57-38

Title: 57-38
Chapter: Two
Word Count: 4,913


Well, here’s the second chapter, as promised. I’ve only got one more that’s already written, so that’ll be along in another few days or so.

Also, a big thanks to Hinako, J42, anon, tdorian, kristina, bcsaturdai, and memorietrail for the feedback! I’m glad to know at least a few people are interested ^^

Oh well, that’s it for now. Please enjoy! And, as usual, please excuse any silly typos or whatever. I always manage to miss a few.

Chapter Two: Alex


The room around him was just as pristine and white as the narrow, long showroom had been. This room was small and square, and just large enough to fit five or six people comfortably. Three of the walls, excluding the one with the entrance in it, were lined with a square, nicely cushioned couch whose pillows were made of fine silk and gleamed in the soft lighting. The wall with the entrance held, beside the door, a small inset shelf which housed two tumblers and a small variety of drinks, along with bottled water. Alex was tempted, after the long and grueling four hours he’d just had, but, in the end, decided against having a drink and ignored the free offerings. He simply crossed his legs and stared thoughtfully at the fibers of the soft, white carpet that sat under his feet, allowing his mind to wander to matters of work and what needed to be done within the next few days.

Alex wasn’t sure how much time, exactly, had passed before the appraisal room’s door suddenly opened with a soft click, but he supposed it couldn’t have been too long. He looked up quickly and watched as a man, dressed in one of the Slave Complex’s standard white employee uniforms with graying, slicked-back hair, stepped hastily into the room.

“Mr. Hayd?” he offered politely. “To see piece number 57-38?”

Alex nodded briefly in reply. “That’s correct. You have him?”

“Of course, sir,” the man replied quickly, a practiced, polite smile slipping onto his lips. He motioned quickly to another younger man who was standing in the hall, also dressed in one of the Complex’s uniforms. “My name is Havorath, sir. This piece has been under my care for nearly three weeks, along with some others. I can answer any questions you may have.”

The other man stepped quietly into the room, carrying the boy in question carefully in his arms. The slave was draped like Cassiopeia in his hold, the ashen-colored canvas tunic he wore leaving more of him exposed than covered. It fit tight around his neck, like a turtleneck sweater, but was bare of any sleeves. It tied carefully at the waist, and managed to make it to about the boy’s mid thighs before finally giving up. It was a standard slave tunic, all in all.

The man placed the boy, who was still drugged heavily with whatever it was they had given him, gently onto the carpeted floor at Alex’s feet. He then leaned him back against one of the couch’s seat cushions to keep him from falling over - the slave didn’t seem quite lucid enough to be able to manage the task on his own.

Havorath thanked the employee and then shooed him from the room, closing the door in his wake. He then turned his attention back to Alex, to was staring with interest at his prospective purchase. “Well,” he said, opening his arms in invitation. “Do have a look at the boy. Don’t be shy.”

Alex nodded in thanks before reaching a hand out to the boy’s face, capturing his chin and turning it his direction. Some of the fogginess seemed to leave the boy’s features as he clumsily realized he was staring into a face, but his eyes struggled to focus, and his lips hung slightly open in concentration. Alex certainly couldn’t deny that the face was more than pleasing to look at. Despite the fact that the drug had his color mottled and his eyes rimmed in bright red, his attractiveness was as clear and obviously noticeable as the presence of sugar in coffee.

Alex took his time to valuate the face that was lazily returning his intent stare, and began to consider some of the things he liked most about it. The slave boy’s skin was pale and slightly golden, which Alex found he enjoyed and preferred to the more pinkish coloring people of pale skin usually carried. The large, rounded hazel eyes were set into a small face of equally rounded features, and were more greenish than anything else, with tiny flecks of brown lining the outside of his irises. His nose was small, a little round, and sat just above a pair of lips that were pale pink and full and soft-looking, and not chapped at all, as slaves’ lips usually were when they’d been sitting in display cases all day long. And, to finish, Alex took in the deep honey-colored hair that framed the whole visage, chin length and layered and styled perfectly, to ensure that he looked his best for the harsh lights of the showroom. I think I may have been wrong, Alex thought idly to himself, a bit taken by the piece’s physical glamour. This face is worth at least sixty-thousand notes.

“Well?” Havorath suddenly asked from somewhere off to Alex’s right. Alex had almost forgotten the man was there at all. “What do you think? Quite the face, yeah? He’s marked at thirty-five thousand on the display, but really, I think it’s a damn shame to let him go for anything under forty-five. It’s practically a legal robbery.”

“But he’s Sav, yes?” Alex answered primly, his tone all causal business. He found Havorath with his eyes. The man stood beside the small inset shelf, pouring a small tumbler of fiery whisky for each of them. “He’s immune deficient. A sick slave is hardly something to spend forty-five thousand notes on, no matter how beautiful.”

Havorath offered a small, humorous snort at the statement, taking a tumbler in each hand and crossing the small distance between them. He offered one politely to Alex, who took the offering, but placed it gently on the seat beside him. “Speaking as the piece’s caretaker, I would have to argue that the term immune deficient is a bit of an overstatement. Of course, yes, he more easily falls ill than a slave of closer origin may. But I’ve had the boy for a while now, without hardly any issues with his health. He’s more tolerant than most Sav, really.”

“Hm,” was the only reply Alex offered, turning his attention back to the boy huddled dazedly on the floor at his feet. He cradled the pleasant face in his hands a few moments longer, drawing the pads of his thumbs over the boy’s cheeks and lips, catching hints of the soft breath escaping from between the parted pink arches. Alex was suddenly struck with the urge to press a thumb deep into the boy’s mouth, but swallowed the craving down, and instead addressed the caretaker. “May I see him, then?”

“Yes, yes, of course, here, allow me-” Havorath stood, gently moving the boy to unzip the back of the tunic, and then carefully pulled the already scanty garment up and over the golden head. The slave’s arms flopped uselessly back down to the ground once they’d been pulled free of the ashen canvas. Havorath than sat the boy back upright, holding him up with his own hands.

Alex carefully scrutinized the boy’s body, checking for any unwanted marks or features, but the slave’s skin was nothing more than a wonderful expanse of pale gold, with a prominent collar bone and a lovely, long throat. Very nice.

“How often do you see such fine coloring, yeah?” Havorath said, stroking his hand fondly over the boy’s chest. The slave squirmed a bit in reply to the touch, but hardly seemed aware of it. “All gold and honey. Not sickly looking at all.”

“He’s very small,” Alex said thoughtfully, taking in the boy’s compact frame. He hadn’t seen the slave standing yet, but he suspected the boy would hardly reach his chin.

“Oh yes,” Havorath answered, “and that’s all a matter of taste, as I’m sure you know. But if you enjoy your slaves small and responsive, this fellow here is just right. If you’d like- here-” Havorath shifted suddenly, leaning forward, digging his hand between the boy’s thighs where they’d been pressed together, and pulled. He separated them, spreading them wide enough for Alex to have a proper view of the slave’s genitals. “He’s just the right size for himself down here, you see. Wonderfully proportioned, don’t you think?”

Alex observed they boy’s endowments with an appraising eye. Eventually, though, he nodded in agreement - the boy’s member sat placidly between his thighs, just the right size for his frame, and just as finely colored as the rest of him. The soft-looking skin that covered it was smooth and tinted a rich pink, and his testicles looked to be much the same, soft and rosy and sparsely furred. Above, feathery, honey-colored nether hairs dusted a line from navel to pubis. His narrow hips provided a nice frame for it all sit in.

“Yes,” Alex answered after long observation. “He’s very nice.”

Havorath smiled at the praise. “Indeed. Would you like to see him at full arousal? I assure you he is only more lovely.”

Alex, quite suddenly, looked up to see the boy’s face, and was surprised to find the misty hazel eyes focused strictly on him. The boy seemed to be more aware of the fact that there were other people near him, but the drugs kept him lank and loose. He gazed unfocusedly at Alex and squirmed, as though he was trying to get himself upright, but was unable to coordinate the task.

“That’s quite alright,” Alex answered Havorath’s question, “I’ve already been convinced that he’s quite lovely enough.”

Havorath nodded politely and leaned the slave against the couch cushion once more, not bothering to re-dress him. As he was arranging the boy against the cushion, Alex caught a quick glance of the angry white numbers - 57-38 - that were scrawled between his shoulder blades in stark white scar tissue. All slaves had their identification numbers branded onto to them when they first came into service, but this boy’s looked fairly recent, as though the permanent scar tissue that now covered the numbers had not been there for very long. It still looked slightly shiny and a little pinkish. Alex was curious.

“How old is this piece?” he questioned mildly.

“Nineteen, sir,” Havorath replied dutifully, returning to his place on the couch. “A nice young age.”

“And how long has he been in service?”

“Two years, sir. That’s when he was given a number and entered into the system, at least.” He took a small sip from his tumbler.

Alex nodded. “And what of his temperament? I should hope he’s well behaved. I’m not in the market for some young, unruly slave who will give me trouble.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Havorath smiled. “This piece here’s just about the sweetest thing you’ll ever meet. Perhaps a bit nervous from time to time, but never ill-mannered. Very well trained. Whoever first owned the little lad did right by him. They educated him properly.”

“And he has all the basic skill sets?” Alex queried, his eyes drifting along the slave’s body once more.

“Without a doubt, sir. Manners and politeness, serving skills and housework, sexual service and bed skills - as I’ve said, he’s well trained.” After another sip from his tumbler, he added, “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for? Anything besides the standard proficiencies? We offer training in supplementary skill sets for only ten thousand notes more.”

Alex shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, not at all. He seems very nice just how he is.” Havorath remained silent while Alex began to consider whether or not he wanted to purchase the boy. The slave certainly had his physical charms - a bit small in stature, perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless - and he seemed to be well-behaved and trained properly, and, of course, he was shockingly inexpensive. But Alex worried that the boy’s health would become a chronic issue. So far, he’d only been told that the boy’s condition was mild, but the only people he’d spoken to had been salespeople, and the Lords knew they’d say anything to make a sale and earn commission. Alex would have much preferred to get a physician’s professional opinion to see if what he’d been told had been the truth.

Then again, though, the boy certainly didn’t look very sickly. Despite having a small, slim frame, the slave looked healthy and well cared for. Alex found that he was once again admiring the boy’s exposed flesh for its youthful, healthy glow.

Beside Alex, Havorath smiled, watching the man’s wondering eyes with a confident smile. “Perhaps you would like to hold the piece yourself? It would seem foolish to purchase the little thing without even knowing what he feels like,” he offered wryly.

Alex did a bit of fidgeting while he considered the offer. “Well,” he said at last, picking his own tumbler up from where it sat beside him, finally taking a sip of the fiery drink, “I haven’t said I was going to be purchasing him just yet.”

“Yes, yes, well, all the more reason, then!” Havorath stood once again, stepping over to where the slave sat lopsided on the ground. “He’s just the most lovely thing to have on your lap. And I’d just about give you my entire year’s wages if you can look me in the eye tell me his skin doesn’t feel as divine as it looks. Here you are, then-”

Alex set the tumbler aside once again as Havorath gently lowered the piece down onto his lap. The boy was still naked and drug-clumsy, his legs spilling awkwardly over the couch cushions before reflexively curling up against his pale body. Alex brought one of his hands to the slave’s shoulder, while the other fell to flatten itself against the flat belly. The boy’s skin burned warmly under Alex’s palm.

Havorath fell back onto the couch at Alex’s side. “Please don’t be hesitant,” he said before taking a sip of his whisky.

Alex sat very still for a few long moments, allowing himself the opportunity to become adjusted to the feel of the slave in his lap. The lad was hot and pliable against him, slumped against his chest as though his bones were made of rubber, and Alex had the sneaking suspicion that if he took his hands away the poor boy would simply splatter ungracefully onto the carpeted floor.

The slave seemed to suddenly realize he was being held in a stranger’s lap, and tilted his deep blonde head backwards awkwardly to once again try and focus on Alex’s face with half-lidded eyes. Alex smiled into the boy’s glassy-eyed stare, moving the hand on his belly in slow, comforting circles.

“Hello, there, lovely,” he said very quietly, in a voice he might’ve used on a young child. “You mustn’t be able to make sense of any of this right now, can you?”

The slave only blinked at Alex’s words, his lips parting slightly to draw in breath.

“A shame you have to drug them,” Alex said absently after a moment, wishing he could hear the boy speak properly.

“In most cases, yes,” Havorath replied in a sage voice, “but I’m afraid it is the law.”

“Hm,” answered Alex vaguely, still admiring the boy’s slack face. The hazel eyes suddenly fell shut, and Alex brought the hand on the belly up to poke the blonde’s chin. “Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he said with a little humor.

The eyes came slowly open once again, and Alex offered another small smile. He carefully brought his hand down to the long arch of the boy’s bowed neck, stroking the soft skin with his fingertips. The boy hardly seemed to notice, his eyes still fixed lazily on Alex’s.

When Alex had had his fill of the boy’s face, his gaze began to drift elsewhere while his fingers followed. His eyes and hand fell to the slave’s chest - narrow and pale-golden, just like the rest of him - and to the two pinkish nipples that dotted it. When Alex brushed a timid fingertip over one of them, (he wasn’t sure it was exactly proper to become too forward with a slave he hadn’t yet purchased, although Havorath seemed to be encouraging it,) he both felt and heard the lad’s breath stutter in his throat, as though he hadn’t quite expected the stimulating touch. Really, he probably hadn’t - his observational skills were clearly in a state of drugged nonexistence.

Alex found the sound sweet, and so repeated the touch once more to see if the boy would make it again. He didn’t, though, and so Alex sighed silently and moved his hand away, laying it back down on the boy’s belly. He didn’t want to take too many liberties with a slave he wasn’t even legally allowed to touch without Havorath’s express permission.

“Isn’t his skin just divine?” Havorath spoke suddenly, as though he had been reading Alex’s thoughts.

Alex nodded absently, eyes now skirting over the boy’s abdomen, watching it gently rise and fall. “…Yes. He’s very nice to touch,” he offered as an afterthought. The slave squirmed deliciously as the pad of Alex’s thumb traced the lip of his navel. Havorath smiled knowingly.

“Then touch him all you like,” he said amusedly, “until you’ve decided, that is.”

Alex shot him a comical glare. “I’m onto you, you know. I see what you’re doing here.”

Havorath chuckled good-naturedly. “Ah, I’ve been caught. Well, what can I say? I’m good at my job. I know how to best sell a body.”

“Mm. So it would seem.” Alex allowed his hand to roam more freely now, stroking its way slowly over the boy’s tummy, his chest, leisurely up and down his sides. All the skin was just as soft as it looked, and Alex couldn’t help but linger in a few choice places - the dip just below his chest, the arch of his collar bone, the curve of his hip. When at last Alex couldn’t refuse himself any longer, his hand moved lower, and his fingers petted the boy’s feathery honey-colored nether hairs in slow, soft strokes.

The slave’s half-mast eyes came full open then, and he choked out an odd little quiet sound - surprised, confused, breathless - and something low in Alex’s gut tightened convulsively. Oh, Lords, he thought hopelessly, and that was it, he knew he was sunk. He swallowed a little thickly, not daring to move his hand any lower. How could I ever leave the lad behind, now?

Havorath’s eyes were practically twinkling. “Well?” he asked in a quiet voice, as though he didn’t want to disturb Alex’s moment of infatuation. “What do you say? Forty-five thousand notes for the pretty face?”

Alex straightened his back, cleared his throat and moved his hand to a safer location. It slid up the lithe body and came to rest on the slave’s chest. “He’s listed at thirty-five thousand,” he spoke once he trusted his voice again, “and I wont pay a single note over.” It seemed pointless to haggle for anything lower than that; the piece was already discounted to half his aesthetic value.

Havorath sighed, seeing there was no use in asking for more. “Oh, yes, fine, I suppose.” He took a long sip from his tumbler, then said, slightly annoyed, “I applied to get his listing raised, you know. It’s really such a damn shame he’s Sav. If he’d been anything else, he’d be worth a bloody fortune.”

Havorath stood, carefully removing the boy from Alex’s lap. As he maneuvered the flaccid body back into the ashen tunic, Alex rubbed discreetly at the tops of his thighs, warding away the prickling cold that had been left in the slave’s wake.

Once the slave was properly dressed, Havorath strode to the door and swung it open. The same young man who had brought the slave in a short while before was outside, waiting in the hall. “Take this piece upstairs,” Havorath spoke casually, “And have him readied for departure. He’ll need a medical examination and some vaccinations - have the doctor take a look at his file. Then have him brought to the exodus wing - room C-11.”

The employee nodded and did as he was told, stepping into the room and offering a polite bow in Alex’s direction before bending to retrieve the slave boy from the floor. Once he’d gone, Havorath turned to face Alex, now his only companion in the small room.

“So, then,” he said with a polite smile, “how would you like to pay?”

“I can transfer the amount directly from my account, if you have a funds pilot for this complex.”

“Of course,” Havorath answered politely, sitting next to him once more and pulling the pilot from a pocket in his uniform. The small electronic device looked not unlike a cell phone, compact enough to fit in the palm of Havorath’s hand, and was a direct electronic hookup to the Slave Complex’s bank funds. Havorath turned it on and entered his password, waiting for the device to connect to its server. Meanwhile, Alex produced his own pilot, entering his password and connecting to his own account.

Havorath connected the two devices with a slim black cable, and Alex completed the transaction with a few swift clicks to the body of his pilot. The process was over in a few short moments, and soon both men had their devices pocketed once again.

“Well,” Havorath said as he rose from his seat. Alex followed suit. “Please do enjoy number 57-38. He’s really a little charm, that one - I’m sure he’ll satisfy your needs. You do, however, have a thirty day period during which you may discuss a resale price with the Complex, in the event that he doesn’t. After that, if you wish to return him, I’m afraid you’ll have to go through the standard application process.”

Alex nodded politely and offered a low “Yes, of course” before Havorath continued.

“Now, he should be ready for departure in about half an hour or so. I do apologize for the wait, but due to his condition, a medical examination with all the standard vaccinations came included in his price. You’ll receive a copy of his bill of health when they bring him to you, sighed by a physician, of course. You’ll also be asked to sign a Certificate of Official Ownership, for our own records. You may have a copy if you wish, and we’ll always have a copy on file here in the Complex, even in the event of resale.”

Alex nodded politely once more. “Yes, thank you,” he said.

Havorath smiled, having gotten all the official announcements over with. “Well then, that just about covers it. If you’ll head on down to the exodus wing, you can have a seat in room C-11. They’ll bring him to you just as soon as he’s ready.”

As Havorath opened the door to the small appraisal room, Alex thanked him once more. Once they were in the hall Havorath touched his fingertips to his forehead and bowed low in a courteous gesture, then smiled as he straightened. “It was lovely doing business with you, Mr. Hayd,” he said. “And do enjoy the little piece.”

Alex was already turning towards the elevators as he replied. “Yes, I’m sure I will, thank you. Do have a nice evening.”

Once he was back down on the first floor, Alex made his way to the opposite end of the rotunda, walking through a large arched doorway that read Exodus Wing in heavy brass letters nailed to the wall above. It was a large wing, and Alex soon found himself asking an employee to point him in the direction of room C-11, but he eventually found his way and had a seat inside. This room was not as large as the appraisal room had been, but was just as white. A small table with a glass top stood in the center, with four lushly cushioned chairs sitting around it, two on either side. Just like the appraisal room, there was a small inset shelf next to the door, stocked with a small selection of beverages. This time Alex did grab a bottle of water for himself, opening it and pouring its contents into one of the offered tumblers.

As he waited, Alex removed his cell phone from his pocket and turned it on, checking to see if he had any messages. There was only one; a single text which he’d received nearly two hours earlier sat patiently in his inbox. Alex chuckled quietly to himself as he saw who’d sent it - Darryl, of course. He opened the message and read its brief contents.

You’re late for dinner. You better be doing what I think you’re doing.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” Alex mumbled to himself through a smile. He was tempted to reply, but instead deleted the message and tucked his phone back away. Let them wait a while longer.

~

When at last Alex heard the doorknob being turned, nearly forty-five minutes had passed. Alex was glad; he’d been able to keep himself preoccupied with thoughts of what needed to be done at work the next day, but he’d been starting to grow bored just as the latch clicked.

Another white-uniformed employee stepped into the room, this time a black-haired young woman with a thin folder clasped in her hand. The same young man as before followed her in, the salve boy dangling dazedly in his arms, hazel eyes fixed interestedly on the ceiling lights.

The woman smiled as she had a seat across from Alex, exchanging pleasantries with him while the young man sat beside her, balancing the piece neatly in his lap.

The woman, who’d introduced herself as Simmons, spoke first. “Just one or two things to sort out before you leave, sir,” she said as she opened the file. She pulled the first sheet of paper out and slid it across the table to Alex, who examined it with care. “This is the bill of health. It assures you that we’re giving the slave known as number 57-38 to you in a state of perfect health, as observed by this physician here,” she pointed to the scrawled signature at the bottom, “Dr. Ivan Kenson. If at any point you doubt this doctor’s professional opinion, you may contact his office to discuss any discrepancies. The number is here, at the bottom. We at the Slave Complex are not legally held responsible for any malpractice on the part of Dr. Kenson. Do you agree to these terms?”

Alex nodded.

“Then if you would please sign right here,” Simmons produced a pen and pointed to an empty line on the bottom on the sheet. Alex signed, and Simmons lifted the document, tearing the yellow copy off the back to stash back into the folder, and handed the white copy back to Alex.

“Very good. Next we have this,” she produced the other form from inside the folder. “This is the Certificate of Official Ownership. In signing this, you’re officially stating that you have paid, in full, the agreed price of thirty-five thousand notes for slave number 57-38, and that you fully accept all terms of the sale as final, and that, past the thirty day period, no resale can be negotiated. Within that thirty day period, any resale negotiations will be based upon the current state of the slave’s health, as weighed against his condition specified in the bill of health that I’ve just presented to you. Also, in signing this form, you’re agreeing to follow, without violation, the laws of slave ownership which have been established in this nation. Do you agree to these terms, Mr. Hayd?”

Alex blinked, amused by how quickly Simmons had been able to spit the small speech out. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, though - she’d probably recited it enough times as to have it memorized.

“Yes, I do,” he finally answered, and she slid the form across the table to him, along with the pen. Alex took the time to carefully read the entire document, and, satisfied with its contents, signed the bottom, printing the date next to his name.

Simmons took the form back, again ripping the yellow copy from the back. This time she slid the white copy into the folder and handed the yellow one to Alex. Alex folded both of the forms he’d just signed and slipped them into one of the interior pockets of his tailored vest.

“Well, then, that just about covers it,” Simmons suddenly chimed in a tone that was far less business-like. She rose from her seat, the other employee doing the same, and spoke as Alex rose from his as well. “Drake here will carry the boy to your car, for you. Now, it’ll take a good twenty-four hours or so for the drugs to leave the boy’s system entirely. It’s most common for them to sleep it off, but if he wakes, make sure to offer him water. If he doesn’t, be sure to give him some when he’s fully recovered. And feed him as well. Of course, after that, he’s yours to use as you please. Do enjoy him, Mr. Hayd.” She smiled as she opened the door.

Alex thanked her and said farewell as they stepped out into the hall, parting ways. He then looked to the young man - the employee apparently known as Drake - and smiled. “Right then. This way, if you will.”

Well, that’s it for now. Next time we get to meet a couple more characters - doesn’t that sound fun? :D

Please, let me know what you think.