Master and Slave
by Taylor Jameson


Part Two: Silent Night


"You must be very special." a woman wearing nothing
but a smile snuggled up against Brad as he sat rather
uncomfortably on a soft blue padded bench in the
indoor garden. After removing his mask for him, she
continued, "Cindy said you just came from Mr. P's
room."

Brad nodded, blushing as a well muscled man brought
him a fruity drink with a flower sticking out of the
top. "I guess so."

"We're supposed to give you anything you want." The
woman purred, rubbing her nude body up against him as
she ran her hands over his leather encased cock.
"Anything you desire."

Brad looked out the large bay windows into the
California night. He knew there was a hotel on the
same expanse of land and wondered if he would be
staying there for the night. Before he could ask, his
question was answered.

"Here's the key to your suite." the man was back
again and dangling a key on a leather strap for him.
"Room 12."

"Thanks." Brad took the key and sipped slowly on his
drink as the woman further insinuated she wanted to
fuck him. He wondered if the VIP room was standard for
someone that was lucky enough to spend time with a
head master.

* * * * *

Greg had quickly changed from his leather pants and
vest to a pair of looser charcoal pants, opting to
stay with the shirt. He knew very well that sending a
public slave to the VIP lounge and setting him up with
a room was highly unusual, but something about the
slave had struck him as familiar. He had known half
way through the session he would break his own rules
to find out who his masked slave had been.

It was something he just had to know. Almost as if he
was being commanded to follow up on the slave. He also
knew that he wanted to see the trembling man once
more, and possibly invite him into his own elite
clique of regulars. He could train him well and bring
him into the world without a mask.

After pointedly ignoring his messages, Greg took the
short walk to the VIP lounge to find his slave,
hopefully unmasked.

* * * * *

Brad let his body relax as the woman knelt between
his legs and engulfed his cock. As she swallowed him
whole, he tried for the life of him to remember why he
gave up women so many years ago. It seemed the only
place he even thought of them as sexual beings was in
the Palace. It was hard not to see the nearly and
fully naked men and women as anything other than
sexual.

He let one hand tug on the woman's soft blonde hair
as she hungrily worked on him, After the session with
the Mr. P, he knew he couldn't last long, he never
did, but when he came across her heaving breasts, he
couldn't help but feel a little inadequate.

The woman licked her lips, then rubbed the fluid on
her fingers and into her mouth. "Sweet as honey."

* * * * *

Greg heard the low moan before he could put a face to
it, but as he took a dark corner booth, he knew the
other man was who he was looking for.

"Mr. P!" His head throbbed slightly when he heard the
familiar voice of his assistant, Tam. "Mr. P...I was
hoping to catch you before you went home..."

"What is it, Tam?" Greg was unenthused as his usual
drink was set on the table. "I'm not really in the
mood today."

"Did you clear for a public slave to get a VIP
suite?" Tam's voice was low as she slid into the
booth.

"Yes, I did." Greg kept his reply simple and looked
Tam in the eye until she nervously got up and left him
to his spying. He knew that she would go to anyone
that would listen and tell them he'd cracked. So be
it. Maybe he had cracked, he knew it wouldn't be the
first time.

Drawn to the commotion, he saw a naked female eagerly
toweling off as she took a table near him.

"Have you seen a slave in here recently?" Greg smiled
seductively, knowing that alone could get the
information out of most anyone.

"The one you sent?" the woman smirked, "I can see why
you like him."

"Really, so now I like him?" Greg tried to push away
her comment.

"He's delicious, Mr. P." She gathered the last bit of
Brad's drying cum on her fingers and pushed them to
Greg's lips. "And with such a pretty face, too. Looks
familiar, though."

Greg inhaled the scent and let his tongue dart out to
taste her fingers. "Familiar, you say?"

"Mmm." she smiled, drawing back her hand. "Maybe from
some television show or something, not like anyone
famous...but I know I've seen him before."

Greg was even more curious with the new information
and wanted to see the man for himself, "Did you hear
if he was leaving soon?"

"He came and went, Mr. P." the blonde mocked a pout,
"Pity too, didn't leave a number or anything."

"Shit." Greg gulped the warm drink. "You didn't
happen to catch his room number, did you?"

"Oooh, you've got it serious." she giggled.

"No, I just want to follow up. Maybe ask him to join
the list with my other regulars." Greg nervously
fiddled with the flower in his drink.

"So you say." the woman set aside her towel and slid
into Greg's booth. "I might have heard something, but
we aren't supposed to give out information like
that...but I'm sure you know the rules." She smiled
softly, making it understood what her meaning was.

"What do you want? Name it. You know I can get it or
not." Greg finished off his drink and leaned heavily
on the table, ready to negotiate terms to get what he
wanted.

"I want to see him on his knees, being worked over
with a strap, then fuck him senseless. A joint session
with both of you." she licked her lips again. "By the
way, my name is Trish."

Greg lowered his eyes, "I hate to be the one to break
it to you, Trish, but I don't think he'll be coming
back soon. That's why I wanted to follow up...he
didn't even take an hour to break."

"He'll be back." Trish ran a hand through her hair,
"He was so hot when I got to him...he'll probably be
back tomorrow requesting you." she tried not to laugh,
letting out only half a giggle, "I think you turned
him on in ways he's not ready for."

"That's stupid." Greg shook his head, tapping a
cigarette out of his pack and slowly lighting it. "He
was a novice. I should have known better."

"Then why would you want him on your list?" Trish
raised an eyebrow, knowing she had him against the
wall.

Greg stumbled for a strong answer and ended up with a
rather weak one, "He's trainable, and I want a
challenge."

"You want him, and you know it."

Greg shrugged, "Even if I did, it's none of your
business. And I can't promise you anything."

"You'll get him, Mr. P. You get what you want, every
time. You know I can give you the room number, so just
tell me I can have a private session with you both."

Greg caved. "Master or slave?"

"Slave."

"Okay, but I'm not promising anything solid."

"That's all I asked for. Now, how about another
drink?"

* * * * *

Brad left through the top level bar, changing into
his street clothes as he left. He couldn't help but
wonder how many people had known what happened to him
in Mr. P's chamber. Did the woman behind the bar know
what he had been in for?

He couldn't help the thoughts that ate at his belly
as he checked into his room and stared at the huge
double bed and Jacuzzi. Why did he freak out so
easily? Why did Mr. P not only send him to the VIP
lounge, but hook him up with such a nice room? And Who
the hell is this Mr. P guy, anyway?

There was something about the master's voice, the way
he almost seemed to be mocking at every moment until
he became 'Daddy'. Something about the way his chin
formed under the eye mask. It was all just too damn
eerie to be coincidence. Mr. P had seemed so familiar,
yet reminded him nothing of any other master he'd been
with. The one time he'd dared to see the smile Mr. P
gave willingly, it had frightened him...and only
partly because of the context.

After three little bottles of gin while sitting
comfortably in his personal Jacuzzi, the questions
went away. He thought briefly about driving home and
realized he was probably too drunk to even find his
car. And just maybe, things would make more sense in
the morning.

* * * * *

Greg sighed as he stood before the locked door to
room 12. Thankfully it hadn't taken much coaxing to
get Trish to give up the number. And even if their
little ménage did take place, which seemed like too
far in the future to think about for more than a
fleeting moment, it wouldn't be half-bad.

He had half-hoped on his way up that the door would
be unlocked, and the slave would be waiting for him
inside. Of course, that wasn't the way things went in
the real world. Prepared for the let-down, he removed
a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket and
jotted down a simple note.

--Dear B, Brittany,

I can't explain why, but I must see you again. It is
of the utmost importance. If you wish for the same,
please come Devil's Palace Friday night, as late as
you wish, and ask for me at the bar. They will be
expecting you.

Your Master and Daddy,
Mr. P


For a moment, Greg contemplated signing his name and
leaving his voice mail number, but that was too much.
It would be almost obsessive, and he just wanted to
arrange another meeting.

"I'm not interested in him as more than a slave." He
reminded himself as he slid the note under the door.
"Just a slave, nothing more. No faces, no names."

He almost sounded convincing.

* * * * *

Brad awoke, feeling strangely comfortable in the
strange tangle of sheets as he tried to recall the
previous night. Luckily, only a slight headache
remained from his drinking.

After a brief fumble for the phone, he requested room
service bring a cup of coffee and some aspirin. He
could feel a slight bruising on his back and ass and
cursed his thin skin. He always bruised. Luckily, he
carried it well and had gotten used to the look of a
truly well formed bruise. Each one was a temporary
reminder of what had happened.

A slight knock startled him out of his waking daze
and he shook away his previous thoughts. He half-hoped
it would be the mysterious master at the door, come to
wish him a good morning and explain a few things. It
was only room service.

He didn't see the small slip of once folded paper
until he'd washed down the two pills with some
Columbian roast. He could feel his pulse rising a
little as he took up the note and opened it. Of
course, it had been from the shadowy master.

He couldn't help but smile as he read the name, then
whispered it aloud, "Brittany." In retrospect, it
seemed rather silly how much the role playing had
phased him. The tiny panties, the dress...the
spanking. He'd always been good at taking on
characters, but part of him wondered how he took the
suggestion so quickly.

Once the thoughts had tracked back to the note, he
finished. Now more curious than before. The boss
wanted to see him again, even went and set up an
appointment.

As he went to shower before he left to go home, he
briefly flirted with the thought of not coming Friday,
just not showing up at all. Of course, he knew he had
to go...if nothing else to assure himself that Mr. P
was no more than a passing fancy for a certain
master/slave identity and Mr. P just liked the easy
response to role playing. He hoped.

* * * * *

Greg groaned as he rolled over and pulled the
blankets tighter around him. He hadn't slept hardly at
all, instead had spent more than a couple long hours
pacing the floor of his San Francisco condo muttering
to himself. The first conclusion that he'd come to was
that he'd fallen for the nameless and faceless slave.
The second was that falling for a slave was definitely
against the rules.

He felt guilty for the lengths he'd been willing to
go to all in the name of curiosity. Had he actually
seen the slave and put a face to the beautiful,
writhing body...well, he didn't want to think about
that.

After slowly sitting up and giving his balls a
healthy scratch, he tried to look through bleary eyes
for his glasses. He'd put them somewhere other than
the usual place in his late night pacing. Giving up on
his glasses, he found his cigarettes and lit one of
the remaining two.

"Fuck man, get it together." He spoke to himself in a
hushed tone, standing on sleepy legs and stumbling to
the kitchen for his morning coffee.

Two cups of coffee later, he finally left the kitchen
table and located his specs under the TV Guide in the
living room. Flipping to whatever kind of news was on
at eleven thirty, he checked his messages.

One message. Dan, of course, reminding him that the
cast had a meeting that afternoon to work up a
shooting schedule for the next few months. He hadn't
forgotten.



Go to Part Three

Go back to Main Archive