‹ Prequel: Going Bush
Going Bush 2: Suburbia
108
“I want to be your Master,” Nate revealed.
Taylor felt the colour drain from his face, and he diverted his eyes.
“You can’t say you’re out of practise,” Nate mused.
Taylor wanted to say ‘no’ to that, but was afraid Nate would take it as denying his terms. Then the doctor would be dead.
“You’d become my full-time slave. We’ll eventually get a house that you can look after, you’ll take care of all the cooking and the laundry…”
Taylor couldn’t stop his eyes welling up, the words reiterating that the torment wasn’t going to end.
“Do I have your word?”
Taylor realised he’d lost track of what Nate had been saying when he looked up, blinking furiously to clear his eyes.
“What’s the alternative?” Taylor asked softly.
“Alternative?” Nate sounded surprised, “your alternative is that the good doctor dies and you spend the rest of your life with that chain around your neck.”
“If I’m a slave, then I’m in chains anyway,” Taylor looked confused.
Nate knelt beside the bed, and Taylor finally locked eyes with him again.
“That could change,” Nate replied calmly.
Taylor frowned, his eyes searching Nate’s again.
“It would be willing servitude, not forced,” Nate explained in a tone he’d speak to a child with, “there’d be no need for restraints once I believed that I could trust you. Of course the collar would have to stay because I don’t think we could get it off without breaking your neck.”
Taylor just stared at him steadily, knowing he was waiting for affirmation.
“And if you agree, I’ll see about getting you to a hospital.”
Taylor looked up at where the doctor sat awaiting his fate. They locked eyes.
“So what’s it gonna be?” Nate tilted his head.
“Yes,” Taylor said without stopping to think, “yes, I’ll do it.”
“Good boy,” Nate smiled in the condescending tone the master used to use.
Taylor diverted his eyes again as Nate turned to Trent.
“Take the doc back to his surgery. He can tell you where it is.”
Trent grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and pulled him up.
“And you won’t be needing the gun,” Nate held his hand out for it.
Trent hesitated, but complied. He handed him the pistol. Nate returned it to his belt before throwing Trent the car keys.
“Taylor and I have some specifics to address. Don’t be too long. Oh…” Nate addressed the doctor, “and don’t think for a moment that if you tell anyone about this, we won’t kill him.”
The doctor gave Taylor one last glance before Trent pulled him out of the trailer and closed the door behind them. As they heard them get into the car and take off, Nate sat himself on the bed beside Taylor. Taylor shifted awkwardly.
“I’d like you to go public about it,” he said seriously.
“What?” Taylor breathed, not sure of what he meant.
“I’d like you to prepare a statement for the press. About how this is your choice,” Nate explained, “and that you now choose to leave your family to come to me. They don’t need to look for you any longer. You’re already home.”
Taylor felt the colour drain from his face, and he diverted his eyes.
“You can’t say you’re out of practise,” Nate mused.
Taylor wanted to say ‘no’ to that, but was afraid Nate would take it as denying his terms. Then the doctor would be dead.
“You’d become my full-time slave. We’ll eventually get a house that you can look after, you’ll take care of all the cooking and the laundry…”
Taylor couldn’t stop his eyes welling up, the words reiterating that the torment wasn’t going to end.
“Do I have your word?”
Taylor realised he’d lost track of what Nate had been saying when he looked up, blinking furiously to clear his eyes.
“What’s the alternative?” Taylor asked softly.
“Alternative?” Nate sounded surprised, “your alternative is that the good doctor dies and you spend the rest of your life with that chain around your neck.”
“If I’m a slave, then I’m in chains anyway,” Taylor looked confused.
Nate knelt beside the bed, and Taylor finally locked eyes with him again.
“That could change,” Nate replied calmly.
Taylor frowned, his eyes searching Nate’s again.
“It would be willing servitude, not forced,” Nate explained in a tone he’d speak to a child with, “there’d be no need for restraints once I believed that I could trust you. Of course the collar would have to stay because I don’t think we could get it off without breaking your neck.”
Taylor just stared at him steadily, knowing he was waiting for affirmation.
“And if you agree, I’ll see about getting you to a hospital.”
Taylor looked up at where the doctor sat awaiting his fate. They locked eyes.
“So what’s it gonna be?” Nate tilted his head.
“Yes,” Taylor said without stopping to think, “yes, I’ll do it.”
“Good boy,” Nate smiled in the condescending tone the master used to use.
Taylor diverted his eyes again as Nate turned to Trent.
“Take the doc back to his surgery. He can tell you where it is.”
Trent grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and pulled him up.
“And you won’t be needing the gun,” Nate held his hand out for it.
Trent hesitated, but complied. He handed him the pistol. Nate returned it to his belt before throwing Trent the car keys.
“Taylor and I have some specifics to address. Don’t be too long. Oh…” Nate addressed the doctor, “and don’t think for a moment that if you tell anyone about this, we won’t kill him.”
The doctor gave Taylor one last glance before Trent pulled him out of the trailer and closed the door behind them. As they heard them get into the car and take off, Nate sat himself on the bed beside Taylor. Taylor shifted awkwardly.
“I’d like you to go public about it,” he said seriously.
“What?” Taylor breathed, not sure of what he meant.
“I’d like you to prepare a statement for the press. About how this is your choice,” Nate explained, “and that you now choose to leave your family to come to me. They don’t need to look for you any longer. You’re already home.”