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

  Seafood was cheap and plentiful near the Western Sea so the three young people ordered spaghetti covered in a cream-based seafood sauce. Irene, though, saw that they had a chicken and green chili sauce on the menu. She hadn’t had green chilies since she’d come north to marry Lord Fortson.

  After the waitress walked away from the table, Hunter said, “That chili sauce is pretty hot stuff. It might burn your mouth.” Hunter was eager to protect the woman who had let him fondle her all the way here. “I can get her to change the order before she gives it to the kitchen.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s all right. I can handle a little heat. I’m pretty hot stuff, myself.”

  He looked abashed and she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I grew up in Calam Shire down south in the high desert. I’ve eaten more than my share of chili peppers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Adele said that you were an aristocrat.” Clovis stared at her. “She said that you were married to a lord.”

  “That’s right. I was Lady Fortson before I became a slave.”

  “So I guess you don’t like aristocrats now.”

  Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they made you a slave. That brought you down about as far as you can go. That must have been awfully humiliating.”

  She didn’t want to explain the circumstances of her enslavement over dinner. “Being a slave has certainly inflicted some humiliation on me. But nothing that I couldn’t bear.” She looked around. “And it’s not all the aristocracy, you know. Look at how many people in this restaurant are frowning at you for bringing me in here.”

  It was true. Since she walked through the door, she’d felt like a specimen on display in a zoo. That was typical for a slave who appeared in public. She’d grown inured to it.

  Clovis and the others looked around, and then looked back quickly. “That’s what I mean,” Clovis said. “Nobody likes slaves.”

  She laughed. “Hunter does.”

  He blushed.

  “So do I,” Adele said. “Especially you.”

  “Because she saved you from becoming one.” Clovis said. “That’s what I’m saying, Nobody wants to be a slave. And it was the aristocracy that almost made you one.”

  “That’s not quite right,” Irene said. “Being a slave isn’t great, but it’s not so terrible, either. Being forced into slavery against your will is the terrible part.”

  “Exactly. But the aristocracy has to force young women into slavery because nobody would ever volunteer to be a slave. It would be unthinkable.”

  A sharp bark of laughter escaped Irene.

  The other three looked at her quizzically but she wasn’t going to enlighten them on that point.

  These young people would never guess that she had voluntarily stepped up on the auction block and offered herself for sale. She was probably the first woman in history to have done so. That gave her some fame among the aristocracy, but gossip about her atrocious action had not spread down to the commoners.

  After a beat, Clovis launched back into his tirade. He was determined to get to his point. “And slavery isn’t the only offense that the aristocracy commits against the common man. We do all the work and they steal our labor. They rob us blind and we have no recourse because they own the government. They make the laws and they own the police and the courts. There’s no justice. If you’re not a commoner, you can’t get a fair shake in this world.”

  He pointed to Adele. “You know what happened at her trial. She was about to be pressed into slavery even though she had the money to pay her debts. The only reason that she wasn’t declared bankrupt is because three lords – three lords! – came into the courtroom to support her. If they hadn’t done that, she would be a slave right now.”

  He glared at Irene as though she were the aristocrat who had tried to enslave Adele rather than the slave who had gone to extraordinary lengths to rescue her.

  Irene shrugged. “But the aristocracy did save her. Three lords took time from their day to make sure that she was not enslaved. That was an act of pure benevolence.”

  “That was an act that should never have been necessary.” Clovis’ face flushed with anger. “She should never have been in court in the first place. She should never have been saddled with a debt that she couldn’t repay. It was an aristocrat, a knight, who was preying on her. An aristocrat created the debt and then broke his word and foreclosed on her. That happens to lots of our most beautiful girls. And no lords come to court to save all those other innocent girls from slavery. Why Adele? Because you’re so well respected by the high and mighty lords? I don’t know what went on, but you can’t tell me that those lords showed up to save an innocent girl for no reason. I know how lords work. There was something in it for them, too. I don’t know what, but I guarantee that they were protecting their own interests somehow.”

  Irene waved her hand to brush his assertion away. “They knew me personally and wanted to do me a favor. That was part of it but wasn’t the whole story. They also know Sir Drake and they don’t like him. He’s the kind of knight that gives the aristocracy a bad name. So, yes, it was to their benefit to put the brakes on Drake. Fire a shot across his bow and warn him that he’s going to be in trouble if he treats people too badly. But that’s a benefit to commoners. Aristocrats don’t want to see you all mistreated. I don’t think there was any more to it than that. I guarantee that the three lords didn’t make any profit from coming to court. Nobody gave them a payoff. They didn’t increase their political influence by doing it. They had nothing to gain. If anything, they ran some risk by making an enemy of Sir Drake. You might be grateful that they were willing to do that to help see justice done for your friend.”

  “Good god, you don’t understand at all! You might be a slave on the outside, but you’re an aristocrat at heart! It’s not about whether the aristocracy is benevolent or not. It’s about us being human beings. We should all have the same rights. We all deserve freedom. We all deserve justice. We all deserve to enjoy the fruits of our own labor. Those aren’t gifts from the aristocrats. Those are the rights that every man is born with. If we don’t have them when we’re adults, it’s because the aristocracy takes them away from us. If you steal a cake from a man and then keep him quiet by giving him back a few crumbs, you aren’t benevolent; you’re a thief. You’re just a bit smarter than the one who keeps the whole cake. Only a stupid man would grovel for the crumbs and forget about all the rest of his cake that was stolen. How much groveling did you have to do when you were trying to beg for a bit of basic justice for Adele?”

  Hunter and Adele looked embarrassed by Clovis’ rant.

  Irene didn’t respond, but waited to see if he had run out of steam.

  He had not. “I’m not asking a rhetorical question,” he said. “I’d really like to know. How much did that act of benevolence cost you? What did it take for you to get a loan of nine thousand plaqs for Adele? Are you going to tell me that you didn’t have to do anything but ask for it and the gentlemen just said, ‘Oh, right. We didn’t know that anyone was being mistreated. We’ll fix it right up for you. You don’t have to do a thing. We’ll do it out of the goodness of our hearts.’”

  Adele put her hand on Clovis’ arm. “Please, Clovis. I know that it was hard for her. She doesn’t have to answer that.”

  “I just want to know that truth. How does a slave get justice from a gentleman? That’s all. I just want to hear one single word of truth for once in my life.”

  Irene had heard enough bombast and wanted to prick this gasbag’s balloon. She leaned forward. “Okay. I’ll tell you exactly what I did. First, I went to Sir Drake’s office. I had to strip naked, get down on my knees and give him a first rate blowjob before he would even listen to me. Then I had to bend over his desk and spread my legs so that his son could fuck me doggy style all the time that I was trying to negotiate reasonable terms for repayment of Adele’s loan. When I had Drake semen dripping out of me
at both ends, he told to get out of his office and not come back. Next, I went to Lord Snow to beg for the money. He refused outright but was willing to explain his reasons, which were not arbitrary. In gratitude for his consideration, I spent half the afternoon in his kennels, letting him fuck me. But be assured, I enjoyed that as much as he did. He sent me to Lord Fortson. I really didn’t want to go to Fortson because we have deep emotional issues with each other. But I did. I literally got down on my knees and begged him for help. I would have licked his boots if I though that it would have made a difference. He preferred to strap me to a whipping bench and beat me with a cane. I can show you the marks on my ass if you want. They’ll be there for quite a while yet. When my ass was well striped and hurting like hell, I had to stifle my screams, wipe away my tears, get back down on my knees, and suck his cock. Then he arranged the loan, for which I’m deeply grateful.”

  The three young people were staring at her with their mouths agape. Even Clovis looked shocked.

  “So, yes, it was painful and humiliating. Now, you tell me, who humiliated the slave all over again today by badgering me into telling you all this in public? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t anyone from the aristocracy.”

  Adele grabbed her hand. “God. Irene. I didn’t know. I mean, I knew that it must have been hard for you, but… God! I didn’t know.” There were tears in her eyes.

  Irene squeezed her hand back. “It’s all right. It was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t like I was doing anything that I hadn’t done for my owners before. And it wasn’t all about you. Like I said, James and I have a lot of issues. I couldn’t avoid him forever. Sooner or later, I would have had to take a beating from him. I’m happy that it was for a good cause. It made it easier to bear.”

  Clovis had recovered his composure and was beginning to feel triumphant. “You’re making my point for me. No person should ever be treated like that by anybody. Raped and beaten by a series of aristocrats just because you were asking for basic justice. And you treat it as a matter of course. That’s purely evil.”

  “You’re wrong about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You might be right that no person should be treated like that. But you’re wrong about me being a person. I’m not. I’m property. You and Adele and Hunter should have basic rights as persons. But I’m not automatically entitled to anything. I’m only entitled what my owner wants to give to me. Including my life. And that makes me grateful for whatever I’m given. Unlike some persons.”

  The waitress returned with their food and conversation turned mild again.

  Irene’s spaghetti was thick with green chili peppers. It was hot as hell. She couldn’t imagine that they’d serve this to any other customer. This was how the cook and waitress had chosen to make a slave regret coming into their restaurant.

  The joke was on them. Irene loved the heat and ate every bite with gusto.

  The waitress was visibly surprised when she returned and found that Irene’s plate was empty. She scanned the table as though she expected to see the spaghetti piled up somewhere, hidden under a tented napkin.

  “Please thank the chef,” Irene said. “That was delicious. It’s so hard to find properly spiced food up here. Everything in Westmouth is so bland. I’ve been missing a good feed of chilies for ages.”

  The waitress’ face turned sour as lemons at Irene’s words. That brought joy to Irene.

  When they got back to her apartment, she thanked Adele for treating her to a lovely meal, thanked Clovis for his stimulating conversation, and thanked Hunter for making her feel cozy in the back seat.

  All three young people looked shell-shocked.

  She silently congratulated herself on contributing to their education in her own small way.

  * * *

  Jim brought his wife to her apartment. He introduced her as Martha.

  Irene assumed that he had talked her into a threesome. Martha didn’t look happy to be here, but that was understandable.

  She was about the same age as her husband. She was a big woman, and though approaching fifty, looked strong. No one would ever call her angular face, “pretty.” The phrase, working-class stock, came to Irene’s mind. The aristocracy used that phrase to describe commoners who looked like Martha, but never when one was in the room.

  She got directly to the point. “Jim told me that you’re a sex slave.”

  Irene smiled. Standing nude before her with a collar around her neck, she was unlikely to be anything else. “Most people use the term pleasure slave, but sex is the essence of the position as far as most men are concerned. I’d be happy to give my owners pleasure in other ways – play some music, recite some poetry, go for a walk on the beach – but that’s not foremost on their minds when they come to see me.”

  “And my husband owns you? He bought you?”

  She looked at Jim. He shrugged. “Technically, he owns one-twelfth of me, but yes, he is one of my owners.”

  “So you have to do whatever he says.”

  “That’s the way it works.”

  “So when he tells you to have sex with him, you do.”

  “Every time.”

  “They also say that you’re an aristocrat. That you were the wife of a lord, no less.”

  “I’m just a slave. I’m a piece of property. I’m not a person any more.”

  “But you used to be married to a lord. Before you were made into a slave.”

  “Yes. I used to be Lady Fortson. But that doesn’t mean anything any more.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t. It means that you grew up lording it over all the rest of us. Proud of your status. Thinking that you’re better than us.”

  Irene was ashamed to say that it was true that she was raised to think herself as better than commoners. But she wasn’t going to admit that to this fierce-looking woman. “I never thought of myself as lording it over anyone. Now, anyone who wants can lord it over me. Especially my owners. I have no pride at all. There’s nothing so humiliating that I wouldn’t do it if they told me to.”

  “What do you know about Sir Anthony Rackem?”

  “I know that your husband is restoring a car for him.”

  “Was restoring a car for him. It’s done. Sir Rackem picked it up more than a week ago.”

  “Was he happy with it?”

  Martha looked at her husband.

  He looked miserable. “Yes.”

  Irene didn’t have to be told the rest of the story. “But he won’t pay for it.”

  “He told me to talk to his business manager.”

  “He has a business manager?” Irene was slightly surprised. Sir Anthony was notorious for always being on the edge of insolvency. No one would want to put, “Sir Anthony’s Business Manager,” on his resume.

  “I called the number that he gave to me. Mr. Nances said that he hasn’t been Rackem’s business manager for a couple of years. He said that Rackem is essentially insolvent and will never pay me. He has no money. I said that I would take Rackem to court. Nances said that I shouldn’t bother. Even if I get a judgment in my favor, I can’t collect. No court will ever press a knight into bankruptcy. They always give members of the aristocracy as much time as they want to try to raise the money. Years. Decades. Whatever.”

  Martha glared at her husband. “And this fool paid for the whole restoration out of his own pocket. Thousands of plaqs. Thousands.”

  Jim stared at the floor in misery.

  “You’re one of them!” Martha’s eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. “You’re one of those goddamn ladies who lived your life on the backs of us poor commoners.”

  “I’m just a slave,” Irene protested. “I’m not an aristocrat.”

  “And you still hang around the toffs, making them feel like kings of the world. When you’re not playing adultery with my husband.”

  “No.”

  “Bend over.” Martha’s voice was hard like iron.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Bend ov
er, slave. Grab your ankles. Don’t make me tell you a third time.”

  Irene didn’t bother waiting for her owner to relay the order. She bent over, presenting her ass to the angry woman.

  “Give me your belt,” Martha said to her husband.

  “Martha, don’t,” he said. But he slid the belt out of his pants. It was a heavy piece of leather, blackened with used oil and engine grease.

  Martha doubled the belt and laid it across Irene’s naked ass with all her strength, almost knocking her over. “You stuck up bitch!”

  Irene yelped.

  Martha struck her again.

  Irene yelped again and staggered to keep to her feet.

  “You think you’re so high and mighty.” Martha struck a third time, again staggering the slave.

  The stroke fell across the welt left by the first stroke. Irene screamed.

  “You steal my husband? You’re going to pay for that.”

  The fourth stroke made Irene howl.

  “Your friends steal our money?

  The fifth stroke missed Irene’s butt and blazed across her upper thighs.

  Irene’s howls intensified.

  “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

  The sixth stroke fell across her butt again and made her dance in pain. But she didn’t dare release her ankles.

  “You’re going to regret the day you crossed my husband’s path.”

  Irene was blubbering, begging incoherently for mercy.

  Martha continued to whip her with the heavy belt, pouring a lifetime of rage and oppression into poor Irene’s ass, shouting invective at her, until the slave could no longer stand and collapsed in agony, weeping and pleading for mercy.

  Martha’s arm was tired. Her voice was hoarse. She dropped the belt onto the prostrate slave, kicked her in the ribs and said, “You leave my husband alone or I’ll come back here, rip a leg off that table, and beat you to death with it.”