Caline

Judan: UNCLE C

Judan: UNCLE C

Judan: CARIS!!

Caris: Sorry, I was on the phone with your dad . . . WTF.

Judan: You have to help me

Caris: You're keeping her?

Judan: What am I supposed to do? Trot her back to A, to get whipped and spit on?

Caris: What am *I* supposed to do?

Judan: I want everyone to think I'm being a proper "master." You have to help us pull it off

Caris: This isn't something you can just pretend, kid

Judan: Come. Help. Pleeeeeease

Caris: Tomorrow morning, maybe.

Judan: Great, thanks. Come straight out back.

*****

Judan set Caline and himself up in the pool house, which was more like a garden cottage surrounded by roses and redwoods, with a small lake in back, where his great-grandparents had lived while the manor was being built.

Judan had the housekeeper bring Caline whatever she wanted from the main house, and they had their own kitchen, study, and even a sun room that had made Caline's eyes light up when she saw it. She was stretching in there now, and, he hated to admit it, but he was trying not to peak in and watch because he realized he wasn't sure how long he could spend alone with a nearly-naked sex slave without doing something he'd regret. Instead he had spent much of the evening locked in the bathroom and hoping Caline was too preoccupied with her new surroundings to think about what he was doing.

Finally, spent, he realized how hungry and thirsty he felt and dared to knock on the French doors of the sun room.

"Come in!" Caline called out.

She was laying on her stomach, her torso up and curved back, sticking her chest far out, her head tilted to the ceiling, and her left foot was in the crook of her left elbow. She gently lowered her foot back to the floor and looked at Judan expectedly, still arching her torso up and sticking her chest out.

"Hi," he stupidly mumbled. "Uh . . . are you hungry?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You can call me Judan."

Caline bit her lip. Judan gulped.

She'd seemed scandalized when he asked if she wanted to put on clothes but eventually said yes to putting on something light and loose. He brought her a few options Nicole helped him select from her closet, and Caline chose to wear a flowy dark blue workout top and stretchy black short-shorts Nicole probably used for hot yoga. Judan had moved out two years ago and didn't remember ever seeing Nicole in these clothes, but it was still weird to see a sex slave purchased by his dad wearing his little sister's clothes. Not to mention Caline was taller and thinner than Nicole, so that the tank revealed a thin strip of skin at her abdomen, and the shorts barely covered her bottom. "But if I call you that in public accidentally . . ." she said.

Judan nodded. "The gig is up."

As if she were made of rubber, Caline swung her left leg in front of her and leaned straight over it, her back perfectly straight, resting on her elbows, still looking at Judan as if this was a perfectly normal posture in which to hold a conversation.

"You're uh . . . really flexible," Judan said. Was the blood back in his brain yet?

A strange veil seemed to fall over Caline's usually clear eyes. "I remembered I used to be a dancer," she almost whispered. Judan nodded again. The few times she'd said a sentence or two like this, it scared him. He didn't know what frightened him more: the idea that she had almost no memory of her life prior to less than a year ago, or the idea that all the memories might come back to her, and she would feel the full scope of everything she had lost.

"You're still a dancer, okay? You'll do it again, someday soon, I promise."

Caline looked straight ahead, not acknowledging what he'd said. Had she tuned him out? Or was the prospect so unbelievable that she didn't want to entertain it in fear it wouldn't actually come true?

"Baby, I'm going to make us dinner. Do you think you'll be ready to eat with me in about half an hour?"

She looked over and softly smiled. "Yes, thank you, Sir."

"Is there anything you're in the mood for? I read your full record. It says you're not allergic to anything."

Caline's lips parted. He could tell that he was pushing her mental boundaries, asking her and requesting things she hadn't experienced in a long time. "I fucking hate oatmeal," she finally said.

"No oatmeal for dinner. You got it, baby girl."

*****

Caline and Judan ate together, Caline in her own chair, with food she enjoyed off a plate with a fork. She couldn't believe it. She let herself simply live the moment. If tomorrow she was chained and violated in a dungeon, so be it. Tonight she had a small slice of normalcy, and a bit of dignity.

She rested in Judan's arms on the coach and watched Netflix with him on his iPad, though she found the screen hard to focus on. Caline got tired early, given she hadn't slept in anything resembling a bed the night before, and Judan offered her the master bedroom, explaining that he'd take the guest room on the other side of the bathroom.

She took a scalding shower in the en-suite bath, relishing in the idea of Master Ander finally being washed off of her, and chose to dress in one of Judan's old t-shirts for bed. He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her how hot and sexy she looked when she came out to say goodnight.

Judan stayed up later, agonizing over what was to come for him and this unfortunate girl thrust somehow into his lap. He finally went to bed long after midnight, then still stayed up scrolling through his phone. To his surprise, he heard a knock on his door, followed by Caline appearing in the doorway.

She didn't say anything, but he heard her sniveling and realized she was crying.

"Come here, baby girl."

He pulled the covers aside, and Caline, so soft and smooth, smelling of mint and roses, slid in beside him. He pulled her into his lap, and she turned to rest on his chest. Judan rubbed her back gently.

"I'm scared, Judan," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry, baby."

"I wish your uncle wasn't coming."

"I know you do. But he's going to help us, I promise. The other men-my dad, Ander, all of them-will rip us to shreds otherwise. I have to figure out how to play the role in order to keep you safe. If Ander doesn't think I'm a suitable owner, he can take you away from me."

"To where?"

"I don't know. To my dad. To him. Some other guy willing to pay up. Back to the training facility. Whatever he feels like. I don't want there to be any doubts. I want all of them to think this is a normal master-slave situation. You've been trained on how to play your part. I still have to learn how to take my cues."

"But this uncle . . . he's going to treat me like a slave."

Judan stroked her hair. "He's always been there for me, okay? He's nothing like my dad. And he's not going to stay here. No matter what happens, when we're alone, it's just like this. Just us, and you can be the real you. No matter what happens around other people, you can always come back to yourself."

*****

Caline fell asleep in Judan's arms but woke up alone.

She heard two sets of male voices and instantly sat up, on edge. Before she could think of what to do or process what was happening, a new man, with Judan close behind, came into the room.

He reminded her of Dr. Harmon, but he had Judan's sea-green eyes and the same height, high cheekbones, and broad shoulders of Judan and his father. Unlike Judan, his hair was jet-black, and he had a close-cropped dark beard.

So many different men . . . So many fucking men, Caline thought to herself.

Behind him, Caline couldn't quite read the look in Judan's eyes. Sadness? Disappointment? I fucking told you so! She wanted to scream at him.

The new man, Caris, raised an eyebrow as he assessed her, sitting up in the bed.

"Kneel," he commanded, and Caline inwardly groaned. Back to the grind.

She collapsed in the position Judan had first seen her in beside the bed: sitting on her ankles, knees spread, back arched to push her chest out, and her arms behind her, holding each of her elbows with the opposite hand.

Caris snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the rug in front of his shoes. "Come."

Staring at the floor in shame, Caline crawled on all fours to Caris and knelt in the same position at his feet, staring at his shoes.

Caris slowly circled around her, assessing her. Suddenly, he roughly tugged the back of the shirt she was wearing, holding it so tight behind her it pressed against her breasts uncomfortably and lifted her knees slightly off the floor.

"Pretty little outfit you're wearing," Caris said. He slapped her breasts roughly, over and over, until her nipples shown hard through the light gray fabric.

Finally, he let go and straightened back up.

"Strip. You know you stay naked, slave."

Trembling and fighting back tears, Caline took off Judan's shirt and placed it in a bundle on the floor beside her.

Caris put three fingers below her chin and tilted her head up to look at him, then kept applying pressure until she was forced to stand up in front of him. Again he circled and studied her, this time moving her hair over one shoulder. She shuddered as he ran a finger down her spine.

"She's bruised," he mused, his fingertips brushing her bottom.

"From Ander, I'm pretty sure." She finally heard Judan speak. She was relieved to have him there, but God did she wish he hadn't invited Caris.

Caris stood facing Caline directly, though she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eyes, those eyes so similar to Judan's.

"Are you really eighteen?"

Her brow furrowed. "I think . . . I don't think so, Sir. I think I was eighteen when I was taken and probably nineteen by now."

Caris nodded.

"Why would Ander lie about that?" Judan asked.

"To hide how long she spent in the training facility," Caris said matter-of-factly. "Isn't that right?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"Slaves usually stay three months, then Ander gets them sold. But you kept trying to escape. The warden kept reporting, again and again, that you weren't sufficiently trained. You were a security risk." He turned to say these words directly to Judan.

"You tried to run away, didn't you?" Caris turned back to Caline.

"Yes, Sir."

"How many times?"

"Three times, Sir."

Caline's eyes shifted to Judan, and she saw that he'd closed his eyes for several seconds before opening them and avoiding looking at either her or Caris.

"Kneel," Caris commanded again, looking at Judan instead of her as she dropped to the floor.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Judan," Caris told him. "As you can see, she's perfectly willing to play along, for now, probably the same as she did in the training facility until the minute she tried to flee. I get what you're trying to do here, and it isn't going to work. Being a sex slave isn't a part-time job. She has to be broken, heart and soul, committed to your every whim and command, or it will never work. She'll never stop trying to run the moment your back is turned."

"Caris . . ."

"Being an owner isn't part-time either. You're not her friend, not her boyfriend. You're her Master. She depends on you to tell her what to do, give her her purpose. You decide when she eats, sleeps, walks, talks, thinks, hell, when she shits, even. She can't trust you to do that if you pussyfoot around, coddling and snuggling with her every night."

"She isn't like your slaves, Caris," Judan said, and neither man noticed Caline cringe. There it was. Uncle Caris was an Owner. Judan had invited him in, and now her life would be hell. "She doesn't want to do it. She wants to be free."

"Don't you get it, Judan? So did they. At first."

Caris had the leather leash in his hands and clipped it to the ring at the front of Caline's collar. He handed it to Judan, "Lead your slave to the kitchen."

Reluctantly, Judan walked ahead as Caline crawled behind him on her leash.

"Make us breakfast," Caris ordered her, while he and Judan sat uncomfortably at what Caline initially thought of as a cozy kitchen nook. She should be sitting there now, curled against Judan, eating her breakfast. Not leashed and serving.

She heard them muttering in low tones to one another but couldn't make out the words as she prepared two plates of eggs, sausage, sliced fruit, and fresh yogurt. She served it to them with their utensils and glasses of water, then kneeled in her position at the edge of the table.

"Explain how slaves eat," Caris commanded.

"Slaves can kneel at their Master's feet and be fed by hand, or they can eat out of a bowl using only their mouths, Sir."

Caris stood and walked behind the counter without staying anything. With dread, she heard him put the kettle on and take things out of cupboards. He slammed something onto the ground in the corner of the room.

"Crawl over here and eat your breakfast like a dog," he ordered before crossing back to his own seat.

Caline flushed nearly crimson and cried silently as she crawled to the corner of the room. God, where did he even find a fucking dog bowl? Do these jerks just travel with this shit? She peered over the rim and let out a cry. Oatmeal. Always the same mushy, beige, bland slop every Master and trainer put in these bowls.

"Put your face in it." Caris's voice sounded angry from across the room. She wasn't supposed to make noises of protest.

Caline gritted her teeth. She couldn't eat this. She wasn't hungry, and she hated, hated, oatmeal! She breathed heavily, refusing to turn around or acknowledge the men behind her.

She must have stayed there for several minutes, her own breathing the only sound in her ears as the anger washed over her. She didn't hear Caris push back his chair, or his footsteps approaching. It wasn't until his large body knelt down beside hers that she realized she had to take in as much air as possible, because he gripped the back of her neck and pushed her face into the dog bowl.

"Eat," he commanded.

At first Caline still refused, tears streaming down her cheeks. Caris pushed her in a bit farther, until it became hard to breathe and oatmeal started to go into her nose. She opened her mouth for air, and Caris pressed down near the bottom of her neck, so that her head tilted and oatmeal entered her mouth.

Gasping for air, Caline ended up eating a large mouthful of oatmeal. Caris let her up for a small breath before pushing her head back down, her hair falling into the bowl around her and the oatmeal clumping into it. She held her breath, finally opened her mouth for air, and again took in a large mouthful, her reward a small breath of air. This repeated until most of the oatmeal was gone.

"Stick out your tongue and lick the bowl clean."

Caline gasped out a sob. Her face and hair were covered in oatmeal from a dog bowl. Her stomach felt full and bloated from the unwanted food. It wasn't even the worst substance that had coated her face and filled her belly, but something in her snapped. Right as she was about to scream out and try to push away Caris's arm, she felt the arm shift, finally letting go of the back of her neck.

"That's enough, Caris."

Caris turned and stood to face Judan. Caline rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand. Her other arm, shaking and unable to continue holding her weight up, gave out, and she rolled onto her back at the men's feet, trembling and crying.

"Judan, this isn't even a punishment. It's a simple meal. Some slaves do it three times a day every day, indefinitely. Her crying and pushing against my hand are very concerning. She doesn't get to choose what and when she eats. That's not how this works."

Judan's eyes moved to Caline. He felt embarrassment on her behalf. She was a mess, globs of oatmeal covering her face and hair and mixing with her tears.

"Ander does home visits," Caris continued. "What if your dad comes by? Or you bring her to school with you? You can't just feed her from your hand like a princess for every meal."

Judan opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again. He licked his lips. "Baby girl, lick the fucking bowl clean for me," he said, his voice soft and defeated.

Caline continued crying, but she rolled back onto her stomach and slowly raised herself on her palms. She crawled back to hover above the dog bowl, then placed her head in herself and licked the bowl clean with long strokes of her tongue. She could feel both sets of eyes on her and burned with deep shame.

She heard one set of footsteps leave and heard the water run. To her surprise, she felt Caris's firm grip lift her to her feet when she was nearly done cleaning the bowl. He wiped her face clean with a warm cloth and ran his fingers through her hair until most of the oats were out. She avoided his eyes.

"What do you say?" he asked.

"Thank you, Sir."