Owners by the Dozen (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 4) Read online

  Slave of the Aristocracy, Book Four:

  Owners by the Dozen

  by Ashley Zacharias

  Copyright (c) 2014 Ashley Zacharias

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, either in whole or in part, in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “We own you now.”

  The slave, Irene, was wet and cold and exhausted. She was shivering uncontrollably and could barely stay on her feet. The night air was chill. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself and try to rub some warmth into her skin but she couldn’t. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back.

  She looked at the hand that held her leash. It was grimed with engine grease. The black was not just smeared on but was ground into the skin. It couldn’t be washed off. It was an auto mechanic’s hand.

  She raised her eyes and looked at the other men who surrounded her. An even dozen. “All of you?” Her words were mumbled but understandable.

  The men stared at her naked, shivering, goose-pimpled body with keen interest. She was beautiful, even when she was nearly drowned.

  “Each of us owns one-twelfth of you,” the man holding her leash said. “We formed a consortium to buy you.”

  “Then I guess you’ll all want a turn at me.” She loved sex but not with so many at once. Not when she was almost dead on her feet.

  “Why are you all wet?” one of the other men asked. He was older, nearly fifty. His hair was already going grey at the temples and was quite thin on top.

  “You didn’t see what they were doing to me?” she asked.

  He looked at the poster on the wall. “Some kind of art show?”

  “For the last ten hours, my owner was dunking me in ice water every ten minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “To punish me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because his friend didn’t like me. He tortured me in the dunking tank for ten hours straight and then he let his friend sell me to you.”

  The mechanic looked at her sharply. “Is selling you to us part of your punishment?”

  Irene managed a sad smile through her chattering teeth. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  The men looked at each other with distressed expressions.

  “If I stay out here in the cold much longer, I’m going to freeze to death,” Irene said. “You don’t want to lose your investment so soon after you bought me. Why don’t you take me to wherever you’re going to keep me and I’ll do the best that I can to service all of you. I just ask that you don’t judge me on my performance tonight. I’m no shape to do a decent job. But tomorrow, after I’ve warmed up and had a bit of a rest, you’ll enjoy using me a lot more. That’s a promise.”

  The older man stepped forward and put his hand out to cup Irene’s breast gently.

  His hand was also rimed in grease. He was probably another auto mechanic.

  “You feel wonderful,” he said. “But you been rode too hard already today. I can wait a day or two to try you out.” He turned to the others. “I’m going home. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  “Me, too,” another man said. He gripped Irene’s arm lightly. “You get a good night’s sleep, dear.” He walked off into the darkness.

  “Yeah,” a third man said. He gave Irene a quick peck on the cheek and then walked away.

  One by one, each of the men followed, touching her gently, bidding her good night, and walking into the darkness, until the only man remaining was the one holding her leash.

  Her eyes welled in gratitude for their consideration. This was more than a pleasure slave had any right to expect.

  “I’m Jack,” the remaining man said.

  “I know. Jack Everley. I met you once in Dr. Goldman’s waiting room.”

  “You remember.” He grinned.

  She nodded.

  “We better get you to bed.” He led her away to her new life.

  * * *

  The apartment was a good-sized bachelor suite – one large room with an adjoining bathroom and a closet. There was a double bed and nightstand at one end, a small table with four chairs in the middle, and a sink, stove, and fridge at the other. It also accommodated two easy chairs and a coffee table.

  “This is my place,” Jack said. He looked at his new slave and frowned. “I don’t suppose you have keys for that leash and handcuffs.”

  She shook her head. “Moe didn’t give them to you when he sold me?”

  “No. He just handed me your leash.”

  “He’s an asshole to the end,” she said.

  Jack frowned. “You don’t need to be chained up, do you? You’re not going to run away if I unlock you?”

  “No. Slaves never run away. If they try, they always get caught and the penalty is execution by crucifixion. You can keep me chained if you want, but that would be for your amusement, not for fear that I’ll try to escape.”

  “Right now, it doesn’t look like I have any choice. I don’t have any keys.”

  She yawned. With her hands cuffed behind her back, she couldn’t cover her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Come on,” Jack said and led her to the bed. “You lie down here.” He pulled the blanket and sheet back and she lay on the bed.

  She was still shivering so he tucked the sheet and blanket tight around her. “You try to get some sleep. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  It was nine by the alarm clock next to the bed.

  Despite having her hands still locked behind her back and a heavy chain around her neck, Irene fell asleep as soon as he closed the door.

  Forty-five minutes later, Jack shook her awake again.

  “Huh?” She tried to clear the fog from her brain.

  “Chin up,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  He pushed her chin up to expose her neck.

  Irene had never seen bolt cutters before, but she knew that the pair that Jack held in his hands were big ones. The handles were three and a half feet long. He put the jaws over one of the links in the chain around her neck and snapped it right off. Then he rolled her over and gave the handcuffs the same treatment. The cheap cuffs that her previous owner had slapped on her wrists were no match for the powerful leverage exerted by the long handles.

  It’s useful to have a mechanic in the house.

  When her hands were free, she mumbled her thanks, rolled over, and fell back asleep.

  She didn’t wake up until the sun was high in the sky.

  She was alone. From the bed, she could see that Jack was nowhere in the one-room apartment.

  She showered and then waited for Jack to return. She had no clothes but was not concerned. Pleasure slaves were normally kept nude unless they were around people who might find that offensive – outdoors or working in the manor where the wife lived.

  There were nothing to read in the apartment – no books, magazines, or newspapers – so she spent the day listening to the radio.

  She had been a lady, the wife of a lord, before she had sold herself into slavery nine months ago. Her husband and her had a TV in their manor – a state-of-the-art black and white floor model with a big fifteen-inch screen – but she never watched it. The programming was mindless pap designed to entertain the common masses. It offered nothing of interest to the highborn.

  She found it curious that Jack didn’t have one. He was exactly the kind of person that she’d always imagined watching TV in the evenings. Maybe they were too expensive, or maybe he didn’t h
ave enough room in his apartment, or maybe even he found it dull entertainment.

  She napped for another hour in the afternoon. She woke up feeling much better.

  The bedside clock said that it was five-fifteen when Jack returned.

  “You’re looking good,” he said.

  “Thank-you. Would you like me to do something for you, now?”

  “Like what?”

  “Bend over? Lie on the bed and spread my legs? Get down on my knees and give you a blowjob? I’m yours for whatever you want.”

  Jack laughed. “God! You get right to the point, don’t you?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.

  “I guess you are. Okay. I’m going to take a shower. Then, I guess we’ll have a roll in the hay before supper.”

  When he returned, he was naked.

  The blanket and top sheet were folded neatly on a chair next to the bed. Irene was lying on her back with her legs slightly spread. “Come and fuck me,” she said.

  His cock rose as he crossed the room. He seemed to like her forthright approach to sex.

  When he lay down beside her, she waited to see what he wanted to do.

  He wanted to kiss her. He took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  He kissed well – slow and soft – and she enjoyed it. But that was his only foreplay. After a few minutes of kissing, he inserted himself between her legs and pushed into her.

  She was ready to accommodate him. She was a pleasure slave and didn’t expect candy and flowers. Seduction was for lovers. Slaves expected to be used.

  She began to work immediately. She had undertaken an exercise program to strengthen the muscles in her cunt and had developed exceptional control. She squeezed his cock in time with his thrusts. That way, she not only gave him pleasure, but she stimulated herself in a most agreeable way.

  He came in less than thirty seconds – far too quickly for her to bring herself to climax – and rolled back off her.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  She raised an eyebrow. She knew what he wanted to hear and a pleasure slave’s duty is to please. “You were great.”

  He sighed and smiled. “So were you.”

  He wouldn’t be so quick the second time. “You were so good that I want you to use me again as soon as you’re ready.”

  “I guess I must be good if you want me again.”

  “I sure do.”

  “First, though, I want to eat. Are you hungry?”

  “I haven’t eaten for two days.”

  He stared at her. “Why not?”

  “I was given supper two days ago. But my owner was punishing me yesterday so he didn’t give me breakfast before he took me to the gallery to torture me in the dunking tank all day. Then he sold me to you.”

  “Why didn’t you eat breakfast when you got up?”

  “You didn’t give me permission to eat your food. Slaves don’t steal from their owners. I wouldn’t eat even a crumb of bread that had fallen on your floor without permission.” She didn’t bother telling him that a slave can be mutilated or even executed for the smallest theft.

  “For god’s sake. That’s stupid. If you’re hungry, you eat. The fridge is right there. I never heard of someone starving herself to death when there’s food sitting in the fridge.”

  “I wasn’t in danger of dying. That takes a lot more than two days. I’ve fasted longer than this.”

  He looked at her. “How long?”

  “One of my previous owners sometimes punished my by fasting me. Once, I was fasted for three and a half days.”

  “What did you do to deserve that?”

  “I promised his guests that I would give them better sex than they ever had before. Some of them said that I was as good as their best, but not better. I was punished for not being better.”

  He stared at her for a long time.

  “I guess I was really being punished for my arrogant promise.”

  “For promising the best sex ever.”

  “I did try. Really hard.” She smiled. “I had an incentive.”

  “So he came up with the idea to not let you eat for three days.”

  “Not exactly. It was my idea. I proposed that a three-day fast would be a suitable punishment for my failure. He simply agreed to it.”

  Jack stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

  “No. You had to be there. It made sense at the time.”

  “Are you going to tell me to punish you?”

  “No. Not unless you want me to. If you think that I need to be punished and ask me how to do it, I can suggest a number of very unpleasant things that you can do to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Besides not feeding me for three days? Beat my ass with your belt. Put me in an ice water bath for ten minutes. Tie my wrists to my ankles for a few hours.”

  “I don’t want to do any of those things to you.”

  “I don’t want to give you any reason to punish me.”

  “Then we’ll be fine. Now let’s get something to eat. There’s a chicken in the fridge. Do you know how to cook chicken?”

  “Yes. My first owner taught me to cook. You like it fried? That’s the fastest. Cut it up, dredge the pieces in flour, and then fry them.”

  “Then let’s get it frying.”

  “Can we have sex again afterward?”

  “Sure.” Jack was a generous man. He was happy to share his cock with her.

  * * *

  The second time that Jack made love to Irene, it was the same, but took him a little longer. She came like a diesel locomotive.

  “Wow,” he said when he rolled off her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I needed that. It’s been weeks since I got off. I like sex.”

  “You sure do. I’ve never had a woman who did that.”

  “Came that hard?”

  “Yeah.”

  She remembered his previous thirty-second performance and suspected that he’d never felt a woman come at all when he was inside her.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

  “No. Not now. I had a couple, but I’m kind of busy these days.”

  “Being an auto mechanic?”

  “Yeah. And with my friends.” He stretched like a cat. He was fit – not muscle-bound but lean and lithe. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  She didn’t want to tell these men that she had been an aristocrat – in fact, the wife of a lord – before she sold herself into slavery. She wasn’t sure how they would react to that. She knew that some commoners resented aristocrats and she didn’t want her owners to take revenge on her for perceived or real slights that they might have suffered at the hands of her previous social class.

  An owner who didn’t like a slave could make her life hell on earth. Sometimes even an owner who liked her could do that. Like her previous owner.

  So, she said, “I had a pretty normal life before I became a slave. I had a husband but no children. It was boring. It’s not always nice being a slave but I can say that it’s seldom boring. After I was enslaved, I never saw my husband again. This is a whole new life.”

  He glanced at the clock. “I’ve got a meeting with the other owners tonight. In half an hour.” He looked back at her. “It’s about you. Maybe you should come along.”

  “I need a housedress,” she said. “I can’t go out in public like this. There are edicts about decency. You could get arrested.” Public nudity was one of the few offenses that could be applied to the slave’s owner rather than the slave. Sometimes owners had to take some responsibility for their slaves. Not often, but sometimes.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. The sheriff will arrest you if you take me out nude.”

  “But you were naked when I brought you here.”

  “We were lucky that your neighbors didn’t notice. Or that they didn’t complain if they did notice.” She suspected that, because by tradition, slaves were always nude when they were transferred to a new owner, the
law would consider her brief appearance during transport to be a special case.

  “Where can I get a dress for you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. She had never seen a slave dress for sale in any clothing store that she had patronized when she was a lady. And she had patronized a lot of stores. “There are slave kennel services. You might phone one of them and find out where they get housedresses. There are a few other supplies that I need, too.”

  “Like what?”

  She gestured to her bald mons pubis. “This doesn’t come naturally. I need to attend to it every couple of days. Also, I need lube and a butt plug. And I’ll need a contraceptive shot every month.”

  He stared at her in shock. “What’s a butt plug?” He could guess from the name but he couldn’t believe that he was right.

  “Like it says. A plug that I can put in my asshole. I need to keep it stretched and lubed so that you guys can use me that way when you want.”

  “Men use your butt?”

  “Not all men. Some like it that way. You can try it if you want.”

  “No thanks.”

  She smiled. “If you ever change your mind, just let me know.”

  He didn’t smile back. He suspected that she was teasing him. “How much is all of this going to cost?”

  “I don’t know. Slaves don’t have money. Their owners have to take care of them.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine that you know where to find this kennel service.”

  “I’d try the phone book.”

  He looked over at the phone that was sitting on the end of the counter. “It’s almost seven. I don’t imagine that they’re open now.”

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  “Right.” He opened the book that was sitting next to the phone. “Humph. There’s two. Which one should I call?”

  “I don’t know. Flip a coin.”

  He didn’t flip a coin. He dialed the first one.

  “Yeah, my name is Jack Everley. I’m calling because I just bought a slave and I need some supplies. I was wondering if you could tell me where to buy them. … You do? Great. … Yeah, a basic starter package sounds like what I need. … How much is that? … That much? … You don’t have anything cheaper? … Okay. … Nope. Tonight is good. … Yeah, I got papers.” He pulled a file from a drawer under the phone and read the slave registration number from it. Then he dictated his address and hung up the phone. “They’ll be here in half an hour.”