Silent Touch

Mason cleaned the living room and sprayed the dust polisher on the wood and began to scrub to make it extremely clean. He heard the door open and a bunch of women laughing and talking to one another. He kept cleaning and pretended to not hear anything.

“Oh, is this your slave?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Of course it is. Mason, say hello to the ladies,” Ms. Young ordered.

Mason turned around and did his usual bow to them. The women giggled and pointed at him. He felt extremely self conscious.

“Keep going back to whatever you’re doing, Mason,” Ms. Young ordered, letting the women sit on the sofas.

Mason went back to cleaning the house and dusted a picture frame in the corner.

“He’s adorable,” one of the women proclaimed.

“Mind if we take him for a spin?” another woman asked Ms. Young.

“I don’t see why not. As long as I get to spend time with that hunk of a slave you got. What’s his nationality? Black?” Ms. Young asked her.

“Half. The other half is Mexican,” the woman answered.

“Lucky. All I get is a Mexican slave that hardly does anything,” Ms. Young pointed out.

Mason bit his lip and finished cleaning around the living room. When he was done, he began to walk towards the family room.

“Mason, don’t leave yet,” Ms. Young called out.

He turned and saw Ms. Young motion for him to stand next to him. Mason stood next to her and waited for her to say something.

“Mason, dear, the ladies and I were discussing and it would be lovely if Ms. Smith and I traded slaves for the day. I decided to trade you, so you’re in luck,” Ms. Young announced.

He tensed up a bit and looked at whoever was Ms. Smith. The woman with silver blond hair with cold blue eyes with a hint of wrinkles waved at him flirtatiously, making him blush a brilliant red. He didn’t like the attention and he didn’t want it from a group of women who were friends with Ms. Young.

“Get packing, Mason. Ms. Smith will be waiting for you,” Ms. Young told him.

Mason took his bow and went upstairs to begin his packing.

He walked up to a very expensive house with iron gates in the front yard and the main gate with the design of a very beautiful dragon.

“My late husband loves art. He insisted that we get the main gate as a dragon. I know it’s a bit tacky, but I refuse to remove it. Anyway, Jaime is already at the Young’s household. So now all you need to do is make sure you do everything I say or your Mistress for the day isn’t going to be very happy,” Ms. Smith said.

Mason gulped and looked down at the pavement. He was feeling extremely insecure and looked at the house.

“Come along, pet,” Ms. Smith ordered, dragging his arm towards the inside of the house.

Mason followed behind her and walked inside the very extremely rich household. Ms. Smith opened the door and dragged him inside the household. He looked around and saw the extremely expensive decorations littered around the house.

“My husband is a collector. He collects very rare artifacts. They all cost almost to a quarter to a million dollars,” Ms. Smith explained.

He nodded his head and kept looking around. It wasn’t until he felt a force push him up against the wall.

“Let’s see how well do put those skills of yours,” Ms. Smith said, trapping him between her arms.

Mason squirmed and tried to get out of her grasp, but she has him pinned against the wall.

“I wouldn’t do that, handsome. Ms. Young told me about your habit of trying to escape from a sort of grasp. Well, toughen up, sweetheart. It’s time to play with the big girls,” Ms. Smith confirmed

-----

Mason curled up into a tight ball and nursed his wounds.

“If you didn’t try to scream ‘get off me’ and try to squirm away from me, we wouldn’t have resorted to violence,” Ms. Smith told him.

He didn’t say anything and clutched onto the sheet to cover his entire body.

“Well, I can say that you’re not that bad, but you still could have some more work,” Ms. Smith commented.

He let the tears run down his cheeks and clutched onto the sheet like it was his life line.

“You’ll be sent back to Ms. Young’s house in the morning. You’re good, but I miss my own slave. He actually knows how to treat a woman,” Ms. Smith commented, applying lipstick on her lips and re-did her make-up.

Mason still didn’t say anything and kept clutching onto the sheet. Ms. Smith rolled her eyes and threw him a pair of clean clothes and left the bedroom. He looked at the clothes and began to change into them. He slipped on the pair of boxers and then the pair of jeans. The jeans were extremely loose on him. He tugged up his jeans and tried to walk in them, but they kept falling just a little bit above his thighs. He slipped on the shirt and saw that it stopped almost up to his knees. It was almost a dress on his. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw.

His hair was extremely messy and dirty, his lip was cut and open with dried blood on his lip from him biting it too hard to stop his screams of pain, bags under his eyes from all the restless nights of rape and abuse, a couple of cuts on his face from Ms. Smith and her using the small whip to use if he misbehaved, and the dried blood that seemed to be running from his nose. He took a look at his posture and imagined himself as one of those Mexicans from before in the twenty-first century. He felt extremely uncomfortable and decided to leave the room.

He walked downstairs and saw Ms. Smith re-touching her make-up in the mirror and looked behind her.

“Are you ready, or are you going to sulk some more in the room?” Ms. Smith asked him, setting the lipstick inside her purse.

Mason didn't say anything looked at her. He wanted nothing more than to leave this dreaded house and slip into the thin blanket in the basement. All Mason did was nod at his head and walk towards her.

“Oh, so you are ready. Well, let’s get you home, shall we?” Ms. Smith said, linking her arm around his, making him flinch from the touch.

Ms. Smith rolled her eyes and dragged him out of the house and forced him to follow along. He followed her towards her car and got into the backseat, making sure that he didn't sit anywhere near her. Of course, Ms. Smith wasn't having any of that.

“You're going to sit in the front seat or else I'll tell Ms. Young what a naughty boy you've been. I don't think you want me to tell Ms. Young about how you've been a naughty boy, right?” Ms. Smith challenged.

Mason tensed up at Ms. Young's name and quickly sat in the front seat with her. He didn't want to upset Ms. Smith and he certainly didn't want to deal with Ms. Young abusing him again. He moved himself to sit in the front and buckled his seat belt.

“Very good, Mason. I think you'll make a perfect slave for her,” Ms. Smith purred, smirking.

Mason didn't say anything and hoped that he'll be able to leave and forget that Ms. Smith ever existed. He didn't want to deal with her and he didn't want to remember the horrible night that he had to endure while being in her company.

The crack of the whip can be heard as Mason coward in the corner of the room. He shivered from fright and refused to look up from him spot in the corner.

“Ms. Smith tells you’ve been a very bad boy. Now tell me, why is that?” Ms. Young asked him, walking towards him.

He didn’t say anything and curled himself in the corner, watching her feet move towards him.

“I told Ms. Smith that you were good boy. I also told her that if you were a naughty boy, she gets permission to hit you. I can see the marks and prove that you were a very naughty boy. You know how that makes me feel?” Ms. Young cooed, placing her hand on his injured cheek.

Mason didn’t say anything. He only stared at her and kept wishing that he was somewhere else, somewhere far from here.

“It makes me feel like I can’t control my slaves, Mason. Now, we can’t have that now, can we?” Ms. Young cooed.

Mason knew where this was going. Ms. Young dropped the whip on the floor and went towards her ‘special’ closet. She pulled out different weapons to use and picked out her favorite; the riding crop. She took it out and walked towards Mason again. He flinched when he heard a small crack that the riding crop made.

“It seems that I’m going to have to teach you how to be a good boy. If you keep being a naughty boy, then that means I’ll keep punishing you, pet,” Ms. Young cooed, placing a hand on his cheek, which made him flinch.

Mason felt the cool metal of the handcuffs click onto his wrists and it made him incredibly nervous. His hands were tied behind his back and Ms. Young forced him onto his knees.

“We’ll have to continue the lessons, shouldn’t we, Mason? I want you to be a good boy. A naughty slave is out of the question,” Ms. Young said, slapping the riding crop in the middle of his back.