A Slave and Her Boy

I opened my eyes to the sound of a phone buzzing next to my head. Bleary eyed, I snatched at it, roughly unplugging it and swiping to answer.

"What?" I croaked. On the other side, the voice of my older sister, Bella, answered back.

"It's 11:40 on the East Coast. Surely I didn't wake you?" My eyes rolled over to the bedside clock, squinting to make out the large red numbers. 11:42.

"Nope. I try not to sleep in. Whatcha need?" I lied. She laughed.

"Actually I gotta ask a favor. I think it might do you good to get out of the house for once."

"I get out of the house all the time," I said, "I just don't tell you about it."

"Really?" She adapted her condescending, annoyingly maternal tone. "When's the last time you went to a restaurant that doesn't serve fries with every meal?" I pulled myself out of my covers, searching through the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I found some underwear I assumed was clean, and pulled it on. Tired of my sister's condescending tone, I cut to the point.

"What do you want, Bella?" In the background, I heard a voice on a speaker warning her by name to put on her seat belt. No doubt her personal jet was taxiing at this very moment.

"I ordered a package," She explained, "And accidentally shipped it to your city. Must've been thinking I still lived at home." Her reference to living at home was a thinly veiled poke at me.

"Yeah, only a loser would still live at home," I replied sarcastically.

"I'm worried about you, Gerry." She shifted to a more concerned tone, which woke me up. I rubbed my eyes as she spoke. "You need to pull yourself out of this funk. Don't try to make a joke and cover it up. You just sit at home and play computer games all day. It's not healthy..." She trailed off for a second. I didn't reply. "Remember when you said you'd come to thanksgiving, and you didn't because you had a headache?" I ignored her question. Really, I just wanted to just hang up.

"Gerry? You there?" She asked.

"Yeah I hear you. I still workout." It seemed pathetic, making excuses to my sister about my lifestyle.

"I know. And I'm proud of you. But you do that alone. At home." It was true. I did all of my workouts in the private gym adjacent to the house.

"I'm happy. Really. What's this about a package?"

"Ah crap. Hold on a second." She replied. I sat in silence for a moment. The call terminated, and I received a text.

-Important call. I'll text you the address. Just hang on to it until I can ship it later. Love you

Most of our conversations ended in a similar manner. I dropped the phone on my bed and pulled the cleanest clothes I could find onto my body, mostly from piles on the floor. My room was a mess. Pocketing my phone, I made my way out of the bedroom, and down the hall.

The biggest issue with living alone in my parents house was the sheer size of the family estate. I was one guy, living alone, in a nine bedroom, thirteen bath modern home. The walk to the kitchen was more of a hike. My phone buzzed when I reached the kitchen, another text from Bella.

-313 cromwell ave. Pick up by 1 plz. Love you

I ignored a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, finding a Tupperware container and filling it with cereal. I really needed to clean up, but it was easier to ignore the mess.

Outside, the lawn was perfectly manicured, the hedges were trimmed and the walks were swept. Squinting through the windows in the bright sunlight, I grimaced. Mom and dad had hired a lawn service, and I never bothered to cancel when the accounts transferred to me. It was a convenience that reflected on my sad state. If I had to do it, I had no doubt the beautiful, picturesque estate would be overrun with weeds. I munched my cereal solemnly.

In the garage, I walked past a row of pristine, powerful sports cars to my old sedan. I punched the address from Bella into the GPS. The interior of my car reflected my sad state, bags from fast food joints and various clothing laying about on the seats. Maybe Bella was right, I reflected. I really need to get my shit together.

-

I parked the car and walked into the business, double checking the address. The building was small and modern, with no visible signage. It seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place it. I made my way through the glass doors and into the lobby, where I found a man behind a desk, studiously typing away on a keyboard.

"I'm here for a pickup, " I said, "It should be under Isabella Morgan." He looked slowly up at me, and then suspiciously to the magazine on his desk, a copy of 'Business Monthly'. On the cover was my sister, with her name blown up in large print.

"Just check the system." I insisted. He eyed me for a second, clearly irritated, but began tapping away.

"I'm sorry." His voice was almost bored. "Could it be under a different name?" I huffed in agitation, pulling out my phone.

"Give me a second."

I dialed Bella. She answered after a couple of rings.

"I've only got a couple of seconds." She spoke quickly. "What do you need?"

"I'm at the address. The package isn't under your name." I said.

"Oh, yes," She replied. In the background, I could hear the sounds of a bustling airport. She raised her voice. "It might be under your name. Just check for me." She didn't sound at all surprised.

"Try Gerrard Morgan." I said to the man at the desk. He input my name on his keyboard.

"Ah yes. We have your purchase, Mr. Morgan. You'll just need to fill out some forms." I returned my attention to my sister.

"Why is it in my name?" I asked. But the phone line was already dead. I sighed, accepting a form from the man behind the desk. Sometimes my sister could be a real pain to deal with.

-

I sat in the lobby of the little business for hours. My phone battery was low, and I was seriously considering an ad on my smartphone offering to tell me which Fantasy Princess I was. Whatever package I was waiting for, it was taking a very long time to prepare.

"Mr. Morgan?" A woman's voice called to me. Two women had entered the room while I was waiting. One of them was clearly a slave, with a collar and lead. She was young and blonde, and very beautiful. In her hands she clasped a small leather bag. By her looks, I had no doubt she was an extremely expensive slave, and likely a pleasure slave. The woman holding her leash was the speaker, an older woman in a business suit. I stood, stretching my legs.

"Yeah that's me. Where's the package?" I asked, approaching the woman. She offered me the leash.

"This is your purchase, Mr. Morgan." For a moment, I looked at the slave, then back to the woman.

"What?" I asked. The lady in the business suit seemed confused.

"If there's an issue with your purchase, I'm sure we can find a solution." She seemed genuinely concerned.

"Just... Just let me make a call."

I furiously dialed my sister, pacing back and forth. The phone rang for what felt like hours. "Come on... come on..."

Her voice chimed in quickly, and very merrily.

"Hey Gerry!"

"Bella, what the hell-."

"You're the only one with this number, so I know it's you! Leave me a message at the beep!"

*Beep*

I lowered the phone from my face.

"Damn it." I grumbled. The woman in the suit still looked very confused.

"Would you like to discuss complications with your order?" she asked sweetly.

"No... It's fine." I replied, turning my attention to the slave girl. She was politely keeping her head bowed, a sign of obedience for slaves. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and I could see freckles across her face. I had to admit, she was absolutely gorgeous. I noticed a tear on her cheek, trailing down to her chin. I felt bad for her for a moment. I'd cry too if I belonged to my sister.

I accepted the leash from the woman and handed it to the slave. I had no intention of leading her around like a dog. I'd seen enough of that from my father. The slave accepted the leash meekly.

"Come on." I ordered gruffly. I fumed thinking about my scheming sister. This was definitely some kind of plot from her.

The slave followed me quickly out the door. As we left the building, it occurred to me where I had seen the structure. My mind flashed back to a visit as a child with my father. We had come here when he purchased Ogilvy, our manservant. Of course. A slave dealership.

I stopped by my car, fumbling my keys out of my pockets. I unlocked the door, and immediately realized I'd have to clean a place for her to sit. Hurriedly, I dug through the piled trash, tossing papers and wrappers into the backseat. I became flustered quickly, and embarrassed. I should never invite such a pretty girl into my car without cleaning. That's what my mother would have said.

"You can just, uh, put your feet on top of that stuff." I pointed at the trash on the floorboard. "It's not important."

"Yes sire." She spoke for the first time, and I felt red flush my face. I realized how embarrassed I was about my filthy, sloppy car. It was all Bella's fault. She gave me no warning about what it was I was picking up for her. I would have cleaned if I had known.

I jumped into the driver seat, hurriedly dialing my phone.

"Hey Gerry!" Answered Bella's voice.

"Bella, you have got to give me more warn-"

"You're the only one with this number, so I know it's you! Leave me a message at the beep!"

Oh, I'll leave a message alright.

*Beep*

"What the fuck Bella? I was not prepared to pick up your slave for you. And my house is a mess, I wasn't..." I stopped, realizing I was about to say 'expecting company'. Bella wouldn't consider a slave company; she would make fun of me for the slip.

"... planning on rooming a slave. I don't even have a room ready. You'd better send someone to get her, quick." I pushed hard on the end call button, even though it was a touch screen. I dropped the phone in my lap angrily, focusing on the drive. The ride was silent for a moment. Just a moment, as I heard sniffling from my passenger. The slave was breathing quickly, tears rolling down her face.

"Oh, hey, no..." I said, pathetically. I was not much of a people person. "I'm gonna get in touch with my sister and we'll get you to where you're supposed to be. See I didn't-..., I didn't buy you, my sister, she ordered you to the wrong address."

"I'm sorry Sire, forgive me." She said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"No, nothing to forgive." I found an unused napkin (they were plentiful) and handed her one. "We're gonna sort this out real quick. Don't worry."

The rest of the ride was a very awkward silence. I seethed the entire time, hating the forced human interaction. I mentally cursed Bella for the entire ride.

We made it back to the house before dark, pulling up the long driveway. The car idled quietly in the large garage, the small compact looking out of place next to my father's dusty old BMWs and Bentleys.

Before the slave and I exited the car, I dialed Bella, who once again didn't answer. I glared at the young woman in my passenger seat. Her head was still bowed obediently, and she sat quietly, waiting for my command. I knew if I stepped out of the car and walked in, she would follow me. Unspoken orders were an important part of a slave's training. But that didn't feel right to me.

"Come on sweetheart, I'll find an empty room for you."

'Sweetheart' something my mother used to call the slaves. My dad, of course, didn't approve. 'Don't humanize the help,' he'd say.

The slave girl followed me into the kitchen. I sat my phone on the table and rubbed my temples. Plenty of memories were coming back - memories from when the house was filled with servants, paid and unpaid alike. When my parents were here.

I considered taking her to the slaves' quarters, a small house sitting adjacent to the main building. But I had plenty of guest rooms and no guests. It just seemed easier to give her a room here. Dad wouldn't have approved. He would have told me she's not a guest. She's just a slave.

I shook my father's voice out of my head.

"Follow me," I said. "Please." I led her up the stairs, and to the same main hall my room was on. I chose the guest room nearest mine because I knew it was, relatively speaking, pretty clean. As I opened the door, I was reminded of my sister's last orders to the departing servants.

"Strip every room." She had said. "We'll be selling the place, no doubt." Of course she hadn't factored for me living here another two years.

As a result of Bella's cleansing, the room was stark, a single queen size bed and a dresser, no sheets, no curtains, and no decorations. My face warmed up. I fought back the irrational feelings of embarrassment at the pathetic quarters. She's just a slave, I told myself, though it sounded like my father's voice. Or perhaps my sister.

"You can stay here. Until Bella picks you up." I said.

"Thank you sire. It's very generous." I reflected on the accuracy of that. Compared to the servant's quarters, I suppose it was generous.

"I'll get you some sheets and a comforter before bed." I continued. "You can make yourself at home." She moved into the room somewhat hesitantly, setting her single possession, the leather bag, on the dresser. She thanked me again.

"Thank you, sire."

"Just sir is fine." Dad wouldn't approve of that. "What's in the bag, anyway?" Her reply was quick, accurate and obedient.

"A toothbrush, toothpaste, a change of undergarments, a comfort toy, and a hairbrush."

"A comfort toy?" I asked, confused. She reached into the bag and withdrew an old, ragged teddy bear, offering it to me.

"Oh. No thanks. You can keep it." She replaced it in the bag wordlessly. Her vernacular sounded to me like she had been trained to call it a 'comfort toy'. I didn't question it further.

"Let's go get you some blankets." I said. We started off for the laundry, clicking the light off in her room.

It was now after nine, and I had heard nothing from Bella since collecting her slave.

The laundry room had been a disaster, a mountain of unwashed laundry, all of it mine, that I had been intending to get to at some point. Luckily, the servants had previously maintained a linen closet before they were let go by my sister, and stocked clean sheets and comforters. We returned to the slave's new room and made her bed. Awkward silence blanketed most of what we did, broken up by me giving an order, and the occasional "Yes sir. Sorry sir. Thank you sir," from her. We now sat at the kitchen table, the pile of dishes still taunting me from the sink.

I'd almost given up, but I picked up my tired, nearly depleted cell, and called Bella one last time. It rang twice, and to my surprise, she answered.

"Hey Gerry. How's my package treating you?" She taunted me. Not a good sign.

"Great. When and who is coming to pick her up?" I was tired, frustrated, and just wanted a direct answer. My voice was terse and irritated when I addressed her. Infuriatingly, she laughed.

"Oh, I had to move some things around. It may be a couple days yet. Don't worry though," My phone buzzed, a text from her. She continued. "She's in your name, so no worries about legality." I checked the text, resting my forehead on my palm. It was the bill of sale for the slave, who I realized was named Margaret. The invoice had my name on it.

"Bella," I said, "What the hell are you trying to pull?"

"Well you know. Just a couple more days. I hope you don't get attached to having your own pleasure slave in the house during all that time." She continued. "I'd hate to have to find another one."

"Pleasure slave?" I almost yelled. "You're straight! Why would you order a female pleasure slave?"

"Pretty silly of me, isn't it? To drop a fortune on a pleasure slave in your name. A slave that I can't even use? And she was a fortune. Believe me."

I had been denying what was right in front of my face for too long. This was Bella's way of 'pulling me out of my slump'. I was irate.

"And you sent her to my address," I said flatly. "How unfortunate for you. Bella?"

"Yes, Gerry?"

"You're not sending anyone to get her." I wasn't asking. Bella faked concern.

"Oooh, Gerry, it's so hard to get good help these days. It might take me a while."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." She gloated. "Look, It'll be nice to have a helping hand around the house. You don't have to fuck her. If you're really upset, you can resell her. She's a Mason and Brockeridge trained girl. They're top drawer. Someone will take her off your hands for the price of a Bugatti." I didn't reply. I'd like to say this was a surprise, but this kind of conniving was commonplace from my sister. I looked at the face of the slave girl. She was staring back at me with big, sad, eyes, her forehead wrinkled up with worry. She was truly beautiful. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have someone to help with chores...

"You know how I feel about slaves, Bella. I don't want to put up with one."

"Oh, you sound like dad. Get over it," She said, "Happy birthday!" and with that she hung up. I looked at the phone in my hand. The date confirmed it.

"Oh." I said out loud. "I guess It is my birthday." There was silence. My fury with Bella ebbed slightly as I considered the concept of owning my own slave. Then the slave girl spoke, choked a bit, fighting tears:

"Happy birthday, sir." I wondered if that was part of her training, too.

We both stood silently in the kitchen, just sort of staring at each other.

"Please don't cry." I said. "I don't... I can't deal with that right now." I realized immediately how cruel and uncaring I sounded. Definitely my dad talking. She buried her face in her hands.

"I'm so sorry, Sire." She slipped on calling me sir. "I'll stop as soon as I'm able." Tears continued to flow down her cheeks. Okay, I thought, time for less dad and more mom.

"What's got you upset, sweetheart?" I asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sire. Sir. I feel as if I've failed you. My first day with my first master, and I'm disappointing you."

"Not your fault. Not at all. You're doing great, actually. I'm really pleased with your performance." Was that true? She hadn't really done anything, but whatever. I was trying to make her feel better.

She sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

"Thank you sir." I waited for her to elaborate, but she was silent. Of course, she wouldn't speak unless directly prompted. I fought back a slight case of nervousness and nausea, realizing I was very hungry.

"Let's not try to figure anything out tonight, okay? We can take our time and think this over." I said.

"Yes sir." She replied, still sniffling a bit. I moved on.

"I'm gonna get something to eat." Sheepishly I remembered that she must be hungry too.

"Can I make you something?" I asked.

She hesitated to answer. In hindsight, it was a very difficult question for a slave to answer. To say yes was to imply your master should serve you. To say no was to decline something from your master. I rephrased to avert the trouble it seemed to be causing her.

"I'll make you something."

"Thank you sir." I went to the cabinet and pulled it open. For the hundredth time that day, I felt my face flush red with shame.

Corn flakes, Two packages of microwave noodles, a package of expired cookies, and an ancient container of protein powder. I wondered if I could send my new slave grocery shopping.

"I hope you like cereal." I said as I pulled the cornflakes from the cupboard. Another day of cereal for breakfast and supper. How depressing.

"Yes sir."

We ate in silence. I didn't care to talk, and she wasn't allowed to. I knew mom would have scolded me for ignoring her, but I just didn't have the energy. I left the dishes on the sink wordlessly, and she followed me up the stairs.

"We'll, uh, figure things out tomorrow." I said. "Bathroom's right there. Get some sleep."