Page 11 of Dozer

“Something like that. You need to understand that being my sex slave will mean being available to me every minute of every day, and not just for sex. You’ll cook for me, clean for me, and suck my cock on command. You’ll have an exercise schedule, you’ll eat what I tell you to eat, and if you’re being punished, it’s doubtful you’ll enjoy the taste of what’s provided. Do as you’re told, and food you like will be one of the rewards. Same goes for showers. Warm water will be a privilege you earn.”

I felt relief at his words because I’d worried about that damned belt. I don’t mind working out, and I suck at cooking, but something told me he’d provide instructions before he punished me for not getting it right.

But I should probably double-check that.

“I never had much of an opportunity to cook. The cafeteria fed us at school, and there was staff when I was home. I’ve learned some basics — scrambled eggs, hamburger patties. I can boil pasta and dump a jar of spaghetti sauce on it.”

“You seem teachable to me. Why were you relieved when I told you warm water is a privilege?”

I didn’t realize my gaze moved to his belt until after it did, and then I felt my face and ears flame hot again.

“Ah. I threatened you with my belt earlier, and you were relieved there were other ways to punish you?”

I looked down, and he leaned forward and lifted my chin again, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger, so I couldn’t move my head again.

“Total honesty — I can’t tell you how I’ll punish you, because I don’t yet know what will get my point across the fastest. Maybe it will be the belt, perhaps it will be cold showers, or having a huge butt plug locked in your ass until your attitude improves. Maybe you’ll have to kneel on uncooked rice facing a corner, or maybe you’ll get nothing but your most hated food for a week. I have no idea, but I can guarantee you won’t like it, whatever it ends up being.”

He leaned forward and kissed my nose. I tried to jerk back, but he was holding my chin too tightly.

“I can’t say what your rewards will be, either. If you enjoy reading, it might be a book from a favorite author soon after it releases. Maybe I’ll give you a massage, or have your favorite meal delivered so you don’t even have to cook it, or perhaps I’ll allow a long, hot bath. At first, your rewards will be pretty basic, things most people take for granted that you’ll have to earn, but eventually, you’ll be able to earn luxuries.”

“If you’re to allow me in public, there’ll have to be blackmail you’re holding over my head.”

“Indeed.”

His response told me he already knew what that would be, and that he wasn’t going to tell me up front.

“And if I want the details of that before I’ll negotiate?”

“Then that tells me you aren’t planning to negotiate a contract you intend to fulfill, in which case I’ll belt and whip you every day for two weeks, and then I’ll put you out in the middle of downtown, naked, so it’ll be impossible to keep your resurfacing hidden from your parents.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Or your tattoos. Pictures will be up of you naked all over the internet. And sure, your family will have the ones from the big sites taken down, but the foreign sites won’t give a fuck about all their legal wrangling. Even if they pay a team of lawyers around the clock, pics will go up faster than they can force them to be taken down or have the site blacklisted from those accessing the web from the U.S.”

He was right, and we both knew it. Especially if he had his hacker friend take pics and upload them to foreign sites right off the bat. My mom’s big enough in politics, most people recognize the name even if they can’t put a face to it, and my name is a hyphenated form of hers and dad’s.

I have no idea why I told him one of my deepest, darkest secrets, but it just spilled out.

“When I was in seventh grade, my best friend and I made a suicide pact. We researched what to take, and how much, to stop our hearts. We stole the ingredients from the science lab, and came up with a concoction that didn’t taste terribly awful when mixed into apple juice with a few extra packets of sugar.”

“You’re alive,” he noted.

“We were in the common room, the only place we could hang out together, since my parents had signed that I wasn’t allowed in anyone else’s dorm room, and no one was allowed in mine. She downed the whole thing at once. I drank half and thought I was going to throw up. I was working on getting the rest of it down when she started shaking. A seizure. One of the teachers who lived on-site was an EMT, though we didn’t know it at the time. She went to work on my friend and told one of the otherteachers to stick her finger down my throat and make me puke. I guess I looked sick? I still don’t know how she knew.”

“I’m guessing you’ve had mandatory therapy ever since?”

“I went into a psych ward for a while, and then to a different boarding school for high school, so no one would know my history. I asked if I could be a psychologist, or maybe a therapist, instead of going into law school, but they wouldn’t even discuss it.”

“The thing is, if you had an undergrad degree, even if it leaned towards law, I might be able to get you into a post-grad therapy program, but…”

I shook my head. “No. If I get to choose, art is my first choice, and I’d be thrilled to be a tattoo artist. I’ve lived with practically nothing at times these past three months. I don’t want to live a life of extreme privilege, nor do I want to scrounge for the basics. I just need a job that gives me the basics and maybe a little more. Will I make enough as a tattoo artist for that?”

“I honestly don’t know how much the middle-of-the-line ones make, but we can certainly look that up when we get back to a place where I can turn my phone on. I expect the ones just starting out probably don’t make enough for a decent living, but once you build your own clientele and have people telling their friends how good you are, it’s likely you’d make more than enough for a decent living. How much more would depend on how good you are, and how well you market yourself.”

“Can I have a few minutes to think, please?”

He nodded and sat back, and I stared at his feet while I considered my predicament.

Dray was going to sell me, like a whore. And the truth is, once the few hundred dollars I’d managed to get away with were gone, I’d had no idea how to get more money. I’d been telling myself I was going to knock on Aunt Clementine’s door and ask for help, but I doubt I’d have actually done it. I’d have probably found ahomeless encampment and tried to survive there first, and only gone to my aunt’s house if I was starving and freezing.

In the back of my mind, I had the idea I could find an attractive young woman I could teach to scam people out of their money, the way Dray had taught me.

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