Master's Favorite Toy Ch. 06

Authors Note: All characters depicted are eighteen or older.

The following story takes place entirely in the realm of fantasy. The story represents situations that are often non-consensual, degrading to women, and discusses the owning of human beings as property. These elements are meant purely to sexually excite, and offer no reflection of my actual political or moral leanings.

March 9, evening

Kat clutched at my stomach, wriggling her fingers up my skin until she climbed to the bottom of my left breast. She tickled me gently, and I responded by wiggling my ass against her. I sat in her lap while she squeezed me with her left arm. Her other hand clutched a beer bottle tightly. Next to us at the table, a nervous looking Yvette squinched her eyes in confusion.

"Ummm, I don't know," The young woman said, "Never have I ever... had a threesome,"

A chorus of groans rose from the table as Abigail, Margaret, Kat and I all took a draw from our bottles. Yvette was no good at this game.

"Okay, new rule, we skip Yvette," Abigail said.

"That's no fair, Abs, I could never make you drink," Kat replied.

After I made Margaret and Abigail drink for having been to Europe, it was Kat's turn.

She gave it some thought.

"Never have I ever sucked a dick that came out of someone else's asshole," My drunk girlfriend finally said.

Yvette's face twisted with horror. Margaret raised her eyebrows. No one drank.

"Damn it!" Kat took a large swig from her own bottle, as dictated by the rules of the

game. She was no good at this either, but in a very different way from Yvette.

"Does that mean you've sucked a dick that came out of your own asshole?" Yvette asked, disgusted.

"One way to find out," Kat pointed her bottle at Yvette.

"Margaret first," Abigail interjected, and we gave our attention to Master's favorite gold-necklace-wearing slave.

Margaret gave it some thought before responding.

"Never have I ever had sex without a man being in the room," She said. Kat thumped her head on my shoulder.

"Every. Fucking. Time," She complained, draining her bottle. I took a drag from mine, and reached for another one to replace the one Kat had just drained. She was eight deep, while the rest of us were on our second or third.

"They don't all have to be sexual!" Kat whined.

"We sucked your tits that one time," I interjected, prompting a set of confused stares from the other girls. "That's kind of like sex. There wasn't a man in the room then," I clarified. Margaret thought for a moment, and recognition passed over her face.

"Oh! That wasn't sex," she said.

"Yeah, Marcie, tit-sucking isn't sex!" Kat was yelling a bit too loud in my ear. I elbowed her gently.

"Chill," I ordered her.

"And besides, it was so Master could watch on the phone. It hardly counts," Margaret concluded.

"My turn," Abigail interrupted the dumbest argument ever. She looked directly at Kat, a coy grin on her face.

"Never have I ever had a dick in each of my holes... at the same time," She said. Kat jumped, almost tossing me out of her lap.

"You can't... no targeting!" She yelled.

Margaret nodded solemnly, the most stern response to an air-tight gangbang imaginable.

"You are targeting Katherine with that one, Abigail." She agreed.

Abby rolled her eyes. She took a drag from her beer non-confrontationally.

"Fine," She said.

"They don't all have to be sexual," Kat asserted again, under her breath.

Finally, it was Yvette's turn once more. The timid young woman glanced around the table, searching for a challenge of her own.

"Never have I ever, uh... drank pee during sex," She finally said.

"God!" Kat shouted, but the wind left her sails quickly. She took a long swig from her beer. That time, all of us gave her a disgusted look.

Margaret's phone chimed, and before Kat could scrape together some other foul debauchery, the head slave politely interrupted.

"I'm afraid we'll have to rain check the drinking game, girls," She warned us, "Master's summoned..." Margaret trailed off, confusion on her face. We waited with baited breath, except Kat, who waited with stinky beer breath.

"Well?!?" Kat was shouting again, and I shushed her sternly.

"He's summoned Abigail and Yvette," Margaret finally answered. The room was silent as we all watched for Yvette's reaction.

"Oh!" The young woman said in surprise. Abigail sat up in her chair. She looked across the table at Yvette.

"You okay, kid?" Abby asked, shaking her head in disgust. All eyes were focused on the nineteen year old girl. She'd not been summoned to Master's bedroom in months. Everyone seemed to be concerned for her. Yvette nodded, setting her bottle gently on the table. She was visibly uncomfortable, stuttering as she spoke.

"Yeah-, Yeah. It's the job, right?" She forced a laugh.

"Yeah," Abigail was apologetic, inverting her bottle and draining the remaining half of it. "No sense in making him wait," Abby stood up from the table, and Yvette joined her slowly, as if she couldn't believe it. They left Margaret, Kat and I in the kitchen of the servant's quarters.

"My turn?" Kat asked.

-

I put Kat to bed like a large, whiny baby. She was very drunk and very horny, but unfortunately for her I had no intention of babysitting. Once I had her settled, I went back downstairs and sat on the front porch swing. Settling in, I pushed off with one leg, then tucked both feet beneath my body for warmth. I kept my eyes on the Master's house, watching the big glowing square windows with dissatisfaction.

Margaret joined me after a few minutes. When she appeared on the porch, I stopped the swing silently, allowing her to join me before I shoved off again. We swung quietly for a time.

"Where's Katherine?" she eventually asked.

"In bed," I said.

"I thought she'd try to sleep with you for sure."

"She did. I didn't want her to throw up in my vagina." I explained.

Margaret laughed. A rarity for her. We watched the stars together. The Morgan estate was far from any population center, meaning we suffered very little from light pollution. Were it not for the light from the big house, we'd have a perfect view of the night sky.

"It's weird for Master to fuck Yvette, right?" I asked. Tonight was the first time I'd seen him use her for sex since I'd arrived. I waited for Margaret to reply.

"Margaret?" I finally asked. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Sorry... yeah." She answered.

"Why the change?" I asked, "Does he just feel like he needs to get his money's worth?"

"I think he's trying to make me jealous," Margaret confessed.

"With Yvette?"

"He stopped using her for pleasure because I asked him to. I was jealous. He'd had his fun exploring younger women anyway. He didn't like her as much when she wasn't as innocent."

I grimaced at Master's skeevy behavior.

"So why Abigail?" I asked.

"She was his first. He knows I've always been jealous of that. He's sending a message."

I looked across the swing at my friend. She looked sick, on the edge of crying.

"You can do better than him," I said. I reached out and took her hand.

"I-... It doesn't bother me," Margaret lied, badly. I could tell she was pretty messed up about it. She was fighting back tears.

"I'm here for you," I reassured her. She sniffled. Pressing a hand over her face.

"Fucker," She said, her voice full of hate. The angry curse had an unnatural feel through the usually professional soprano of Margaret's high-pitched voice. She broke, a sob escaping her. My friend dove across the swing, burying her face in my shirt. I started to object, but I felt the shaking of her body. Gently, I wrapped my arms around her as she soaked the front of my borrowed sweatshirt ('Cutie with a booty', courtesy of Kat). The beautiful Margaret laid her upper body across my legs, her face pressed into my stomach. I patted her back and gently reassured her for some time. She stayed pressed into me for so long, I began to seriously consider that she might be asleep.

Half an hour later, the low light streaming from the windows behind us caught the dazzling flash of red sequins appearing out of the dark. They shimmered and danced up the long path from the big house, finally approaching the servants quarters. Shauna stood on the stairs, wearing the most gorgeous red cocktail dress I'd ever seen in my life.

As she walked by, she cast a disapproving glance in my direction. Margaret remained across my lap, face still pressed into my front.

"This isn't- we're not-..." I tried to explain. Shauna showed me her palm.

"Ugh, stop. Your secret is safe with my indifference." She said.

My shoulders slumped. Margaret sat up, wiping her face.

"Sorry," She said.

"You're fine," I waved her off, "Shauna's above it all."

Margaret and I resumed our seats on opposite sides of the swing.

"She's back early," Margaret said.

"Really? Where was she?" I remembered Shauna's elegant dress.

"She sings at a private club in town. Earns some money on the side."

"Master doesn't mind that kind of stuff, huh?" I said.

"Not at all. He loves when his slaves show off. We make him look good. He'd be a decent Master, if not for..." She trailed off, turning her head away from me. She didn't need to explain.

We sat silently for another ten or so minutes. The night air was pleasantly cool, and I enjoyed peacefully watching the stars. It was past eleven when Abigail and Yvette came strolling up out of the dark. They were both nude, clutching their clothes in a bundle beneath their arms. I was reminded of my first time with Master, when he'd instructed me to carry my clothes back to the servants quarters. Some kind of weird sexual thing for him, I suppose.

"Hey! Welcome back," I called.

"Ta-da," Abigail gave a sarcastic curtsy, and then set to work pulling her clothes back on. Yvette followed suit, tugging on her signature oversized sweatpants.

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Oh, buckets," Abigail dropped onto the swing between Margaret and I with a deep sigh. Yvette shrugged, unfurling a T-shirt with an anime character on the front.

"It wasn't so bad," She said, "Abby did most of the work."

Once clothed, Yvette bid us goodnight. With the three of us alone on the porch, Abigail gently wrapped an arm around Margaret's shoulders. Margaret was surprised by the affectionate touch, but leaned into the hug.

"I know what he's doing, by the way." Abigail whispered, "I'm sorry. Breakups are hard enough without your ex being an asshole."

"Thanks Abby." Margaret squeezed her in return.

I'm so happy they're being friendly again. I want all of my friends to be friends, too!

March 12, morning

[Drawn in the margin: Chains and a leather whip, hanging from a hook on wall. A sign on the wall says 'PLEASE TAKE ONE.']

Margaret woke me up in the early morning... yesterday? Maybe. Kat was still hungover. Might be two days. It's all blurry.

After a quick shower and dress, I was awake enough to drag myself out the front door. Despite a prior promise to put my foot up her ass if she ever woke me up that early again, I dutifully followed my superior through the cold morning air on the walk between the servant's quarters and the big house. I groggily attempted to focus as she prattled on, but I missed most of it.

"Master's flying us out to meet him there," She concluded, showing me to the limousine. She politely held the door open, and I entered, still half asleep. She followed after, sitting properly with crossed legs and a straight back.

I threw both legs up and laid back, reclining across the seat. I fell asleep almost instantly. Wherever we were going, I'd figure it out when we got there.

I slept on the flight too. It was only two hours, and I'd stayed up late the night before. We landed in a metropolitan city, one who's skyline I didn't recognize from the window of first class. Had I been more awake, I might have paid attention to street signs on the trip to the downtown hotel, but on arrival I was completely clueless on date, time, and location. As long as Margaret knew what was going on, I was satisfied to be ignorant.

Margaret and I were in the elevator heading to our hotel room before I finally woke up enough to ask what we were doing.

"Master's meeting with a friend tonight," She explained, "We need to do our makeup and hair - we'll be expected to be absolutely perfect."

"Easy enough for you," I nudged her, giving a friendly smile.

"Thank you Marcie, you're so sweet," She blushed, smiling back at me, "but it should be easy for you as well... Master has selected the very best of his collection."

The elevator dinged, and we walked straight into the penthouse.

"The best, huh? I'm surprised he picked me," I remarked.

Margaret walked to a suitcase and several other small pieces of luggage, delivered before we arrived. She popped two latches and removed a black leather thong, which she showed off to me.

"Shauna is probably very grateful he likes you," She replied. She tossed the skimpy thong onto the couch, followed by a second identical one. She actuated the latch on another piece of luggage and removed an enormous makeup kit. Prying the lid open, she began scouring the shelves of the portable vanity. When she saw me watching, she gave a simple order:

"Strip."

I stepped out of my pants and tossed my sweatshirt on a chair. Margaret continued rifling through tubes of concealers. Once I was nude, she beckoned me closer, holding up different shades to test against my skin.

"Full body makeup?" I asked.

"Absolutely perfect," She replied. Margaret stood, pulling her top off over her shoulders and discarding it atop my clothes. Once she was naked, we set to work.

For several hours, Margaret and I touched up each other's bodies. Together we applied concealer to every mole and pimple, blushed each other's cheeks (Upper and lower) and helped fake our ways to perfection. I was right, it really wasn't difficult for Margaret, she's so perfect already, her skin is utterly flawless.

We were entirely professional. Our mutual nudity was never awkward, because we were both so professional. Her butt cheeks are so plump and so round and so perfect, and I got to touch them. Held them still while I slowly dragged a brush of skin-colored concealer across a hickey on her left cheek. Her butt is so perfect, oh my god. I wanted to lick her cheek. The left one. Add another hickey.

Anyway, I was entirely professional.

"What kind of meeting is this?" I asked, holding the leather thong out. I looked quizzically at Margaret, who was busy fastening the slinky straps which held the tiny covering over her privates.

"Mr. Laguarta is a pleasure collector and an important friend of Mr. Morgan's. We will be shown off." She finished fiddling with her belt and stood before me topless, her perfect tits sitting high on her chest.

"What top should we wear?" I asked, dragging my disobedient eyes to meet hers.

"Oh, Marcie..." She smiled softly, shaking her head.

-

None of the bouncers questioned Mr. Morgan. The suited men stepped aside politely, waving us through. Margaret and I followed closely on his heels, holding tight to the long peacoats protecting our modesty. Inside the club, we waited in a large reception area. The walls were adorned with sexually charged art. Women nude, in leather suits, tied to furniture and walls to be whipped, and in collars. Behind a set of heavy wooden doors, club music thumped, shaking the floor. I was distracted by female slaves who took our coats, leaving us exposed. I peeked my eyes to the side, checking out Margaret.

She sported an outfit identical to mine, save for her prominent thick, golden choker. Between that and her navel was completely bare. Her waist was mostly bare as well, covered almost none by the thin leather straps supporting her thong. Below that was nothing until her mid calf, where the top of her leather boots squeezed her smooth, tanned skin.

I looked down at myself. I'm not the world-class goddess Margaret is, but I looked quite nice with my tits out and a leather thong. We were objects for the viewing pleasure of whomever our master chose. It was really, really, sexy.

After a few words with the concierge, Master led us through the double doors. The smell, sound, and visuals hit all at the same time. Sweeping lights bathed the large room in bright colors, the sweet, pungent smell of cigar smoke was thick in my nostrils, and the music pounded in my skull so loudly I could hear nothing else. Gorgeous topless women waited on powerful looking men in low sofas. There were cigars, tumblers of brown liquid, and beautiful women everywhere. Most amazing were the dancers.

In addition to your standard, run-of-the-mill women on poles, cages suspended from the ceiling contained bare women, who danced and writhed for the pleasure of the audience below. With the lights so low, the displayed women glowed beneath the multicolor spotlights bathing their bodies in rainbows of pulsing light. I was given only a second to take in the sensory tidal wave before Master moved into the room, prompting Margaret and I to follow.

Every man in the place stopped what they were doing, every drink was lowered, and every single gaze was fixed wholly on us. The dancers and waitresses may as well have been invisible, and it felt GOOD. Freshly unclothed and ready to be shown off, Margaret and I absolutely strutted behind our Master, tits bouncing with each step. The room worshiped us with their unashamed stares. I was crazy turned on.

I keep discovering new fetishes at this job.

We crossed the center of the room between poles of dancers, around a set of couches, and near a billiards table in the back. Master stopped to shake hands and greet many acquaintances on the way. One man was receiving a lap dance from a busty young redhead, and pushed her away to greet Mr. Morgan. She waited patiently to resume her work when we moved on, grinding her ass against the front of the man's pants.

When he had a moment, Master leaned in next to Margaret, shouting to be heard over the music. I stood by dumbly, watching as a kneeling woman on a nearby table deepthroated an overflowing bottle of fizzy Champaign. A man held her hair back as her lips wrapped the neck of the bottle sensually, and she moved her head up and down, losing some of the bubbly liquid onto the table.

"Marcie!" Margaret shouted, and my attention snapped back to her.

"Please pay attention," She begged. I smiled and blushed, which was silly. I was the last person in that room who should have been blushing.

"Yeah!" I shrugged. Margaret laughed at me.

"It's not even wild yet. Wait until later," She said, waving me forward. "Come on."

I followed her around more tables and low sofas, past the man receiving a lap dance, and through another set of double doors. Two more bouncers moved to stop us, but Margaret gestured for them to get out of the way. When they recognized Master's head slave, they stepped aside. Through the doors, we climbed a flight of stairs. Margaret led us confidently to the top, where a long hallway held several sets of doors.

She showed me into a large, opulent mezzanine room, overlooking the debauchery of the main party. The window must have been one-way, because I hadn't noticed this room from below. The thumping of the music was dulled to a background level.

I gazed out the window. Suspended from the ceiling in the main room, a naked woman with stars painted on her tits danced inside a cage. From the mezzanine, the caged dancers were only feet away. I divided my attention between the beautiful bedazzled woman and my fearless leader, who was giving quick instructions while sorting through a cabinet set into the wall.

"That's the staircase down to the kitchen and bar if you need to fetch something for Master. The buttons on the panel summon club attendants, red for sex, green for cleaning or supplies. The arrow keys are for the winch control. Master's favorite scotch is in the refrigerator by the blue chair, which is where he will sit. He prefers ice, with two cubes in a tumbler," Margaret spoke quickly, retrieving a bundle from the depths of the wall storage panels.

"Whoa, a lot to remember," I replied, curiously peering at the bundle of ropes and buckles, "Are you going somewhere?"

"You'll be handling Master's needs alone tonight, Marcie. I'm for display." Margaret held up a ball gag, offering it to me. I accepted cautiously, confused.

"Display...?" I asked.

Margaret thought it easier to demonstrate than to explain. She carried the bundle of leather and buckles to the center of the room, laying them in a chair. With no hesitation, she bent down and unzipped her boots, tossing them into a cabinet. Her leather thong quickly followed, and Margaret was naked.

She's so insanely hot that it is very difficult to focus when she's naked.

"You'll tie my wrists together in front of me," she tossed a set of leather handcuffs to me. I fumbled them along with the ball gag. As Margaret stepped up onto the cabinet, a clear picture of her meaning took shape.

"You're for display," I said, understanding.

"Yes," Margaret didn't seem happy, sad, or any other way about Master's decision. If anything, she seemed like she'd punched in for a shift at a factory.

She reached above her head, feeling in the darkness. A moment later, Margaret found a steel cable with a single carabiner attached, and jiggled the metal to ensure I had sight of it. The carabiner was not the only thing of Margaret's that jiggled.

"You see?" She asked, "The panel on the wall controls the winch mechanism."

"... Right next to the sex and food buttons," I replied.

"Go lower it Marcie, we must be quick. Master will be here shortly."

I scurried to the panel on the wall, reading the touch screen. I found the up and down controls easily enough, and lowered the metal cable to Margaret's chest height. When I returned to Margaret, she had already blindfolded herself.

"You will handcuff me and feed the chain into the hook. Once I'm secured, raise the cable until I'm forced up onto my toes." Blind, Margaret held out her hands to me expectantly. I hesitated.

"... Marcie," She said calmly, "We must hurry. Master will expect his scotch to be waiting for him."

"Three cubes," I replied.

"Two," She corrected. I tucked the ball gag beneath one arm and made short work of snapping Margaret's thin wrists into the handcuffs.

"And the gag before you raise my hands over my head," She ordered.

My stomach filled with butterflies. I quivered with nerves, unsure. Why was this so hard?

Margaret waited, handcuffed, blind, and ready to be gagged by me, and I couldn't move.

"If you're looking at my tits, you can do that once we're done," Margaret finally said, joking uncharacteristically.

"It's just weird," I said.

"Please hurry," Her voice was becoming strained. If she was right, and Master would soon arrive, he would not be happy to find his 'display' in an unsuitable state.

I approached Margaret quickly and raised the rubber ball to her mouth, pushing it between her lips. As she was still on the display cabinet, she bent down to accept it. I reached behind her neck, fastening the strap beneath her ponytail.

"Is that good?" I asked.

Margaret shook her head.

"Looser?"

She shook her head again.

"Tighter?" I asked in disbelief.

She nodded.

I stepped forward and took hold of the strap, straining as I forced the buckle to accept another notch.

"Are you sure?" I asked. The rubber ball on the gag was jammed fairly to the back of her throat, and saliva had already begun to run down her chin. Margaret nodded and held up her cuffed hands, indicating that I should latch her to the carabiner. I gripped the chain and guided her wrists to the steel cable, fastening her in place. Hurrying, I jogged across the room to the control panel, and listened to the soft whir of the machinery as the mechanism withdrew into the ceiling, drawing Margaret up like a hooked fish.

Her arms raised slowly above her head. When her heels left the table, I released the button.

My friend and leader was displayed in the most vulnerable state I'd ever seen a human being. She was blinded, gagged, and helpless. Her raised arms lifted her already pert breasts erotically. The precarious position on her toes meant that she had very little balance, and the struggle to keep pressure off of her wrists kept her legs straining. I heard blasts of breath from her nostrils as she fought to stay balanced on tiptoes.

In a moment of thoughtlessness, I abandoned all of my better judgement and leered shamelessly at the sensual nudity of my friend. Margaret was helpless, naked, and exposed. I savored the sight of her pussy between her quivering legs. I stared at her breasts, her nipples, her stomach and armpits. All of Margaret was bare, free for the viewing, and my brain rejected all social decency for seconds on end as I lusted after her. I felt my cunt tingle, warming with arousal.

"Shit. The scotch," I snapped back to the present. With urgency, I rushed to the mini-fridge Margaret had indicated. I poured an ice cold tumbler and added two cubes, leaving it out for Master. Once finished, I scanned the room.

"I poured the scotch. Is there anything else I need to do?" I asked. Margaret shook her head.

With nothing better to do, I waited.

Margaret is so beautiful it's unreal. Blindfolded, she had no way of knowing what I was doing. So I stared at her. She had basically told me I could earlier, anyway. I let my eyes roam where they pleased, and I drank in the image of her naked body. All of her skin was mine to view.

-

Master was as punctual as usual, meaning not at all. Poor Margaret suffered the discomfort of her display for fifteen minutes before the sound of a door opening startled us both.

A tall, handsome older man entered confidently, pulling off his coat jacket. I bowed my head quickly and stepped aside, only catching a brief glimpse of his wrinkled face and grey hair. He had to be in his late fifties, with a chiseled chin and piercing eyes. Behind him followed a beautiful slave, an older woman with East Asian features. She wore a lacy pink bra with a matching garter set, and walked carefully on six-inch hot pink heels.

The man moved swiftly across the room with his slave right behind him. He tossed his coat in her direction and sat in a chair. Only once settled did his eyes catch sight of Margaret.

"Holy mother of God," he exclaimed. I snuck a peak at his face, and his eyes were brightened by a broad smile. It was moments later that Master Morgan entered, and I took a position behind his chair.

The two men surveyed each other.

"All this just for me?" The man asked, pointing at Margaret. His slave dutifully prepared a drink for her master, and wordlessly placed it in his hand. The other slave's unprompted obedience reminded me of my own obligations, and I hurriedly placed a glass of scotch and melty ice in Master's hand.

"I thought you'd appreciate it. You're not planning on taking pictures, are you?" Mr. Morgan asked.

The stranger's eyes never left Margaret's body. The nude woman hung helplessly from the cable as he scanned her.

"A few tabloids would pay good money for that, no?" He laughed, "Can I touch?"

Master coughed on his drink.

"Absolutely not," Mr. Morgan replied.

"Shame. Actually, that one's just as nice to look at," I didn't need to raise my head to know I was being referenced, "That's your latest M and B girl, right? Do you share that one?"

"Oh, Marcie? Sure. She's fantastic. Marcie, let Mr. Laguarta have a feel," Master ordered. I quickly obeyed, crossing the room to stand beside Mr. Laguarta, head bowed. The older gentleman sat up in his chair, rubbing his free hand over my tits. He squeezed each boob, his large hand easily covering my entire breast.

"Gorgeous," He commented, "Can I have them play?"

"Actually, I'd like to talk about why you called me," Master replied.

"Just a second. Lena, show Marcie how to kiss a woman," Laguarta ordered. My eyes snapped to Mr. Morgan. I wasn't kissing anybody without his approval. My master rolled his eyes and nodded once, granting me permission to comply.

The slave by Mr. Laguarta's side approached purposefully. She stepped to me, pressing her bra into my bare chest. With her heels, she was a head taller than me, and I craned my head back to accept her kiss. I let both of my hands come up around her, hugging her middle and cupping her firm butt cheeks while we kissed.

Lena aggressively pushed her tongue into my mouth. I tried to respond, but she wouldn't have it. She redoubled her efforts, pushing her tongue further past my teeth until she filled my mouth. I accepted her dominance, leaving my mouth open as she did what she pleased.

"You know, even with these two going at it in front of me, I still can't keep my eyes off Margaret. She really is special, Mr. Morgan," Laguarta said.

"Flattery only gets you so far. Why'd you call me?" Master was straight to the point. He was plainly unhappy to be here.

With one hand behind my back, Lena held me tightly against her chest. Her other hand came up between us, aggressively squeezing and pulling on my boobs. Lena's body was tall and lithe and sensual, and I turned to putty in her arms.

"I understand you've placed a rather... commanding bid for Mason and Brockeridge's upcoming top graduate," Mr. Laguarta spoke to Master. Lena and I were a background show to the powerful men's conversation.

"Eva. Yes. She's set to graduate with a nursing degree. She's top notch. You should enter a bid, if you're interested." Master replied.

Lena's wandering hand found the front of my leather thong and slipped inside. I spread my legs, giving her room to fondle me. She rubbed my pussy, placing her long middle finger between my labia. With a gentle push, she slipped inside. I moaned into her mouth, humping against her hand. The slave woman was powerful and commanding. I was turned on, burning with lust for her. I wanted to tear her stupid pink lace off and fuck her right then and there.

"I am interested, Mr. Morgan, but I'm afraid I don't have the liquid capital to outbid you at the moment." Mr. Laguarta took a long draw on his glass tumbler.

"Then... damn it, Laguarta, stop the girls. I'm not having this conversation while they fuck like animals," Master demanded.

"Lena, come," Laguarta gave an order that I was prepared to argue could be taken a couple of different ways, but Lena interpreted without consulting me. She broke our kiss and withdrew her finger from my cunt. Frustrated, I returned to my Master's side. Ever since I'd come into this club, I'd been teased continually. Someone needed to fuck me soon, and I didn't care who.

"Kind of hypocritical to hang that up and then tell me you don't want to be distracted," Laguarta commented, eyes fixed on Margaret the display model.

"You can't afford the nurse. I don't see how that's my problem," I sensed that Master Morgan was uninterested in the conversation.

"I want to convince you to withdraw your bid. I have assets beyond the monetary, Mr. Morgan," Laguarta spoke with a confident smile. Master swirled the ice in his drink, then took a sip. He kept his interlocutor waiting before replying, giving the man time to cook.

"... Go on," Master finally prompted.

"You and I both know what the rarest commodity in the hobby is, Mr. Morgan: Innocence, plain and simple. The good folks at M and B seem to think they guarantee it in their product. Yet, for all you know, even your crown piece might have lost her cherry by the time you sunk your teeth into her," He pointed at Margaret, strung up in her display case. "There's just no guarantee of innocence these days," Mr. Laguarta shook his head mournfully, as if commiserating about corruption in government. Master was totally nonplussed by the critique of his prized pet. He ignored the remark about Margaret.

"I've already had a teenager. I'm not interested in whatever 'innocence' you're selling." Mr. Morgan laughed, and I cringed with uncomfortable pity for Yvette. "I'm keeping my bid in for Eva. Better luck next time, I'm afraid," He finished.

Mr. Laguarta sat his drink on the table beside his chair, regarding Master with cold calculation.

"What if I told you this innocent woman wasn't a teenager? She's in her twenties. Twenty two before the end of the year." Master rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Laguarta, you're in the same position with your woman as Mason and Brockeridge. You can tell me she's an innocent virgin until you pass out - but you can't guarantee it." Master shook his head, one eyebrow raised cynically.

Laguarta's confident smile would have brought the most seasoned poker player to fold. He flicked his fingers, ordering Lena forward. She produced a manila folder from the confines of Laguarta's discarded suit jacket, offering it subserviently to Mr. Morgan.

Master suspiciously pulled the folder open, scanning the contents. His face slowly morphed from incredulity, to serious consideration, and finally, a sardonic smile.

"She's ready to be picked up this week," Mr. Laguarta said, "That is, if you withdraw your bid for Eva."

Gerrard Morgan burst out laughing.

(I've asked Kat about it, and she can't remember him ever laughing out loud like this. Margaret either. Abigail said maybe once, when he was younger.)

"Mr. Laguarta, you have earned my attention. This," He closed the folder and waved it in his hand, "This is special. And clever! Were it not for your price, I'd jump on this."

"Come on, Mr. Morgan!" Laguarta cried, sitting forward. "You never wanted Eva. You've always sought a unique collection, not copy-pasted real dolls from M and B!" He gestured generally to me and Margaret both, which I did not appreciate, "You bid on Eva so you could have a chip on the table, not because you wanted her. Well, I want her. Time to cash in," Mr. Laguarta pointed to the folder, and Master regarded it silently.

"I want first pick next year at M and B, uncontested," Mr. Morgan replied. The two men eyed each other for an uncomfortably long time.

"You'd outbid me anyway," Laguarta smiled. The two men stood and clapped hands, sealing the deal.

They conversed a while longer about casual acquaintances and drama in the hobby of pleasure slave collecting. While I kept Master's drink filled and my head bowed, my mind raced with curiosity about the folder, and the woman that had changed Master's mind. She had to be something special.

When their conversation ended, the lovely Lena followed Mr. Laguarta out of the private room. When they opened the doors, I heard the loud thumping of the music from the public room below.

Finally, Master was alone with me and Margaret. It was hard to consider the bound, gagged, and blind Margaret as present, but she was there. Master stood by the one-way window for a time, watching the debauchery below. Naked women bathed in flashing lights turned and contorted in every way, struggling to find the lewdest way to present their nudity to the men who watched. Below their cages, several groups that had previously been more restrained had broken into copulation, creating a loosely defined orgy that spread across the room. Margaret was correct, things had grown more intense as the evening continued.

Suddenly, Master turned, stepping up to Margaret's display. I felt terrible pity for the poor girl, who had been suspended uncomfortably from her wrists for the better part of an hour. Master ran his hands the length of her body, starting with her thighs. I watched him play with her pussy, running one finger inside of her and then tasting it. His hands wandered up further and he squeezed her breasts. Finally, his fingers came to her face, and he touched the gag gently.

"Lower her," He ordered. I ran to the panel on the wall, releasing the slack in the cable. Margaret sighed audibly with relief as her feet came to rest on the table, and her shoulders relaxed. With sufficient slack, Master unhooked the carabiner from the chain in her handcuffs. To my surprise he wrapped his arms around Margaret and lifted her off of the little table, dropping her to the floor. He was careful not to hurt the poor woman, but took little consideration for her comfort as he dumped her to the ground. I heard the unfastening of his belt and the unzipping of his slacks as Margaret struggled on her hands and knees. His cock was already stiff and he was ready.

Master roughly grabbed a fistful of Margaret's hair and pulled her up to her knees, forcing a muffled cry from behind the rubber ball. With quick work, he released the buckle on the gag and tossed it aside. Margaret had only a second of fresh air before her mouth was filled with the skin of her master.

Mr. Morgan was merciless. His cock isn't an unusual size, but I was familiar enough with him to know that swallowing his entire length required throat work. Master buried his cock in Margaret's mouth straight to his balls. The unbending stiffness of his erection punished the back of her throat. Unprepared for his penetration, Margaret gagged, coughing bubbles of saliva around the corners of her mouth. Master did not care, and did not relent.

His grip on her bright blonde ponytail gave Master total control of her head, and he yanked Margaret back, releasing most of his shaft from her mouth. Then, with the same stout grip, he forced her to swallow him again. Master repeated the process endlessly, spilling a disgusting series of sloppy gagging noises from Margaret as he entered her throat again and again. Her nose smashed against his short trimmed pubic hair as he rammed himself into her mouth.

I have never seen such a brutal face fuck in my life.

Margaret was helpless beneath her Master. She held her mouth open as widely as she could, allowing him to use her throat. The favorite slave was perfectly compliant beneath her blindfold, with her hands cuffed in front of her. Despite how badly I felt for the poor woman, it was very arousing to watch.

After several minutes of relentlessly fucking Margaret's mouth, Master was ready to cum in her. He shortened and quickened his thrusts, pushing just his glans between her lips. Margaret happily wrapped her lips tightly around him, allowing him to use her hole. He came on her tongue, his cock pulsing and jumping between her pursed lips. With one last lusty thrust, Master slid his cock to the back of Margaret's throat, then withdrew, leaving behind a face covered in spit, cum, and stained black with mascara tears leaking from beneath her blindfold.

Master Morgan gave no orders. He pulled up his pants and left the room, the thumping electronic music pouring through the door as he exited. I watched him leave, and then turned back to the poor woman he had just relieved himself into.

"That was fun!" I was surprised to hear Margaret giggle.

"Really?" I asked, "It looked painful." I hurried to her side, releasing the blindfold from her face. She blinked up at me, black, runny tears smudging her perfectly symmetrical eyes.

"Oh yeah for sure, but I like it rough sometimes," she said. I shrugged. It didn't look rough to me, it looked downright violent. I released her from the cuffs, then grabbed a paper towel roll from the bar. I offered it to her, and sat nearby as she cleaned her face.

"It's great to be used like a piece of meat," she said, "Master just sucks at finishing the job, you know? I'm so horny now," She rolled her eyes. I blinked in surprise. It was the first time I'd ever heard Margaret express any kind of sexual arousal. I couldn't help but agree.

"Oh, me too," I complained, "Mr. Laguarta had his servant make out with me. I was super disappointed when she stopped."

"Totally!" Margaret shocked me again, "I mean, I heard it. It sounded very sexy."

Once clean, Margaret remained on the floor, her lovely breasts rising and falling as she sucked in air. I tried not to look. Tried.

"So what now?" I sat on a couch next to her, unsure of our next move. Margaret shrugged.

"Do you mind if I quickly finish myself off?" She asked. My mouth hung open. I didn't know how to respond.

"I'm just a little frustrated. Master's fault," She explained further.

"Uh, do whatever you want," I said, even though I probably shouldn't have.

Shifting about on the floor, Margaret leaned her back against a couch. Sitting only a few feet in front of me, our eyes met as she spread her legs. Her dainty, feminine fingers slid over her cunt, and she began to rub in circles.

My heart thumped in my chest. My pussy grew very, very warm, and the leather thong I wore felt heavy and uncomfortable. I looked to the side.

"I know you're pretty frustrated too," She said, "I don't mind if you want to get off."

I was silent, which meant the only sound in the room was the sloppy wet noise of Margaret's finger's running in circles over her clit. I stared out the window into the room below, where two men were using the same sex slave, one from behind, and one in the woman's mouth. I had seen her fellating a bottle of champagne earlier. Those same thick red lips now accepted a stiff, wet cock.

"Marcie," Margaret's voice was always high. At a whisper, she sounded so feminine, so soft, "Can I touch your breasts? So I can get off quicker."

I knew better. I knew better. I knew better.

I slid forward off the front of the couch onto my hands and knees, offering my hanging breasts to Margaret's outstretched hand. She cupped my tits, gently rubbing my nipples, and my pussy caught fire. I lost all control. I touched myself. With one hand, I fingered my pussy, rubbing my clitoris. Margaret and I kept our eyes locked as we mutually masturbated, her free hand on my chest.

"Want me to lick your pussy?" She asked, "So you can get off?" As if there was any other reason she would lick my pussy.

I was too far gone to listen to any one of the ten million reasons I should absolutely not have sex with Margaret right now.

I nodded dumbly.

"Sit back on the couch," She ordered.

I obeyed, no thought anywhere to be found in my vacuous head. I'd been teased so thoroughly since arriving at this stupid club. The thought of Margaret's warm tongue on my cunt lips almost gave me an orgasm outright.

I sat on the couch, scooting my butt forward to the edge of the cushion. With Margaret's help, I removed the leather thong. She grabbed my thighs and pushed them to my chest, exposing my pussy. I gasped when she started with my ass, dragging her tongue over my anus. The hot wetness of her tongue sliding over my butt hole gave no satisfaction, instead making me hungrier and hornier. Our eyes met between my legs. Her face was full of sensual confidence as she ate my ass. I groaned with unimaginable frustration, looking down at Margaret with pure thirst.

Flattened and fully out of her mouth, Margaret dragged her tongue up and down between my butt cheeks. With dreadful teasing slowness, she licked and kissed my taint, gradually bringing her face closer to my pussy. She sloppily kissed my vaginal opening, pushing her tongue into me. She sucked each of my labia between her lips, still teasing me. Then slowly tortuously, she moved up to my clit.

I was shamefully quick. She rubbed the tip of her tongue back forth on me for less than a minute before my legs tensed up, my abs quivered, and I came hard. Margaret kept her mouth on my cunt the whole time, sucking and licking me through bone-shaking orgasm.

I screamed. I was so built up, so horny, it all came out at once. I threw my head back, forgetting everything in the world but the sensation of Margaret's mouth on my pussy.

I descended to reality after a few seconds, and looked down between my legs at the smiling Margaret. The stunning beauty winked at me, then leaned forward and laid a single kiss on my sensitive pussy. I collapsed backwards onto the couch, breathing heavily, barely able to keep my eyes open as the waves of relief poured over me. Margaret sat between my legs, smiling, her cheek resting on the inside of my thighs.

"Come on," She stood, taking her smooth, gentle hands away from my skin. I have to admit I wasn't done with her. I imagine sucking on her gorgeous titties, pulling her nipples deep between my lips while I fingered her cunt. I wanted more of her. But as Margaret spoke, reality set in. "Let's get dressed. Master will be expecting us."

We dressed in our leather 'clothing' and cleaned up, storing all of the gear Margaret had worn for display. Once everything was sorted, we left to find Master.

I guess Margaret had forgotten that she wanted to cum too.

-

I was a distracted mess the rest of the evening. I followed Master around like a lost puppy, mind buzzing with what had just happened. He spent a few hours in the lower room, enjoying the debauchery, music, and alcohol, which Margaret and I often fetched for him. Master's orders were carried out with the empty enthusiasm of a worker ant.

Margaret and I watched while he copulated one of the dancers on the floor in front of a couch. I thought about how I would explain to Kat that I'd let Margaret go down on me.

Master ordered me to pleasure one of his friends. While I kissed and licked the man's testes, I replayed yelling at Kat for asking about a threesome with Margaret. The man came in my mouth, and I swallowed it while wondering if I should ask Winnie's advice.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever slept with," he stroked my cheek while I tried to figure out how I was going to talk to Margaret about this. We definitely needed to discuss it, right?

I should have enjoyed some of the alcohol that Master had let flow so freely, but I abstained to better perform my duty. It would have helped to relive the splitting headache I had from the booming music. In the lobby, Margaret and I had our overcoats returned to us, making us modest for the public. I secured mine with a tight belt, and helped Margaret carry Master to a waiting town car. We dropped him in the front seat, strapping him in.

At the hotel, we tipped the driver a wad of cash from Master's wallet to help us carry the big lug up to his room. We took Mr. Morgan's shoes off and dropped him on his bed. After saying goodnight to the driver, Margaret and I were alone.

-

Margaret stood by the counter in the opulent penthouse kitchen, using an outlet to charge her phone as her nails clicked against the screen. Even with Master unconscious, the head slave always seemed to have something to do on the phone. I leaned on the sink, squinting against the overbearing glare of the kitchen fluorescents. Why did they have to be that bright?

The metallic slap of a cell phone discarded on marble startled me, and Margaret let out a loud sigh, she faced me, one hand on the countertop and one on her hip. This had the effect of pulling her overcoat back, letting her left breast slip free. It was a strange way to start a serious conversation.

"We should talk, Marcie," She said.

"Yeah," I agreed. Despite my pounding migraine, I knew we had to address the elephant in the room.

"I think that hooking up was a mistake," Margaret said, taking the words right out of my mouth.

"... Yeah," why was it hard to agree? She was obviously right.

"I'm guessing you and Kat are not exclusive, but I'm sure this will still be a weird conversation for both of you. I don't want to get in the way. If you want, I'll tell her I forced you to-..." I cut Margaret off.

"I'm not going to lie to her." I said. It was slight, almost imperceptible, but I swear she suppressed a grin.

"Of course. You're a good woman, Marcie." We both were silent for a second. My head hurt. I didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Margaret did.

"My point is, you made it clear we're just friends. And I agree. We hooked up as friends. Nothing else," she said.

"Right..." I reluctantly confirmed.

"Then we'll agree to move past it!" Margaret smiled at me, picking her phone up again.

"I'm glad we're close enough to talk about this stuff without being weird!" She laughed, "Ready to get out of here? I can call a driver."

"What about Master?" I asked, letting my eyes fall closed.

"What about him?" She replied, and I couldn't help but grin. She really is doing a lot better.

March 12, Afternoon

[Drawn in the margin: A worn, leathery book with a cross on the front cover]

The best treatment for a hangover is alcohol, and Master subscribes to this remedy with gusto. I watched Margaret pour wine for him, carefully hovering over his desk. I had been summoned, and so stood on the other side of the room, head bowed politely, awaiting acknowledgement. Margaret returned to the nearby dinner tray, lifting a plate of pasta while Master spoke.

"Marcie, I'd like you to begin taking on some of Margaret's responsibilities," He said, watching the plate appear before him. Though her service did not slip, I noticed the tiniest of twitches as one of Margaret's eyebrows shot up curiously.

"Yes sire." I replied.

"I have a package to recover. Margaret will fill you in." He tucked into his meal, and I assumed I was dismissed. Margaret collected the now empty tray, and we met in the hall outside of Master's office.

"So what's going on?" I asked. Margaret shut the door quietly, carrying the tray beneath her arm.

"The slave which Mr. Laguarta gifted to Master. That's the package." she said.

"I meant with Master wanting me to take over your responsibilities," I clarified.

"I think it's finally getting through to him that I'm not his anymore," She explained, an ironic thing to say after serving him lunch from a tray. Still, I understood her meaning.

"That's... fantastic. And you're okay?" I asked. We took the stairs closest to the kitchen, and I followed behind her as she returned the tray.

"Marcie, I feel the best I've felt in years," She smiled, "Thanks to your advice, of course."

I couldn't help but beam with pride, smiling back at her warmly. She gave me a firm but respectful hug.

I'm so glad Margaret's moving on! She can do so much better than devoting herself to Mr. Morgan.

Margaret led me to her office, where she thrust a document into my hands.

"The girl's name is Tabitha," She explained, "About two hours drive from here. Whitlow will take you."

I accepted the file, feeling some confusion.

"Okay, and I do what, just pick her up?" I asked.

"Well, when I was doing this for Master, I would very carefully examine the product, to ensure all of the specifications were exactly as Master required. But seeing as I'm not responsible for that anymore..." She shrugged, "... Do what you think is best."

"You were pretty scary when you picked me up," I said, and Margaret looked away.

"I'm sorry," She apologized, "things were different." I nudged her with an elbow, forgiving her.

"They were," I agreed, "Actually, I'm excited to do this. I'm excited to make her feel welcome."

"You're so kind, Marcie! I know she'll love you."

I accepted the document, excited to meet the new girl.

-

I slipped my fingers through the overhead handle, squeezing tightly. The limousine, piloted by Whitlow, was not designed for the dirt road we traversed. As another pothole vibrated the long car, I squeezed Tabitha's folder in my hand, trying to focus.

'Tabitha, age 20, height 5 '4, weight, 110 pounds. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Caucasian.'

Definitely Master's type, but not the information I was curious about. Something about this girl had caused Master to withdraw his bid on a top-tier Mason and Brockeridge girl, and I had to know what that was.

"Innocence," According to Mr. Laguarta. I don't see how you'd understand that concept from this document, but Master had seen it the moment he laid eyes on it.

Another pothole threw me against my seat belt, and I worried the limousine wouldn't actually be able to hold together for the whole journey. Peering out the window, I saw acres and acres of endless forest, untamed, with no sign of habitation. The dirt road cut through the middle of a dense canopy of trees, with no shoulder at all. Were we in the right place? How could a high-class pleasure slave live here? I focused on the document.

' Tabitha is really studious, really obedient, and really intelligent. She grew up with parents who are very traditional. This means that she is diciplined [sic] in the old fashioned way. She will do whatever she is told. '

Either I had been knocked silly by a pothole, or this dossier was written by a twelve-year-old. It was a far cry from Margaret's articulate, accurate writing style.

I was distracted as sunlight hit the side of the limo for the first time in miles, and the bumpy dirt road took us into a clearing. After vibrating across a cattle-guard, our car was surrounded by small, quaint buildings. Whitlow took us to the first one, a building with panel siding, a steep roof, and two chimneys poking through. As soon as Whitlow parked, I disembarked, my body still tingling from the brutal vibration I'd endured.

The limousine would need a bath. Dust caked around the wheels, and mud splatters painted the fenders. Covering my eyes from the blazing noon sun, I surveyed the area. Most buildings were the same style as the one we parked by, an aged, rural, farmhouse. In one direction, rows of crops were watered by industrial irrigators. Another field held cows behind a barbed wire fence.

Had I known exactly where I was going, I would not have worn high-heels and a pencil skirt. I suppressed a laugh at how stupid and out of place I must look. Margaret was lucky that Master sent me. The proper, primped princess would have imploded on contact with the scent of manure that filled the air.

I was saved the trouble of going from building to building when an older gentleman in a set of overalls called to me.

"Are you Mrs. Morgan?" He asked. The man stood on the front steps of the rural house. He wore a set of blue-jean overalls, a beaten, worn-out baseball cap and leather gloves spilling from a side pocket.

"I'm his slave, Marcie," I replied, squinting up at him, "Mr. Morgan sent me as a representative."

"I wasn't expecting to have this conversation with a woman," He replied.

I blinked in surprise. Of all the prejudices I'd expect to encounter as a slave, gender discrimination had never occurred to me. I tried to maintain a professional manner.

"With whom do I have the pleasure?" I asked.

"My name's Sam. You're here for my daughter, Tabitha," He answered. I stepped to the bottom of the stairs. My high heels sunk into the moist soil several inches, and I fought to stay on my toes.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Sam. Are you selling Tabitha?" I asked.

"Mr. Wellers owns the whole family. It's his farm," Sam said, "But uh, I'm sent as his... representative."

I glanced around the farm, relieved to at least be in the right area.

"Is Tabitha ready to go? I understand the payment has already been made." I said.

Sam squinted at me, working his jaw. I could see that a wad of tobacco was stuck in his lip.

"Well, I reckon, but I was hoping to have a talk with Mr. Morgan, man to man, before I let him go with my daughter," He replied.

Oh, I would have given anything to see that.

"Unfortunately Mr. Morgan is attending to other business," I replied. 'Other business', in this case probably meant Margaret's backside. "I can deliver a message, if you please."

Sam worked his tobacco, thoughtfully squinting at me. I squinted back, less thoughtfully and without anything cool-looking to chew on.

"Just tell him I asked him to take good care of her," He finally said.

"I'm sure she will be very comfortable, Sam. I'll pass that on," I replied. Without a word, he turned and walked into the house. I followed, assuming the open door was an invitation.

It was a lovely home, decorated with pictures of a large, happy family. Hardwood floors were covered by ancient rugs, and pieces of furniture sported garish, loud floral patterns. Seated on a nearby couch, two women were clutching each other in a silent embrace, heads bowed and eyes closed. I quickly surmised one of them was Tabitha, as she matched the description perfectly. The other one was older, and I guessed her to be Tabitha's mother. I almost spoke, but I heard the whisper of voices and saw her mouth move. The two women were praying, and I politely waited for them to finish. When their heads lifted, Sam introduced us.

"Tabitha, this is Mary. She's Mr. Morgan's woman," he said. Tabitha stood and bowed her head respectfully. She was pretty, but awkward, gangly, and nerdy looking. She had extremely long hair, tied behind her head and hanging almost to her waist. The weather was obviously too hot for long-sleeved shirts, but that hadn't stopped Tabitha from wearing a light-knit sweater over her button-up shirt.

"Marcie," I corrected Sam, offering a handshake. She was surprised, but accepted. "I'm ready to go when you are," I said. Tabitha nodded.

"Thank you ma'am. I'm ready." Her voice was steady, almost solemn. I felt pity for her.

"This way then, Tabitha."

Tabitha carried a large satchel with her, a dorky-looking cloth bag that hung over one shoulder. Her whole outfit, from sweater to calf-length jean capris, was so far outside of anything I'd ever seen a pleasure slave wear, I wasn't sure what to make of the girl.

Like Margaret had when picking me up from the dealership, I opened the door for her, allowing Tabitha to enter the limousine before me. While she was climbing in, I looked back to the porch, where her parents watched with teary eyes.

"I'll make sure she's taken care of," I promised. Sam nodded, and his wife buried her face in his chest. I followed Tabitha into the limo. With a button on the intercom, I gave an order.

"Take us home, Whitlow," I said.

As we jumped and rattled over the dirt road, I filled Tabitha in on her situation, trying to imitate Margaret's professional succinctness.

"Your new Master is Mr. Gerrard Morgan. He's not nice, well, he's not too mean either. He's a middle-of-the-road guy." I was suddenly nervous. Margaret had made this seem easy. Tabitha politely listened, watching me with big, frightened eyes.

"Anyway, it's mostly fine. If he likes you, you'll be fine," I said, raising my voice over the grinding of wheels on gravel. "He's got a bunch of other slaves. I don't know, like eight or ten." I tried to explain. I was sure there was more to the speech Margaret had given me on my first day, but I gave up. I'm not Margaret. "Do you have any questions, Tabitha?" I asked.

She collected her thoughts, glancing around.

"I've never been in a limousine before," She finally said. It wasn't a question, but I answered all the same.

"Mr. Morgan's tastes are more... modern than your home on the farm," I hoped that wasn't rude to say.

"What kind of duties will Mr. Morgan have for me?" She asked.

We finally came upon a paved road, and I let out a sigh of relief as the limo entered its natural habitat. Without having to yell, I answered.

"You were gifted to Mr. Morgan as a pleasure slave, I believe. I susp-... are you okay?" I asked. Tabitha's mouth had fallen open, and she covered it with a hand. Her other hand clutched the cloth satchel at her side, knuckles white.

"Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness!" She repeated.

"Tabitha?" I asked.

"I'm-... I don't know how to do that. What is that? What does that mean?" She begged for an answer, her wide eyes filled with worry. I'd never been asked to define my job before. It sounds stupid when you say it out loud.

"You will likely be asked to fulfill Mr. Morgan's sexual needs," I was as direct as always.

"Oh my goodness." She pressed both hands over her mouth.

"Are you okay? You look sick," I said, studying her increasingly pale face.

"I don't feel well," She replied.

"Do you need to stop the car?" I asked. Tabitha shook her head. Her fingers kneaded the strap on her satchel relentlessly.

"Is it okay if I pray?" She asked.

"Uh, sure," I replied.

It didn't look like a prayer to me. When Tabitha put her head on her knees, wrapping her fingers behind her neck, it looked more like a fight or flight response. I watched her, filled with pity, and remembered the words of Mr. Laguarta:

You and I both know what the rarest commodity in the hobby is, Mr. Morgan: Innocence, plain and simple.

Mr. Morgan knew the value of Tabitha instantly when looking at her file. It was the same value he gave to the nineteen-year-old Yvette. In that moment, looking down at the poor, terrified woman with her head between her knees, I wanted to punch Gerrard Morgan in his perfect chin.

"Thank you, Miss Marcie. I'm okay," Tabitha was sitting up straight, her thin mouth set with determination.

"Great," I replied, "Sorry to hit you with that. Honestly, I thought someone would have told you."

"I have heard stories. I knew some men used their slaves for that sort of thing. It had crossed my mind," She replied.

"Well, it's actually kind of fun!" I tried to be cheerful, showing a corny grin and raising my eyebrows. "Mr. Morgan's pretty good in bed!" I didn't add that it really, really depended on his mood, but why make things worse?

"I see," Tabitha said. Her face remained an unhealthy white pallor. I cringed, racking my mind on what to say next. This poor kid needed some comfort.

"Will we be attending church with Mr. Morgan?" She asked.

No, Tabitha, I think if Gerrard Morgan ever stepped foot in a church he would immediately burst into flames.

"Mr. Morgan doesn't attend church," I replied. Concerned, I tensed up. After her last episode, I worried she would scream or pass out.

"I see," She replied, "I had feared as much, after you revealed his sexual intentions." She seemed grim and serious, determined to weather whatever cruel reality I would dump on her next. "Does he at least permit his servants to attend church?"

Boy, Tabitha really had a way of asking questions she did not want to have answered.

"Probably?" I answered, "I don't think Mr. Morgan even knows what day of the week it is. None of us attend that I know of,"

This time, all I received was a meek "okay." Her eyes fell to the floor. Her shoulders slumped with weight. I felt terrible for the poor girl. I resolved then and there to be her friend.

And to introduce her to Kat! Kat would cheer anyone up.

"Hey," I reached over and touched her hand, "We're super friendly gals. The Master's kind of a drip, but you'll get along well with everyone else," I reassured her with a smile.

Tabitha nodded once, then turned away from me.

"Thank you," She whispered. She tried to hide it, but tears ran down her cheeks.

I couldn't think of anything else to say for the rest of the trip.

-

"I mean, don't like, pretend to be stupid, but just... play into his machismo, you know? He likes to explain things to 'silly' women," I led Tabitha up the stairs to Master's office, trying my best to prepare her for what was coming.

"Okay. I can do that," She hung on every word. In front of the door, I faced her. Gone was the weeping, tearful little girl from the limo. Tabitha had composed herself, and now prepared to face her master with a steely-eyed glint.

"You ready?" I asked.

"I am!" she replied, raising her chin.

Okay girl, get it!

I knocked on the door.

"Just a moment!" Master called. A few seconds later, we were commanded to enter.

Master stood up from his desk, rounding it to meet us. A moment later, a ruffle-haired Kat emerged from beneath that same desk, smiling broadly.

"Marcie, what have you got for me?" Master asked. I was surprised to be wrapped in a hug, and kissed passionately on the lips. His facial scruff smelled like pussy. I looked at Kat, and she winked, forcing me to suppress a laugh.

Standing back, I motioned to the silent young woman who followed me in.

"Tabitha, sire, as requested." I pressed her file into his hands. Mr. Morgan looked the helpless girl up and down, grinning like a fox in a hen house.

"You are not like most of my girls, Tabitha!" He exclaimed.

Which was fair to say, given her knit sweater, jean capris, and tennis shoes.

Tabitha kept her head bowed, her hands still wringing the ever present satchel at her side. Since Master had not asked a question, she maintained a respectful silence. Mr. Morgan leaned back against his desk, and Kat shuffled up next to me, sneaking a side-hug. I kissed her cheek, which would normally be a violation of protocol, but I was confident our Master wouldn't care, or more likely wouldn't notice.

"Uh... Marcie, did you find out who wrote this?" Master squinted at the childishly written dossier.

"I'm not sure who wrote it, sire." I replied.

"My mother wrote it for my previous Master," Tabitha interjected. Master chuckled.

"Ah. Okay, Tabitha, what are you good at?" He asked, slapping the folder shut and crossing his arms.

"I can cook, clean, knit and sew, and I've taught children's Sunday school since I was sixteen. I helped plenty on the farm, and I'm not afraid of hard work, sire," She answered proudly.

Master was not impressed by her confidence. Rather, he was giggling like a schoolgirl.

"You taught Sunday School! Oh, wow. You are a treat. Exactly what I'd hoped for. So, no one's ever taken your clothes off?" He asked.

Tabitha's confidence disappeared in an instant. She physically took a step back, and drew her hand across her chest, touching her shoulder. She didn't answer for so long, I felt compelled to check on her.

"... Tabitha?" I asked.

"... N-... no. I've not had my clothes off for anyone, sire."

Master clapped his hands, laughing and smiling.

"Laguarta was desperate for that nurse!" He shouted, laughing to himself.

Master took a step forward, grasped both of Tabitha's shoulders firmly, and kissed her mouth. I grimaced.

When they separated, Tabitha's eyes were wide and white. Her mouth hung open in shock, and Master backed away from her with a smile.

"I am going to enjoy you..." He said, "... later. Give her a tour of the place, Marcie. Get her settled in."

I was seriously relieved I didn't have to watch Master take things even further. Stepping forward, I gently clutched Tabitha's wrist, towing her with me. I led the terrified young woman out of Master's office, pausing to wave at Kat as the door slid shut behind us. Master already had his hands down the back of her pants when she waved back, smiling. I heard the door click. Hurriedly I led Tabitha away, before her tender psyche could be damaged by the noises I was sure would be soon echoing down the hall.

I led Tabitha through the home, pointing out important rooms. The tour eventually led us to the servants quarters, where I showed her into my old bunk room. Abigail was in the living room when we came in, and so helped me settle the new girl.

"So there's another room across the hall. You could sleep in there, but I know Abigail and Yvette better and they're super cool, so you'll like them," I explained, helping Tabitha to make her bed. Abigail held one corner of the sheet as I stretched it across the mattress. When we finished, Tabitha slumped down onto the bottom bunk, eyeing Yvette's many anime posters warily.

"It's a lot to take in," she explained, "I've never met so many new people before."

"Oh, yeah, it's a lot to keep up with. But everyone's super nice and friendly. You'll like them."

Tabitha looked around the room, as if searching for something. Finally, she released the satchel from her grasp, relieving the death grip she'd kept on it from the beginning. It spilled onto the bed, revealing a Bible, a stuffed bear, and a fresh pair of knit socks. She took the Bible and the bear into her arms, clutching both to her chest. Abigail sat on her bunk, resting her elbows on her knees. With a concerned wrinkle to her brow, she questioned young Tabitha.

"Everything okay there, Tabitha?" she asked. Tabitha nodded.

"Just nervous," she replied, "I know Master Morgan wants to sleep with me. I don't understand it though... ya'll are so much prettier than me," She said.

Abigail's eye slid to the side to meet mine, disapproval scrawled across her face. She knew without asking why Master was interested in the fresh-faced Christian girl.

"Don't worry about him, kiddo. He likes to strut around like he's special, but he's a harmless dope," Abigail disadulated our master in the earnest way that only she could. Tabitha didn't seem comforted by the easygoing Abigail. The poor girl was so frightened and so small, I wanted to pick her up and hold and squeeze her and tell her it was going to be alright. I settled for a much more appropriate arm around the shoulder, dropping onto the bed beside her.

"Look, Tabitha, if you really can't go through with this, I can talk to Margaret. If anyone can convince him to leave you alone, it's her," I explained. I was pretty sure there was no stopping Master on this, but I was willing to try.

"No!" Tabitha surprised me with her passion. "I'll do my duty... 'You who are slaves must submit to your masters with all respect. Do what they tell you - not only if they are kind and reasonable, but even if they are cruel.'" She spoke more clearly and firmly than I'd heard in a while, and I was taken aback.

"Is that... from the book?" Abigail asked, nodding to the text still clutched tightly in Tabitha's slim fingers. Wordlessly, Tabitha nodded.

"You're sure?" I asked.

"I'll do whatever my Master commands," She replied, resolute. Abigail rolled her eyes and I tried to be encouraging.

"Then we'll help to make it fun for you! Do you have any questions for us?"

Tabitha thought for a moment. When she spoke, she couldn't look at us, and hesitated. Discussing intimacy was obviously very difficult for her.

"If the Master is... inside me, and he needs to pee... how does that work?"

I actually couldn't understand what she was trying to ask, but Abigail caught on.

"He'd just pull out and go to the bathroom. There's nothing keeping him there," she explained.

"Of course. That makes sense," Tabitha nodded earnestly.

I honestly don't know if this poor, naive girl will survive the darkest debaucheries of Master Gerrard Morgan.

We're having staff dinner tonight. Time for Tabitha to meet Kat and the other girls!