If you would like to read this on my livejournal instead of the evil ff net, you can find it at
pucktheperv [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] bornthisslave
o o o
Warnings:Slash, slave!fic, non-con, dub-con, h/c, kink, angst, fluffystuff, boysex,
Pairings:Kurtofsky (master!Kurt/slave!Dave), Sam/Dave, Sam/Kurt, Others/Dave, Klaine, Dave/Kurt, Other Minor Pairings
Summary: Everything is going well for Glee Club until a drop in the economy leaves one of their own in a desperate situation. The bank is foreclosing on Sam and he is about to be sent into a world of legal slavery - a trade that is entirely foreign to everyone except the highest of society. The situation seems helpless until Kurt comes forward with a secret that may save Sam's life—but it may also lose Kurt his friends when they find out that one of their own is, in fact, a slavemaster.
About the Story: This is an AU based off the Glee world. All the Glee kids are students at McKinley, yaddayaddayadda, just like on the show but they live in a world where there is a treacherous system that allows for legal human slavery. It is both a hot political issue and a tradition passed down for generations. It's all explained throughout the story. What can I say? I love world building. So much I already have another chapter almost ready to go. :)
Notes:I am pretty evil. Let's just say you may not looove where I ended this. But I've already started the next chapter (though I do have to do things like work during the week, unfortunately, LOL) and let's just say it begins with major SMUT!
Random Note on Dave's IQ 'Cause People Seem Bothered That He's "Dumb": Uneducated is not the same thing as dumb. Don't worry, Dave ain't dumb. Far from it. He's *uneducated*. You wouldn't know your alphabet or how to add money well either if you'd been born into Roman-esque slavery, LOL. Trust me, I majored in ancient history. Those poor slaves' lives totally suck, LOL. ;P
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Chapter 4: The Noble Slave
The sun was just dropping behind the horizon by the time that they made it out of the apartment. The Glee Club had sat around for hours, comforting Sam, discussing ways that they could raise money, and tossing around set lists for Regionals. Well, except for Mercedes, who had stormed out in a fit of anger after a fruitless ten minutes of trying to convince Dave to join Students Against Slavery. It had actually been a rather amusing conversation, or would have been if Kurt was in a better mood.
"You should join Students Against Slavery, Karofsky. It would be good for you, I think. We're there to whip slavery!"
"No, thank you Miss Mercedes. I've been whipped enough. And my master doesn't like it when other people whip me."
"What? No, you big dummy! We're an anti-slavery group. We don't actually whip anyone! We whip *slavery*!"
"How do you whip slavery? It doesn't have a body."
"We're out there to end it!"
"But I don't want it ended, Miss Mercedes."
"That's just them brainwashing you. Don't you want to be free?"
"Not particularly."
"Everyone wants to be free."
"I don't. That would make me a gift and I don't wanna be given away. I love my master. Plus they say freemen value things less if they get it for free."
That had apparently been all Mercedes could take of Dave, because she'd stood up in a huff and marched straight to the door, muttering something about big dumb oafs. Dave had then made its way back over to Kurt, who'd just shaken his head, smirked, and said, "You so knew what she meant, David."
His slave had shrugged, an overly innocent look on its face. "I don't know what you mean, Master Kurt. I was trying to make it clear that your slave is not cheap."
Uh-huh.
Kurt took a deep breath as he buckled himself into the Navigator, glancing up at the rearview mirror to sneak a peek at Dave in the backseat. Its head was lowered respectfully but its shoulders were very tense. It knew that Kurt was *not* happy with it. It had acted with very poor taste, showing up at Mr. Schue's before it was invited. And all those texts! Slaves didn't instigate contact with their masters unless there was an emergency—and curiosity did not count as an emergency. Then the way it had gone way beyond its jock persona and snapped at Mercedes, then Santana…
It was all so unlike Dave. It kind of had Kurt worried. Dave was a very good slave, obedient and polite. It did have quite the track record for breaking the rules, but only because Kurt had a tendency to *order* it to do things that the elite would consider no-nos. And it was always glad to take its punishment for its mistakes.
Kurt's lips pressed together in a tight line. He'd have to punish it tonight, but by God he was tired. Mentally and emotionally drained. Why, why, why did it have to choose *today* to act up?
Kurt turned the Navigator's wheel suddenly, accidentally sending his slave tumbling over in the backseat, smacking against the door. Kurt winced a little and straightened the wheel as Dave pushed itself back upright.
"Master, may I ask your forgiveness?" Dave's voice was little, almost childlike. It looked ashamed. Kurt rolled his eyes. Why was it being such a baby tonight?
"Go ahead."
"Sir, this slave is very sorry, my Master, for showing up uninvited, for sticking its nose in Master's business, for risking revealing itself to Master's friends, for contacting Master without permission, and for anything else it may have done to offend Master with its simple mind. It would be my pleasure to go hungry and thirsty as a reminder that my actions have ray… per… repair… concussions… cautions…"
"Repercussions," Kurt said flatly, reaching over to fiddle with the AC as they came to a stop light. Apparently reading it the Word A Day calendar was paying off.
"That my actions have repercussions and that the things that cause my master discomfort cause me discomfort, too."
"Good job using your vocabulary words, pet. But you're not going thirsty! You are *covered* in sweat. Obviously you were running in practice. You could pass out!"
"I drank some Gatorade to replace the water I sweated before I left McKinley, Master."
"I don't care. You're not going hungry, either, because your stomach will growl and wake me up." And because Kurt felt that starvation was one of the worst punishments you could give a slave and having written some text messages really wasn't something that deserved that. Dave knew that. Once again Kurt wondered what was going on. "You can have rations tonight instead of dinner, okay? That's Master's pleasure," Kurt added quickly at the end, hoping to cut off any arguments for greater punishment. Hell, he thought eating rice and Spam was damn well punishment enough. Besides, he was too tired to go back and forth with Dave on punishments. He just kind of wanted to forget about the whole evening and crawl into bed. But if he didn't do anything, Dave would find a way to punish itself. Maybe, like, refuse to pee for a day or something crazy like that. That was a part of slave training, actually, so that if a master didn't feel like making the effort to punish the slave, they could just send them off to punish themselves.
Dave nodded slowly, not looking very happy with the compromise. Kurt would have to watch it closely to make sure it didn't "accidentally drop" half of its rations. David really was such a good slave. "Sir, yes my Master, Sir."
Sir, yes my Master, sir. Dave was usually much more familiar with Kurt, calling him 'Master Kurt' or just 'Master' as if it was a name rather than a title. Something was very off and Kurt was starting to get a serious headache trying to figure out what. Dave was a bundle of nerves, sitting rim rod straight in the backseat looking like it might break in half if it breathed wrong. Of course, it wasn't exactly used to getting in trouble-well, not with Kurt-so maybe it was just worried. Dave was pretty damn obedient. Kurt had once told it 'not to move' while he ran to the store to get more biscuits and, when he'd returned, he found it in exactly the same position that it had been in when he'd left, a teacup halfway to its lips and the sugar tongs still in hand. Talk about taking Master's orders at face value.
They drove in silence for another few minutes, Kurt not really feeling like chatting and Dave apparently having remembered its manners, not speaking since it wasn't spoken to. Finally they pulled into the driveway and Dave flung the door open before the car was even turned off, jumping out and running to open the door for Kurt before Kurt had finished pulling the keys from the ignition.
Dave stood beside the car, Kurt's bag over one arm, offering the smaller boy his hand.
"You look tired, Master Kurt," it said, its voice eager. "Would you like me to carry you inside?"
Kurt laughed. "I think I can manage twenty feet, David. Not to mention that you stink like a tsunami of man stench."
Dave dropped its eyes, looking chastised. "I'm sorry, Master, to have presented myself to you like this. I knew better than to come to you without showering, Sir. I knew better than to come to you at all without permission, Sir."
"Why in the world *did* you take off from school like that, slave?" Kurt questioned, finally giving into his curiosity as they made their way toward the house. "I know it was weird for us to have a meeting at Mr. Schue's, but that isn't the weirdest thing New Directions has ever done." He unlocked the door and pushed it open, Dave following him into the living room.
Dave took a deep breath as it set Kurt's bag next to the door, looking nervous. "Master… I wasn't completely honest with you earlier. In fact, I sort of lied."
Wait... What?
o o o
"Master… I wasn't completely honest with You earlier. In fact… I sort of lied." The words were more painful than any whip that had ever touched his back. Hell, Dave could hardly hear himself speaking over the pounding of his heart. His head felt light and he prayed that he didn't pass out right in the midst of coming clean to Master Kurt.
This entire day had been a mess of insanity. It had been crazier than the time Master Kurt's grandmother had decided to use the slaves to get her hated daughter in law out of the house, and they'd all had to walk around in skimpy bunny outfits. From what Dave had understood it had been some kind of barb, though all Mistress had said to the lady was 'I just wanted you to feel at home dear… like the type of mansion I'm sure you're *used* to living in.' This had caused a smattering of laughter amongst the freemen at the party, though Dave was still confused over the joke. But he was a slave and it really wasn't any of his business to ask. Kind of like what Master Kurt did on His off periods weren't any of Dave's business.
Seriously, had he lost his *mind*? Why, why, *why* had he followed Master from school? Had he really thought *that* would make the already terrible situation even a smidge better? Hell, if anything it had made it *worse*. And if he had stopped to think like a good slave then none of this would have happened, Master wouldn't be angry with him, he wouldn't be standing here admitting to a lie, and he'd be a thousand times more likely to somehow be able to salvage his position at his Master's feet than he was now!
Dave swallowed hard, his throat feeling sticky and dry. He really wished he could take it all back. He'd acted like a fool. But he'd just been so damn scared! Scared of what was happening, scared that he would lose everything he loved because some perfect blonde prince had taken a fall. Because let's face it—compared to Sam Evans, Dave might as well be the werewolf looking dude in that movie Master liked to watch over and over with the singing teapots and magic roses and stuff. Only Dave wasn't going to magically transform into a handsome prince. Hell, he wasn't going to transform into a handsome *slave*. It seemed like he just got bigger and sweatier and hairier with every passing year while Master Kurt somehow managed to just get more and more beautiful. How long would a beautiful Master want to keep around a doggish oaf?
Sam Evans, on the other hand, was like a fucking Greek God, all his strange beauty issues aside. Cut abs, not an inch of chub, soft blonde hair, dark eyes, and those goddamn *lips*! They had been the butt of more than a few of Dave and Azimio's jokes, but it was the truth—they *were* made to be wrapped around a cock! What Master wouldn't want to stuff His balls into that mouth?
Not to mention that his Master had been totally enamored with him. It had been all He'd talked about for weeks. "Oh, Dave, have you *seen* Sam Evans?" "Oh slave Dave, have you *heard* Sam Evans sing?" "Oh pet, isn't Sam Evans *wonderful*?" Which was totally fine. Dave wanted Master Kurt to be happy. He'd actually been sad for Master when He'd found out that, bleached hair be damned, Mr. Sam was as straight as uncooked spaghetti.
Dave knew that being the flamboyant, obviously gay boy in a common, middle class society wasn't easy. It was sort of amusing how, despite being so against slavery, many of the common people despised homosexuals. He supposed people would always pick and choose things—even their injustices.
Master was strong and proud, but He had spent more than a few evenings crying Himself to sleep against Dave's chest. Dave was glad his Master could take solace in his arms, but he wished he could do more with them than just comfort Master Kurt—like, say, punch some of the assholes in the face.
When Puckerman and Hudson had thrown pee balloons at Master, Dave had wanted to kill them or, better yet, take a bullwhip to their testicles. He'd had to settle for "forgetting" to block for Hudson in the next football game, resulting in the lanky boy being tackled by oversized boys about fifty times in one night. And Puckerman… what a bastard. Dave's Master was truly gracious to forgive that prick so easily just because he had joined their little sing along group. In Dave's opinion, it did *not* make up for having nailed all of Master Burt's lawn furniture to their roof. But he was only a slave, his opinion didn't matter, and Master had chosen to be the better person. His Master always chose to be the better person. And He deserved someone like Him to love. Mr. Sam was friendly and had been supportive of Master Kurt when none of the other Glee boys were. Mr. Sam would have made a good boyfriend. But as a slave? *That* was a whole different story.
Mr. Artie and Puckerman taking off before school ended had really piqued Dave's curiosity. NO ONE missed last period football practice with Coach if they liked having their nuts attached to their bodies. So he'd decided to swing by her office and see if he could catch her alone, maybe find out what was up with the Glee Club that was big enough for Mr. Schue to take them out of class and risk the Panther's wrath.
Dave was way too curious for a slave sometimes. It had been his biggest fault in training. He had a hard time just accepting that he wasn't going to know. It tended to nag at him. But his Master had always been encouraging of his interested nature, letting him try all sorts of things and telling him about the world. A few months ago his Master had even begun to teach him his letters along with some neat new words that made him sound pretty smart when he said them. Letters were kinda tough—it was hard to remember which one made what sound and things like when an 'L' had two sticks on it and when it was just one stick. It was fun, though it took awhile, considering that looking at a bunch of sticks and seeing sounds was just totally foreign to Dave's mind.
Dave attended mostly the regular classes at McKinley, along with a couple of the slave classes, and, though he found the things teachers talked about really cool most of the time, he wasn't really expected to do any of the work. Like most slaves, he couldn't read. Masters had better things to teach their slaves than how to read. Anything they needed to know that a freeman might write down, like recipes or instructions or whatever, they were expected to memorize. So why waste all that time teaching reading when you could be teaching how to actually do stuff? But Master Kurt, for some reason, had decided that it might be useful someday for Dave to know how to read and write, so now, though he could still just barely read, he knew the alphabet song and could write out lots of words like they sounded.
He knew he fucked them up pretty good sometimes because every once and awhile Master Kurt would erupt in laughter at what he had written, but he really didn't care. He could do something that almost none of his fellow slaves could do—and none of his childhood training had been wasted teaching him how to do it, so he could still do anything *they* could do. Talk about a reason to be a prized slave. Plus it made him proud that his Master trusted him enough to let him know things like how much money was worth and that Master Kurt was interested enough in him to teach him his letters.
...And getting to see his Master dressed in a pencil skirt and a poofy blouse with wire-rimmed glasses perched on His nose as he walked back and forth in front of the letter chart, a ruler in hand ready to rap Dave on the knuckles when he mixed up the 'E' with the 'B' was just a bonus. A very funny, enjoyable bonus.
Today, though, that curious nature had been his downfall.
Dave had been standing outside Coach's office, debating if he really wanted to risk her shoving her finger up his nostril when he asked her what was going on when he'd heard their voices. He'd recognized Mr. Schue immediately from all the times he'd skipped study period to stand outside the choir room and just listen to the Glee Club sing. Mr. Schue talked just like he wrapped, minus the school-inappropriate vocabulary.
"They're foreclosing on him, Shannon. His parents took a loan against him and couldn't pay it back. They're coming for him in three days."
Coming for him? Coming for who?
"What? That's crazy, Will! We can't let them take Sam!"
Sam? Sam Evans?
"There's no way to legally stop it, Shannon. But we do have a plan. Kurt came up with it, actually."
Kurt? Master Kurt? Dave rocked back, stumbling back a few steps to keep from falling into the lockers. He needed to get ahold of himself. If Coach heard him out here he might never find out what was going on. And she might remove his penis, which would probably displease Master Kurt.
"We're going to help him through his slave training and raise the money for him before he's registered so that he won't get sold off. We're meeting at my apartment to discuss the details since I'm pretty sure Sue has my choir room bugged." He paused. "Hopefully she doesn't have a camera in here."
"Huh? Nah, I rented some anti-spy equipment. Run it across the walls and floors and it destroys all electronic equipment. Ruined my heart rate monitor but it's better than having Sue watch me change into my gym shorts."
Wait… They were going to raise money. Raise *money.* For Sam. So that they could… *buy* him?
Dave had to lean against the wall for support, his mind was moving so fast. The shock was making him feel sick to his stomach. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening! He loved his Master, more than any other Master he'd ever known, though slaves weren't actually supposed to have favorites. Love all masters equally and all that shit. But if it came down to a choice between him and *Sam Evans*, he couldn't even *begin* to compete! Hell, even if Master Kurt decided to keep them both, He'd never have a use for Dave again. And so there really *was* no reason to keep them both.
What would happen to him? Would he return to Master's family's estate? Be auctioned on the block? Be sold for pharmaceutical testing or sex work? Be put into a factory to slowly die as he worked an assembly line for twenty-two hours a day, huffing chemicals and living off caffeine pills?
It had been too much. Dave's common sense and slave mindset had been overcome by the thought of losing his Master. He'd sprinted for the field and pulled out his phone, trying to pretend nothing was wrong when Azimio asked what had his panties in a twist, then he's slowly and steadily texted Master over and over again, his head swimming while he tried to remember whether the 'q' or the 'k' made a 'kuh' sound. Trying his best to make the texts sound like his normal curiosity, not the overwhelming panic he was feeling. Oh, God, he had needed his Master so bad! But he hadn't received a single answer.
Finally, unable to take it anymore, he'd gotten Azimio took look up Mr. Schue's address on the spiderweb or whatever they called it, saying he was gonna TP his balcony later, and then ditched practice while Azimio was running through the tire line, hopping the fence and using the small amount of money Master gave him for emergencies to get a cab, hoping desperately he had used the correct bill and not paid the man, like, enough to buy a house or something. He *really* needed to start working harder at learning his money. That one just made him feel super uncomfortable since, legally, slaves weren't allowed to use money. Not that a common person was going to refuse it or anything.
He'd known damn well that he would deserve some serious punishment by the end of the day, but he just hadn't cared, mind overwhelmed by the horrific image of Mr. Sam in a collar and slave shorts, kneeling before Master while Dave stood on the curb wrapped in transport chains waiting for the slave traders to pick him up.
So when Master Kurt had finally answered his texts and the cabbie read out his invitation to Mr. Schue's, Dave had leapt from the car and ran for his Master, not even pausing to think how furious Master would be to find out Dave had been sitting in a cab outside the apartment long before he had been summoned.
The second he'd stepped foot through the door and seen Master Kurt's shocked face, however, he had begun to seriously regret his actions. What *had* he been thinking, misbehaving like an untrained slave? Dave's extensive training background combined with his whole-hearted and very sincere obedience was the one thing he *did* have on Mr. Sam! And here he was, acting like he hadn't been through a single day of training?
Dave had been trained by one of the top slavemasters in the country, Paul Karofsky. As a boy he had won several state and national titles, including Best Personal Pleasure—Youth Division, Total Submission to Discipline, and Most Creative Service—Male Division. So, at the one moment when it was *most* important to impress his Master, what had he done? He'd blatantly broken all the rules in a moment of panic, making himself look exactly like what Miss Mercedes had called him—a half trained animal! Mr. Sam could serve as well as Dave had today with *no* training because Dave had acted like a fucking freeman! He was such an idiot!
He was grateful Master wasn't angrier with him than He was. Hell, he was really lucky it had turned out that Master Kurt *did* need him to be there or he would have been swimming in shit. Of course, discovering that the reason he was needed was so that he could help train Mr. Sam to take his place wasn't exactly what he'd call a blessing.
Of course, there was all that talk about setting Mr. Sam free. But seriously, if they planned to set him free then why have Dave teach him how to be a slave? Why waste all the time and effort training him? Yes, it was true that freemen's minds were often broken by slave training, but Dave's help wouldn't change that. Dave was a *Born-slave*, a ihomo servus/i, not a person like Mr. Sam was. He couldn't help Mr. Sam because he didn't have a clue how freemen thought. He just knew that they were more complex and selfish than slaves, caring first and foremost about personal happiness and constructing complicated schemes to make that happen, other people be damned.
Slaves and freemen were just too different for one to become the other. Each one had their place and, in Dave's opinion, that was where they needed to remain. In all honestly, Dave was glad he was a slave. His mind might be simpler, but why was that such a bad thing?
As a child, after the work was finished for the night, Dave and the other young slaves would sit in the kitchen and listen to the slavewoman they called 'Mawmaw' tell them stories. One of his favorites had always been the Tale of the Noble Slave. It was the story of a rich king who had been riding through the woods on his way to the city, dressed in jewels and fancy clothes. Even as a child he had been swathed in silks and played with diamonds as toys, and he had known no hardship. But his greatest joy was seeing the happiness of the people in his kingdom which is why he had taken this trip to see them.
His journey had taken him longer than expected, however, and the sun was beginning to set. The king was afraid because he knew that, with the splendor of his gold-threaded cloak and the rubies in his crown, the fairies would come in the night and kidnap him back to their mounds. He didn't know how to fight or scheme because he had always been given everything he wanted. As the last hint of sunshine disappeared, the king fell into great despair, knowing he would never see the people he loved again.
And a fairy did come. However, when it sprung out of the woods to drag him away, another man jumped from where he had been hiding in a ditch, watching the king, and used his lead hammer to knock out the fairy. With the threat gone, the rich man just wanted to leave, and go to the city to be with his people, but the poor man insisted that they chain it up so that, in return for its release, it would owe them a wish. The man who had saved the king wanted this badly because he was very poor and had spent his whole life working desperately for the few things he had. With a wish, he said, he could be like the king and have everything he wanted. The king knew he owed his life to the poor man so he agreed, and they tied up the fairy, waiting for it to awake. When it finally opened its eyes, the poor man told it that, if it wanted its freedom, it would grant him a wish. The fairy was obviously angry but, trapped, it agreed.
What the king didn't know, however, was that the poor man had been following on his journey, watching him with great jealousy from the shadows all day. The poor man wanted nothing more than to *be* the king, so he told the fairy that he wanted it to switch their bodies so that he would be the mighty king and the king could be the poor man. The fairy agreed and the men's bodies were switched, the force of it knocking them unconscious.
When they awoke the fairy was gone, but it had been very sly. The men had angered it when they captured it so, though it had followed the word of the wish, it did not follow the spirit of it. For the fairy had also switched the *world* so that the body that was once the poor man's would be recognized by all as the king who was now inside it, and the king's old body would be recognized as the poor man-so the poor man was still penniless, despite his new face.
The poor man cried out in anger, but the king just smiled at him and removed his crown, setting it upon the poor man's head. 'I have always been a servant of his people,' he said, and the poor man was one of his people. It saddened him that the poor man's life had been so hard that he felt he had to resort to trickery and wishes to live in joy. For the king had grown up in an easy, simple world-in golden palaces where all the things the common folk worked endlessly to earn were given to him for free-and so he knew that it was *not* these things that made you happy. Rather it was the joy of knowing that those whose tributes had made you rich were happy as well. The poor man's life saddened him, and he knew that what would bring him joy was not rubies or gold but to see a smile on the other man's face. And so he explained to the poor man that he was willing to give up his crown to him, and live a life faithfully with him as his king, just so that he could know that he lived happily in his kingdom.
The poor man was shocked, saying that serving as a Master of people was not the same as serving a life of hard work under a nobleman master. 'You must have some trick planned!' he cried, for, since his mind was quick and spent all its time thinking of ways to better his life, he assumed that all men were that way. 'No man would give up the glory of ruling so easily. Especially not when I tried to trick you out of your crown!'
The king just laughed and said, 'If you do not trust me, then let me be bound to you. I owe you my life and it is the simplest things in this world that please me. I want nothing more than to know that my service, be it as king or as slave, brings joy to those who live in this kingdom. So I will work for you, as a servant would to his master, your pleasure and pride in me my greatest reward. And you will care for me, as would a king would to his people. And in this way, we will both find happiness.'
Though they'd thought it had fled back to its mounds, the fairy they'd caught had been hiding in the woods this whole time, watching them. It had set up its trick carefully, you see, certain that the king would kill the man who had tried to steal his crown and then, with no one to protect him, the fairy could drag the king and his jewels back to his mound. However, the fairy was so impressed by the heart of the king and the truth in his words that it cast a spell to bind the two together, alike in face but different in spirit, so that each could give to the other and find joy in their lives. And so the first true slave was born, and he was noble.
Dave had always loved the story because he felt that was the truest essence of what Born-slaves were. Because their minds were simpler they didn't need to waste time wondering how they could better themselves—their pleasure came from serving others. But Mr. Sam was not a child of the Noble Slave, but of the poor man turned king. A freeman. He didn't think like Dave would, so how did Master Kurt think Dave could help him?
A slave's mind was simple because it was goal-oriented and well defined. A slave did as told because it would please Master and Master's pleasure pleased a slave. From what Dave had observed, however, freemen's minds were constantly focused on achieving more and more in hopes that, eventually, they would have achieved enough to finally be happy-and if you were forced to set others back to achieve, well, that was just what you should do. And the freemen seemed to think that was a fine and dandy way to live.
Dave just thought it sounded pretty damn exhausting, honestly. Why not just focus on the task at hand, and find joy in completing it? Even if the task was not joyous, such as taking punishment, something good would come of it, a bettering of yourself or even just the pleasure of your Master. But First-gens didn't seem to see punishment as the blessing it was. Instead it made them angry and belligerent. Dave didn't get why, though. It made your Master proud of you for taking it and it felt nice when your Master was proud of you. No one wanted their Master to be ashamed of them. So, in Dave's mind, the idea of "helping Sam through training" was absurd-what could he tell to a freeman to make it any better? There was no making things better-slaves just *accepted* it and, if Mr. Sam was willing, he could do that on his own.
But it *would* make sense for Dave to train Mr. Sam if Master Kurt *actually* planned to purchase him from the bank when his training was over. By having Dave train him, Mr. Sam would already know how Master liked to be served and his master would be a hero in his friends' eyes and Dave bet it would go a long way toward Mercedes forgiving Him. It was a win win situation for his Master.
Dave swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, as he was suddenly shaken out of his morose thoughts by his Master's voice.
"So you're saying you *lied* to me?"
Dave dropped his head and moved into the kitchen behind his Master, who was perching himself in one of the chairs at the table. Dave's heart was pounding, muscles so tense it felt like they were about to snap. It was all he could do just to hold back the tears. A slave did *not* lie to its Master. Ever. Refusals, demands, questions, and lies were just a few of the things that had been hammered into Dave as things slaves did NOT let pass over the tongues. He felt like a total failure. And if there was ever a worse time to be a failure as a slave, Dave couldn't imagine it. Not with Mr. Sam and his pretty blonde hair on the horizon.
"It was… a lie of omission, Master." Which was no different than a flat out lie. A slave owed its Master complete and utter honesty, in every way.
Kurt frowned and picked up one of the fake apples they had sitting in a bowl on the table as decoration. Dave pursed his lips, studying his Master carefully, looking for signs...
Yes, Master was hungry.
He took a deep breath and headed over to the fridge to pull out some fruit. Intensive service training had taught him how to analyze a Master's needs without having to bother Him by asking. You watched for all the little clues. The way He had, without thinking about it, chosen to sit in the kitchen instead of the den or his bedroom. How He looked tired but not ready to sleep. How He kept licking His lips and moving His mouth around. Anticipating Master's every need was a major part of service. Why would a Master want a slave that he had to order to do every single, little thing? A slave should be able to look at its Master and just tell.
He wondered idly if Mr. Sam would understand that.
Dave pulled a knife out of the chopping block and began to slice the strawberries in quick, perfect strokes. It was a good excuse to have his back to Master Kurt so that he could wipe away the tears before He saw them. Dave had gotten his dumb self into this situation and he didn't want to make his soft-hearted Master feel sad.
"I didn't tell You everything when You asked why I ignored Your lack of instruction and chose to come to Mr. Schue's on my own. I heard Coach and Mr. Schue talking about Mr. Sam in Coach's office... then it made me worried when you didn't answer the texts I sent…" Made him worry that his Master didn't want him want anymore. "I was worried that you might be in trouble. Slave trade being… dangerous." How lame. The slave trade wasn't dangerous for an elite like Master Kurt. More like he was terrified that his Master wasn't *ever* going to answer him *ever* again and that he might find himself being hauled out of football practice by a slave trader or something crazy like that. As if a good Master like his would do that.
Dave dropped the strawberries into a bowl he pulled from the cupboard then moved on to slicing little squares of watermelon. "After hearing about Mr. Sam, I was just really worried. You know, that You might get hurt in this somehow."
More like he was worried about his own ass. God, he was such a selfish slave. Trainer Karofsky would be disgusted by him right now. Dave really hoped Master Kurt would punish him badly. Not even the sting of a bullwhip or the burn of a brand could take away the guilt he was feeling right now. And yet, deep down, he was *still* mostly worried about himself! He should be focused entirely on training Mr. Sam as best as he could so that his Master would be happy when he was gone, not worrying what it would be like to wake up without the scent of Master Kurt's favorite perfume in the air! He was a *slave*, dammit, and a *good* slave! Where the hell were these selfish thoughts coming from? He disgusted himself sometimes.
"So I used the phone to text you, Master, even though I knew it was wrong. And I look forward to my punishment for that. But when You didn't respond… I decided I should go and find You. Just to make sure it was all… okay." God, could he be any lamer sounding? Dave swallowed deeply as he topped off the fruit salad with some pineapple, using his shoulder to wipe at his moist eyes as casually as he could before he turned around and set the bowl in front of his Master.
Master was staring at him in total disbelief, His delicate mouth in a little 'o.' The look made Dave's stomach lurch. He couldn't even imagine the disappointment his Master must be feeling in him.
Dave was to Kurt what the elite called their 'prizes.' Prized slaves were special. Most of the elite had dozens of slaves, all totally interchangeable with one another. It didn't matter which slave served them dinner or washed their clothes or even warmed their bed, really. But it wasn't uncommon for a slavemaster to have one special slave whose purpose was to serve only them. These slaves were usually well trained and very expensive, the most coveted of posessions.
The bond Dave had with his Master had started in the way many slavemasters found their prize—he had been given to Master Kurt as a child and they had grown up together.
'Prize' was a good term for them, because there tended to be a lot of bragging associated with owning them. Whose slave had been trained by the most prestigious mater, whose slave had won the most show titles, that sort of thing. When someone acquired a new prize slave, it was always the hottest gossip. And here Dave was, supposedly a prize, behaving badly enough that his Master's best friend had called him an animal. And the fact that she didn't realize his bullying was pretend was no excuse. He had been so mouthy tonight he was surprised Master hadn't reached out and smacked him, their secret be damned. He had gone far beyond the bounds of his jock persona, targeting Master's friends in a private situation for no reason.
Hell, he'd been acting like a freeman, for God's sake! Though slaves were trained to pass in front of common people, there were also certain bodily positions and behaviors they were taught to show their respect and submission to those who knew what they were looking for. A sort of secret handshake that said 'I'm acting like a freeman but I am here only to please my Master." Dave had abandoned those behaviors completely at Mr. Schue's place.
Master Kurt continued to stare at him for a moment, then His mouth turned down in a frown and He stood a little, reaching out to grab at Dave's thick metal collar. Master Kurt dragged him down as He collapsed back into his chair, giving his slave a smart slap to the cheek. Dave tilted his head with the force of the hit, dropping his eyes.
"Thank you, Master," he murmured as Master released him.
"You know better to lie to me, even a little," Master Kurt said, voice a little prissy. He didn't sound nearly angry enough, though, in Dave's opinion. "Eavesdropping, taking initiative, lying, being smart mouthed at inappropriate times? What is going on, slave David? You haven't misbehaved this much since… You know what, I can't even remember the last time you misbehaved this much. It is one thing to accidentally wash my white DKNY jeans with my red silk boxers—though you deserved every smack you got for that one, silly boy! It's another thing entirely to misbehave knowing full well what you're doing! You said it yourself. You *knew* what you were doing was bad, David. I am your Master. Why would you hold anything back from Me? And just what good did you think could possibly come from sticking your nose in My business? I realize that you were worried, pet, and that it is your duty as a slave to protect Me, but I am the Master, Dave! If I had needed you, I would have contacted you! And I *did* contact you when I needed you! Do you think your Master is incapable of taking care of Himself, David? Is that it?"
Dave blinked back tears, dropping to his knees with a thunk, palms to the tile, lowering his head until his nose brushed the cold ground. "No, Master, I do not think You are incapable of taking care of Yourself. You are very capable. You take care of Yourself and of Your slave as well. I wasn't thinking, Master, I was just reacting and it was stupid. But please, Master, don't be angry at my stupidity. I'm only a slave. I made a bad choice. Several bad choices. Choices You wouldn't have made. But I'm so far from You I… I… I can't think up a good comparison, okay? Like a Little Person to Michael Jordan? I dunno. But I have been very, very bad." He lowered himself even further, far enough that he had to turn his cheek to the side against the flooring so he could speak. "And I look forward to my extensive punishment. This slave is ready for correction."
There was a loud sighing sound and a hand came down to play in Dave's hair for a moment before tugging lightly at it, a silent order to lift his head. Dave raised his upper body into an almost-but-not-quite upright position, looking up at his Master hopefully.
"It's okay, big boy. As long as you know what you did was bad and that I expect it to never happen again."
Dave nodded quickly, frowning slightly at the way his Master's eyes were drooping. Master looked exhausted. And now He would have to expend more energy punishing His slave. Dave's stomach churned with guilt and he licked his lips, mouth feeling dry.
"Master? May I ask something of you?"
Master Kurt waved His hand to go ahead and Dave dropped his eyes respectfully.
"I would like to suggest a punishment fitting for my behavior. Master is obviously is exhausted and I don't want to make Your night any worse. So I would like to suggest that you reconsider my going hungry and thirsty. And that you consider it for a longer period of time due to the sever-soveren-ety-e—" Dammit, what was that word? He wanted to impress his Master! It had only been six days ago on the Word A Day calendar. He was just so stressed that it was hard to remember.
"Severity?" Master Kurt sounded so tired. His poor Master.
"Yes. The severity of my behavior. Maybe three days with no food and a daily cup of water? Starvation and dehydration are fair punishments for lying and wouldn't tax Master." It was a light sentence, in Dave's mind. If he had lied, even by omission, to Master Karofsky, he might not have survived the punishment. Three days with no food was nothing. He'd once been put on a punishment fast for twenty days for claiming he had finished painting the gazebo when, in truth, he was just almost done. But Master Kurt felt such punishments were extreme. For some reason He felt that lying about, say, having washed the dishes in lemon soap when you really washed them in lavender, was less offensive than saying you hadn't wrecked the car when you had. In Dave's mind they were both lies and, therefore, deserved equal punishment. "And since my behavior was so severe, Master, if you do not think this punishment is enough I will also whip myself so that Master won't have to."
Master Kurt shoved a piece of watermelon in His mouth and Dave watched with interest as His finger caught a drip of juice running down his chin. His Master was so beautiful.
"…Okay, Dave. You're right, lies, despite good intentions, are inexcusable and I find your lack of faith in my ability to handle myself offensive. After I finish eating you will whip yourself and then you'll be going on punishment rations for three days. But I want you to eat *all* your rations, not try to starve yourself to prove something. Though please don't eat that icky SPAM where I can see it. Yuck. Just the look of the stuff is nasty. But you will *not* starve yourself—you're a growing boy and a big one at that—and you will drink as much water as you need, no limiting it, not even mildly uncomfortable thirst. I want you to be alert and at your best for this whole Sam thing, okay?"
Dave's stomach kind of felt ill at those last words but he dropped his head submissively, eyes lowered in respect. He needed to get over these… feelings. He lived for his Master's pleasure and if he, himself, was no longer enough to make Master happy then he should be glad that he would be passed on and his Master could have the slave He wanted and deserved. It was his selfishness that had gotten him in trouble today and it was time to let it go. He would train Mr. Sam as best he could, then leave his Master's home respectfully, happy in the knowledge that he had served Him as well as he was able.
"I'll do my very best to please You, Master Kurt," he said, daring to glance up and look at his Master's face. Master was smiling down at him and it made his heart leap. He was so lovely. "I'm only a slave and certainly don't have the abilities of a trainer or handler, but I will do my very best to make sure Mr. Sam is able to serve as well as he possibly can and that you'll be pleased with his training. Because I would do *anything* for you, Master."
Master Kurt's smile grew even wider and Dave's heart warmed. "I know you would, David. That's what makes you such a very good boy."
o o o
"Two, Master," Dave called out, voice steady, as the belt came down on its bare back, leaving a vivid red stripe in its place. Kurt nodded idly then glanced back down at the issue of Vogue he was flipping through. Marion Cotillard was so fabulous. There was another crack and he glanced up again as Dave murmured the words, "Three, Master."
The big lug looked rather ridiculous, sitting butt naked on the end of Kurt's bed, turned at an angle so that Kurt could see both its front and its back. It had a thin, glittery pink belt in one hand—Kurt's favorite—and Kurt had a feeling it had chosen that one for its Master's amusement. It had really wanted to use the whip stuffed in the back of Kurt's closet that his grandparents had given his visit last summer, but Kurt had quickly denied him the "pleasure," as Dave had called it.
It was actually a beautiful little whip, only about 4' long from handle to tip, and was made out of finely braided leather so soft it felt like velvet yet so stiff that it took almost no skill to throw it. The handle had an image of a rose with flower petals flying off it pressed like they'd been touched by the wind pressed into the leather. The end was shining silver with a 'K' engraved in it. But what really made it fine was its construction. It was precisely weighted to fall against the flesh of the slave at the precise moment it cracked—the instant when it was moving the fastest, breaking the sound barrier—which allowed it to be thrown with ease, no practice necessary.
Usually slave handlers or trainers were called in when slaves were to be punished with whips, since they could easily fly back and hit the person doing the whipping in the face if they didn't know what they were doing. Hell, usually slavemasters didn't bother punishing slaves personally at all, unless it was their prized slave, and would only do so in extreme cases. But there were times for "making a point." These whips had filled a gap in the whip maker's market, guaranteeing marks yet requiring no practice. Hell, the things could even break bone if they struck in the right place. 'Remberance whips' they were called, since their use would certainly be remembered forever. But in Kurt's mind there were far too many "memories" on his slave's body already, the dozens of thin, white lines witness to the brutality with which slaves were trained.
Kurt had only used the whip once, not long after he'd gotten. He'd been in a fit of rage that hadn't even been Dave's fault after Mr. Schue had refused to let him sing 'Defying Gravity' just because he was a boy. He'd been simmering in his room, imagining ways to set Mr. Schue's hair gunk on fire, when Dave had walked in and knocked the faberge egg his mother had given him just before she died off the dresser, shattering it to pieces. He had lost it completely, yanking off Dave's clothes and shoving the slave down on the ground as he grabbed the whip off the privacy partition where he'd hung it.
Ten minutes later Dave's back and ass had been a bloody mess, tears running down its face as it crawled to him on hands and knees, not even noticing when the glass pieces from the fallen egg cut into his palms, thanking Kurt over and over again between sobs and whimpers for correcting it and swearing that it would never, ever disappoint him in any way ever again.
Thankfully Kurt had been wearing shoes so he didn't cut his feet to pieces on the broken glass as he fled into the bathroom and puked in the toilet. And it had just kept coming up as he remembered the blood running down that pale back, the smear on Dave's face from where it had rubbed its cut hands against its cheek, the low whines it let out each time it took a breath. And then suddenly Dave was in the bathroom with him, holding his head and wiping away Kurt's vomit with its own hand as it whispered comforting words and laid gentle kisses on his cheeks where the tears had spilled down. Really, he couldn't possibly have a better slave.
Kurt had never felt so guilty in his life than after that little incident. He had never used the remembrance whip again. Seeing the scars he had added to his slave's already mottled skin was reminder enough that whips were not toys and, while a belt might leave welts and a backhand could bruise, a whip could mutilate a person. It had been terrifyingly easy to do, the leather cutting the flesh like it was butter. One cut was so deep that, the next day, Kurt had walked in on Dave lying on the bathroom floor, turned at an awkward angle as it tried to to stitch up a slash on its buttock with Kurt's emergency sewing kit.
That had been when Kurt discovered that first aid was a part of slave training. Apparently they would cut a slave's thigh and make it stitch it up by itself. Somehow he didn't think the medical board would approve.
In the end Kurt had come clean to his dad about what he'd done and they'd taken Dave to the Slave Clinic on the corner of Melrose for stitches. Burt had been absolutely furious with his son and, to be honest, Kurt hadn't felt much better about it. Slaves might not be people but they *were* living creatures. He wouldn't beat a dog bloody, why would he do it to a slave? But Dave had defended Kurt for hours to his dad, going on and on and on about how grateful it was for the whipping until the older man had given up trying to berate Kurt and stormed off into his shop with a huff of anger. Kurt was pretty sure his dad had a few choice words with his grandmother, too, about ever giving him that whip.
"Five, Master." Dave threw the belt over its shoulder, letting it fall against its back with a loud smacking sound. "Six, Master. Seven, Master. Eight, Master. Nine, Master. Ten, Master."
The red lines were already starting to turn into welts. Dave definitely wasn't holding his throws.
"Eleven more and you're done," Kurt said, flipping the page in his magazine. One for each of those crazy texts you sent me. You know you're just supposed to *answer* your phone, not use it for your own pleasure!"
"Yes, Master, I know. Eleven, Master. Twelve, Master. Thirteen, Master. I really am sorry about the texts, Master Kurt. I dunno what was wrong with me. Fourteen, Master. Would you like to strike your slave, Master?"
"Nor particularly," Kurt said shortly. "What I want to do is take a nice, hot bath and not think about the disaster that's going to unfold tomorrow when we take Mercedes to an elite mall. So finish up already. You need a bath, too. You *still* stink like sweat."
Dave nodded and switched the angle in which it was holding the belt, smacking it down so it struck along his thighs and groin. Kurt winced. That had to hurt, even if the slave was wearing a metal chastity device. It covered enough to keep it from being able to get an erection, but it didn't cover enough not to feel a belt smacking against its cock and balls. "Fifteen, Master." Again across the groin. Dave made a small face, which said something considering how high of a pain tolerance it had. "Sixteen, master." Now against its chest. "Seventeen, master." Back to the groin. "Eighteen, master." Around the side to strike the ribs. "Nineteen, Master." Back to the back, right along the spine. That would probably bruise. "Twenty, Master. May I ask where you would like me to place the last mark, Master?"
"Butt," Kurt said shortly, knowing it was the least painful place to take a strike. After those three hits to the groin, it had damn well been punished enough. "And blame Coach Bieste and her hitchhiking gophers."
Dave chuckled then obeyed, bending so far forward that it looked crude and slapping the belt hard across its bare buttocks. "Twenty-One, Master, for twenty-one texts." It gave him a small smile, its face red and its breath coming a little too fast. "Thank you for overseeeing my punishment, Master Kurt." It stood, carefully hanging the belt back in Kurt's closet then returning to kneel beside the bed, resting its chin on the edge as it looked up at Kurt. "May I ask if you would like me to start your bath, Master?"
Oh, yes. Maybe if he was lucky the water would wash away some of this tension. "Do it."
Dave stood immediately, moving off toward the bathroom, and Kurt gave a little yawn, setting aside his Vogue and stretching out his legs, flexing his tippy toes. Man, this was really just nuts. It was like his whole world had been turned upside down. Tomorrow, when he went to school, everyone would know that he owned a slave. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the Glee Club would keep something like that to themselves. It was probably all over Facebook by now. He wondered how people would react. There were a couple dozen slaves who attended McKinley but he didn't know of any slavemasters. Unless they kept it hidden like himself. But it wasn't likely. They were smack dab in the middle of Lima, Ohio, after all, and it wasn't exactly full of elites. Plus, most elite kids went to snobby private boarding schools where the school itself owned slaves to do things like wash their panties and make them midnight snacks.
Dave came to stand in the doorway to the bathroom, the backlighting making it look dark and huge. "Your bath is filling, Master," it said, as if the soft sound of running water wasn't clue enough, then it moved toward the bed, reaching down and scooping Kurt up in its big, strong arms.
Kurt let out a high pitched shriek, lightly smacking his slave on the back of the head. "You silly boy! I can walk myself to the bathroom, thank you very much!"
"You look tired, Master," it said, voice serious but an amused smile on its face. Silly lug.
Dave settled Kurt down on the edge of the bathroom counter and reached out, big fingers beginning to work at the buttons on Kurt's sweater. Kurt ran a finger affectionately along its chest, dragging down the dark little curls, as he studied its broad shoulders. It was amazingly adorable for such a size, the big giant.
"I should make you wax this again," he said with a little sniff, though honestly he thought the hair was very masculine and attractive. "It's not very slave-like to have chest hair. And down there, too," he added, pointing down at the curly triangle around where the metal of Dave's chastity device began.
"Whatever pleases Master," it said with a little smirk. "Though explaining to Azimio where my body hair all went should be interesting. And he'll probably want to have the conversation in the cafeteria, as loudly as possible."
Kurt giggled and ran his fingers through Dave's hair. "Okay, maybe we'll wait until summer."
"It would make a fair punishment in this slave's humble opinion," Dave said, looking amused, "though the female slaves I have served with seemed to think that is a silly thing to say and that the *real* punishment is having hairy legs."
"Oh, waxing isn't that bad!" Kurt protested, scowling when Dave just looked down pointedly at Kurt's smooth chest. "And just because I can't seem to grow any damn chest hair doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about! I wax my legs, after all!"
"The nipples are different, Master Kurt," Dave said and Kurt laughed.
"Such a silly boy…" He trailed off as Dave's fingers moved nimbly downward to unbutton his pants. "Mmmm…"
Dave looked up at him, staring for a moment, then slipped its big hand beneath the fabric, gentle strokes along the shaft of Kurt's cock making him shiver.
"Oh, David…" Kurt whispered, running a hand down its chest to pinch at the aforemention nipples. God, it had such a wonderful chest.
This was going to be a very pleasant evening. Really, he couldn't ask for a more noble slave.