One hundred and thirty-four: The Vulture Cries at Dinner

Dinner occured in icy silence. The Vulture was left sitting there when he both refused to move and my Master also refused to speak to him. After watching them eat for a while, my Master called me over and had me kneel beside him. Then he fed me his dinner until I was full. Following which, I obediently fed him the remainder. The Vulture watched all this in silence. He remained seated in silence when the Master took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom. There he took me many times, making good use of the slave commands to elicit all sorts of sounds and moans from me. I called his name at his command and begged him for more. We were a long time. When my Master had fallen asleep and I rose to wash the dishes, I found the Vulture still sitting there. He was crying.

That stopped me still. Vultures don't cry.

"Why are you crying, my lord?"

"It's not so much why but for whom," the Vulture said in a small and quiet voice, looking at me with an extremely sad expression. "Do you feel sad? Are you in pain?"

"This slave has no need for feelings," I replied. "A slave is only a thing. An object. How can an object have feelings? The Master will do what he will. This slave has no complaints."

"Oh, Jean," the Vulture breathed. "You don't really believe that. You really don't believe that. The Jean I know would never have accepted that lie."

"There is no Jean," I said. "Only a slave."

"How did you become a slave, Jean? Do you remember?"

"This slave has always been a slave."

"No, you haven't," the Vulture said. "I knew you before you became a slave. You said you'd rather die than become one."

"Then it is likely the one you knew from before has passed away," I replied, gathering up the dishes once more. The Vulture helped me and refused to be dissuaded.

"Good friends help one another," was all he said, rolling up his sleeves to help me rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. He helped me scrub the soup tureen and one of the pots, while I worked on the others. I thought about his statement about friends and felt it was true to those who had friends and were free to have friends. I had no need of friends. I had the Master.

"Slaves do not have friends," I said. "This slave has no friends. There is no need for friends. I have the Master."

"How many lies have they taught you to believe? How much have you suffered before they turned you into this?"

A flash of pain shot through my head, chased by the pain that came when I was disobedient.

"Excuse me, my lord. It is late. You should return to rest."

"What about you?"

"This slave still has much work to do before the household and Master rises in the morning."

"Allow me to help you."

"Forgive me, my lord, but that is not permitted."

The headache and the pain of disobedience were growing stronger. I knew the Master wanted the man to leave.

"Let me help. Then you can rest earlier."

"Please leave," I rubbed my forehead and temples, leading the way to the front door. When the door shut behind him, I made my way to the bedroom where my Master waited. Where the only way to relieve the pain was. The Master decided to punish me. He ignored me and sent me back out to finish my chores, while the pain intensified. When I collapsed, he took me hard until the pain turned into pleasure and I pleased him. He spent the remainder of the night demanding more and more from me. Eventually, he fell asleep, too tired to withdraw from me and I let him stay there. He was pleased when he woke in the morning to find himself already inside me and he grew firm quickly. It was midmorning before I was permitted to leave the bed. Although I felt tired, I stumbled about the chores. When I stumbled a few too many times, he turned on the auto-control for my body and my body did as it was told, despite how much I really wanted to sleep.

The Vulture came for lunch and then dinner. Every time he spoke to me, the pain in my head grew again. If my Master started becoming displeased with his presence, he would use the disobedience pain to tell me to chase the man out. He was persistent. He returned every day and spoke of distant things I did not remember. He asked me questions about people about things that had happened in great detail. My Master grew tired of entertaining him and let him be. At night time, my Master took his frustrations out through me. If he didn't keep the auto-control on during the day, I would not be able to keep functioning.

Then one day, the auto-control malfunctioned. I fell down the stairs.

"You need to let her rest," the doctor berated my Master. "I told you she needs rest. Even if the slave controls can cover up some of her problems, it doesn't mean the injuries aren't there. She has always been weak to begin with and every subsequent pregnancy has been fraught with more and more danger. If you can't hold yourself back, you may very well bring her to an early grave. At the very least, use a condom."

"Don't blame the Master," I struggled to speak. "It is the slave's fault. Never the Master's."

"You are wrong," the doctor said, glaring at my Master. "This time, it's entirely the Master's fault."

"I can't watch this anymore," the Vulture's dry voice snapped in icy tones. "The whole world would condemn this, let alone me. I came to see if I could bring you to your senses. Since that seems impossible, I will be reporting that Boskyland is in breach of its agreement to do away with slavery. If this isn't slavery, I don't know what is. I don't care if my government partially agreed to it, although I can't imagine why. If the International Council of Nations hears about it, they will surely make a move. Jean, it's time to wake up."

That night, I had a long nightmare. I dreamed of wars, being chased and being imprisoned. Of being kidnapped and falling ill. I dreamed of losing control of my body and being forced to live my worst fears. I dreamed I was named Jean and that Jean no longer existed.

I dreamed of a big bad boss called Mr Barrel who had been kind. I had obeyed him and done everything for him, because I was his employee. Because I had trusted him. Because he had protected me from the other bullies in the office. I dreamed he had sent me to a meeting. The room had been dark when I had entered and masked men had caught hold of me. I dreamed that those men had spanked me one by one and forcing me to do unsightly deeds that I had been disgusted to find that I had vaguely enjoyed. There was speak of selling me out of the country. Then they did something to me that had made me forget. Mr Barrel had saved me, but after that, the bullying was worse. All the men touched me as they like, when they liked and I was powerless against it. Until I discovered that I was smarter than the men. That Mr Barrel was trying to frame me. In the end, I had beat them at their own game and left the company.

I dreamed that when the Bosky chiefs came to visit Kiran in the Compound, one night while he was away, masked men had come into the room to have their way with me. They had not done it properly, but used their fingers, while they whispered vile words and threats in my ears. I dreamed of being betrayed by the Doc and Whistlor in front of prison cells at the turning of the war and of Kiran's deaf ears to my pleas for help.

I dreamed of being used and being bait and of getting glass in my eyes. I dreamed of a lot of things. The worst part was when I woke up to find myself in another person's body and being marched to the arena to suffer a slave's punishment.

I woke screaming and screamed myself hoarse.

Then I was turned off.