“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re an expensive investment.”
She shrugged. “You have to spend something on my maintenance to keep my resale value high.”
“I guess.”
“Do you mind if I ask how much you paid for me?”
“Eighteen thousand plaqs. Fifteen hundred from each of us.”
She was surprised. “You got a bargain. I’d go for more than that in auction.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been sold for a while. But I bet you’d get around twenty-five for me.”
He frowned. “When I met you a few months ago, you said thirty thousand.”
She had forgotten that he’d asked about her price when they’d first met in a clinic waiting room a month ago. “Twenty-five, thirty. You won’t know until you put me in the auction block. In either case, you got a bargain if you bought me for only eighteen.”
“I guess the doctor likes me. Did me a favor because I’ve been his patient for a while and I told him that I wished that I could buy a slave like you.”
Irene doubted that the doctor had any warm feelings for an auto mechanic and his buddies. More likely he wanted a quick sale and liked the idea of selling her to a dozen working men who would use her hard and wear her out quick. Besides, the doctor didn’t own her – his friend, the professor, did – so the doctor wouldn’t take the loss when she was sold below market value. Not that the professor would lose anything. He’d won her by cheating in a poker game.
While they waited for the kennel service, they sat on the couch and snuggled. Jack told her all about the cars that he’d fixed during the day.
A pleasure slave can do more than provide sex. Sometimes listening to a man is the best way to please him.
* * *
Jack was visibly disconcerted when he heard the knock on the door. “I don’t have a robe. Maybe you should throw a coat on. He nodded at the rack by the door.
Irene laughed lightly. “For a kennelman? He inspects nude slaves all day long. I’d just have to take the coat back off thirty seconds after you let him in.”
Jack looked offended.
“I’m sorry,” Irene said. “I forget that you never had a slave before. When I first became a slave, this was all new to me, too. You can just let him in.”
There was a second knock.
“What if it’s not the kennelman? What if it’s one of my friends?”
“Then it’s up to you whether you let him use me or not.”
That dropped Jack’s jaw.
“I’ve serviced a lot of my owners’ guests,” she said. “Doing what you want with me includes letting other people use me if you want. It’s completely up to you.”
Third knock.
“You better let him in before he goes away.”
Jack opened the door.
“Kennel Pro.”
“Come in,” Jack said.
A familiar figure stepped through the door.
“Barry!” Irene said.
“You know him?” Jack asked.
“Barry was the first kennelman to take care of me.”
“Hello, Flame,” Barry said. “What do I call you now?”
“Mr. Dodge called me Irene. No one has renamed me since.”
“Irene’s not a slave name.” Barry looked slightly offended.
“I was given my lady’s name back to humiliate me when I lost a game at an entertainment.” She fingered the gold collar. “They put this on me to drive the point home.”
He made no comment, but she knew what he was thinking. Only animals wore collars.
He handed a bag to Jack. “This is the standard starter kit.”
Jack didn’t touch it. “It’s the slave’s.”
Barry handed it to Irene.
She set it on the floor. She would look at it later.
“The starter kit comes with a complete physical inspection,” Barry said to Jack. “Do you have her cumulative record?”
“It’s here.” Jack opened a drawer and pulled a slim file out of it. The doctor hadn’t given him the keys when he’d transferred her to the new owners, but he had given Jack her records. That was the law.
“Turn around,” Barry said to Irene in a professional tone.
She knew what he wanted and pulled her long hair over her shoulder to bare the nape of her neck.
Barry checked the slave registration number that was tattooed on her against the numbers on the file. It was a necessary formality even though he knew her personally. Slave’s names changed at their owner’s whim. Only the registration number provided positive identification. The law required that he read it to ensure that Jack had been given the correct records.
He had her lie down and checked her from top to bottom for everything from dandruff to athlete’s foot. He spent longer checking her mouth than her genitals.
That amused Irene. A kennelman didn’t dare use a slave below the waist, but she had given Barry many fine blowjobs as gratuities when Mr. Dodge had owned her. In fact, Barry had been the recipient of her first blowjob.
Her mouth held many pleasant memories for him.
She would have happily given him another blowjob if Jack hadn’t been present, but blowjobs of gratitude were a secret shared only by a slave and her kennelman. She doubted that many owners knew about that tradition.
When he was finished, he told Jack that she was in perfect health.
She wasn’t surprised. She was young and she felt good.
Barry handed him a printed sheet of paper. “This is an itemized invoice. I can take a check now, or if you like, you can have your bookkeeper remit payment to the address at the bottom.”
Jack wrote a check for four hundred and thirty nine plaqs.
Barry thanked him and handed him a printed pamphlet. “These are our options for ongoing service.” He looked around the room. “You probably don’t need full kennel service. The minimum is a monthly physical inspection and contraceptive injection.”
“We’ll get back to you on that.” Jack ushered him out the door.
When the kennelman was gone, Jack asked, “Is there a dress in that bag? They said that there’d be a dress.”
Irene pulled a standard slave’s housedress from the bag. It was a beige cotton shift. The bag also contained a pair of shoes – the simple flats with fabric uppers that slaves wore on the street.
“We’ve got to get going. They’ll be waiting for us.”
She pulled the dress over her head and slipped her feet into the shoes. Both fit. The kennel service must have consulted her records to get her size. They were accustomed to dealing with aristocrats so they delivered a full service. They didn’t expect the owner to do anything but pay them.
* * *
Jack took her to a pub – The Split Willow – that was about a mile away. They walked. Jack had a car – he’d driven her home when he’d taken possession of her – but he didn’t use it any more than necessary. Cars were expensive to operate.
The dress was thin and the night chill, but Irene was glad to be out of the little apartment.
Even if she had minded, she wouldn’t have complained. Slaves who complained got caned.
The pub was hot and noisy. Jack went straight to the bar. “Do you drink beer?” he asked.
“I eat and drink anything that you tell me to,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “Two pints of porter.”
The barman drew the pints into straight glasses and Jack carried them into the back room.
Irene followed. Since walking into the pub, she had been aware that there was only one other woman in the room; a heavy, middle-aged, blousy woman was clearing tables.
All the men watched her with hungry eyes.
It was within Jack’s rights to announce a round of blowjobs on him and she would have to service every man in the place. She knew that he wouldn’t do that, but more than a few of the patrons looked hopeful.
In the back room, most of t
he men who owned her were clustered about a couple of tables in the corner.
They ogled her even more intently than the men in the outer room because they had a right to her service without an invitation from Jack.
She was ready to give her body to any of them in any way they asked. That was what a pleasure slave did.
But they had business, not pleasure, to settle tonight.
“I just had to pay five hundred plaqs for supplies and an inspection,” Jack said without preamble. That’s forty plaqs from each of you. I need to get it tonight so that my check will clear.”
There was some grumbling.
Jack held up his hand. “Yeah, I know, but you knew that there were going to be expenses.”
“What supplies?” one of the men asked.
“The dress.” Jack pointed to Irene. “Shoes. Other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
He looked at Irene. “You want to tell them?”
To a man, they were already looking at her. Staring, actually.
“Toiletries. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Lube. A butt plug–”
“What did you say?” another man shouted.
“Butt plug.”
“What in hell is that?”
“Just what it sounds like. A fat rubber plug that I shove into my asshole to keep it stretched so that I can accommodate men who want to use me that way.”
There was some general hooting and joking about shitty dicks, but she noticed that a couple of the men looked more than a little interested. She’d expect a rear-door entry or two before long.
When the hubbub receded a bit, one of the other men stood up and said, “I understand about expenses, but I’m not so sure about handing money over to you just because you come around asking.”
“Yeah,” someone else shouted. “How’s this going to work?”
Jack looked at a loss.
Irene said, “Do you want my suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Set up a separate bank account. One that requires two of you to sign checks so that no single person can withdraw money by himself. Everyone makes a deposit every month. Make an estimate of my annual costs now and then adjust the fee as necessary to keep a certain balance. I suggest a minimum of five hundred plaqs to cover any emergencies. Keep proper records of all costs and let anyone inspect the books any time they want.”
There was a moment of silence. Then one of the men said, “How about if you keep the books? You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“I could if you want. It’s pretty simple. I can’t have anything to do with the money, though. Slaves can’t have bank accounts or anything like that. I haven’t touched a plaq since I was sold.”
“That sounds perfect,” the man said. “You keep the books and Jack and someone else can have the bank account. Everyone watches everyone else.”
“Good books make friends stay friends,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll make up a preliminary budget as soon as I can,” she said.
“Now we got to talk about schedules,” Jack said. “I’ve had her today–”
“I bet you had her!” someone shouted.
“All day!” someone else shouted.
“Every way but up!”
“Nah! He had her up, too!”
“No! He was the one who was up!”
Jack let them heckle him for a few minutes while he kept grinning like the dog who ate the Sunday roast. Eventually they got down to the practicalities.
Irene had expected that she would be installed in a kennel and any man could visit her any time he wanted. Apparently that was not the plan. Her owners were going to rotate her, each having her for one day and then passing her on to the next.
It was simple in concept, not so simple in execution.
An older man shook his head. “Easy for you, Jack. You aren’t married. I can’t take her to my place. Martha would kill me.”
“Yeah,” another man said. “Most of us are married.”
“Well, you can’t all be coming around to my apartment,” Jack said. “I live there and I’m using my bed every night.”
“Especially when you got our slave there!” someone shouted.
There were more hoots.
“I can’t be renting a hotel room every time it’s my turn,” someone said.
“We got to get an apartment for her. Then we can go to her place when it’s our turn. That’s part of the monthly cost.”
“I don’t need to pay for an apartment,” Jack said. “I already got a place for her when I have her.”
The discussion got active. Then it got heated. Seven of her owners had wives. One lived with his parents. Four had their own apartments.
The first proposal was that everyone should pay one-twelfth of the rent on her apartment. The four who lived alone in their own apartments objected that they shouldn’t have to pay for what they didn’t need.
Jack offered a counter proposal. The eight who needed her to have her own apartment should split the cost eight ways. The majority rejected that on the grounds that the four who could have her at their own homes might not do that. They might find it more convenient to fuck her in the apartment that the others were paying for. Especially the two who had steady girlfriends who might sometimes stay over.
It went to a vote. The majority agreed that everyone should pay one-twelfth of her rent. It would be part of the monthly fee. The four who were voted down grumbled but they agreed to go along with the plan.
The other item on the agenda was scheduling. The solution was simple. Each man would have her for one day in turn, the order to be determined by drawing lots. Men could do what they wanted with their day, including swapping days with another man or trading hours in their day for hours in another man’s day.
They didn’t want to talk about the details in front of the whole group.
After they had come to a decision, Jack turned to Irene and said, “You know more about slavery than us. Is there anything else that we should discuss?”
“I can think of a couple of things. First, what should be prohibited? The basic answer is nothing. You own me, and you can do whatever you like to me. But there is one consideration. You should agree that you won’t do anything that lowers my value. You can’t kill me, cripple me, or scar me too badly. That’s not out of consideration for me, but to protect your own investment.”
All the men nodded. That was a no-brainer but needed to be said.
“Second, some of you may decide that I need to be punished for failing to please you in some way. Slaves are punished on occasion. Some owners find excuses because they like to see a slave suffer. Some owners don’t bother with excuses. I don’t want to be punished, but I don’t have any say in it. The one consideration, though, is that you might agree that a punishment should not intrude on another owner’s time. If you were to punish me today, for example, you wouldn’t want to do something that makes me unable to perform for whoever will be using me tomorrow. I suggest that, if you want to punish me, you ask me for suggestions. I can recommend punishments that cause considerable suffering but will not impede my performance the following day.”
All the men nodded again.
Irene could see a couple of men’s eyes gleaming at the thought of punishing her. Not every day was going to be an easy day.
“Third, only one of you has had a chance to enjoy me so far. Before you start your rotation through the days, I recommend that you find a room for me for the next couple of days and declare open season. I’d hate to see some of you have to wait for more than a week to sample what you paid so dearly for.” She was seized by an impish impulse and lifted the hem of her dress to her waist.
The men’s cheers filled the room.
They had all seen her completely nude when they purchased her, but flashing them like this seemed much naughtier.
Someone yelled, “How many of us can you take in a day?”
“How many hours are there in a day?” she rep
lied with a grin.
More cheers.
“How many of us can you take at one time?” someone else asked.
“I’ve got three holes,” she replied. “Gentlemen’s choice. No waiting.”
The men laughed.
Someone proposed that they rent a room at the Red Swan Inn for two days. There was no need for a vote. Agreement was unanimous.
She was going to have a long night.
But these guys were going to be pretty tired at work tomorrow, so it evened out.
She begged a scoop of butter from the kitchen on her way out. Having no pockets, she hadn’t brought the lube from the kennel starter kit and she suspected that she’d need to grease her asshole for at least one of these guys.
* * *
The butter went unused. For the first round, everyone was happy with a quick fuck in the missionary position.
The first couple of men got the full cunt massage treatment but her muscles got tired and she couldn’t keep doing that for all her owners. The ones who got the massage were thrilled, but so were the ones who did not. They didn’t know what they had missed and wouldn’t find out how much she could do until next time.
After the first few men, the night became a blur of kisses and cocks. Every time one man left, another came into the room. By the fifth man, her cunt was aching something fierce, but she welcomed the next cock, regardless. And all the ones after that. That was what a pleasure slave did.
She didn’t keep count, but she knew that she didn’t service every owner that first night at the Red Swan Inn. She assumed that some were squeamish about fresh sloppy seconds. The half dozen who didn’t care made up for the missing men, though. Most returned for a second go at her. She was pretty sure that a couple of the men came back for thirds some time after midnight.
She couldn’t come for every man, but she came at least three times that she recalled. It might have been four.
After the last man was done, she fell asleep in a puddle of semen mixed with the copious amounts of lubricant that her vagina secreted over the course of three hours of continuous intercourse. The puddle was too large to avoid.
Owners by the Dozen (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 4) Page 2
