Page 15 of Dozer

But I still wished I could’ve put more exclusions into the contract. Like butt stuff, but he’d already told me I couldn’t exclude that.

Chapter 11

Dozer

I’d known she’d pick up on the wording that would allow me to share her, but there was no way to make it clear that was my intentions without it being, well,clear. Most young women her age wouldn’t have picked up on it, but Daisy was the child of two lawyers.

“If you someday work as a tattoo artist and make, say, thirty thousand dollars a year, and you purchase a car for twenty thousand dollars, I’m betting you aren’t going to let just anyone borrow it, right? Only someone you know will take proper care of it, and who’ll bring it back at the agreed-upon time, if not before. Someone who won’t ding it, who’ll put the right kind of gas in it, who won’t mess the leather seats up or trash the transmission — right?”

She nodded, and I held her gaze a few seconds before adding, “If you sign this, you become my property. If I decide I want to share you, I’ll most likely be in the room the entire time, and it will be my friend and I using you together. However, that doesn’t mean I won’t loan you out for a short time to someone I completely trust. There are no guarantees about whether I’ll be there or not, only that I’ll only lend you to people I trust to return you in the same condition you left.” I shrugged. “Odds are, it’ll mostly happen when I’m present, though.”

She shook her head, but she didn’t protest verbally, so I removed her note about it on the contract and added a small alteration about loaning her totrustedindividuals.

“Your first days with me are going to be a kind of boot camp, to get you used to being a slave rather than a freeperson, and until I get you into that mindset, it isn’t possible to give you a twelve-hour window into how your life will be, or even a thirty-minute window. If you’re completely miserable as my slave after, say, six months, I probably won’t want to keep you another four and a half years, but you are absolutely going to be miserable at first. There’s no way around that, little Daisy May.”

“My dad and my big brother called me Daisy May. I’ve never let anyone else call me that.”

Which meant, right off the bat, she was going to have to get used to me using the term. I wanted her to eventually see me as her protector as well as her owner, so it was a given I’d want her to relax and be good with me using the same terminology as her father — her original owner, in a sense.

“You don’t get a say in what I call you.” I kept talking, to change the subject to something better. “A slave is usually owned for life, while there’s an end date on an indentured servant. You aren’t signing your life away, you’re signing a document that will help you find a life you’ll want to live. Something fulfilling you won’t hate.”

She’d glared at me after I told her she didn’t get a say in what I called her, but now she gave me a thoughtful look, and said, “You’ll have to use your name on the final document, because I’m not signing a contract that could be for just anyone. I need it to show I’m signing my life away toyou.”

I don’t carry more than one form of identification around with me, as a general rule, so the credit cards and driver’s license in my wallet were for me.

We were in this rental because, until I was certain I was keeping her, I didn’t want her to be able to identify me. There aren’t a lot of older, tan-and-brown Ramchargers still on the road, so I’d already reported mine stolen. Eventually, I’d put it where it could be recovered, so I’d get it back, but this gave me plausible deniability if I let her go and she reported that she’d stolen a truck and then been enslaved by its owner. I could say it wasn’t under my control at that time, so I had no idea who’d told her he was the rightful owner of the truck.

Eventually, I planned to take her to my home and lock her in my basement until I’d broken her enough to allow her upstairs, but not until I was certain I was keeping her.

But she had a point about needing a way to show who she was signing her life away to.

I scrolled to the bottom of the contract and typed a clause that said she was entering this agreement with the owner of the vehicle she’d stolen, a 1977 tan-and-brown Dodge Ramcharger, who would either sign his name within ninety days of the date of this contract, or the contract would be void.

The contract wasn’t legally binding, because no judge in this country would publicly enforce any kind of slavery, and especially not sexual slavery, but that wasn’t the point of the contract. This was an agreement between the two of us, and I’d be able to remind her over the coming years that she’d agreed to this in writing.

Which brought me back to her first comment on the document. I hadn’t fully answered her. “In my world, sex slaves are commodities, to be traded and sold, while indentured servants are a different class. I don’t foresee getting into debt with someone who’ll try to claim you as payment, but if it should happen, the fact you’re an indentured servant will protect you.”

That was the truth, though it wasn’t the whole truth. I couldn’t tell her about enslaving another lone wolf versus enslaving a human, though, so it would have to be enough.

She stared at the computer screen a few seconds, and kept staring at it when she asked, “And if you decide not to tell me your name in ninety days?”

“I’m not going to kill you. There’s no death penalty for car theft, even if it’s a truck the owner has spent hundreds of hours personally restoring. I haven’t thought through how to release you if this doesn’t work out, but I’m leaning towards injecting you with heroin and placing you so it looks like you wrecked the truck you’d stolen, with enough injuries to put you into a hospital, and something on you so the hospital knows your real name, so they’ll contact your parents.”

I scented not just fear, but horror, and the stench filled the room.

“No. Youcan’t.”

“I can, but let’s see how things go. The point is, if this doesn’t work out, I’ll release you in such a way that your word will be suspect if you try to say the owner of the truck you stole has been trying to train you as a sex slave for the last couple of months.”

I scented resignation. She was never going to find a way to put me in jail for what amounted to kidnapping her and making her my sex slave, because even if she went to the police right now, it would probably come out that she stole my truck, and she didn’t want her parents knowing that, either.

“I’ll agree not to give you any tattoos, but piercings are going to happen. I have no plans to give you any facial piercings at this time, but I’m not taking it off the table.”

“Nothing on my lips or tongue.”

“I’ll agree to leave your lips alone.”

“If a tongue piercing chips a tooth, you’ll have to fix it.”

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