Page 22 of Body Slave

Sometimes, like this day, Oliver arrived early and it allowed him to watch Mr. Fiorello teach the slave how to make the beautiful cabinets and other stuff the master sold. Oliver had always liked playing with wood, carving stray pieces he found from time to time with an old knife his mother had let him use. He’d tried to carve little figurines for his sister to play with and the results hadn’t been half bad if he said so himself. The sounds and smells of the wood being cut, sanded, and stained comforted him, made him feel a little bit more at home. There were always scraps lying around and he couldn’t help but reach out and scoop one up occasionally. He palmed a two-inch sliver and ran his thumb over its smooth surface much as he had his lips.

“You like carpentry, huh?”

Oliver started at the sudden voice next to him. Turning, he whipped his hands behind his back before he remembered that hiding something one had done wrong would bring worse punishment. He stared at the floor as he presented his upturned palm holding the piece of wood.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said as contritely as he could. Maybe the penalty would only be no lunch. Hunger always trumped a beating.

Mr. Fiorello chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder with the same hardy camaraderie he used with Danny. “It’s okay, lad. It’s trash, that’s why it’s on the floor. Go ahead and keep it.” When Oliver offered up a sincere thank-you, the man looked at him for a few seconds. “You never answered my question. Do you like working with wood?”

Oliver bit his lip, not sure if his childish efforts constituted anything worth mentioning. But the man waited for some kind of answer, so best to go with the simple truth. “Yes, sir.”

“Hmm. I don’t suppose body slaves are expected or allowed to do manual labor.”

Oliver had no answer to that. His body and time belonged to the master. The man wouldn’t allow him to do anything that interfered with servicing him in anyway. How the shop manager’s question fit into that world view was above Oliver’s pay grade.

“Well,” the older man continued. “Mr. Tanner is a busy man and probably not interested in being bothered with such a thing. So let’s just leave it that if you find yourself hanging around as you sometimes do and you want to try your hand at something, you ask. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Oliver treated Mr. Fiorello to a genuine smile. “Thank you, sir. I’d like that.”

The man chuckled again, ruffled Oliver’s hair in a fatherly way, and left him. Absurdly happy over an offer he’d likely never have time to take, he put the wood in his pocket and ran his thumb over it again. So smooth, yet not soft. Not like Ben’s smooth and soft skin. It would have to do, though.

It would have to do.

Later that afternoon, as he sucked the master to climax, Oliver played with the chip again. The master controlled the bobbing of his head with the strength of his fist in his hair, so no hands needed. Having even this small thing that was uniquely his own pleased him immensely, especially as it remained a secret. The master could fuck his throat, but he couldn’t deprive him of the wood if Oliver was careful enough to hide it. And he was. With a muted groan, the older man shot his load and pushed Oliver away. The office door opened and he heard the voice that sent delicious shivers down his spine.

“I’m ready to take off, Dad.”

“Me, too.”

The master stood and walked around his desk, giving Oliver the space he needed to come out from under it. He quickly checked to make sure his face was clean and dry as he scrambled out into the open. When he rose, he caught Ben’s expression, a short look of disgust before he masked it. Oliver stuck his hand in his pocket and rubbed the wood chip a couple of times before heeling to his master. He kept his head down, embarrassed and ashamed at Ben’s reaction to what he and the master had been up to. It was stupid of course, because slaves didn’t have the luxury of hurt feelings or of caring what people other than their master or mistress thought of them. He wished Ben’s opinion didn’t matter, but it did, because Ben mattered.

“I have some great news,” the master said as the three of them strolled toward the lobby. Naturally he spoke to his son, but Oliver heard it as well. “I had a long call with a company up in Canada. They’re offering us an exclusive distributorship of their lumber.”

“That’s terrific, Dad. Are they coming down here for a pitch meeting?”

“No, they invited me up for several days to tour their facilities and hammer out the contract. The owner is an old timer like me. He wants a face-to-face. None of those conference calls and Skyping for him.”

Ben snorted. “You’re not that old, Dad, but I get it.” He opened the front door to let his father go before him. With a twitch of his lips that might have been an apology, he went through next, although he didn’t let the door slam in Oliver’s face.

The sun was still out and the heat of the day still evident as they approached the waiting car. Joe waited beside it, dressed as always in his severe black suit. Poor guy must roast in those clothes. Oliver felt lucky to have on a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. He waited until the freemen were seated before getting into the passenger’s seat.

“Do you need me on the trip?” Ben asked once Joe had pulled the car away from the curb.

“No, it’s a one-man task. Besides, I need you here running the operation while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best to keep everything on an even keel.”

“I have every faith in you, son.” There was a long pause. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have you here to take my place when I’m out of town.”

“I know, Dad. I know.” They rode in silence for a few miles before Ben asked, “Are you taking Oliver?”

Just like that the atmosphere in the car changed. Sudden tension spiked that even Joe felt. The older slave’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Oliver, himself, held his breath waiting to hear the master’s reaction.

“Of course not!” The terse answer could have rested on its own, except the master elaborated. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to take a slave up there when the government has been known to confiscate slaves of foreign visitors and free them. Canada may be full of quality lumber, but it’s also full of meddling do-gooders.”

Ben said nothing to that and silence reigned the rest of the ride. Oliver didn’t even spare a moment of regret that he wouldn’t have a chance to go somewhere he might be free. The master wasn’t a stupid man. He’d paid a goodly sum for his body slave. No way he’d risk losing him. If his business trip became stressful, he’d simply have to use his own hand for relief. Too bad for him and a break for Oliver, except it probably also meant no more going to the lumberyard for the duration.

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