Slave Immigrant Ch. 28

And that's how the day went, acting torture. All Mickey could do to me physically at worst was tap me on the butt with his riding crop, and it did hurt. We went for four hours straight, since employment rules when taken to the strictest extend had rest breaks for slaves at every four hours. I was fed and "watered" when necessary and un-necessary. I passed water in a bucket beside me, and hand to put up with the smell.

"Alright that's all the time we have for today," concluded Mickey, "we'll get back to this tomorrow. Not you Mister Pontiac Jones," he snarled. "We have to do some editing."

"Correction," interrupted Uncle Paul as he stormed on to the set. "He is only contracted to you as stage talent, once the stage is closed he has other duties."

"What other duties," demanded Mickey.

"Sexual," noted Uncle Paul. "He is still a sex slave and his work here is at the discretion of his owners."

"I thought the company owns him," countered Mickey.

"And I am the company," Uncle Paul winked. Then to me, "put your clothes on, I want you in my private office."

"Work, work, work," I grumbles as I got dressed and quickly followed him.

"We have four more hours of work tomorrow," bellowed Mickey as Uncle Paul and I got into the elevator.

"How do you feel," Uncle Paul asked as he stood facing the door.

"Tired," I replied looking equally emotionless.

"Lie down on the couch," he ordered me as we entered his office. "Couch," he ordered the robotic couch, "sore bottom mode. Lie on your stomach Al." The couch actually moved and raised my ass, and a pillow for my head. "I want to discuss some things with you."

"What's on your mind Uncle?"

"Are you aware of your current finances," he asked me.

"Well I try not to think about it," I confessed, "finances depress me. My savings were wiped out by the fine and I'm back to owing the government five million credits. But I do my best."

"Okay I want to review that with you," he nodded, "Action Network is paying 25 thousand a month for you. Five year contract, we're happy with you sexually, so it's worth the amount. Now you are employed by me, it's non-sexual and well atourconvince, you get 1,500 of that 450 gets paid to your fine. We don't have any revenues from the shows but there will be dividends. Have you received any reports on your other ventures?"

"Oh," I sighed, "my butt aches just thinking about that. The record album tanked, I may see profits once a year now. The Pontiac Jones penis line cancelled two weeks ago, I got the notice when I was in the hospital. And the Pontiac Root Beer has peaked; it's a small holding company and part of a huge distribution network. So I don't know what to do there."

"Well you can take control," suggested Uncle Paul. "I can act on your behalf; maybe have you yourself to do some commercials."

"I don't know," I told him, "from the last letter they explained they made a Pontiac Jones Cartoon Character plugging the sweet selling drink. The energy formula for adults has too much competition, but the non-energy one is popular with children. They spent a fortune researching this, hence no profits."

"Okay," nodded Uncle Paul, "so, ever sell to kids before?"

"Well kids like fun," I ventured, "parents like nutrition." I laughed, "got an idea. Can you guys carbonate water?"

"Yea, it's easy."

"We carbonate some water and call it Kid Fizz. A fun filled glass of water every kid loves. How about that?"

"How about that," said Uncle Paul, his eyes glazed. "Fun water, my kids use to hate drinking water, they wanted pop, anything that fizzed, make the water FIZZ. Holy Fuck, are you sure you're not a Clairvoyant?"

"I'd be drafted into the war," I shrugged. "Is it possible to carbonate milk?"

"Yea, but who'd drink, ... it," his words dropped off. "Kid Fizz, I want to buy stock in this idea. Look go into the bed-room; and take a nap I'll talk to your Manager. Any other ideas?"

"Yea," I said as the hidden door to Uncle Paul's private bedroom opened, "fruit drinks or vitamin supplements, don't other companies do that."

"They don't make it fizz," Uncle Paul laughed. "Now take a nap."

I was exhausted, so I peeled off my clothing and went to sleep in my underwear. I woke up two hours later as Cupcake shook me awake. She was dressed in her usual white blouse, short skirt, knee socking and sensible shoes.

"What time is it," I asked her.

"Five-thirty sir," she told me. "Mistress Dianna just finished her live taping, and she's requested your presence."

"Oh dear," I moaned flexing my still sore behind. I dressed quickly and headed down to the studio.

The dressing room area was quiet; not unusual since nobody wants to be around Dianna when she's having a horny fit. They politely would give her fair leeway and privacy. I entered her dressing room, everything appeared neat and orderly. The Caterers have supplied the food in place, chairs, table, and a light paddle, strap, handcuffs, pink rhinestone neck collar and leash where on the table. Somebody was going to be humiliated tonight.

"Mistress," I tentatively asked the far door.

"It's slave," replied Dianna who entered the room in her underwear. She had removed her make-up and was still in hercostume underwear. "Year's end is in two weeks," she explained. "Instead of being punished by Mistress, I punished her. Using a strap-on and fucking her is so frustrating. I have to be this hot and horny tomorrow afternoon too. Can you satisfy me and keep me horny till tomorrow when I fuck the butler?"

"Get out of the ridiculous costume and on your knees now," I told her firmly. Well there was a quick switching of gears. For once my needs can be satisfied. I gave her a light spanking and then took her up the ass with a wild passion. She was unprepared for this but I didn't mind the site of her shit on my cock. I had her squat over the toilet bowel backwards, facing the wall while I washed myself off and made rude comments about her taking a dump. I then put the collar on her.

"You have a skin tight dress in the back of your closet," I told her. "How come you never wear it?"

"It's too tight," she confessed, "my legs are kept together, makes my ass look fat, and no pockets, I'd have to carry a purse with my hand held computer and all in."

"Put it on," I told her in my command voice, "and proper underwear, you're in the Ringo Building you will wear proper clothing. And the five inch heels."

"Yes Master," she replied as she checked her bureau and put on a pair of sensible panties.

"With the proper day of the week on them," I reminded her. She put down the panties, and I gave her red bottom a playful smack. "Wait," I ordered and bent her over. There was a jewelled medium stainless steel butt-plug in her bureau, I put it in her and she gasped. "Now get dressed quickly," I concluded.

Slave Dianna looked very beautiful in the red silk dress and theOrientallooking dress. Despite the high collar in the back the front swooped and revealed her tits but modestly. I emptied the contents of her purse into my pockets and put the lease, paddle and strap back in it. She moved to take off her money ring, but I waved her to keep it on. Dianna was quite skilled with her heels she kept herself balanced and walked with very feminine steps as I swaggered through the lobby and curious stairs of the staff as we walked past.

She stood by me as we rode in the standing room only subway and rode two stops away from the Ringo building before I stepped off. I had memorized almost every stop along the way from my owners home to the Ringo Building and I always wanted to stop at Whyte Square. Surprisingly there were no new cameras following us. I had lived with my new owners for eleven weeks so the newness of my being with Dianna Chase had worn off. We moved about freely in a section of the city I had never seen before.

Whyte Square had an Earth 1890's flair to it. The buildings were false fronted with brick or wood panels with framed display windows. Modernization was discreet, and the outrageous flair of the inhabitants was obvious. I spotted a store with a green awning and a familiar name Burlington's Fine Tobacco,Cuban, Middle Kingdom and Green Cigars featured hereread the signage. We stepped into a fine smoky are of aged tobacco. The aged wooden floor creeked under our feet, the walls finely stained wood with displays of pipes on the wall.

"Greeting sir," said an elderly sandy haired man with wavy hair, trimmed beard, steel framed glasses, white shirt, green striped vest, dark pants, and leather apron called from behind the counter. "How may I help you," he smiled as he puffed on a Green Gem therapeutic cigar.

"You have Cubans," I had to ask in Earth English.

"Alas sir," he smiled in an old world way. "Our cigars are but Cuban Seeds secretly imported and grown in a precise facility on an orbital platform. We do copy Earth styles, what can I get you?"

"Bolivar Habana Quban Exclusivo Canada," I recited the name of my favourite cigar in Earth English.

"Extremely rare," beamed the owner who went to a far walk in humidor and came out quickly with one cigar. "Only six thousand boxes of these cigars was made, and only one made its way to Free Skyes. This is a blend of our Cuban tobaccos into such a cigar. We call it simply Canadian Exclusive."

"Pay the man," I told Dianna, as I casually leaned on the counter and noticed the other customers and staff. There was two other staff members both wearing 1890's clothing, but looking out of place with small computers attacked to their belts. Three other customers, all men; each wearing conservative Free Skyes suits middle to upper level management types. I gave them a pleasant nod and they smiled back it was a friendly place.

The store owner double checked his computerized cash register making sure it was really Dianna Chase that just paid for my five credit cigar. There was a cigar trimmer on the counter I trimmed the cigar end and picked up an old style wooden match to light it. The others looked curiously at me.

"What," I asked?

The customers looked away but one of the young staff members spoke up. "We were wondering if you were going to wet it," he asked.

"Well," I smiled in a professional fashion, "some rather crude types have do that sort of thing. There have even been cases where a Gentleman's Mistress would wet down a cigar as if she were sucking cock in public." A few chuckled and Dianna's cheeks blushed. "There was even a well publicized scandal of a planetary President would wet the end of his cigar on a woman's moist citreous." Dianna pressed her thighs together and shuttered. I took out her hand held computer and gave it to her, "call for an android laundry service, you won't be needing those clothes for the rest of the day." She took the computer and spoke into it like it was a cellphone.

"Now where was I," I smiled back at my audience. "I can tell just by the feel of this cigar that these cigars are properly stored in a moist environment of 80% humidity so it doesn't need to be wet. Some people may want a fine brandy but a pure cigar is the finest complement to the growers of these fine cigars and your fine shop."

"Thank you Mister Jones," he smiled back.

"You're Pontiac Jones," gasped the geeky store employee.

"I'd say sir," said one of the customers, "I saw you being whipped early this morning on public television. Shouldn't you be lying on a bed or something?"

"I've done enough sleep for today," I smiled back at them. "That's why I'm not sitting on a stool like you guys."

"I could get you a cushion," offered the geeky employee.

"No need," I smiled, then noticed the laundry android; Dianna's favourite service which uses robots that look like R2D2 beep into the store. I opened my shirt collar to reveal my slave collar. "I am the property of Dianna Chase here. Do you still want to wear that collar Dianna?"

"Yes Master," she nodded humbly, but here eyes flashed with a smile.

"All you need to wear is your shoes, collar, and purse," I told her. Then to the store owner, "this is okay right?"

"We are in the Free Zone," the owner smiled back.

"We were at the live show earlier today," gasped two other employees.

I enjoyed puffing on my cigar while we watched Dianna disrobe. Her breast were pert and nipples aroused, so too was her pussy. I guess she hasn't been lead around the street too often. She went to put her hand held computer back into her purse. I put the unit back in my pocket.

"I'll take that," I told her. "Now pay the robot and have it send your clean clothing home."

"If she doesn't have her computer in her purse," asked the geeky employee, "what does she have in there?"

"Show him," I told her. She reluctantly took out the paddle, strap and leash. I attached the leash to her collar. "You've been a good girl, I don't think we need to punish your bottom right now, put them away." I took a tissue from a table dispenser and wiped away the pussy drool. "Aroused slaves can be so messy," I laughed and tossed the tissue into a trash can.

"You're not going to fuck her in a doorway or something," asked one of the customers.

"Of course not," I smiled as I closed my collar to cover my slave collar. "That would be rude. We just stopped to buy a cigar, before heading for home." I casually lead Dianna by the leash towards the door. "Have a nice day," I nodded and headed out.