A Slaves Strength

A Slave's Strength (Chapter 10):
Transfer Day

by

mechgogo

Morning of Transfer Day found Tom where most mornings did: on his face on the floor doing his usual round of pushups and sit-ups. The cell's cramped quarters made some of his routine tricky, but he had always been adaptable. Ed Hengel, the guard who had helped work him over when he refused to screw a fellow trainee, took him to the showers. Tom frowned in confusion. He knew that there should have been dozens of others undergoing out-processing with him, but here he was flying solo. When he asked what was going on, Ed just shrugged and said it had to do with the mystery buyer that was interested in him.

Ed had come for Tom at six in the morning. By seven-thirty, he was back in his cell. Out-processing had been pretty boring. A final medical check, an exit interview with one of the counselors. They actually had him fill out a survey about his stay at the center. One of the questions had related to how he felt the accommodations could be improved. The counselor had read his answer, asked for clarification and not been amused when he explained what Semtex was.

When Tom returned to his cell there was a fresh uniform waiting for him. A note rested atop it. "Good luck in your new life. Try to behave yourself for a change. ;) Beth"

He smiled at that. She was still a chain, and he hated what she did for a living with a passion. But if you could look past it, Beth was alright. It wasn't as if he was in any position to claim the moral high ground on anybody. He dressed and knelt on the floor facing the door as instructed. Nobody had said he had to kill his knees on the concrete so he took down the mattress, folded it, and waited on that.

At eight o'clock, the door opened. It was Mistress Marie. She was carrying his property bag, a set of transport shackles and a stun belt.

"Good morning, Tom." She said, putting everything but the belt on the bare metal shelf of the bunk. "Strip and put your hands behind your head."

"What's going on?" he asked as obeyed. "I thought..."

"We're going out." Marie said. She buckled the belt around his waist, and he fought to keep his breathing under control. Just because he was willing to force the IOs to burn out a battery on him rather than do it with a resident didn't mean he enjoyed the fuckin' thing.

"I've set this for a ten foot proximity activation." Marie told him. "Don't make me use it."

She allowed him to get dressed after the belt was secure. He submitted to the shackles and walked meekly along as she lead him from the cell. Tom looked around as they left. The second breakfast shift was in the cafeteria, but it was still the usual mix of noise and bustling, often suffering, humanity. He didn't know if what was waiting for him would be better or worse, but it would be different. Whatever cage he found himself in next, at least there'd be fresh air and, hopefully, fewer people packed into one place. With any luck at all, there'd be an opportunity for escape as well. One phone call and the ball would commence to rolling on him and the girls being reunited in one of the countries that didn't extradite runaway indents.

Marie led Tom outside. He blinked at the bright sunlight. There were windows in the center but not many. He turned his face up to the early morning sun. It was already getting warm out. If he were at home, he'd probably be out on the porch in his kilt with a glass of lemonade and book on such a morning. He smiled. It had been two weeks since he had been outdoors, and the sensations of wind and sun had been missed.

Tom followed Marie into the staff parking lot. He was confused but getting less by the second. He knew for a fact that this wasn't how Transfer Day was supposed to go. He was supposed to be in a van with several other indents headed for an airplane that would take him and all the others from around the state whose training was up at least one state away. A ride in a private vehicle was not supposed to be part of the equation. Was Marie his mystery buyer? Was that why she had spent so much time with him and asked him all that stuff? It certainly explained the thing with the rice.

Marie's car was an Audi Cabriolet, the previous year's model – sleek and bright red. Tom quirked an eyebrow at that. Somehow, he hadn't seen her driving something like that. Silver maybe, with a hard top. As elegant as she was, how the hell did she afford a car that cost such a significant portion of his contract on a government salary? Hm, obviously slaving paid better than anyone in the Movement knew.

They drove in silence with the top down. Marie had secured him to the seat before pulling out. She rested a hand on his thigh for much of the drive. Tom smiled at her, opened his legs little wider. A guy could do a lot worse than seven years in her bed.

Even as he enjoyed the feel of the wind and the warmth of the sun, Tom kept his wits about him. Working at the freight company had given him a good grasp of local geography. Before long, he was able to get an inkling of where they were headed. There were only so many places within driving distance that someone who could afford his contract was likely to live.

The car's clock read 8:45 when Marie pulled into a parking lot and removed most of his restraints. By then, Tom was sure of where they were headed. They were deep in the suburbs at that point. Everything had that carefully planned look of communities built by and for people who needed to work in the city but damned sure didn't want to live there.

The stun belt stayed on, as did the cuffs. One bracelet went around his right wrist, the other around the passenger door's inside handle. The keys went with Marie's purse in the trunk. Even if he were stupid enough to overpower her, he wouldn't get far.

Marie took his chin in her hand. "I had to pull quite a few strings to make this happen, Tom." She told him. "We're going to meet a good friend of mine. Her name is Eleanor, and she has been following your progress with interest. Do I have to tell you how I expect the day to end?"

Tom shook his head. "No, Mistress Marie. I'll be on my best behavior."

She stroked his cheek and kissed him. "Good boy."

Ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of the security gates to the Bridgewood gated community. Tom knew the place from work and his involvement with the local cells. It was the sort of place where the neighbors had to vote you in. Big expensive lots with homes that started at half a mil, and in-ground pools as standard a feature as wheels on a motorcycle, nestled within the walls. There was a community center, two parks and a fitness center. Plus, shops so that the locals didn't have to mingle with the common folk unless they wanted to. Twenty-four hour armed private security watched over the luxury homes and the people who lived in them. Odds were the jerk rent-a-cop that checked Marie's ID, despite recognizing her on sight, made more than he had when he was free.

They pulled into a driveway that led up to a house nicer than anything Tom had ever spent more than a few minutes inside of without burglary tools. The two-story structure had big bay windows all around the ground floor and blond wood siding. An attached garage was snuggled up to the house. A privacy fence went around one half of the property. The whole thing sat in the middle of an acre of carefully tended lawn with decorative flowerbeds here and there.

A woman greeted them at the door. She was nearly a head shorter than Tom. Her blond hair looked natural, as did the light tan of her skin. She had on a pretty green and blue sundress that flattered her figure and open-toed sandals. Tom put her age at a very well taken care of forty-something. The play of muscle under her skin wasn't as obvious as it was with Marie, but there was strength there. And not just physical, either. This was somebody used to being in charge. Tom felt the full-body relaxation that had claimed him during his times with Mistress Beth or Marie come over him.

The owner of the house greeted Marie with a smile. Her teeth were the kind of perfect you normally only saw in magazines or the mouths of the very rich. No surprise there, given her address.

"Marie! Good of you to come." The two women hugged. She turned to Tom. "And you must be Thomas." She said, still beaming.

Tom resisted the urge to correct her about his name. Instead he bowed his head, lowered his eyes. "Hello, Mistress Eleanor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Eleanor patted the air in front of him. "Just Mistress, dear." She turned and motioned them inside. "Please, come in. Can I offer you some coffee?"

"We stopped on the way." Marie said as she removed her shoes and took a seat on the couch. "If you have any iced tea though, I'd love a glass."

"Of course." Eleanor said. "Thomas, the kitchen is that way." She pointed. "There is a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator. Glasses are in the cupboard above the counter opposite the refrigerator. Two glasses, dear." She waved her fingers and turned to talk to Marie, Tom clearly as good as forgotten for the moment.

Tom gauged the distance to the kitchen and cleared his throat. The stun belt still hugged his waist full of the promise of more bad drama than he felt like getting into so early.

"Is there a problem, dear?" Eleanor asked. Her tone was conversational, but it was clear that there had better not be.

Tom shook his head. "Not exactly, Mistress. More like a speed bump is all."

He turned to Marie. "Mistress Marie, if I go into the kitchen the belt is going to go off."

She just looked at him. "And?" That confused him. This sort of gratuitous cruelty wasn't usually Marie's style.

"Perhaps if you asked nicely instead of sounding like you're making a demand, Mistress Marie could take the belt off for you." Eleanor said.

Tom nodded. "Of course, Mistress, thank you for the advice. Mistress Marie, would you please take the belt off me so that I can attend to my task?" A moment's thought. It never hurt to go that extra little step. "I promise to be a good boy."

That was apparently all she had been waiting for. The belt came off and, at a word from Eleanor, Tom's clothes as well. He gave her a few seconds to admire the view then turned and went toward the kitchen.

Eleanor allowed him to get to the kitchen-side living room doorway. "Thomas."

Tom stopped, turned to face her. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Did anyone say you could use your hind legs to leave the room?"

"No Mistress, they didn't. I'm sorry if I was being rude." He went to all fours and started to crawl to the kitchen when her voice caught him again.

"Ah!"

This time when Tom turned she snapped her fingers and patted the air above her feet with one index finger. Tom crawled to her, knelt at her feet. A hand gently pressed his head down until he was looking at his own thighs. She held him that way for several seconds before lifting his chin in her hand.

"When we are home together, you will leave and enter my presence on all fours unless I say otherwise or the nature of your task makes it unpractical. Understood?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, Mistress. I promise to do better." Inside he was seething. If she wanted things done a particular way why not just tell him the first time rather than play all this back and forth tarbhshite?

She smiled and gave him a kiss. Her lips were soft and she wasn't wearing any lipstick. It was nice. "I believe you, dear. Now get moving." She flicked her fingers dismissively.

A thought stopped him. "Mistress, if you have anything that could do for a serving tray, I could bring the pitcher in with me. Then you and Mistress Marie wouldn't have to wait when you wanted your drinks freshened."

"That's a very good idea, dear. Look in the cupboard below where you find the glasses."

A few minutes later, he was back. The kitchen had been impressive. Granite counters and hardwood cupboards. The fridge and freezer were stainless steel. The stove was about as high-end as you could get without buying from a restaurant supplier. It matched the refrigerator's finish and had a griddle/grill combo sitting between four gas burners. He had probably stolen cars that cost less in his day.

"You didn't say if the tea was already sweetened, Mistress, so I brought the sugar bowl." Tom said, placing the tray on the coffee table.

"He's very detail oriented, isn't he?" Eleanor asked Marie. There was a clear note of approval in her voice. To Tom, she said. "Company first, dear."

When Tom had served them the women spent a few minutes chatting, before Eleanor began interviewing Tom. She examined him intimately, petting his skin and running her fingers through his hair. He got hard on command and she expressed appreciation for his size. A soft, strong hand caressed his shaft and fondled his balls. Tom shuddered a little and tried to maintain his composure.

"And so responsive!" Eleanor ran a finger up the underside of his cock and over the head, pausing to trace a small circle in the drop or two of pre-cum that was leaking out.

Tom was examined internally as well. His face burned as he was bent over and his ass lubricated. Eleanor donned a latex glove and gently worked the first three fingers of one hand into his anus one at a time. She kept him like that for what seemed like several minutes, sodomizing him manually while her other hand alternated between petting his body and stroking his cock. Skilled fingers found his prostate and he shuddered in involuntary pleasure. After she was done, she wiped him down with a cloth and allowed him to kneel at her feet again once he had put the glove in the garbage.

The matter of Frenchy's little prank came up. "Why did you insist on anonymity when you bought those other trainees free, Thomas?" Eleanor asked. "It was a very selfless act. Don't you want people knowing the kind of person you are?"

"It would have cheapened it, Mistress." Tom explained. "You don't do something like that to get seen as a hero. You do it because it's right."

"But my understanding is that two of the boys you rescued looked up to you. If they knew what you had done for them, they might have followed your example and dedicated themselves to the abolitionist cause. Obviously I don't share those views, but wouldn't you want them to be inspired to help achieve repeal?"

It was a good question. Tom had asked it of himself a few times. "Billy and Aaron were good kids, Mistress. But they were young and sheltered. It's a good bet that at least one of them would have hooked up with a militant faction and gotten over their heads in some criminal nonsense. Then they'd either be dead or in an even worse jam than I bought them out of." He shook his head. "If they're meant to know what I did, they'll find out. They don't need me takin' out a billboard."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow at that. It was interesting. For all his claims of sociopathic self-interest, Thomas seemed to consistently go further out of his way to advance other people's best interests than he did to further his own.

Questions about Tom's past were asked, particularly his relationship with the twins. The inevitable one about if the three of them ever shared a bed came up. He answered honestly even as he silently fumed about being asked. Once in a great while they would, in fact, all make love together but the girls never did anything with each other. They never did anything with each other when he wasn't there either. The whole idea was a little repugnant.

Eleanor produced a copy of his file at one point. "Thomas, do you have any idea how exceptional you are?" She asked.

A confused look passed over Tom's face. "Not really, Mistress. I mean, I know voluntaries are rare and I can understand why. But I don't see what the big deal is. You protect your family however you can. That's all I did really." He shrugged.

"But not everyone thinks that way, dear. Many people would have let...Nicollette, is it... be taken away. After all it's not like you're really married to her."

Tom felt himself flush at that. He got so sick of people trivializing what he and Nick' had just because they didn't have a streachailt leathair marriage license. "With respect, Mistress, it is exactly like I'm really married to her. A marriage license is just a piece of paper. Without commitment and loyalty, the only place it's of any use is the bathroom. And I couldn't very well spend the rest of my life with Angie knowing I could have saved her twin sister and did nothing instead."

"And that is part of what makes you so exceptional, dear. That degree of loyalty. Especially in someone with your past." She opened his file and started paging through it.

"Impoverished childhood, family history of drug addiction. Did you use narcotics when you were free?"

Tom shook his head. "Little weed every now and again, but even that was a rarity. I've seen what that garbage does to people. No, thanks."

Eleanor nodded, her eyes never leaving the file. "Very wise. Though I do find it interesting that your parents were addicts, and you married one. Well, they do say we marry our mothers and fathers. Let's see. Both parents died early on in your life, a brief stay in the foster care system. You left school at age 14 but returned at age 17 and graduated the same year you would have, had you never interrupted your education. How did that come to pass?"

"Has Mistress ever heard of Rafferty's Meats?" Tom asked. When she shook her head that she hadn't, Tom explained. "Rafferty's is a mom and pop butcher shop and grocery store not far from where I lived with Nicki and Angie. They've won several awards and got a couple solid write-ups in the papers. Mr. and Mrs. Rafferty, they took me under their wing. Got me off the streets and back into school. I took some tutoring and sat some exams to see what grade I needed to be in after so long away. Happened I was able to enroll at the start of what would have been my senior year. Graduated nine months later." Tom's voice was full of pride and he sat up straighter as he said that.

Mistress nodded. "Tenth in your class according to this. That is quite an accomplishment, dear. I must say, I'm surprised you never went on to college. I'm sure you had your reasons. IQ 175. Very impressive. Strong aptitude for languages, music and chemistry. Kinesthetic learning seems to be your strong suit. What sort of chemistry? Drugs?"

"I dealt some, Mistress." Tom admitted. "But I was never a cooker. Too high risk. And if it seems hypocritical that I barely use personally, but I sold it," he shrugged. "Using your own product leads to nothing but grief. I never dealt to kids and I always reckoned if an adult wants to poison themselves, it's their affair."

"Then what was your expertise?"

"Explosives." He took a certain perverse pride in the shocked look on her face. "Like I told Mistress Marie's boss: fifty dollars and ten minutes in a hardware store and I can make national headlines." There was no braggadocio in his voice, only the calm confidence of a man who knew he was an expert at his craft. He had done just that five years ago.

"Is that how you got those scars on your hands?" The backs of both Tom's hands were covered in the slick, pinched tissue of healed burn scars.

Tom nodded. "Batch of napalm got away from me. It could have been lots worse. I've still got full use of my hands and don't look like a horror movie special affect. That was a long time ago though. " That last was pure bullshit but Mistress didn't need to know about the little plastique and napalm party favors he had rigged around the house the day the collectors came, never mind all the work he'd done for The Cause over the years.

"I'm glad to hear that." Eleanor said. She took him by the chin. "There is no place in this house for that kind of behavior. Am I clear?" when he nodded, she patted his cheek.

Eleanor turned back to the file. "Where were we? Ah yes, multi-lingual: Spanish and Irish. You claim – and demonstrate – a much greater fluency in Irish than Spanish. Why is that?"

"The girls and I learned it together. They're all about the hardcore Irish pride. It was a bonding experience. You know, something we had for ourselves that most others don't. Came in handy a few times that way. It's a beautiful language. Music, poetry, writing. You can't listen to it and not be swept up by it. Least I can't anyhow."

"Interesting. I expect English to be your primary language in this house, however."

Tom bowed his head. "Of course, Mistress."

"You have a history of violence as well. Yet, your behavior was usually exemplary at the center. Several arrests and one or two convictions for assault. No lengthy jail time though. No felony convictions of any kind in fact. Nothing in the past four years apart from some disorderly conduct charges here and there. Then, of course, there's the matter of your behavior towards one of your trainers. An Agent French?"

Tom nodded. "I've been trying to go straight since before I met the girls, Mistress. Playtime stops when you turn eighteen. The assaults and disorderly conduct beefs were stupid street nonsense. Some idiot thinking the long hair and the kilt meant I was an easy mark and putting hands on me or getting froggy with my wives."

Eleanor got a confused look on her face at that. "Kilt, dear?"

"There's a couple companies that make street kilts, Mistress. Modern versions of what the Celts wore without the clan colors. The twins got me a couple and I wore them when and as I could." He shrugged. "They were more comfortable a lot of the time than pants, and Nick' and Ang' loved the sight of me in 'em, so why not? I've got one in my property bag."

"Interesting. And did you wear anything underneath?"

Ah yes, the eternal question. Tom took a calculated risk. "Little lipstick now and again if the twins were feelin' frisky." He said with a grin and a twitch of one eyebrow. Both women laughed aloud at that. "Winter and fall I'd go trad. It was too sticky during the summer. "

"Frenchy...sorry...Agent French was another matter. He kept bringing my family into what should have been between him and I." Tom felt his face harden at the recent memory. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I can respect that." Eleanor said. "And I want you to know that I will never use your family to hurt you, Thomas. At the same time, I do not tolerate that level of defiance. My last domestic lost his temper and struck me. I subleased his contract to a brothel with an exclusively male clientele. Do we understand one another?"

"Perfectly, Mistress."

She smiled. "Good boy." Eleanor closed the file. "You're a very interesting case, dear. And very rare. I don't mean for all the obstacles you have overcome, though that is certainly very impressive in its own right. Tell me, Thomas, do you know how many voluntaries there are in the system, including yourself?"

Tom shook his head. "I couldn't find anything on that when I was doing my research, Mistress. Can't be a very big number or they'd likely be screaming it all over the media to shut up the abolitionists."

Eleanor held up four fingers. "There are four, dear. Including you."

The news hit like a glass of ice water to the crotch. Tom sat up straighter and blinked. "You're shitting me!"

The smack that blurred into the side of his face made his ears ring and stars dance across his vision. Tom shook his head. Mac de bitseach! Whoever had coined the phrase "hit like a girl" had never taken a shot from Mistress Eleanor.

Eleanor grabbed his hair and pulled his head back painfully. She glared at him. "You will never use that kind of language in this house, Thomas!" she scolded him, shaking a finger in his face. "It is ignorant and low-class, and you are neither. Am I understood, puppy?" She gave his head a sharp jerk for emphasis.

Tom whimpered. He could take a hit better than a lot of guys but that had hurt. "Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry."

"I believe you, dear. But you have to learn."

She released Tom's hair. "My bedroom is the third door on the left when you turn right at the top of the stairs. Inside the door of the closet, you will find a green nylon gym bag hanging on a hook. Behind the bag is a black men's leather belt. Fetch. And no dawdling!"

A few minutes later Tom crawled back into the living room with the belt in one hand. He crawled to Mistress's feet and held it out to her. She looked down at him for a moment, took the strap and held it up to look at it.

"Thomas," she asked. "What did I call you after I said you were neither low-class nor ignorant?"

"You called me 'puppy,' Mistress."

She nodded. "And when puppies fetch, do they carry what they fetch with their paws or do they use their mouths?"

Tom blushed. She could have told him this in the first place. "They use their mouths, Mistress."

"Just so." Eleanor tossed the belt across the room with a flick of her wrist. "Pick it up properly, return it where you found it, then come back and fetch correctly."

Tom tried not to let his frustration show, but a little sigh escaped and his hands clenched on his thighs for a second. Eleanor caught it and gave him an inquiring look.

"Yes, Mistress." Tom said and went to obey.

As Tom crawled from the room with the instrument of his punishment hanging from his mouth, he heard Eleanor talking to Marie.

"It's just like with any other animal." She was saying. "If you use a little patience and repetition with them, along with a firm hand, they can be taught almost anything."

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