The Family Business Ch. 03

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Ty's life starts to get a lot more complicated.
6.6k words
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Part 3 of the 3 part series

Updated 10/23/2022
Created 02/03/2011
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Errantry
Errantry
86 Followers

My first week at the family business soon fell into an exhausting but pleasant pattern -- wake up; blowjob; breakfast; work all damn day; skip lunch; dinner; fuck Sam; sleep. Learning the slave trade on the job was like drinking from a firehose -- too damn much too damn fast. Twenty seven centuries of accumulated Imperial law combined with constant modern controversy and revision did not breed simplicity.

That said, I wouldn't trade my situation for all the stars in the sky or a seat on sacred Olympus. Dad, damnably hard as it was to admit, had been right. This was in my blood. How could I turn back now? Still, I was getting ragged by week's end.

Samantha, my constant companion, also seemed to thrive in her own inscrutable way. My dark haired beauty was no longer a forgotten naked slave girl chained to an unending paperwork mill. Instead she had transformed almost over night into an office manager and the owner's favorite. She had a glow about her that was undeniable. My sphinx said little but I sensed she was pleased.

She filled her new office dress well and, though it varied from day to day in details, it was always about the same. She was topped by a black double-breasted six-button blazer or perhaps a tight sweater but never a bra beneath. My nudity-conditioned slave girl had managed to adapt to all sorts of clothing -- just not that. Sam was not a particularly buxom woman but what she did have, she flaunted well. Below the top she sported a matching form-fitting mini-skirt that did little to hide the brief black thong beneath. She kept her long gloves and patent leather high black boots that she had worn the day I met her. And of course, her collar -- the perpetual and persistent reminder that she was mine.

By the House of Erato's standards the ensemble was rather tame covering her almost completely below the neck. By any sane standard, Sam's uniform was enough to break hearts and steal breaths. Certainly both were done to me.

The week pushed on without interruption until I had two unexpected visitors stop by and casually complicate my life. The first was the Queen Shark herself, Desiree Romanov, my sales manager. She arrived just before what should have been the lunch hour on the last day of the work week -- Vensday -- the day of Venus. As I noticed her approach, it happened that for a moment both Sam and Desiree were almost side by side. I couldn't help but compare them.

They were both attractive, certainly, but in so many ways they were polar opposites. The simplest difference was hair color -- Desiree's straight platinum blonde and Sam's curled raven black. Build also separated -- Germanic vivaciousness versus Gallic suppleness. Desiree was free-born and had never known a slave's collar. Sam was born into slavery and raised in House DeMornay -- destined since birth for the block. Sam was a green-eyed sphinx -- elegant and enigmatic. I could never truly know what she was thinking or how she really felt about me. Desiree was a blue-eyed lioness. I didn't have to guess long what she wanted.

"You, Mister Rayburn,..." she remarked as she leaned on my desk like she owned it, "...have done pretty well for your first week. I saw the restock order you filed. Solid."

"Thanks."

"We've had a good week. I think that's quelled a lot of fears about the new boss," she said with a toothy grin.

I laughed a little. "Good to hear I guess."

She shrugged. "Better than the alternative. I've a couple of special orders I want to add, by the way. I've a lead on placing some high end Nubians."

"No problem, Miss Romanov. Just get it to Sam by the end of the day and I'll add it to the order."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Miss Romanov? Please, Ty. My slaves call me Miss Romanov. You can call me Desiree."

"Desiree. Sure," I answered as casually as I could. I had grown more accustomed to my Queen Shark over the course of the week, but there was still something fundamentally terrifying and predatory about her.

"You'll have my order by three. There's one more thing, Ty. Any plans for the weekend?"

"Plans? Uh..." was all I could muster.

"Dear Carl really tossed you into the fire, didn't he? No friends, no connections... I can help, Ty. I'm having a dinner party Saturday at my villa. Nothing too formal, just a celebration of the ides of June. I'll be sacrificing a bull and peacock to honor Juno Regina, my patron goddess. And if you care to meet the crème de la crème of Cythera City's slave trade, they'll all be there. I know they're all anxious to meet the great Carl Rayburn's boy. It would break my heart if you didn't come."

I was unsure what to make of the invitation. Was the Queen Shark actually being nice to me? "Sure. Why not?" I heard myself say.

"Excellent. Here's my address," she said handing me a folded bit of parchment. "See you there, Ty. Oh, and if you want, you can bring your pretty little slave. After all, there will be entertainment."

I was unsure what she meant. She was gone leaving only a memory of her shark-tooth smile and the invitation. Nothing too formal, eh? The carefully folded sepia parchment adorned with gold calligraphy and old Imperial script seemed to suggest otherwise. What had I just agreed to do? But then the real devastation came at the end of the parchment from a single little word: "togati". Literally, the word meant 'the people of the toga' -- an ancient description of the citizens of the Eternal and Imperial City. But what it actually meant was that I needed a formal toga -- tomorrow!

Togas. Gods in heaven, how I despised all the formality and folderol of togas. One of the blessings of the life of a college student was the lack of toga parties. Welcome to the real world, Ty. That's all changed.

It would have been easy to panic. Fortunately, the mountain of work I had ahead of me helped. I decided I would panic about this later and got back to attacking the mountain with my tiny little shovel. I was deep into the paperwork piles when my second complexity much more meekly approached my desk.

"A question, Mister Ty?" The voice startled me and I almost knocked over my coffee.

"Yes, of course, Cassie," I answered regaining some fraction of my composure. She was looking straight at me with her pretty hazel eyes. She wasn't wearing the usual office uniform. She had left the jacket I had bought her at Erato's back at her desk and so she was topless. That's right. I had been so deeply absorbed in pencil-pushing and paperwork that a nearly naked girl had crept up on me. In college, they called that focus.

"I don't want to be a corporate slave. I want to be your slave. What do I have to do to be yours?"

The question took me off guard and I could do was laugh. "Right now, I've only one slave. That's Sam and ... well..."

She's enough. I didn't say it, but I thought it loudly. Wait ... she's enough? One woman is enough? Is this what it feels like to be in l... Cassie interrupted my train of thought.

"I understand, Mister Ty. She's your favored concubine. I know that. But a man of your power and importance should have more than one. I like working in the office, Mister Ty, but I also want to serve you..." she paused leaning over and whispering in my ear. "...more directly."

There is no point in lying here. Having this petit vixen offering herself to me had an immediate effect. I shifted in my chair hoping to conceal the tent I was pitching. My efforts were an immediate failure and in true Cassie-style frankness, she had something to say about it.

"Oh, Mister Ty, are you excited by me?" She seemed almost giddy.

I cleared my throat. "Well, I think anyone ... anyone male anyways ... would be ..." Gods, did this sound as awkward as it felt saying it?

"Mister Ty, there's no need to conceal your hard-on from me. A slave should be flattered when her master finds her exciting." She slid under my desk, neatly folding her petit form to fit easily in the space between my legs. "I've ten minutes left of my break. Please, Mister Ty, all I really want for lunch is your cum."

She pulled the zipper of my pants slowly and as the teeth parted, she looked up into my eyes and smiled an impish mischievous grin. At that moment anything resembling resistance fled from me as fast as my breath as she gave my cock a single gentle kiss and then took me into her mouth. I looked around anxious. The immediate office area was abandoned thanks to the lunch break. Even Sam was gone down into the records room photocopying licenses. Cassie had timed her approach well.

Sure. Why not? I leaned back and let the girl work.

She was more eager than expert. I'm not claiming to be any great connoisseur of oral sex. In my twenty-two year long life, I've had a woman go down on me (counting this one) exactly nine times. Yes, I have been counting. And five of those times had been this week. That said, I know what I like and I'd already grown accustomed to Sam's gentle morning interludes. Honestly, she was the best damned alarm clock ever.

This was nothing like Sam. Instead Cassie was fast and frenetic. She devoured my cock, eagerly pumping and sucking. It was an assault of sensation. She grabbed my waist to increase her traction and continued to increase her speed.

My breathing became ragged and I let out a low moan of desire. Just when I thought she could work my cock no faster, this hyper little bundle of sex and energy did exactly that. Her mouth was a piston of pleasure upon me. Technique? Subtlety? Those were not Cassie's concern. Her only interest seemed to be working my cock as fast and hard as she could.

I closed my eyes and reveled in the feeling. So good. So very good. She didn't stop. She didn't even slow down. She kept up her work, pumping me again and again.

I didn't last long. She had asked for this and right now all I could think about was giving it to her. I seized her, at last stopping her frenzy, and then in one ecstatic spasm I came. I know intellectually that the average amount of ejaculate is something like half a teaspoon. See, I learned something in college. But right now it felt like I was drowning the little slave girl in gallons of my cum.

Eventually I relaxed and let go of her. She didn't cough or wheeze or gasp instead she simply pulled away from me and looked up dreamily into my half-open eyes. She opened her mouth and showed me her tongue glazed white with my released. And then she closed and swallowed. She neatly tucked my member back into my underwear and refastened my pants, only pausing to give me a playful squeeze.

She stood up still topless and leaned over to whisper in my ear. "I knew you'd be yummy, Mister Ty. Got to get back to work."

She skipped away like a school girl. The very first though that went through my head was "Had I just cheated on Sam?"

...

The rest of the day was long uneventful drudgery. I'd tell you more about it, but it was boring enough to live through it, yet alone to replay it one more time. It was almost eight o' clock in the evening when Sam finally came over to my desk and reminded me of the time. The rest of the office was already quiet and dark. The girls had gone to the guest rooms hours ago. Most of the sales staff had also departed though a few stalwarts still manned the sluggish sales floor below.

"Time to go, Ty," Sam remarked with her usual wicked smirk. "Don't worry. It'll all be here Monday."

I nodded.

"You're right. Gods, look at the time." I paused and swallowed hard. I had to tell her. I needed to get this off my chest. "I've something I really need to tell you," I said suddenly very nervous. "Cassie, at lunch, she..."

"Went down on you," said Sam matter-of-factly. "Yes, I know."

"You knew?"

"I came up from records needing your seal and saw you two playing around. I just came back later."

"Ah. And you're not upset?"

Sam cocked her head. "Why would I be upset? It's not the best idea to play at the office. You risk getting caught and, to be frank, it's not very professional. However, you're not the first owner of Carl's I've walked in on. Let's just say, like father, like son."

That took me back. "Really?"

"In that very chair you're sitting in," she said with a smirk.

I stood up rather abruptly. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed. Did you enjoy her?"

I swallowed hard. "It was ... good."

"Then you should take her home with us. You can have time to more properly play with your new pet."

"You...wouldn't mind?"

"Would I mind?" she barely stifled a laugh. "Titus Rayburn, you remain the weirdest master I have ever encountered. If you wish it, Ty -- no, of course I wouldn't mind. She is rather cute. Now, let's get dinner. I'm famished."

"Absolutely," I answered. "There is one other thing -- I need a formal dress toga in less than twenty four hours."

I smiled weakly.

...

We arrived back to the motel just a few minutes shy of midnight. The three of us were well fed and I had a brand new fitted toga set to be delivered tomorrow. All in all it had been a good night. I know what was supposed to come next -- a hot three-way with my two slave girls. Honestly, I was too fried to even contemplate sex. Instead, we uncorked a bottle of wine we had picked up at a neighborhood bottle shop right beside the pizzeria where we'd dined. Three ways could wait.

What sounded good now was a nice taste of vino. With a pleasing pop the bottle opened. The cork had the Pegasus on it that marked it as an authentic Toscana wine. It was also covered with a cryptic wax seal pressed with DOCG and mysterious names etched into the glass like 'Brunello di Montalcino'. Even as I smelled it, I could tell the shop owner's recommendation had been a worthy one. It was smooth and dark -- full of the perfume of chocolate, leather and raspberries. The box holding the thin-stemmed lead crystal glassware held four delicate goblets and I filled three of them.

Cassie took a sip immediately after I handed her a glass and smiled, "Yummy!"

"You should really let it breathe for a minute," remarked Sam slowly swirling her cup as she reclined upon the motel's small couch. "It'll really open up in a few minutes."

"It's nice already," I said all the while breathing in its heady vapor.

"Guys, this is so great!" bubbled Cassie who continued to sip her wine regardless of Sam's instruction. "My last owner -- Mickey -- gods, he drank nothing but cheap light beer and he got real pissed if you touched it!"

"Sounds like a real renaissance man," Sam said.

"As if. Is there anything worse than being owned by white trash? I have no idea how we got his credit approved. I'm just glad I got repossessed before he knocked me up or one of his creepy friends gave me VD." Cassie visibly shuddered.

"Knocked you up? Aren't you fixed?" asked Sam.

"Just Reces," she shrugged. This I had heard of. Reces (rhymes with pieces) -- short for reversible chemical sterilization -- the wonder breakthrough of twenty seventh century pharmacology. One very expensive injection sterilizes someone for five years or until they receive the counter-agent. I have no idea how it works and if I did doubtless some goon from big pharma would show up and beat me senseless -- very cutting edge, very black box, very lucrative. I'm told it has no side effects but I note it's only commonly administered to slaves.

"Yeah, me too," said Sam with a sigh. "I got my booster a couple of years ago."

"Anyways," continued Cassie keeping her effervescent smile, "I'm glad to be back at C.C.'s."

"I have a question for you two girls. Correct me, if I'm wrong, but you were raised in Gallia, right?" I said to Samantha.

"Oui! House Demornay's chateau is near the mustard capitol of the world -- Dijon," Sam answered.

"And you were raised in Brittania?"

"House Capulet is not far from Shakespeare's hometown of Stratford-upon-Avon," said Cassie with a nod.

"Neither of you have any trace of an accent. How's that possible?"

It was Sam of course who had the answer. "In Demornay, and I assume this is true in Capulet, girls are picked for the lucrative American market at age fourteen or so and trained to speak like a native. It's believed to help with salability. There are Houses that don't bother. Most Asian girls speak English with an accent." She shrugged. "I know it often seems like slave girls are just brainless sex toys, but the truth is we're highly engineered luxury goods."

"Oh my gods, Sam!" laughed Cassie. "You sound exactly like my house mother. She was Gallic too -- Madam Jareaux. 'Yew must be ze fantasy zat ze buyer craves.'" She giggled and finished her first glass of wine and silently pleaded for another. I was happy to provide.

"Okay, I take it back. Some of us aren't brainless sex toys," said Sam with a smirk.

Cassie answered the playful snipe by sticking out her tongue and then taking another sip of wine.

We sat in the motel room and chatted late into the night. The first bottle was soon empty and a second and third would follow its fate fast enough. We talked and laughed and lied about a dozen different things. There was no sex or even any overt talk of it. Instead, I just got to know these two young women that the fates had seen fit to put into my life.

Sam had an acerbic wit about her but it became clear enough that she liked Cassie almost like a little sister. No, that's wrong -- not a sister. Cassie was Sam's kitten -- a prized pet she like to play with and tease. Cassie, on the other hand, just seemed to like everyone. Except Mickey, her previous owner. What had that bastard done to her?

The closest we came to anything sexual that night was after a few more drinks when little Cassie, flushed and frivolous from her wine, ended up with her head snuggled in Sam's lap. Cassie looked up at my green-eyed sphinx and said dreamily, "You're so pretty," shortly before drifting off. I resolved then and there that Cassie would get her wish. I would have her for my own.

And what about Sam? About Sam I was lost in doubt and uncertainty. As I watched her gently stroke Cassie's mop of brown hair and listened as she talked intelligently about everything from wine to work and music and theater, I began to understand what she truly was. Sam was a twenty seventh century courtesan -- a muse of the modern day. She should have been lounging in the courts of kings, entertaining and inspiring royalty with her wry wit and wicked smiles, while dressed in Shanghai silks and the lustrous emeralds of old Persia. Instead, somehow she had drifted to me. How brightly must Fortuna smile to deliver such a precious gift?

I became certain that night that I loved her. But I was also certain that I had no way of knowing if her feelings towards me were genuine or simply the well practiced art of this capable courtesan. Of course she would tell me that she loved me if I would only ask. She would no doubt carry this so-called romance as far as I required of her. But in heart, would I truly be her love or would I simply be the monster that ensured she would always be a slave? There was only one way to find the truth. All I must do was free her and see if she would return of her own free will.

I was equally certain that this was a risk I could never take.

...

We slept in the next day. It was well past noon before any of us stirred. I got out of bed first, stretched and then realized I hadn't brushed my teeth last night. Something had crawled in there and died. I walked over to the motel's efficient little bathroom and took care of the essentials -- shit, shower and a shave. I emerged from the shower and heard a slight moan from outside the bathroom. Curious, I went to investigate.

I emerged from the steamy bath to see Sam between Cassie's legs luxuriously licking her kitten's sex as the petite little vixen moaned and writhed under my courtesan's gentle feminine attention. Sam paused from her work only long enough to say, in a low throaty sexy whisper, "She's almost ready for you, dominus."

Errantry
Errantry
86 Followers
12