "The symbols indicate a special type of inventory, and next to it is the delivery date, the cargo ship name, the value of the product, and the destination."

"What type of product?" pushed Reina. She felt a pit forming deep in her belly. "The value . . . it's quite large . . . like gold . . . or . . ." She looked up at him anxiously. "N-not paying taxes on these kinds of values w-would . . . m-mean a prison sentence!"

Mr. Jamison smiled down at her. "Does that upset you, the thought of me going to prison!"

"Yes!" exclaimed Reina, her eyes big and fearful. Then she backtracked. "Uhh, I mean . . . of course." She looked up quickly at him. "I'd never let that happen, I promise!" Reina realized how that sounded and corrected herself. "I-I mean, I'd do everything legally in my power to avoid that!" She hoped she never had to decide between her own code of ethics, and Mr. Jamison going to jail.

Mr. Jamison smiled warmly at her and his hand moved from his shoulder to rub the back of her neck in a pleasurable manner. "Thank you for saying that, sweetheart, but I wouldn't want you to go against your own ethics." He looked at her for a long moment. "I think it's best if I tell you the truth, and then we can decide how to proceed." When Reina nodded, he pointed to the ledger.

"These symbols represent slaves, Reina," he began quietly. "They—"

"What??" exclaimed Reina in shock. "Y-you're a . . . slave trader?"

Mr. Jamison opened his mouth to speak, and then he paused. Slowly he smiled down at Reina. "And what if I was a slave trader?" he asked, his eyes boring into her.

Reina gasped, looking at up the grin on his handsome face. "N-no!" she exclaimed. "P-please tell me it's not true!" she added in a whisper, as if fearful someone might overhear her.

Mr. Jamison only smiled at her, then he suddenly reached down to grasp her wrists in his strong hands, and raise them over her head, pressing her back against the wall of his office. Reina couldn't even resist, so shocked was she by his actions, until he used one hand to hold both her wrists against the wall above her head. "Mr. Jamison, w-what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice trembling. What had gotten into him?

Mr. Jamison smiled down at her. "You've got evidence that could put me in jail for a long time, maybe my daughter too. What do you think I'm doing?"

Reina gasped, immediately shaking her head. "Mr. Jamison, I'd never . . . turn you in!"

"Then why didn't you destroy the documents as soon as you saw them?" asked Mr. Jamison.

Reina looked up at the man she'd known much of her life. It reminded her of the games he used to play with her and Deba, pretending to chase and catch them. When she'd been a girl it had all been innocent fun, but now, as an adult, pinned against the wall in his powerful grip, she was having a very different, surprising reaction. Her heart was thumping in her chest, a bit of fear mixed with excitement. Being this close to him, and being helplessly pinned to the wall, was intoxicating.

She realized her pause must have seen suspicious. "I—I can't just . . . destroy documents that I don't understand . . ." she protested. "P-please, help me understand them!"

Mr. Jamison's free hand came up to gently cup Reina's chin. "I've a better idea, my dear. How about I . . . mix you in with all my other slaves, when I send them to the auction?"

"Mr. Jamison, what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice growing quiet.

"If you were a slave," he continued, grinning at her, "I'd no longer have to worry about you reporting my little transgressions. Who'd believe the word of a pleasure slave?"

Reina stiffened, for what he said was true. Her office had even warned her and the other female tax agent. If she were captured and auctioned off, any information she had before her enslavement would be unusable for tax fraud judgement. But it had never occurred to her that Mr. Jamison might think of this option. She looked into his eyes, waiting for him to break into the charming smile, that would tell her he was only joking. But while he was grinning slightly, she couldn't read his expression.

"You're very beautiful, Reina. You'd fetch a magnificent price at the Auction." he added, looking at her intently.

Reina giggled nervously. "Oh, I don't think I'd make a good slave, I'm so bossy! You wouldn't get much money for me."

Mr. Jamison chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no, my dear, they'd train that out of you real quick. I could eliminate my little tax problem, and make quite a bit of money in the process. I'm quite sure you'd be graded Prime."

Reina gasped softly. "I know you're teasing me, but . . . d-do you really think so?" she added quietly. Prime was the highest grade given to the most desirable pleasure slaves. She and the girls at school had talked about it often, what each girl's grade would be.

"Ah, so you have thought about it?" said Mr. Jamison, smiling down at Reina. "I don't think you've been graded, or I'm sure Deba would have told me?"

Reina gasped. "No, of course not!" she protested. "I'm not like that!" The grading process was terribly demeaning for a free woman, she'd never voluntarily submit to a grading. But it didn't mean she wasn't a little curious like most girls.

Mr. Jamison grinned at her. "Maybe I'm not just a slave trader, I'm also an Appraiser," he said, suggestively. "Would you like me to grade you right now?"

"No!" choked out Reina, stiffening in place against the wall. Slaves were graded naked, and very thoroughly. A couple of her friends had done it, they said they were even fingered to orgasm during the grading. Reina shivered at the thought of Mr. Jamison forcing her to cum with his fingers, while he watched, grading her desirability. Her face and neck felt warm all of a sudden. She had to look away from his intense stare.

"I do love when you call me, sir," corrected Mr. Jamison.

Reina's eyes snapped back to look at him. "I'm sorry, sir!" murmured Reina.

"Although if you were a slave, you'd call me 'Master,'" he mused, thoughtfully. Reina gasped, looking up at the handsome man who was grinning down at her. She felt light headed at the thought of being his slave. She'd probably have to be naked in front of him, and he'd take her to his bed . . . Reina squirmed slightly where he held her tightly against the wall. Her legs were shaking slightly.

"Are you wearing the special silk underwear underneath that dress, my dear?" Mr. Jamison asked nonchalantly.

Reina's eyes went wide. "Oh god, Mr. Jamison, please don't talk about such things!" she gasped, for she couldn't believe he was asking her about her underwear.

When Reina didn't answer, he raised a hand in front of her. "I can check myself if you don't want to answer?"

"Y-yes, sir! I mean . . . I am . . ." blurted Reina, nodding nervously. Reina thought of screaming - Deb was likely nearby, and might hear her screaming. And then Reina imagined Deb discovering her like this with her father. Deb would think Reina seduced him somehow, or had enticed him. She instantly pushed away all thoughts of screaming.

"I—I'm wearing the silk undergarments that Deb gave me, she said they came with the dress," blurted Reina, unable to think of what else to say.

"Ah," nodded Mr. Jamison. "Good. So you see in the Orient they make a special silk top and panties, both very form fitting, meant to be worn under that dress." He saw her look of confusion and explained. "The tight fitting top is meant for . . . well endowed girls like you, to keep their shape."

Reina blushed a bright red at his mention of her figure. That perhaps explained why the silk underwear was so tight on her chest. It had wires in it, presumably to support her breasts and keep their shape. It had the effect of making her already ample breasts look larger. She'd never have worn it if she'd known she was going to see Mr. Jamison.

Mr. Jamison continued, ignoring or not seeing her blush. "Deb thought it was inappropriate, but I didn't want you to find the dress uncomfortable. Without the underwear your nipples can get sore."

Reina gasped, the blood returning to her face, and with her arms held above her head, she was acutely aware of her chest pointing toward the grinning Mr. Jamison. She looked away quickly, unable to meet his intense deep gaze.

"C-could we talk about something else, Mr. Jamison?" she pleaded, still looking down and avoiding his gaze.

"Why?" he retorted. "We're both adults here. So you see, in the Orient, a dress like you're wearing is only outer wear."

"Outer wear?" said Reina in confusion.

Mr. Jamison nodded. "Yes, when a woman arrives at her destination, she removes the dress and is clothed only in the special silk underwear."

"Really?" said Reina. She was pretty sure that wasn't true. But then she knew little about her mother country.

"Yes, of course," said Mr. Jamison. He reached up to touch the top of the dress at Reina's neck. "That's why it's so easy to remove. Button here," he touched her neck. "Button here," he said, touching her chest, "button here," he continued, touching Reina's hip, "and the dress is gone. Like me to show you?"

"No!" choked Reina, her eyes growing big. "T-that's ok, Mr. Jamison . . . could we . . . talk about the reason I'm here?"

"Ah yes," said Mr. Jamison. "We were talking about how to ensure your silence on this little tax matter, in a manner that would be mutually beneficial." Then he looked thoughtful, "or maybe in a way that benefits me . . . in two ways?"

"And just how do I benefit from being enslaved?" inquired Reina, incredulous.

"You get to fulfill your slave fantasies, of course," said Mr. Jamison, as if stating the obvious.

"I do not have slave fantasies!" protested Reina. Where did he get that idea? Had Deba been talking to him? She searched his eyes for a hint of whether he was teasing her or not. She was sure he was . . . and yet . . .

"You could live with Deb and I, she'd be the sister you always wanted," continued Mr. Jamison. He was so nonchalant, she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"As . . . your slave?" said Reina, looking into his eyes.

"Yes, of course," said Mr. Jamison. "We're have to keep you in chains naturally, at least until you were accustomed to your enslavement. And you'd wear a collar, I mean, you'd be a slave after all."

"Of course," said Reina, though her heart was pounding in her chest. Mr. Jamison still hadn't loosened his grip on her wrists above her head, and she was acutely aware of that fact. She tried to think of what to say. "A-and you're ok with . . . a slave . . . living in your home?"

"Oh, I've known you for seemingly forever, my little Reina. I've watched you blossom into a beautiful woman. I'd be honored to have you as a slave living in my house," said Mr. Jamison.

"Honored?" said Reina, not sure whether to laugh or be shocked.

"Yes," said Mr. Jamison. "I'd be known all around as the owner of one of the most desirable pleasure slaves in Trolis."

Reina's face felt hot. "Y-you find me . . . desirable?" she murmured, softly.

"Of course," said Mr. Jamison, as if it were obvious. "I'd have to be made of stone otherwise. I'd take great pleasure in using you as my pleasure slave, I assure you."

Reina gasped. "U-using me? You mean . . . sex? W-what if I . . . didn't want to . . . have sex with you?" she asked, incredulous. It was like a terrifying story that should couldn't stop reading to find out what happened.

Mr. Jamison shook his head. "Oh, don't worry, I'd train you . . . very thoroughly . . . to make sure you were always eager to please me."

Reina's cheeks turned a bright red and her face felt hot. The way he said "very thoroughly" made her insides quiver. "I see," she murmured. "A-and you . . . know how to train a, um, pleasure slave?" she asked, her eyes widening in curiosity.

"Oh yes," nodded Mr. Jamison. "I've trained plenty of pleasure slaves, including Oriental girls like you. The Oriental girls usually like being tied up before I train them. They just love the feeling of bondage. Then I use my fingers, my tongue and lips, whatever gets them hot and eager, and I have a riding crop to encourage them if they lose focus." He suddenly made a snapping motion with his free hand, and he voiced the sound of slapped flesh, making Reina yelp in surprise.

Reina was aware that her chest was heaving slightly due to her rapid breathing, and her body felt overheated. Part of her was terrified of what Mr. Jamison could do to her at that moment, pinned helplessly against the wall. And part of her was dying to know what he would do. It was said the men who trained pleasure slaves were exquisitely skilled. The thought made her lips part slightly.

"I prefer a pleasure slave to a free woman, in fact," continued Mr. Jamison. If he noticed her body's reactions to his closeness, he didn't show it.

"What?" exclaimed Reina, searching his eyes, certain he was still teasing her. "How can you say that?"

"Well, of course," nodded Mr. Jamison, looking deeply into her eyes now, his face seemingly having moved closer to Reina. "A free woman doesn't know how to ask for what she truly needs. She doesn't even know her own deepest desires. A pleasure slave is not given the choice, and her pleasure and satisfaction is far greater as a result."

Reina's head was spinning. "B-but . . . h-how would you know if . . . your slave really loves you, if she's forced to h-have sex with you?"

Mr. Jamison made a scoffing sound. "Oh, that's not a problem. A few days with me, under my training, and any pleasure slave would be helplessly in love with me. Nothing would be forced."

Reina shook her head. "You can't . . . train a woman to love you! That's not love! I . . . I want a man to love me for what I am, for what's inside me!"

Mr. Jamison smiled down at her. "Oh, if you were my slave, I would love you, I assure you."

Reina looked at him in shock, shaking her head. "No! I don't want you to love me because I'm your slave!"

Mr. Jamison looked at her strangely. "Reina dear, I'm not interested in loving a free woman. I want a slave, who will love me, and obey my every will, whom I can use and punish as I see fit, and not just when she's in the mood. I want a slave who won't be upset when I leave her for weeks at a time, or when I use other slaves." He noticed Reina's look of horror and he sighed. "I know you don't understand, my dear. You're been brought up with the silly idea that a woman should find her true love. You're not a slave, and have no idea of the pleasures a slave experiences. But you will, once given the opportunity to become a slave. I give my slaves unimaginable pleasures; they cannot help but love me. No woman can resist the pleasures of the flesh, if administered properly, and with appropriate slave training."

Reina couldn't even speak, for her mind was swirling around in confusion and disbelief. All this time, she'd had a crush on a man who had no interest in free women, who only wanted slaves. Then her eyes narrowed. "Mr. Jamison, you said 'I give my slaves.' Do you own slaves?"

Mr. Jamison's expression changed, then he shook his head. "Of course not, sweetheart. I was speaking in generalizations." Then he smiled. "But you could be my first pleasure slave . . . if you want the job . . ."

Now at least he seemed to be himself again. Reina opened her mouth to speak just as the door to the room opened, and a familiar female voice began talking in animated fashion before the door was even open. "Papa, the girls are getting bored, can they use the training rooms?"

Reina turned in shock, recognizing the voice as the door swung open. Deba saw her best friend pressed up against the wall, with her father's hand holding her arms pinned over her head, her jaw dropped. "Reina?" she exclaimed. "Wha---?"

Reina looked between her friend Deb and Mr. Jamison for a moment, then she frowned. "You're in on this too!" she exclaimed in a quiet hiss. "Deba, please tell me you're not a slaver too??"

Deba quickly closed the door behind her, then looked at her father. "Papa! What are you doing to her?" she asked, gesturing at the two of them. "And slaver? What did you tell her???"

Mr. Jamison let go of Reina and held up his hands in an expression of innocence. "Well, I was just having some fun. She barged in here with legal documents accusing us of a crime. She takes her little tax agent job very seriously, you know?" he added, jokingly.

Reina turned to Mr. Jamison angrily, her now free hands resting on her hips. "First, I didn't accuse you of anything! And second . . . you told me you were a slaver, had all this experience training Oriental pleasures slaves! Was all that a lie?"

"An exaggeration?" said Mr. Jamison, grinning at the fuming girl. "I'm more like a slave rescuer," he added, holding up his hands apologetically.

"Y-you're . . . a slave rescuer?" sputtered Reina, her head roiling with conflicting emotions. Relief that Mr. Jamison was not a slaver, and indignation that he'd led her on. And now she wondered if his opinions on love and slaves was even real? Reina glared at him, relieved and annoyed, and strangely overheated all at once from his behavior.

"Yes, now before you blow your pretty little top, let me explain, honey," he quickly said, raising his hands. "You see, there are slaves out there who are taken illegally, via kidnapping or entrapment . . . you know about that from your work I'm sure."

Reina paused, letting her emotions settle down a bit. He was unbelievable. "It's not my department, but yes, I'm aware of that," she said finally.

Mr. Jamison nodded. "It's unfortunately very common these days. So some of these girls get recovered, or escape, and are returned to their families and become free again. In many cases, they are now legally slaves, despite being illegally taken, you know how the laws are."

Reina nodded grimly. The laws were not designed to protect free women or slaves, but slave owners.

"So in cases where the slaves cannot legally be free'd, it would be risky for them to return home. They'd just be arrested on sight by the authorities. And some . . . have been slaves too long, and they cannot bear the shame of returning to their families, or . . . they don't want to return to being free."

"What?" exclaimed Reina. "Some girls . . . want to remain slaves? You can't be serious?"

"Well yes, many females, and even some males, prefer being a slave to being free, although they may wish for a kinder master. That's where we come in. We discretely deliver them to a new master, usually in a different city so they don't have to bear the risk of running into someone who knows them."

"What of the girls who don't want to be slaves, but can't return home?" said Reina, looking intently up at Mr. Jamison.

"Ah," he said with a smile. "We have a special place for those." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "There is an island off the coast, where legal slaves who want to be free can go and live as free people. There in the safety of this island, they can wait out their sentence or contract, living as free people, and then go home if they wish."

"That's . . . incredible," said Reina, looking at him in awe. "So you hide the slaves on this island and after their contract or sentence expires they can return home? How wonderful!"

"Yes," said Mr. Jamison, nodding. "So you see, we're not actually earning income on these slaves, we aren't buying them or selling them, only transporting them. But you can imagine why I cannot report this on my tax report. It would put all those women in jeopardy."

"Yes," said Reina, "and they would report you to the slave agency." She thought for a moment. Then her eyes lit up. "I'm not required to report suspected illegal activity if it's not related to taxes. That means I can verify that there's no tax avoidance, and close the report."