Slave Master

Author's Notes: This one is more or less gay science fiction, but I've put it under the Transgender and Crossdressers category as I think that's where the audience is going to be based on reaction to some of my past stories.

"Hey, Captain Oblivious. You still with us, buddy?"

Stephen shook himself awake. "Sorry, guess I was drifting. Didn't sleep well last night." Or the night before, or the night before that, he added siliently.

"No worries, it's not like Dimitri was saying anything important," Cho murmured.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Dimitri said, laughing. "Hey, you tried this new stuff, Sombranel? I use it, has me sleeping like a baby."

"Pills leave me groggy in the morning," Stephen explained. "I've always used relaxation techniques, but lately they just don't do it for me."

"You should try massage, dude," Dimitri suggested.

"True, those are very relaxing," Cho allowed.

Stephen felt uncertain. "I don't know, I've never done anything like that."

"No time like the present, our club offers massage. Go down to the spa, you know, next to the gym. Tell 'em I sent you," Dimitri urged.

"Better if you do not tell them that, as you will avoid association with our compatriot's reputation among the staff," Cho said wryly.

"Hey, I tip if the service is worth it," Dimitri argued. "Most of the time it's just not that good. Anyway, try getting a massage, it may help."

Stephen shrugged, strangely uncomfortable at the suggestion. "Perhaps later I will."

[]

The room the spa attendant brought Stephen to was small but cosy, and decorated in a vaguely Asian manner.

"I'm afraid we don't have any masseuses available for the next half hour, sir," the attendant apologized. "Would you prefer to wait, or is a masseur acceptable?"

Stephen cleared his throat. "I'm new to this. What's the difference?"

She gave him a professional smile. "A masseur is male and a masseuse is female, sir. Many club members have a preference."

"Ah, I see. No, anyone available is fine," Stephen muttered.

"Very good, sir. Please place your clothes in the locker and put on the robe you will find there."

Stephen did so after she left, leaving his underwear on as he still felt vaguely uncomfortable about all this. After a moment a lithely muscled man Stephen guessed to be in his thirties entered and gave him a cheerful smile. "Hello, sir. I understand you haven't had a massage with us before, do you have any preferences?"

"I'm never had a massage at all before, so I wouldn't know what to prefer," Stephen said doubtfully.

The man's smile didn't budge. "Well, what brought you in for a massage today, if I may ask?"

"A recommendation from, ah, another member. And I've been having trouble sleeping lately," Stephen said. Which was putting it mildly, he hadn't slept well for months.

The masseur nodded. "Let me try relaxing some of your major muscle groups and we'll see what happens, all right? Please lie on the table."

Over the next fifteen minutes the masseur's strong hands rub and prod and stretch at Stephen's arms and legs. Then he had Stephen turn over onto his belly. He removed the robe fully at this point, pausing a moment upon seeing Stephen's jockeys before draping a warm towel over his rear. Then he started on the back of Stephen's legs, working his way up.

As he rubbed Stephen's shoulders and neck Stephen felt the tensions that had been haunting his body for so long float away. The next thing Stephen knew the masseur was gently shaking his shoulder. "Sir? I'm sorry to wake you, but it's been an hour now."

Stephen reluctantly opened his eyes. "It seemed like less."

"You fell asleep mid-way through," he explained. "Since you told me you that was the problem that brought you in, I covered you up and let you sleep.

Stephen suddenly realized that his body is now covered by the open robe and several more towels. "Thank you, then."

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes. No, wait a moment." Stephen got off the table and opened the locker, took his money-pouch and fished out a newdollar. "Here, this is for you," he said, handing the coin to the masseur.

The man bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir. Very generous of you."

The masseur stepped out, leaving Stephen alone to dress. Despite the briefness of the nap he was refreshed in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Dmitri might be a clown at times but it looked like he was right, the massage helped. But of course Stephen couldn't sleep at the club at night.

By the time Stephen finished dressing he'd decided to look into buying himself a personal masseur.

[]

It makes Stephen feel old to remember the days when the government was still insisting everyone call them Displaced Indentured Persons instead of slaves. That was back when they were trying to pretend that the massive numbers of internal and external refugees triggered by climate change effects would all become reintegrated into society any day now. Of course, back then they were also pretending that the middle class would survive the attendant rise in the prices of food and transportation rather than becoming submerged along with the remaining undisplaced blue collar workers into a permanent underclass that had to struggle desperately merely to avoid joining the Displaced by becoming indentured themselves.

Since the government already had its hands full, it had only made sense to allow citizens who had lots of money to provide a living for some of the refugees. Furthermore the logical argument was made that, given the vast numbers in need, it was obviously preferable for the well-off to supply basic food and shelter and in this way support the maximum number of refugees they could, rather than providing some sort of over-generous "minimum wage" which might be available to fewer people. So naturally those ridiculous wage laws were thrown out, along with a lot of useless rules about unions and collective bargaining and mandatory time off work.

And of course since the better sort were being kind enough to provide for all these impoverished people (who after all had only themselves to blame for not planning ahead in order to avoid being driven from their homes by flood, fire or drought) out of their own private resources, they clearly deserved some sort of legal framework so that they could expect reasonable return on the investment. Not to mention a way to prevent their new employees from slacking off, or worse yet, suddenly go chasing after a better deal elsewhere. A whole new set of laws were pass to protect "employer rights" and prevent that sort of anti-social behavior from the displaced workers, who ought to be grateful they weren't starving in the streets.

Looking at it from a brutally honest perspective it really didn't take long at all before the DIPs were slaves in all but name. Slaves who could, just like those in the days of the glorious Roman Empire, buy their way out of slavery if they were talented and hard-working and very, very lucky. But slaves none the less.

And it wasn't even as if the government's term was better. "Dip" was always derogatory in actual use, and the slur "dipshits" almost universal even in polite company. Before many years had passed the smart set started using the older, more honest term and openly call the new sort of employees their slaves. In the present day everyone did. Young people can't even remember a time when there weren't slaves working in every store, factory, and rich person's home.

But Stephen can. He very clearly remembers the day when his mother fired Sonia, the foreign au pair who'd been taking care of Stephen, and replaced her with Janet the DIP. He'd had a boy's crush on the pretty, friendly Sonia, but Janet was a hard-faced older woman who said that rigid discipline was the only way to mold a sensitive child into a strong man like Stephen's father. It wasn't till years later that Stephen understood that her strictness and the frequent punishments she meted out were really because the woman was full of hidden rage at losing her home and career, that she was simply taking out her frustrations on the easiest target. Namely Stephen, the child placed in her care.

Not that understanding this means Stephen has ever forgiven Janet for the things she did to him. Or forgiven his beautiful, distant mother for firing Sonia.

[]

The listings for personal massage technicians on the Overnet are much more extensive than Stephen expected. Apparently it has become quite popular to have one in your household and the slave schools were turning out quite a few of them these days.

It seemed a bit decadent to Stephen, having a person living with him whose entire purpose would be to give Stephen massages. Not that it would be difficult to add such an employee, of course. Stephen's household staff already employed several dozen slaves, in fact he's not quite sure how many there were. Surely it must be fewer than a hundred? But he knew it included maids, butlers, cooks, cooks helpers, cleaners, drivers, handymen, gardeners, even that woman who took care of his tropical fish.

Yet Stephen's household was relatively small compared to that of some of his peers, particular those couples who had children. One more slave would hardly be a stretch for him, and of course providing employment is good for the economy. Besides, he really needed to start sleeping better again.

There are considerably more masseuses than there are masseurs available, almost all of them pretty young women who Stephen had to suspect were sought for more than their massage skills. Stephen had never taken a slave into his bed. Well, he'd had encounters with prostitutes who were slaves, but that didn't count. He'd never used his household slaves in that way.

Still, it had been a long time since he'd had a relationship with a woman. Both Stephen's marriages had been relatively short-lived, and it was several years since his last brief affair with one of his peers. So he does think briefly about the possibility of acquiring a masseuse. But while he gazed at the pretty female faces on the screen, memory of being at the club with the strong hands of the masseur on his flesh intruded. That had felt so good, so... comforting. The firm, masculine pressure. He wasn't sure a woman could provide that.

Stephen eventually chose one of the masseurs, a man just out of school but whose file contained strong praise from his instructors as to his skills, demeanor, and intelligence. Also, while he wasn't ugly (more of a craggy, rough look) he's not nearly as handsome as many of the pretty boys on offer, which reduced his price and made him a relative bargain.

Clicking the secure link to his account Stephen bought the slave, getting notice the man would be delivered in three days time.

Finally he'd be able to get some decent sleep.

[]

The new slave's name was Tom. It was something longer on the papers, but he already went by Tom and as Stephen didn't have another Tom in the house he saw no need to change it. He'd already let his majordomo (also a slave) know that a new slave would be arriving and what his duties would be, so Stephen didn't actually meet Tom until bedtime that evening, at which point the night butler reminded his master of the opportunity to have a massage.

Stephen thankfully agreed. Remembering the massage he'd had at his club Stephen took off all his clothes, this time including his underwear. Everything got tossed in a pile to make it easier for one of the maids to pick the garments up in the morning. Stephen donned the robe the night butler laid out and sat on the edge of the bed.

Tom came through the door just a few minutes later. His physical presence was different than seeing his pictures online. Stephen's first impression was that the masseur seemed so much bigger than he expected. Stephen had known in abstract that the slave would be taller than him and more muscular, and of course a good twenty years younger. But he had no idea how those isolated facts would translate into this impressive masculine presence until the man entered his bedroom.

Stephen supposed some of the impression came from what the slave was wearing, the same sort of loincloth as he and the other masseurs did in the full-frame pictures. And nothing else. Apparently it was a uniform of sorts.

The slave bowed. Stephen cleared his throat. "Tom, is it?"

"If you will, master."

"Tom. Do you, um... do you always dress like that? I mean, aren't you cold?"

"This is what we are taught to wear in massage training, master. I can wear anything you like. No, the room is warm enough."

He was deferential but not oily, Stephen was glad about that. He didn't seem to smile a lot, though.

Stephen told Tom the outfit was fine and explained about his insomnia, saying that he'd like a massage that will help him sleep.

"What shall I do after you fall asleep, master?"

Stephen blinked. "I assume you stop."

"Of course, master. But what should I do then? Do you wish me to remain in case you wake later in the night?"

Stephen hadn't thought about that. It was an idea, but where in the room would Tom stay? There was only the one bed, he'd have to sit in a chair all night. "No, I suppose not. I'll have you called if I need another massage."

"Then if you lie back on the bed I will begin, master."

Tom moved confidently into the attached bath. Stephen heard him running the sink and realized he was washing and warming his hands. When Tom returned he had a bottle of massage oil that Stephen had never noticed in the bathroom before. Presumably one of his household staff placed it there earlier. And since Tom knew where it was, obviously they'd also given him a tour of the master bedroom after he arrived to orient him.

When Tom started pouring the oil onto his hands Stephen suddenly worried what the stuff would do to the silk sheets. Then he realized that his maids changed them every morning anyway. So he laid back and started the relaxation breathing he'd been taught, which hadn't been working for him recently but which he hoped might help now.

Tom's hands were, if anything, even firmer and more comforting than those of the masseur at the club. Stephen peacefully drifted off to sleep under their strong ministrations.

[]

Stephen slept deeply for the first time in months that night, and also on the nights that followed. It had been so long since he'd had solid rest that his body plunged into slumber as soon as he started to relax from the massage. After a few nights Stephen was waking up refreshed and eager for the day, a feeling he'd nearly forgotten.

Stephen took his new energy to work, where for a long time now he'd been leaving almost everything in the hands of his subordinates. Like his father Stephen was a member of the executive class, holding the rank of CFO by natural right. As he understood it, in the past such titles actually had a great deal to do with what the responsibilities of the office entailed. This wasn't so much the case nowadays, they were basically a means of identifying rank in the corporate hierarchy. As CFO you were below the CEO and COO of your company but above the CIO and CCO and of course well above the various EVPs and VPs that filled out the ranks of the corporate elite.

It wasn't as if the company took any actual harm from Stephen's abstaining from an active role. He knows that many of his peers never even bother to visit the office except on ceremonial occasions. But now that he's feeling fit again Stephen wanted to contribute to the company's success the way he did when you was a young exec working under his father's wing.

The problem was that none of his underlings seemed to be able to translate Stephen's superb ideas into action. For several weeks he kept flinging off one clever scheme after another, but each time there was some stubborn snag or bothersome detail (in one case, an actual law against what he proposed!) that blocked the implementation of his brainchild. The lesser execs all blamed those below them for the difficulties, of course, and despite Stephen's growing frustration he knew it would be little use making an example of any of them. The rest would merely close ranks against him. Stephen found himself getting irritable and moody again, and not sleeping through the night.

One evening his stress got to the point where Stephen did something he'd not done for months. He retreated to the master bedroom after dinner and opened his closet, where he pressed his thumb against the lock that opened his cabinet of secrets.

Stephen plunged his hands into the first drawer, running his fingers through the silk and lace and satin things stored there. Immediately the anxiety receded, though it was replaced by a new tension deep in his chest, a familiar yearning that both excited and repelled him. Taking out a red silk and lace bustier Stephen held it up for a moment, then hurriedly began to strip down so he could put it on.

The pattern had been set long ago, but Stephen can still remember the day it started. Sonia had been "let go" so quickly that she hadn't been able to collect the items of her clothes that had been down in the laundry at the time. When Stephen spotted a few items of the au pair's underwear in the clean clothes basket sent up, he'd immediately made off with the things and hidden them among his own clothing. The attachment he'd had to Sonia wasn't sexual, it was that she was the one person in Stephen's life that he knew for certain cared about him, certainly more than his distant father or cold, disinterested mother seemed to. So it felt comforting to hold something that had once belonged to Sonia, particularly at times when Stephen was feeling lonely or sad. Eventually he started wearing the items as well, because it was a way of having a bit of Sonia with him during the day.

Then one day Janet caught him. The harsh spanking that followed was conducted while Stephen was still wearing Sonia's bra and panties and was accompanied by being called names he'd never heard before. Afterward Janet made Stephen personally throw the lingerie into the trash and swear never to do anything like that ever again. She also made sure he was rarely allowed any time alone, even checking up on him in bed during the night to make sure he wasn't doing anything "nasty." It wasn't until Stephen turned 16 and able to convince his mostly-absent parents that he no longer needed a nanny (whereupon they got rid of Janet) that he could stop living in constant fear of punishment.

Stephen didn't gravitate back to wearing women's things for years. He wanted to be normal, and Janet had made sure Stephen knew down to the depths of his soul that boys wearing girl clothes was unnatural and evil. This wasn't unusual among the lower classes, one of the political compromises the executive class made along the way (back when the popular vote mattered more than it did now) was a close alliance with social conservatives who wanted immorality like open homosexual behavior and abortion completely banned. The better sort of course merely paid lip service to this sort of thing and did whatever they wanted in private (and as long as abortion was available in places like Switzerland, who cared if it was illegal here?), but Janet was certainly not part of the better sort and it was she and not his parents that drummed her views into Stephen year after year. So when he came of age Stephen was certain he did not want to be with another man, and the idea of wearing women's garments felt shameful.

Instead it wasn't till after Stephen's first marriage was failing that it started again. His wife was on vacation without him, he was horny and missing her, and he happened to open her underwear drawer and spot a pair of fancy lace panties he'd always liked seeing her wear. Stephen took the panties out with a vague notion of using them to masturbate, but before he knew it he was wearing them and his cock was harder than it had been since the honeymoon.