return to Chapter Two

Joe finishes loading up the car--which, considering it's a SmartCar, has a fair amount of space--and stretches. His black t-shirt rides up, showing a little expanse of flat stomach; he counts at least six people, male and female, in the Trader Joe's parking lot who are watching him intently. When he tugs his shirt down, he makes sure that his collar is visible. He doesn't mind the attention, but it's important to make it clear that he's already taken.

For all the good it's done me, he thinks, stabbing the key at the ignition with more force than is strictly necessary. Neither Jason nor David has weakened in their resolve not to fuck him, and Joe's starting to get worried.

He touches his collar, the tangible reminder of his status. It doesn't have the same reassuring weight that most of his others have--it's titanium rather than stainless steel, gold or platinum--but it's by far the most comfortable one he's ever worn.

As lackadaisical as his masters were, he was surprised they'd collared him at all, let alone on his second day with them. David actually apologized for it, explaining that it was to save time. "This way, we don't have to keep putting it on and taking it off every time you go out." Jason had fit the chain to him, cut it to the right length and soldered the lock on, his fingers deft despite their size and warm where they brushed against Joe's skin.

It's been a relief to realize that liberal guilt or not, his masters are just as lazy as anyone else. Even if they don't want to have sex with him, they're more than happy to have him run their errands and do the things that they avoid because they take time away from their work. At first, he worried that Paul would resent the encroachment on his turf, but Paul had just handed Joe a list of things he needed while Joe was out.

He pulls the car into the co-op parking lot and checks his notebook. In addition to the shopping lists, he's got his observations on his owners, scrawled in the illegible handwriting he uses when not doing something official: Jason hair products--order online; 2-3 week turnaround, check often; David glasses pair in kitchen, lr, dsbath & bedroom; who does J. boots? David's ordered an iPhone for him but it hasn't come in yet; Joe would actually be just fine without one. He hasn't forgotten how angry Lord Jobs was after a couple of guys decided that a slave didn't need an iPhone and took it from him. The muggers were tracked down eventually, but Jobs still made it clear that Joe was at fault for not hanging onto it. It's always my fault; when it comes down to it, I can't assume these two are going to be any different.

An earnest-looking guy with glasses is standing in front of the co-op entrance with a clipboard; he waves it in Joe's direction as he approaches. "Hiya! I'm Eric, and I'm collecting signatures in support of the Child Labor Act--are you familiar with it?"

Joe glances at the clipboard; after skimming the top page, he smiles and shakes his head. "I think raising the legal age is great, but I can't sign. Can't vote." He adjusts his shirt so his collar shows.

Eric's eyes go huge behind his glasses. "You're...oh, yeah. Wow, dude, I'm really sorry."

I don't need your pity, you self-righteous little fuck. Joe shrugs and is about to walk away when Eric touches his arm.

"Listen..." Eric whispers, "I know this guy--well, I don't, but the head of our group says she does, who can get slaves out--"

"No." Joe steps back, away from Eric. "I can't hear this."

"No, seriously--don't you want to get out of all of this, be your own person?"

"I said, stop," Joe tells him through clenched teeth. "Do you have any idea what happens to runaways who get caught--and don't tell me I wouldn't get caught because everyone always gets caught. If you're lucky you end up on a toxic waste detail, or they sell you to a medical tech or pharmaceutical company. If you're not, they send you to a brothel on a mining colony. I'm not going to risk that so you and your 'group' can feel good about yourselves."

Joe stabs a finger at the clipboard, which Eric is now clutching to his chest defensively. "That law? Great. Seriously, knock yourself out. But offering the other...you're not doing anyone any favors with that." He glances up at the security cameras over the door as he goes in. Christ, I hope they caught all of that.

It takes a while for him to stop shaking enough to grab a basket. He doesn't personally know anyone who tried to escape--no one seems to--but he's heard stories ever since he was six, when he and Dylan started school. They'd been enough to give him nightmares, which was undoubtedly the intent. Even talking about escaping is enough to get a slave in serious hot water for "incitement"; Joe prays that anyone watching the camera footage will show his clear refusal to discuss the subject.

The co-op is the last stop on Joe's list, so once he's picked up the odd assortment of items--who needs the twelve five-milliliter clear glass bottles with dropper caps, and what's the leek for?--he heads back to the loft. The Pilot is still gone, which means that Jason and David haven't come home yet.

The entire place smells of sauteed onions and garlic, and Joe inhales deeply as he comes in. He sets all of the bags on the counter and starts sorting out the kitchen stuff from everything else. Paul looks up from is chopping various vegetables and dumping them into a large pot.

"Lentil stew," he explains. "I make it a lot in the winter; it distracts Jason from bitching about it being too cold." Paul grins at him. "Oh, you found my leek--thanks! I always forget to get one before I start making this."

"I'm not much of a cook, but if you need an extra hand chopping and slicing...." Joe offers. He's been hoping for a chance to talk to Paul alone, and this seems like a good time.

"Not much left, but I could certainly use the company," Paul says.

Joe stashes the toiletries he bought for himself in the bathroom upstairs that he shares with Paul before going downstairs to drop off the things he picked up for Jason and David. It's on his way out of the master bathroom that he notices the nylon rope dangling out of the cedar chest.

Every single trainer Joe's ever had warned him at least once that his curiosity would, like the proverbial cat, get him in trouble. They'd been right, but thirty-two years and nine different owners still hasn't broken him of his need to know the answers when a shiny question catches his attention. He doesn't really stop to think before opening the chest and peering inside.

Neatly laid out in the top tray is a collection of crops, switches and canes. Joe resists the urge to pick up one one of the thin canes, and settles for stroking it with a fingertip.

When he lifts the tray, he finds coils of rope in a literal rainbow of colors, and two sets of padded leather cuffs that are way too big for Joe (he checks) but probably fit Jason and David just fine. A couple of heavy floggers sit near the bottom, tossed in casually in a way that makes Joe itch with the urge to hang them up properly. He finds four different styles of nipple clamps and an intriguing black case that turns out to contain a set of needles for temp piercings.

He'd been fourteen the first time Dylan's father bent him over his desk and fucked him after a beating. By the time the Neals sold him at seventeen, the connection between sex and pain was firmly cemented in his head. Joe's perfectly aware that it's how fucked-up, but he's a slave--you do whatever it takes to get you through the day.

The fact that his new owners are kinky is hardly a problem, but there's a big difference between a little bondage and spanking and the stuff in the chest. He simply can't imagine Jason or David (or any other master) as a masochist, but if they don't fuck slaves, then who are they playing with? He closes the lid, making sure that the rope is still dangling outside of the chest, and goes into the kitchen to join Paul. This could work to his advantage, but he needs more information.

Paul glances up from the dough he's kneading when Joe comes into the kitchen. "Have a seat. Want a beer or something?"

Joe hesitates. On one hand, he avoids drinking when possible; he's not that used to it and it would be too easy to have too much and start saying things he shouldn't. On the other hand, Paul's being nice, and he doesn't want to offend him or piss him off in any way. On the third hand....

He smiles and shakes his head. "I shouldn't. My metabolism's not what it used to be."

Paul stares at him for a second, then starts to laugh. "Oh, like you have to worry about your weight. There's other stuff if you like, though--help yourself."

Joe pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and perches on one of the bar stools. He doesn't correct Paul; like every body-slave, Joe worries about his weight, his hair (though aside from dyeing it, there's not much else you can do with it), the fine lines that are starting to show around his eyes, and every other aspect of his appearance. True, he does have skills other than being a competent valet and good in bed, but his most marketable assets are still his looks.

"So..." Paul asks after he sets the dough aside to rise, "you settling in okay? I know David and Jason take some getting used to."

"They seem pretty laid back," Joe says, choosing his words very carefully.

Paul chuckles. "That they are. Lucky for me; I can't imagine what it would be like with anyone else."

Perfect opening. "How long have you been with them?"

"Four years now." Paul hesitates, then adds, "I actually...they're the only owners I've ever had."

Joe blinks. Paul looks like he's only a couple of years older than he is, if that.

"I got myself into a spot of financial trouble a few years back," Paul explains. Joe nods. He'd always assumed that only a complete idiot would get himself deep enough into debt to wind up as a slave--until he'd met slaves, smart people that he liked and respected, who'd had it happen to them. Given that the banks could make more of a profit from selling their customers than they could charging them interest, and the law backed them up, the real surprise was that there weren't more slaves than free people in the Empire.

Paul smiles slightly. "It was stupid, I know, but all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. A lot of people don't want to take first-time slaves my age, but all our boys care about is that they don't have to bother doing things they're not interested in."

A corner of Joe's mouth quirks up. "Yeah, I kinda got that. Although...I'm still a little surprised that they haven't had a body-slave before now. The fines aren't cheap."

"No, they're not." Paul idly traces a pattern in the leftover flour. "I think it's a couple of things. They're both control freaks, and they hate the idea of someone being underfoot all the time. And since they're gamer geeks, no one expects them to have social graces, you know? But there's also their families. I guess slavery works differently in Hawai'i--that's where Jason's from originally--and slaves belong to the family, not to an individual."

So maybe he was telling the truth. Interesting. "And David?"

"His parents are divorced. His dad's got money, so of course he owns slaves, but his mom's a pretty serious abolitionist." Paul made a face. "So's his sister. You'll meet her eventually, and let me warn you now--she's going to hit the roof when she finds out about you. She acted like David had killed a basket of kittens when she first met me."

"Save me from liberals who want to 'help,'" Joe says dryly.

Paul snorts, and nods agreement. "No kidding." He takes another swig of his beer before giving Joe a curious look. "Tell me...do you have any hobbies or anything? Something you like to do when you're not on call, so to speak?"

"I read a lot," Joe says; he doesn't know Paul well enough to tell him about his writing. "Why?"

"Reading's good; God knows they have enough books," Paul says. "I've organized them alphabetically by genre, but if there's something you want and you can't find it, just let me know. Oh, and they'll probably rope you into game testing if you're at all good with computers....just keep in mind that you need to have something to keep you busy or you're going to spend a lot of time bored to tears around here."

"I've got stuff to do," Joe says. Paul shakes his head.

"Sure, the shopping--and by the way, I do appreciate your doing that. Some days I don't actually want to be running all over creation on their errands. But they don't go out all that much, they dress themselves, and they're not going to fuck you."

Before Joe can respond, Paul adds, "Not that you're not a good-looking guy; I can see that and I'm about as straight as they come. But in all the time I've been with them, they've never brought any slaves in for sex."

Joe frowns. "Are they totally monogamous?" That's not completely unheard of, but it is a bit unusual.

"No. They're...well, not to freak you out or anything, but they're a little kinky."

Joe manages, barely, not to laugh. You really haven't been doing this long, have you? "Really?"

"Yeah--they've got some stuff in the bedroom...but mostly when they're in that mood, they go to the clubs and meet friends or sometimes pick up guys. Free only, though. They both seem to feel pretty strongly about that."

"Still, now that they have someone right here--" Joe says.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't hold your breath. For me, there's the cooking and cleaning--and by the way, if they haven't mentioned it yet, stay out of Jason's studio and David's office; they will get pissy about that--but other than that, my time is my own," Paul tells him. "It'll probably be the same for you."

Joe doesn't plan to let that happen, but he smiles at Paul and shrugs. "That doesn't sound so bad. It can always be worse, right?"

"True enough," Paul says. "Could be raining."

-tbc-

Notes: I totally and completely blame poisontaster and her CWRPS series A Kept Boy, which made me want to write about the SGA actors in her universe. This is all her fault. Thanks also to telesilla for giving it a once-over.

The title is from the Duran Duran song, "Skin Trade".

continue to Chapter Four