Fic: The Devil You Know (8/25)
Jan. 19th, 2014 01:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 7100 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
Neal waited all week for the trip to the museum. He even convinced Peter and Elizabeth to get his hair cut before the weekend.
Maybe there wasn't much sense in wanting to look his best. But he told himself that most people wouldn't even notice his collar if he dressed like a free man and played the angles right.
On the day of the outing, he got up early and wore his best shirt.
"Come on," he said while Peter was putting his jacket on.
"Don't rush me. I'm the one paying for this little outing."
"Yeah, and I earned it. The longer we wait, the better the chance you'll get a call to go in to work."
Peter huffed. "That won't happen."
Neal raised his eyebrows.
Peter looked up at him. "Does it really happen a lot?"
"When's the last time you had an entire weekend free?"
"All right," Peter said with a sigh. "You have a point. Let's go."
On the way out, he grabbed Neal's leash. Neal started to say something, but Peter interrupted him. "If you're good, you won't need to wear it. I'm putting it in the glove compartment."
Neal still wasn't sure if this trip was worth what he'd done to earn it. But at least Peter was starting to develop better taste in rewards. Still, Neal tried not to show too much enthusiasm. He wanted to appear grateful, but he didn't want Peter to think he'd found a way of controlling him.
When they got to the museum, Peter went straight to the ticket desk. They needed to pay to get into the exhibit. Neal hung back, not wanting the attractive young woman at the desk to see his collar.
"Hi," Peter said with a smile. "We wanted two tickets for the Picasso exhibit. Do you have a rate for slaves?"
The young woman glanced at Neal, and Neal glared at Peter.
"Yes, of course" she told Peter. "It's half-price for slaves."
"Excellent."
As they walked away with their tickets, Neal said, under his breath, "I wasn't aware you were going to use this as an opportunity to rub my status in my face." Neal adjusted his shirt, hoping to hide the collar better.
"Oh, come on, Neal. I am not paying full price for you just so you can pretend you're free. And quit messing with your shirt." He swatted Neal's hand away from his neck. "If you're so embarrassed to be seen in public, then maybe taking you out isn't a good reward."
"I'm not embarrassed," Neal said quickly. "I just thought it would be more comfortable for everyone if it wasn't obvious. You don't want people to think you're one of those guys takes his slave everywhere because he can't get a date."
"Thank you for your consideration, but I think I'll take my chances."
Once they got into the exhibit, however, Neal forgot most of his embarrassment. He'd thought it might be years before he set foot in a museum again.
Knowing there was no knowing when he'd get another chance, he took his time, walking slowly around the perimeter of the room in order to savor each painting.
Since it was Saturday, there were a good number of people milling around. But it was an odd time in the morning, and it wasn't as busy as it would probably be later. Nobody paid very close attention to Neal, who found himself in his element.
Before long, Peter started getting antsy. He couldn’t hide his impatience, and Neal was sure he thought they could be moving a lot faster. But to his credit, he didn't try to rush Neal.
Neal was about two-thirds of the way through the exhibit when Peter checked his phone, which he'd put on silent. Wincing, he said, "Damn it, I've got a voicemail. Neal, I have to go check this. Stay here if you want, but don't go anywhere."
"Yeah, sure."
Peter's absence was welcome. Neal didn't have any tricks up his sleeve, but it was nice to feel like he was there by himself, if only for a short time.
Peter returned a few minutes later.
"Anything important?" Neal asked.
"Yeah. We've got a little time to finish up here, but then I need to run to the office."
Neal gave Peter an I-told-you-so look.
He could have spent all afternoon at the exhibit, but he knew Peter really couldn't stay much longer. He couldn't find it in him to begrudge Peter for that. He knew he'd had done his best.
Neal expected Peter to drop him off at home, but once they were in the car, Peter didn't head toward Brooklyn.
"You're taking me with you?" Neal said.
"It'll take too long to drop you off. Besides, I'm not going to be long."
Neal didn't mind. He'd never been inside the FBI building, and it would be interesting to meet Peter's coworkers. Besides, it could be a valuable chance to see where they stashed the keys to slave collars.
After Peter parked the car, he reached across Neal's lap and opened the glove compartment. Neal immediately knew what he was doing.
"Really, Peter? You said I wouldn't have to wear it."
"That was before I knew I was going to take you into work with me." He pulled out the leash and clipped it to Neal's collar.
Neal stepped out of the car. As he waited for Peter to take the leash, he wondered if there was a rule that slaves had to be on leashes in federal buildings. Maybe it was some sort of security thing. Then again, probably not. Most likely, Peter wanted to show off to everyone.
He imagined he must make a good trophy for Peter.
The more Neal thought about it, the more apprehensive he became. What had Peter told everyone? What details did he share around the water cooler?
Peter picked up the end of Neal's leash and gave it a tug. "C'mon. Let's go."
Neal knew there were protocols that slaves and masters were supposed to follow in public, but they were old-fashioned, and Peter never made any effort to observe them. But now, walking into the building, Peter subtly altered his style. He guided Neal so that he walked a couple paces behind him. Once they were inside the elevator, Peter turned to him.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," Peter warned him. "And be respectful. Everyone here is 'sir' or 'ma'am' to you. And don't touch anything. Don't make me regret bringing you in."
"Don't worry," Neal said. "I got it."
When they got off at the white collar division, Neal tried to take in as much as he could. People discreetly looked up when they entered, and peered at Neal out of the corners of their eyes. Peter ignored the attention they were receiving.
There weren't a lot of people in the office, but there were more than Neal expected. Apparently, if criminals worked weekends, the FBI had to, too.
A man walked up to Peter and said, "Diana's in the conference room. I think she's got the forms you need to sign in there."
"Thanks, Jones."
Jones nodded in Neal's direction. "You brought Caffrey along, huh?"
"Yeah, he was with me when I got the message."
Neal flashed a smile, but Jones didn't speak to him and Neal remembered Peter's rules.
Leading him away, Peter said, "You can wait for me in my office."
He led Neal up a small flight of stairs and into his office. Once he was alone, Neal walked behind the desk and sank down in Peter's chair. He had a good view of the bullpen from here. He noticed that a few people were still glancing in his direction, but most had already lost interest in him.
Neal turned his attention to Peter's desk. It was uncluttered, and gave him little to look at. Rolling the chair back a few inches, he tried the desk drawers. The first two contained office supplies, and the bottom one was locked. That piqued his interest.
He was looking in the top drawer for anything he could use to pick the lock when Peter suddenly walked in. He froze at the sight of Neal rummaging through the desk, and glared.
"I was looking for a pen," Neal said.
Peter walked behind the desk, swatted Neal's hands away, and closed the drawer. "Leave my desk alone."
He grabbed a folder off the desk and turned to leave. Then he stopped, turned back, and tested the handle of the bottom drawer. Satisfied that it was still locked, he left.
Knowing that Peter was on to him, he decided to abort that plan. Peter would know it was him when he discovered the drawer unlocked. With a sigh, Neal sat back.
He started to play with his leash, twisting the leather around his fingers. He unclipped it from his collar, and started to twirl it like a lasso. He misjudged the length, and the end of the leash lashed out and hit a picture of Peter and Elizabeth that sat on the desk, knocking it over with a loud clatter. Down in the bullpen, a few heads shot up. Neal quickly picked up the picture. The frame and glass looked unharmed.
Peter didn't come to investigate the noise, so Neal assumed he must be preoccupied. Taking the chance, he got up and casually paced the room with his hands in his pockets. Assured that no one was paying attention to him, he snuck out of the office.
A quick glance through the glass wall of the conference room showed him that Peter's back was turned. Neal went downstairs and headed for the water cooler he'd noticed when he was coming in.
While he sipped water from a paper cup, he looked around the office, hoping to spot a case or shelf that held collar keys. But he didn't see anything of use to him.
His presence was not going unnoticed. Several people were watching, looking unsure. Finally, after a couple minutes, Jones took the initiative and walked over.
"Hey," he said, "I thought Peter was having you wait in his office."
"Oh, it's okay." Neal held up the cup. "I got thirsty."
Jones still looked skeptical. "Yeah, well, I'm going to go check with Peter."
Neal smiled. "You don't need to bother him. I was on my way back up there, anyway."
He sauntered past Jones, cup still in hand. Once he was back in Peter's office, he was relieved to see that Jones had gone back to his own desk, apparently choosing not to get Peter involved.
Neal finished his water and crumpled the cup into a ball. He was tossing it in the air when Peter came into the doorway.
He wasn't alone. He was accompanied by another, older man.
"Neal," Peter said, "this is Special Agent Hughes. My boss."
Neal stopped tossing the cup. Smiling, he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He stood for a moment, and then sat back down. Peter hadn't said anything about standing or kneeling.
Hughes didn't respond. He put his hands on his hips and studied Neal with narrow, critical eyes.
"And you say everything is going well?" he said to Peter. His tone was skeptical.
Peter hesitated. "Neal isn't exactly easy, but he's smart and he knows the boundaries. I can't complain."
"Hm. You know, Peter, no one would hold it against you if you had a change of heart and decided to sell him."
"Oh, Elizabeth and I are glad to have him around."
Hughes seemed to contemplate that. Nodding, he said, "Well, you're one of few people I'd trust to train him."
"I appreciate your confidence."
Neal kept a small smile on his face, but he didn't know what to make of how they were both looking at him. It reminded him of how he would look at a painting. He felt like he was being evaluated.
"Where do you keep him?" Hughes asked, as though Neal was a pool table or widescreen TV.
"We let him have the guest room."
"You didn't mind giving it up?"
"No, we don't have guests that often, and we can always move him if we do. Besides, he spends a lot of his free time in there, and it keeps him out of our way."
Hughes murmured in agreement. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "Melissa has been talking about getting a slave. Just for domestic work, nothing more. We're not as young as you and Elizabeth are."
"Oh, that's what Neal is," Peter said quickly. "Just a domestic."
Peter looked slightly embarrassed, and Neal was surprised. In his experience, people were open about fucking their slaves. Some guys acted like it gave them bragging rights, and others thought their pleasure slaves showed off how rich they were, since owning a slave just for sex was a luxury.
He didn't know if Peter was the bragging sort, but he'd imagined that his duties were no secret.
Maybe the people at the FBI just had different standards. Maybe he'd misjudged Peter.
"Actually," Hughes said, "Melissa was hoping she might be able to see Caffrey sometime. We don't know many people who own slaves, and she's been curious about yours. I understand if you'd rather not show him off. But I promised I'd ask."
"No, of course," Peter said. "You should come over for dinner soon. Neal is an excellent cook."
Hughes nodded. "We'd enjoy that."
After Hughes went back to work, Peter told Neal that he was ready to leave. He clipped the leash back onto Neal's collar and led him out of the office.
Peter was silent all the way down in the elevator. He continued to ignore Neal once they were in the car.
"Everything all right?" Neal asked, after a few minutes.
"I can't believe I invited Hughes and his wife to dinner." He hit the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.
"He was the one who wanted to get together."
"Yeah, to see you."
"Hey," Neal said, throwing his hands up, "none of this was my idea. I'd just as rather not have your boss take an interest in me."
"I know, but he is interested, and if you're not on your best behavior when he comes over, it'll make us both look bad."
"Relax," he said, giving Peter a disarming smile, "Do you really think I'd cause trouble?"
Peter just gave him a look.
On the way home, they stopped for lunch. Neal was glad that Peter's apprehension wasn't ruining the rest of the day—going out to eat was almost as good as going to the museum. Neal pored over his menu until Peter hissed at him to decide on something.
They were sitting at an outdoor table, taking advantage of the cool but sunny late-October weather. While they waited for their food, Neal watched the people walking by. He barely cared about his collar anymore—it was worth being seen with it to be spending an afternoon in Manhattan.
A young woman walked by on the sidewalk, carrying shopping bags in both hands. If not for the glint of a collar around her neck, she would have looked like any other shopper on the streets. But Neal noticed immediately.
Most owners got their domestic slaves licenses that authorized them to move about unaccompanied. Short trips, like when Neal took Satchmo out, weren't usually a problem. But a slave shopping or walking around the city sometimes invited scrutiny from police and store owners, and a license not only confirmed that the slave was allowed out, but provided names and contact numbers for the slave's owners.
For many people, there was no point in owning slaves if they couldn't send them on errands. Unfortunately, Peter and Elizabeth seemed perfectly content to run their own errands and keep Neal in their sight.
Neal wondered what he did to deserve such untrusting owners. Well, he supposed his reputation for eluding the authorities didn't help. And Neal had also been sold as a sex slave. Most people kept their pleasure slaves at home.
"Why did you lie to Hughes?" Neal asked, casually.
Peter looked up and blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You told him I was a domestic."
Peter took a sip of his water. "You are. You keep the house spotless. You cook for us."
"That's not why you bought me."
Peter looked around and lowered his voice. "I'm aware of that, but nobody needs to know our private business. And I'm sure as hell not going to discuss my sex life with my boss."
Sex life. Neal didn't know what to make of that. He knew that Peter understood as well as anyone that what went on between them was just duty and ritual. It was how things worked.
"Besides," Peter continued, "I hate it when people act like they're something special just because they have a slave. We were bringing this guy down for insider trading a while back, and every time I tried to question him, he'd make a big deal about how he didn't have time to talk because his sex slave was waiting at home. I can't stand guys like that." He shook his head.
Neal scoffed. "Yeah, and owning me isn't a feather in your bonnet?"
"All right, so maybe it is. Doesn't mean I have to make a fool of myself. And like I said, it's private. I thought you'd appreciate some discretion. No reason to make things more uncomfortable for you."
That wasn't untrue. He just wasn't expecting much discretion from Peter.
He smiled. "So what, pulling me around on a leash isn't humiliating, but telling people I'm a sex slave crosses a line?"
Peter shrugged. "In my book, yes."
Neal knew Peter wasn't deliberately cruel. He'd never imagined that Peter talked about his body or how he sucked cock just to humiliate him. But Peter was pragmatic. He treated Neal like a slave and showed little concern for what Neal thought about it. He certainly didn't care what Neal thought of the collar or the leash. The fact that Peter felt differently about the sex was almost naive. It was as though he wanted it to be intimate.
Still, Neal couldn't complain. He was more than happy to have the world see him as a domestic.
When their food arrived, he changed the subject, and spent the rest of the meal suggesting other museums Peter could take him to.
* * *
A couple days later, Neal intercepted Peter when he came home from work and handed him several sheets of paper.
Peter set his briefcase down with one hand and accepted the papers with the other. "What's all this?"
"I know you like slave training books, and you obviously worry about me being a reflection of you. So I thought I'd give you some tips."
Peter thumbed through the pages. "You printed this out off the internet, didn't you?" He looked over Neal's shoulder at Elizabeth, who was sitting at the dining room table with her laptop. "Did you let him get online?"
"I let him use my computer for a little bit," Elizabeth said without looking up. "Don't worry; I was in the room with him the whole time."
In truth, Neal l had figured out the password to Elizabeth's laptop weeks ago. But if he got permission to use her computer, she and Peter would be less likely to suspect him of using it in secret.
Elizabeth smirked. "Besides, I think it's sweet he did this research for you."
There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice, but Neal grinned. Elizabeth had told him Peter wouldn't go for any of the suggestions, but Neal wasn't one to succumb to a defeatist attitude.
"Let's check out this 'information'," Peter said. He stepped into the light to read, and as he did so, his eyebrows rose so high, they looked like they were trying to join the hair on his head.
"Oh, yeah," he said dryly, "this is good advice: 'To help preserve your slave's value, take it to a spa every four to six months for some primping and pampering.' Where did you get this? It looks like an advertisement for a spa."
Neal bristled. "It's actually a very popular way to help maintain a valued slave's youth and attractiveness. All the stylish owners do it."
Peter looked up. "I never claimed to be stylish."
Neal gestured toward the papers in Peter's hand. "There's more. From other sites."
Peter went back to reading. After a minute, he swatted the print-out with the back of his hand and said, "This one claims that we should dress you in stylish clothes that flatter your figure."
"Your clothes are too big for me. The shirts don't have any shape. If you want me to reflect well on you, appearance matters."
"I think as long as you look clean and healthy, that's good enough. And I'm a little more concerned about your behavior."
"I don't know, Hon," Elizabeth said, looking up. She smiled mischievously at Neal. "Some salons offer special deals on Brazilian waxes for slaves."
That was certainly not what Neal had had in mind when he talked about spa treatments. Thankfully, he knew it was a joke. Elizabeth and Peter showed no interest in removing his body hair.
"Tell you what," Peter said with a smile, "if you're on your best behavior when Hughes comes over next week, I'll get you one of those clay face masks and you can have your own spa day right here at home."
"Wonderful," Neal muttered.
He suspected that with Hughes visiting, Peter would be concerned about image. There was little he could do about that, aside from lying low in order to allay Peter's fears about an embarrassing dinner party. But while the matter was heavy in Peter's mind, Neal didn't seen any harm in providing him with the sort of advice he wanted him to use. Even if it was a long shot.
* * *
The next evening, Neal was relaxing on his bed when Peter came in unexpectedly, after only a cursory knock on the door.
He was smiling the same way that he smiled at Satchmo last week before loading him into the car to go to the vet.
"What's going on?" Neal asked. He sat up and put the book he'd been looking at on the nightstand.
"We need to have a chat," Peter said.
"Something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong." He sat on the edge of the bed and gave Neal a pat on the knee. "You know, when El and I were talking about buying you, we both knew that it would be tough, and that we'd have to work with you. But the truth is, neither of us wants a slave that acts like a robot. We like that you have personality. And after all the time I spent chasing you, I guess it wouldn't be the same if you didn't pose a challenge."
Neal's lips turned up into a small smile, but he sensed Peter hadn't come up here to tell him that he liked insubordination.
Peter frowned. "However, it's important that you know how to behave and obey. We've all seen happens when you don't have some discipline, and I meant it when I said I'd be correcting that."
"I thought things have been going well."
"Everything's fine. You're not in trouble. But I wouldn't be a very good master if I didn’t try to steer you right. Now, before we bought you, what sort of training did you receive, exactly?"
Neal sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn't want Peter to know too much about his training. If Peter thought it was too little, then he'd try to remedy that. If he thought it was adequate, then he'd just give Neal a harder time over failing to absorb it.
"It was pretty standard, I guess. They'd have us kneel, and we had to ask permission before we could do anything. We couldn't talk without permission most of the time. We had to stay still while they groped us, so we'd be ready for the auction."
"Hmm. A lot of that, we don't have to worry about most of the time. But I want to work with you on obedience a little. Why don't you go get your training plugs and the lube?"
Neal stiffened. "I thought those were supposed to be for fun."
"They are. But they're also for training. Now, go get them, please."
Neal stood up slowly. He didn't want Peter to see where he'd stashed them. He'd hoped that by putting them in the back of the closet, Peter wouldn't be too tempted to get them out. Out of sight, out of mind. But one look in Peter's eyes said there was no avoiding it. Neal went to the closet and collected the lube and the box of plugs.
"Good," Peter said. "I'm going to give you directions, and you'll follow them to be the best of your ability. Take off your clothes."
As Neal started to unbutton his shirt, he asked, "How is this going to help for when Hughes comes over?"
"It's going to help you learn to listen to my orders without a lot of trouble."
Neal reluctantly finished undressing. Then Peter ordered him back on the bed.
"Lie on your back and pull your knees up." He chuckled as Neal obeyed. "That's good. Now, I want you to put some lube on your fingers and start getting yourself reading for the plug."
Neal suppressed a shiver. Slowly, he squirted some lube on his index and middle fingers and reached between his legs.
Peter was still sitting on the bed, just a few inches from Neal's left foot. He watched intently as Neal ran his fingertips over the outside of his asshole.
"That's good," Peter said, nodding. "It's a good start. But you need to put your fingers inside. You can start with one if you want."
Neal had known this was coming. He thought he should be able to do it—he knew it wouldn't hurt, and it wasn't like he was squeamish. And it couldn't be harder than stealing a four-hundred pound statue, or that time when he'd had to sneak out of a duke's hotel room after the man had returned earlier than expected.
But he froze. He didn't like the way Peter was staring at him, his eyes focused between his legs.
"This is fine," he said.
"Neal...."
"You just said to prepare myself for the plug."
"And now I'm telling you to finger yourself. Are you going to do it, or do I need to get the paddle?"
Neal wasn't expecting the threat, but it just made him more determined. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from his ass. He rested it on his stomach, keeping his two slippery fingers elevated so that he didn't spread lube on himself. Clenching his jaw, he looked defiantly at Peter.
Peter's nostrils flared. "I guess that answers that question."
He stood and left the room, and Neal's eyes widened. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have options. He knew he could sweet-talk Peter when he came back.
But Neal had no intention of doing that. Sitting up, he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand. He was wiping the lube off his fingers when Peter returned with the paddle.
"Up," Peter said.
Neal stood and tossed the tissue in the wastebasket. He watched while Peter took a seat on the edge of the bed.
"I don't suppose I need to tell you what to do now," Peter said.
If he'd been in the mood to draw things out, Neal might have played dumb. But he'd resigned himself to getting paddled. He decided it was best to keep his mouth shut for now. He didn't want to let Peter think he was afraid of being punished, but he also knew that it could be good to let Peter believe he had some leverage against him.
Wordlessly, he walked to Peter's side and draped himself over his lap. Peter allowed him a moment to get balanced and comfortable. Then he began the spanking.
This time, there was no "warm-up" with his hand; Peter surprised Neal with a hard slap with the paddle that covered both his cheeks. Neal stopped himself from crying out, but squirmed on Peter's lap.
He'd thought he knew what to expect. But somehow, this was worse than last time. Peter was merciless and methodical with the paddle, covering Neal's ass with hard, rapid strokes. It seemed horribly unfair—disobeying Peter's order couldn't be a worse crime than sneaking out.
But then he realized that Peter wasn't angrier. He was simply more confident. Now that he'd had some practice, any doubt or hesitation he'd had was long gone.
And Neal's ass was paying the price.
He bit off a whimper and rode out the rest of the spanking. Peter ignored Neal's small sounds of discomfort, and worked the paddle down to his sensitive, untouched thighs. He finished by giving him four hard slaps on the crease between his thighs and ass. Neal tensed, and didn't relax until he heard Peter set the paddle aside.
Peter spent a minute rubbing Neal's back. He didn't touch Neal's bottom, and Neal would have been almost willing to sacrifice more dignity to have Peter rub the pain away.
He expected Peter to let him up, but he didn't. Instead, he reached over and grabbed something from the nightstand, and a moment later Neal heard the ominous sound of the cap being opened on the bottle of lube.
Before Neal could protest, Peter spread his cheeks and pushed a cold, slick finger into his hole. Neal jerked and kicked his legs up.
"What are you doing?"
"I won't let you get the idea that being punished means you get out of doing whatever I said." With his free hand, he rubbed Neal's back again. "Relax. You know it won't hurt."
Neal's face burned. "I thought you wanted me to do this."
"Well, Neal, when you give me trouble, you leave me no choice but to treat you like an uncooperative slave. And then I have to manhandle you."
With his free hand, Peter reached over for the box of plugs. Neal waited for the inevitable. But when he felt the plug being pushed inside him, his head shot up.
"It's bigger than last time."
"When you don't cooperate, you don't get to choose the plug," Peter snapped. But then his voice softened and he said, "It's only a little bigger. That first one we used was a trial run. I think this will be a better fit."
Neal was loath to admit it, but while the plug felt much larger than the first one, it went in painlessly. When it was fully-seated, he felt stretched and full, but not too uncomfortable. It was only then that Peter helped him to his feet.
Standing in front of Peter, Neal's groin was at eye level. He felt very exposed, and if he'd been more modest he would have tried to cover himself with his hands.
Peter stroked Neal's hip. "I'm going to run downstairs real quick," he said. "When I get back, I want to see that plug where I left it."
Once Peter had left the room, Neal crawled onto the bed to wait. He blinked away tears and rested his head on the cool pillow.
If he was honest with himself, the plugs weren't so bad. It was just difficult to get used to having his body handled like this. It was strange knowing Peter could do anything he wanted.
There were limits, of course, and Neal knew the law well enough. Anything that could cause scarring or injury fell under the tenuous umbrella of "slave abuse," and while there were always cruel masters out there, the government did try to ensure that slaves received a minimum standard of care, if only to protect itself from liability.
Slaves like Neal, who had less than ten years to serve, enjoyed even more protections. He didn't have to worry about getting pierced or tattooed, though he couldn't imagine the Burkes wanting to mark him like that even if they could.
But getting fucked was par for the course, and it was clear that was what Peter had planned. Maybe Moz would be outraged on his behalf if he knew, but Neal was beginning to face the reality. He was still confident of his ability to resist Peter's intentions, but he was no longer sure if he could brave the consequences. He could live with the paddle, but being confined to the house, or deprived of the small luxuries that he'd been awarded, was a different matter.
Peter returned a minute later. The mattress dipped as he sat on the bed. He looked at the sober expression on Neal's face and sighed.
"Cheer up. It wasn't so bad." He finally rubbed Neal's bottom, taking care not to disturb the plug. "You won't even feel it an hour from now."
"I still don't see what this has to do with your boss's visit. I thought I just had to cook."
"It has to do with your attitude, and the fact that you only behave when it suits you. You're not here for your own enjoyment, you know. You're here to repay your debt to society. If being a slave were easy, it wouldn't be much of a repayment." He said this matter-of-factly.
Neal raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know your sex life was for the good of society."
Peter ran his hand up Neal's back, up to his shoulders. "I spent a lot of time chasing you. And I used a lot of federal resources."
"Seriously? That's the reasoning you're going with?"
"If it helps us get on the same page, sure."
It wasn't helping. In fact, it seemed like Peter was getting desperate for ways to coax him. Still, he told himself that Peter's desperation was a good sign. It said that the resistance was getting to him.
Peter leaned over and gave Neal a peck on the cheek. Neal wasn't expecting it. Peter's lips left a wet imprint on his face, and as it faded, Neal still didn't know how to react.
"Neal," Peter said, sounding vaguely amused, "what do you think you're going to get by making things difficult? What are you expecting? That I'll sell you?"
Neal turned so that he could look at Peter. "The thought may have crossed my mind."
Peter pursed his lips. "Then you should know that's not going to happen. You'd have to do something much worse than this to make us send you away. And if you ever did do anything serious—I'm talking about running away, something like that—then I'm not going to sell you to some innocent person so you can con them. You'll go straight back to the processing center, and you'll serve the rest of your sentence as government property, working in a secure environment."
Neal frowned. He'd never considered that failing as Peter's slave wouldn't mean a new master. But now that he considered it, there was little doubt that Peter was capable of doing just what he'd threatened.
Slaves who weren't sold at auction, or who were deemed too difficult for private ownership, stayed in the government's possession. The processing center had owned several, to help manage and train the new arrivals. Most government slaves did menial labor. They slept in dormitories, and ate bland slave meals.
They most certainly did not visit museums.
Peter let the information sink in for a moment. Then he said, "I'm not threatening you. I'm just telling you how it'll turn out if you're not careful. I want to be a good master, but some of that depends on you."
"Understood," Neal said.
"Good," Peter said with a smile. "Now, do you think we can end this evening on a high note, and see some obedience?"
"You're the master," Neal said. "Are you asking or telling me?"
"Right, I'm the master. I want you to play with the plug a little. Pull it out and put it back in. I want you to see how easy it is."
Neal thought about resisting more, but Peter hadn't taken the paddle away yet, and Neal wasn't sure if it was wise to risk his ass any more tonight. And this was the first time Peter had so much as acknowledged the possibility of not keeping Neal. It was what Neal had been pushing for, but now he needed to pull back to avoid pushing too hard. He settled for making an exaggerated sigh as he reached back and felt for the plug.
He grasped the base and twisted and tugged. He couldn't see Peter's face, but Neal was sure he was watching with rapt attention. In fact, he suspected the real point of the "obedience training" was to get a show. Still, it was easier now that he didn't have to see Peter's eyes glued to him.
The plug offered some resistance, and then pulled free with a light tug. Without hesitating, Neal spread his legs a little further and pressed the tip of the plug against his hole. As he pushed it back in, Peter let out a murmur of approval.
"That was very good," Peter said. He patted Neal on the back, and then kissed his shoulder. "Listen, it's almost time for me to go to bed. After I leave, you can take out the plug and get some rest."
When Peter stood up, Neal suddenly felt chilled. The hairs rose on his back where Peter's body heat had kept him warm.
Before leaving, Peter stopped and asked, "Would you really rather do this for a stranger?"
Neal had asked himself that a lot. Part of him still felt that submitting to a stranger would be less humiliating, but part of him was glad to be with someone he understood.
"I don't know, Peter."
Peter accepted the answer with a brief nod, and then left him alone.
* * *
"Peter didn't spank you too hard last night, did he?"
Elizabeth looked concerned. Some of it melted away when Neal shook his head, but it still lingered in her eyes.
"You've been quiet today." She played with his hair. "If you're not feeling up to it, I understand. We can always do this another time."
They were lying next to each other in the master bedroom, curled up naked under the covers. Elizabeth had finished a major event yesterday, and she was taking the day off.
"Peter doesn't care if I'm feeling up to it," Neal muttered.
"He does care," she said, clicking her tongue. "He doesn't want to hurt you, Neal. Neither of us do."
Neal raised his eyebrows and plastered a good-humored smile on his face. "I don't know if he'll be able to help it. He's big."
Elizabeth returned his smile. "Well, don't tell Peter, but I've seen bigger." She rubbed Neal's arm. "But honestly, I don't think you'll have any trouble—the whole reason he's taking it slow is so that you'll be able to enjoy it."
"I don't think that's possible. It's not like this," he said, gesturing to the two of them and the bed.
With a small frown, she said, "Still, I know you probably think about Kate when we’re together."
Neal blinked, a little surprised at her bluntness. "Sometimes I think about her," he admitted. "But not as often as you'd think." He rested his head on Elizabeth's shoulder.
"Neal...."
"You're beautiful. And when we do this...it’s nice."
"You don’t have to pretend. I'm telling you I understand."
"I wouldn’t lie to you about this."
He was being honest, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that. He wondered sometimes if he was betraying Kate. But Elizabeth was what he'd hoped for, wasn't she? The best thing a companion slave could hope for was an attractive owner whom they enjoyed sleeping with. Surely it was better to make the most of his situation. It wasn't just about the pleasure, but the prospect of four years without any intimacy. If that made him weak, then, well, he was weak.
"I’m glad, Neal," she said with smile. "Because I like you. And Peter likes you, too, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. I know you’re not attracted to men—"
"I’m not. But it’s not just that."
"Then what is it?"
Neal pulled the covers up to his neck to stay warm. He pressed against Elizabeth. "Peter spent three years chasing me. He saw me at my best. Honestly, I have to admire his persistence."
"You respect him," Elizabeth said softly.
"As the guy who caught me, yeah. It's hard not to."
But respecting Peter as an FBI agent wasn't the same as respecting him as his master. And Neal couldn't explain to Elizabeth that he knew Peter didn't mean to hurt him. She wouldn't understand why the knowledge didn't make things much easier.
Elizabeth cocked her head. "I hope you don't believe he thinks less of you. We're both proud to have an intelligent slave."
Neal didn't think that being called an intelligent slave was much of a compliment. But he knew Elizabeth was trying to flatter him. Under the covers, he snaked an arm around her naked torso, feeling the soft curves of her body. He kissed her shoulder.
He didn't want to talk anymore. And he really didn't want to talk about Peter. Neal crawled under the covers and moved between Elizabeth's spread legs. She had the sheet and quilt pulled up to her chest, and it was dark underneath except for the light that peeked in from the edges. She reached in and tangled her fingers in his hair.
He wrapped his hands around her thighs and started to gently tongue her clit. Elizabeth arched her back and sank down further into the bed. She flexed her fingers in his hair and murmured soft words of encouragement.
It hadn't taken him long to learn what she enjoyed. He didn't worry about being quick or efficient about it. If she wanted him for the afternoon, she could have him.
When she came, he could tell by the way the muscles in her thighs stiffened and she bit off a soft cry. When he emerged from under the covers, he saw that her face was flushed with arousal. Neal closed his eyes as she pulled him to her chest.
Chapter 9
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 7100 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
Neal waited all week for the trip to the museum. He even convinced Peter and Elizabeth to get his hair cut before the weekend.
Maybe there wasn't much sense in wanting to look his best. But he told himself that most people wouldn't even notice his collar if he dressed like a free man and played the angles right.
On the day of the outing, he got up early and wore his best shirt.
"Come on," he said while Peter was putting his jacket on.
"Don't rush me. I'm the one paying for this little outing."
"Yeah, and I earned it. The longer we wait, the better the chance you'll get a call to go in to work."
Peter huffed. "That won't happen."
Neal raised his eyebrows.
Peter looked up at him. "Does it really happen a lot?"
"When's the last time you had an entire weekend free?"
"All right," Peter said with a sigh. "You have a point. Let's go."
On the way out, he grabbed Neal's leash. Neal started to say something, but Peter interrupted him. "If you're good, you won't need to wear it. I'm putting it in the glove compartment."
Neal still wasn't sure if this trip was worth what he'd done to earn it. But at least Peter was starting to develop better taste in rewards. Still, Neal tried not to show too much enthusiasm. He wanted to appear grateful, but he didn't want Peter to think he'd found a way of controlling him.
When they got to the museum, Peter went straight to the ticket desk. They needed to pay to get into the exhibit. Neal hung back, not wanting the attractive young woman at the desk to see his collar.
"Hi," Peter said with a smile. "We wanted two tickets for the Picasso exhibit. Do you have a rate for slaves?"
The young woman glanced at Neal, and Neal glared at Peter.
"Yes, of course" she told Peter. "It's half-price for slaves."
"Excellent."
As they walked away with their tickets, Neal said, under his breath, "I wasn't aware you were going to use this as an opportunity to rub my status in my face." Neal adjusted his shirt, hoping to hide the collar better.
"Oh, come on, Neal. I am not paying full price for you just so you can pretend you're free. And quit messing with your shirt." He swatted Neal's hand away from his neck. "If you're so embarrassed to be seen in public, then maybe taking you out isn't a good reward."
"I'm not embarrassed," Neal said quickly. "I just thought it would be more comfortable for everyone if it wasn't obvious. You don't want people to think you're one of those guys takes his slave everywhere because he can't get a date."
"Thank you for your consideration, but I think I'll take my chances."
Once they got into the exhibit, however, Neal forgot most of his embarrassment. He'd thought it might be years before he set foot in a museum again.
Knowing there was no knowing when he'd get another chance, he took his time, walking slowly around the perimeter of the room in order to savor each painting.
Since it was Saturday, there were a good number of people milling around. But it was an odd time in the morning, and it wasn't as busy as it would probably be later. Nobody paid very close attention to Neal, who found himself in his element.
Before long, Peter started getting antsy. He couldn’t hide his impatience, and Neal was sure he thought they could be moving a lot faster. But to his credit, he didn't try to rush Neal.
Neal was about two-thirds of the way through the exhibit when Peter checked his phone, which he'd put on silent. Wincing, he said, "Damn it, I've got a voicemail. Neal, I have to go check this. Stay here if you want, but don't go anywhere."
"Yeah, sure."
Peter's absence was welcome. Neal didn't have any tricks up his sleeve, but it was nice to feel like he was there by himself, if only for a short time.
Peter returned a few minutes later.
"Anything important?" Neal asked.
"Yeah. We've got a little time to finish up here, but then I need to run to the office."
Neal gave Peter an I-told-you-so look.
He could have spent all afternoon at the exhibit, but he knew Peter really couldn't stay much longer. He couldn't find it in him to begrudge Peter for that. He knew he'd had done his best.
Neal expected Peter to drop him off at home, but once they were in the car, Peter didn't head toward Brooklyn.
"You're taking me with you?" Neal said.
"It'll take too long to drop you off. Besides, I'm not going to be long."
Neal didn't mind. He'd never been inside the FBI building, and it would be interesting to meet Peter's coworkers. Besides, it could be a valuable chance to see where they stashed the keys to slave collars.
After Peter parked the car, he reached across Neal's lap and opened the glove compartment. Neal immediately knew what he was doing.
"Really, Peter? You said I wouldn't have to wear it."
"That was before I knew I was going to take you into work with me." He pulled out the leash and clipped it to Neal's collar.
Neal stepped out of the car. As he waited for Peter to take the leash, he wondered if there was a rule that slaves had to be on leashes in federal buildings. Maybe it was some sort of security thing. Then again, probably not. Most likely, Peter wanted to show off to everyone.
He imagined he must make a good trophy for Peter.
The more Neal thought about it, the more apprehensive he became. What had Peter told everyone? What details did he share around the water cooler?
Peter picked up the end of Neal's leash and gave it a tug. "C'mon. Let's go."
Neal knew there were protocols that slaves and masters were supposed to follow in public, but they were old-fashioned, and Peter never made any effort to observe them. But now, walking into the building, Peter subtly altered his style. He guided Neal so that he walked a couple paces behind him. Once they were inside the elevator, Peter turned to him.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," Peter warned him. "And be respectful. Everyone here is 'sir' or 'ma'am' to you. And don't touch anything. Don't make me regret bringing you in."
"Don't worry," Neal said. "I got it."
When they got off at the white collar division, Neal tried to take in as much as he could. People discreetly looked up when they entered, and peered at Neal out of the corners of their eyes. Peter ignored the attention they were receiving.
There weren't a lot of people in the office, but there were more than Neal expected. Apparently, if criminals worked weekends, the FBI had to, too.
A man walked up to Peter and said, "Diana's in the conference room. I think she's got the forms you need to sign in there."
"Thanks, Jones."
Jones nodded in Neal's direction. "You brought Caffrey along, huh?"
"Yeah, he was with me when I got the message."
Neal flashed a smile, but Jones didn't speak to him and Neal remembered Peter's rules.
Leading him away, Peter said, "You can wait for me in my office."
He led Neal up a small flight of stairs and into his office. Once he was alone, Neal walked behind the desk and sank down in Peter's chair. He had a good view of the bullpen from here. He noticed that a few people were still glancing in his direction, but most had already lost interest in him.
Neal turned his attention to Peter's desk. It was uncluttered, and gave him little to look at. Rolling the chair back a few inches, he tried the desk drawers. The first two contained office supplies, and the bottom one was locked. That piqued his interest.
He was looking in the top drawer for anything he could use to pick the lock when Peter suddenly walked in. He froze at the sight of Neal rummaging through the desk, and glared.
"I was looking for a pen," Neal said.
Peter walked behind the desk, swatted Neal's hands away, and closed the drawer. "Leave my desk alone."
He grabbed a folder off the desk and turned to leave. Then he stopped, turned back, and tested the handle of the bottom drawer. Satisfied that it was still locked, he left.
Knowing that Peter was on to him, he decided to abort that plan. Peter would know it was him when he discovered the drawer unlocked. With a sigh, Neal sat back.
He started to play with his leash, twisting the leather around his fingers. He unclipped it from his collar, and started to twirl it like a lasso. He misjudged the length, and the end of the leash lashed out and hit a picture of Peter and Elizabeth that sat on the desk, knocking it over with a loud clatter. Down in the bullpen, a few heads shot up. Neal quickly picked up the picture. The frame and glass looked unharmed.
Peter didn't come to investigate the noise, so Neal assumed he must be preoccupied. Taking the chance, he got up and casually paced the room with his hands in his pockets. Assured that no one was paying attention to him, he snuck out of the office.
A quick glance through the glass wall of the conference room showed him that Peter's back was turned. Neal went downstairs and headed for the water cooler he'd noticed when he was coming in.
While he sipped water from a paper cup, he looked around the office, hoping to spot a case or shelf that held collar keys. But he didn't see anything of use to him.
His presence was not going unnoticed. Several people were watching, looking unsure. Finally, after a couple minutes, Jones took the initiative and walked over.
"Hey," he said, "I thought Peter was having you wait in his office."
"Oh, it's okay." Neal held up the cup. "I got thirsty."
Jones still looked skeptical. "Yeah, well, I'm going to go check with Peter."
Neal smiled. "You don't need to bother him. I was on my way back up there, anyway."
He sauntered past Jones, cup still in hand. Once he was back in Peter's office, he was relieved to see that Jones had gone back to his own desk, apparently choosing not to get Peter involved.
Neal finished his water and crumpled the cup into a ball. He was tossing it in the air when Peter came into the doorway.
He wasn't alone. He was accompanied by another, older man.
"Neal," Peter said, "this is Special Agent Hughes. My boss."
Neal stopped tossing the cup. Smiling, he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He stood for a moment, and then sat back down. Peter hadn't said anything about standing or kneeling.
Hughes didn't respond. He put his hands on his hips and studied Neal with narrow, critical eyes.
"And you say everything is going well?" he said to Peter. His tone was skeptical.
Peter hesitated. "Neal isn't exactly easy, but he's smart and he knows the boundaries. I can't complain."
"Hm. You know, Peter, no one would hold it against you if you had a change of heart and decided to sell him."
"Oh, Elizabeth and I are glad to have him around."
Hughes seemed to contemplate that. Nodding, he said, "Well, you're one of few people I'd trust to train him."
"I appreciate your confidence."
Neal kept a small smile on his face, but he didn't know what to make of how they were both looking at him. It reminded him of how he would look at a painting. He felt like he was being evaluated.
"Where do you keep him?" Hughes asked, as though Neal was a pool table or widescreen TV.
"We let him have the guest room."
"You didn't mind giving it up?"
"No, we don't have guests that often, and we can always move him if we do. Besides, he spends a lot of his free time in there, and it keeps him out of our way."
Hughes murmured in agreement. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "Melissa has been talking about getting a slave. Just for domestic work, nothing more. We're not as young as you and Elizabeth are."
"Oh, that's what Neal is," Peter said quickly. "Just a domestic."
Peter looked slightly embarrassed, and Neal was surprised. In his experience, people were open about fucking their slaves. Some guys acted like it gave them bragging rights, and others thought their pleasure slaves showed off how rich they were, since owning a slave just for sex was a luxury.
He didn't know if Peter was the bragging sort, but he'd imagined that his duties were no secret.
Maybe the people at the FBI just had different standards. Maybe he'd misjudged Peter.
"Actually," Hughes said, "Melissa was hoping she might be able to see Caffrey sometime. We don't know many people who own slaves, and she's been curious about yours. I understand if you'd rather not show him off. But I promised I'd ask."
"No, of course," Peter said. "You should come over for dinner soon. Neal is an excellent cook."
Hughes nodded. "We'd enjoy that."
After Hughes went back to work, Peter told Neal that he was ready to leave. He clipped the leash back onto Neal's collar and led him out of the office.
Peter was silent all the way down in the elevator. He continued to ignore Neal once they were in the car.
"Everything all right?" Neal asked, after a few minutes.
"I can't believe I invited Hughes and his wife to dinner." He hit the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.
"He was the one who wanted to get together."
"Yeah, to see you."
"Hey," Neal said, throwing his hands up, "none of this was my idea. I'd just as rather not have your boss take an interest in me."
"I know, but he is interested, and if you're not on your best behavior when he comes over, it'll make us both look bad."
"Relax," he said, giving Peter a disarming smile, "Do you really think I'd cause trouble?"
Peter just gave him a look.
On the way home, they stopped for lunch. Neal was glad that Peter's apprehension wasn't ruining the rest of the day—going out to eat was almost as good as going to the museum. Neal pored over his menu until Peter hissed at him to decide on something.
They were sitting at an outdoor table, taking advantage of the cool but sunny late-October weather. While they waited for their food, Neal watched the people walking by. He barely cared about his collar anymore—it was worth being seen with it to be spending an afternoon in Manhattan.
A young woman walked by on the sidewalk, carrying shopping bags in both hands. If not for the glint of a collar around her neck, she would have looked like any other shopper on the streets. But Neal noticed immediately.
Most owners got their domestic slaves licenses that authorized them to move about unaccompanied. Short trips, like when Neal took Satchmo out, weren't usually a problem. But a slave shopping or walking around the city sometimes invited scrutiny from police and store owners, and a license not only confirmed that the slave was allowed out, but provided names and contact numbers for the slave's owners.
For many people, there was no point in owning slaves if they couldn't send them on errands. Unfortunately, Peter and Elizabeth seemed perfectly content to run their own errands and keep Neal in their sight.
Neal wondered what he did to deserve such untrusting owners. Well, he supposed his reputation for eluding the authorities didn't help. And Neal had also been sold as a sex slave. Most people kept their pleasure slaves at home.
"Why did you lie to Hughes?" Neal asked, casually.
Peter looked up and blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You told him I was a domestic."
Peter took a sip of his water. "You are. You keep the house spotless. You cook for us."
"That's not why you bought me."
Peter looked around and lowered his voice. "I'm aware of that, but nobody needs to know our private business. And I'm sure as hell not going to discuss my sex life with my boss."
Sex life. Neal didn't know what to make of that. He knew that Peter understood as well as anyone that what went on between them was just duty and ritual. It was how things worked.
"Besides," Peter continued, "I hate it when people act like they're something special just because they have a slave. We were bringing this guy down for insider trading a while back, and every time I tried to question him, he'd make a big deal about how he didn't have time to talk because his sex slave was waiting at home. I can't stand guys like that." He shook his head.
Neal scoffed. "Yeah, and owning me isn't a feather in your bonnet?"
"All right, so maybe it is. Doesn't mean I have to make a fool of myself. And like I said, it's private. I thought you'd appreciate some discretion. No reason to make things more uncomfortable for you."
That wasn't untrue. He just wasn't expecting much discretion from Peter.
He smiled. "So what, pulling me around on a leash isn't humiliating, but telling people I'm a sex slave crosses a line?"
Peter shrugged. "In my book, yes."
Neal knew Peter wasn't deliberately cruel. He'd never imagined that Peter talked about his body or how he sucked cock just to humiliate him. But Peter was pragmatic. He treated Neal like a slave and showed little concern for what Neal thought about it. He certainly didn't care what Neal thought of the collar or the leash. The fact that Peter felt differently about the sex was almost naive. It was as though he wanted it to be intimate.
Still, Neal couldn't complain. He was more than happy to have the world see him as a domestic.
When their food arrived, he changed the subject, and spent the rest of the meal suggesting other museums Peter could take him to.
A couple days later, Neal intercepted Peter when he came home from work and handed him several sheets of paper.
Peter set his briefcase down with one hand and accepted the papers with the other. "What's all this?"
"I know you like slave training books, and you obviously worry about me being a reflection of you. So I thought I'd give you some tips."
Peter thumbed through the pages. "You printed this out off the internet, didn't you?" He looked over Neal's shoulder at Elizabeth, who was sitting at the dining room table with her laptop. "Did you let him get online?"
"I let him use my computer for a little bit," Elizabeth said without looking up. "Don't worry; I was in the room with him the whole time."
In truth, Neal l had figured out the password to Elizabeth's laptop weeks ago. But if he got permission to use her computer, she and Peter would be less likely to suspect him of using it in secret.
Elizabeth smirked. "Besides, I think it's sweet he did this research for you."
There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice, but Neal grinned. Elizabeth had told him Peter wouldn't go for any of the suggestions, but Neal wasn't one to succumb to a defeatist attitude.
"Let's check out this 'information'," Peter said. He stepped into the light to read, and as he did so, his eyebrows rose so high, they looked like they were trying to join the hair on his head.
"Oh, yeah," he said dryly, "this is good advice: 'To help preserve your slave's value, take it to a spa every four to six months for some primping and pampering.' Where did you get this? It looks like an advertisement for a spa."
Neal bristled. "It's actually a very popular way to help maintain a valued slave's youth and attractiveness. All the stylish owners do it."
Peter looked up. "I never claimed to be stylish."
Neal gestured toward the papers in Peter's hand. "There's more. From other sites."
Peter went back to reading. After a minute, he swatted the print-out with the back of his hand and said, "This one claims that we should dress you in stylish clothes that flatter your figure."
"Your clothes are too big for me. The shirts don't have any shape. If you want me to reflect well on you, appearance matters."
"I think as long as you look clean and healthy, that's good enough. And I'm a little more concerned about your behavior."
"I don't know, Hon," Elizabeth said, looking up. She smiled mischievously at Neal. "Some salons offer special deals on Brazilian waxes for slaves."
That was certainly not what Neal had had in mind when he talked about spa treatments. Thankfully, he knew it was a joke. Elizabeth and Peter showed no interest in removing his body hair.
"Tell you what," Peter said with a smile, "if you're on your best behavior when Hughes comes over next week, I'll get you one of those clay face masks and you can have your own spa day right here at home."
"Wonderful," Neal muttered.
He suspected that with Hughes visiting, Peter would be concerned about image. There was little he could do about that, aside from lying low in order to allay Peter's fears about an embarrassing dinner party. But while the matter was heavy in Peter's mind, Neal didn't seen any harm in providing him with the sort of advice he wanted him to use. Even if it was a long shot.
The next evening, Neal was relaxing on his bed when Peter came in unexpectedly, after only a cursory knock on the door.
He was smiling the same way that he smiled at Satchmo last week before loading him into the car to go to the vet.
"What's going on?" Neal asked. He sat up and put the book he'd been looking at on the nightstand.
"We need to have a chat," Peter said.
"Something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong." He sat on the edge of the bed and gave Neal a pat on the knee. "You know, when El and I were talking about buying you, we both knew that it would be tough, and that we'd have to work with you. But the truth is, neither of us wants a slave that acts like a robot. We like that you have personality. And after all the time I spent chasing you, I guess it wouldn't be the same if you didn't pose a challenge."
Neal's lips turned up into a small smile, but he sensed Peter hadn't come up here to tell him that he liked insubordination.
Peter frowned. "However, it's important that you know how to behave and obey. We've all seen happens when you don't have some discipline, and I meant it when I said I'd be correcting that."
"I thought things have been going well."
"Everything's fine. You're not in trouble. But I wouldn't be a very good master if I didn’t try to steer you right. Now, before we bought you, what sort of training did you receive, exactly?"
Neal sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn't want Peter to know too much about his training. If Peter thought it was too little, then he'd try to remedy that. If he thought it was adequate, then he'd just give Neal a harder time over failing to absorb it.
"It was pretty standard, I guess. They'd have us kneel, and we had to ask permission before we could do anything. We couldn't talk without permission most of the time. We had to stay still while they groped us, so we'd be ready for the auction."
"Hmm. A lot of that, we don't have to worry about most of the time. But I want to work with you on obedience a little. Why don't you go get your training plugs and the lube?"
Neal stiffened. "I thought those were supposed to be for fun."
"They are. But they're also for training. Now, go get them, please."
Neal stood up slowly. He didn't want Peter to see where he'd stashed them. He'd hoped that by putting them in the back of the closet, Peter wouldn't be too tempted to get them out. Out of sight, out of mind. But one look in Peter's eyes said there was no avoiding it. Neal went to the closet and collected the lube and the box of plugs.
"Good," Peter said. "I'm going to give you directions, and you'll follow them to be the best of your ability. Take off your clothes."
As Neal started to unbutton his shirt, he asked, "How is this going to help for when Hughes comes over?"
"It's going to help you learn to listen to my orders without a lot of trouble."
Neal reluctantly finished undressing. Then Peter ordered him back on the bed.
"Lie on your back and pull your knees up." He chuckled as Neal obeyed. "That's good. Now, I want you to put some lube on your fingers and start getting yourself reading for the plug."
Neal suppressed a shiver. Slowly, he squirted some lube on his index and middle fingers and reached between his legs.
Peter was still sitting on the bed, just a few inches from Neal's left foot. He watched intently as Neal ran his fingertips over the outside of his asshole.
"That's good," Peter said, nodding. "It's a good start. But you need to put your fingers inside. You can start with one if you want."
Neal had known this was coming. He thought he should be able to do it—he knew it wouldn't hurt, and it wasn't like he was squeamish. And it couldn't be harder than stealing a four-hundred pound statue, or that time when he'd had to sneak out of a duke's hotel room after the man had returned earlier than expected.
But he froze. He didn't like the way Peter was staring at him, his eyes focused between his legs.
"This is fine," he said.
"Neal...."
"You just said to prepare myself for the plug."
"And now I'm telling you to finger yourself. Are you going to do it, or do I need to get the paddle?"
Neal wasn't expecting the threat, but it just made him more determined. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from his ass. He rested it on his stomach, keeping his two slippery fingers elevated so that he didn't spread lube on himself. Clenching his jaw, he looked defiantly at Peter.
Peter's nostrils flared. "I guess that answers that question."
He stood and left the room, and Neal's eyes widened. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have options. He knew he could sweet-talk Peter when he came back.
But Neal had no intention of doing that. Sitting up, he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand. He was wiping the lube off his fingers when Peter returned with the paddle.
"Up," Peter said.
Neal stood and tossed the tissue in the wastebasket. He watched while Peter took a seat on the edge of the bed.
"I don't suppose I need to tell you what to do now," Peter said.
If he'd been in the mood to draw things out, Neal might have played dumb. But he'd resigned himself to getting paddled. He decided it was best to keep his mouth shut for now. He didn't want to let Peter think he was afraid of being punished, but he also knew that it could be good to let Peter believe he had some leverage against him.
Wordlessly, he walked to Peter's side and draped himself over his lap. Peter allowed him a moment to get balanced and comfortable. Then he began the spanking.
This time, there was no "warm-up" with his hand; Peter surprised Neal with a hard slap with the paddle that covered both his cheeks. Neal stopped himself from crying out, but squirmed on Peter's lap.
He'd thought he knew what to expect. But somehow, this was worse than last time. Peter was merciless and methodical with the paddle, covering Neal's ass with hard, rapid strokes. It seemed horribly unfair—disobeying Peter's order couldn't be a worse crime than sneaking out.
But then he realized that Peter wasn't angrier. He was simply more confident. Now that he'd had some practice, any doubt or hesitation he'd had was long gone.
And Neal's ass was paying the price.
He bit off a whimper and rode out the rest of the spanking. Peter ignored Neal's small sounds of discomfort, and worked the paddle down to his sensitive, untouched thighs. He finished by giving him four hard slaps on the crease between his thighs and ass. Neal tensed, and didn't relax until he heard Peter set the paddle aside.
Peter spent a minute rubbing Neal's back. He didn't touch Neal's bottom, and Neal would have been almost willing to sacrifice more dignity to have Peter rub the pain away.
He expected Peter to let him up, but he didn't. Instead, he reached over and grabbed something from the nightstand, and a moment later Neal heard the ominous sound of the cap being opened on the bottle of lube.
Before Neal could protest, Peter spread his cheeks and pushed a cold, slick finger into his hole. Neal jerked and kicked his legs up.
"What are you doing?"
"I won't let you get the idea that being punished means you get out of doing whatever I said." With his free hand, he rubbed Neal's back again. "Relax. You know it won't hurt."
Neal's face burned. "I thought you wanted me to do this."
"Well, Neal, when you give me trouble, you leave me no choice but to treat you like an uncooperative slave. And then I have to manhandle you."
With his free hand, Peter reached over for the box of plugs. Neal waited for the inevitable. But when he felt the plug being pushed inside him, his head shot up.
"It's bigger than last time."
"When you don't cooperate, you don't get to choose the plug," Peter snapped. But then his voice softened and he said, "It's only a little bigger. That first one we used was a trial run. I think this will be a better fit."
Neal was loath to admit it, but while the plug felt much larger than the first one, it went in painlessly. When it was fully-seated, he felt stretched and full, but not too uncomfortable. It was only then that Peter helped him to his feet.
Standing in front of Peter, Neal's groin was at eye level. He felt very exposed, and if he'd been more modest he would have tried to cover himself with his hands.
Peter stroked Neal's hip. "I'm going to run downstairs real quick," he said. "When I get back, I want to see that plug where I left it."
Once Peter had left the room, Neal crawled onto the bed to wait. He blinked away tears and rested his head on the cool pillow.
If he was honest with himself, the plugs weren't so bad. It was just difficult to get used to having his body handled like this. It was strange knowing Peter could do anything he wanted.
There were limits, of course, and Neal knew the law well enough. Anything that could cause scarring or injury fell under the tenuous umbrella of "slave abuse," and while there were always cruel masters out there, the government did try to ensure that slaves received a minimum standard of care, if only to protect itself from liability.
Slaves like Neal, who had less than ten years to serve, enjoyed even more protections. He didn't have to worry about getting pierced or tattooed, though he couldn't imagine the Burkes wanting to mark him like that even if they could.
But getting fucked was par for the course, and it was clear that was what Peter had planned. Maybe Moz would be outraged on his behalf if he knew, but Neal was beginning to face the reality. He was still confident of his ability to resist Peter's intentions, but he was no longer sure if he could brave the consequences. He could live with the paddle, but being confined to the house, or deprived of the small luxuries that he'd been awarded, was a different matter.
Peter returned a minute later. The mattress dipped as he sat on the bed. He looked at the sober expression on Neal's face and sighed.
"Cheer up. It wasn't so bad." He finally rubbed Neal's bottom, taking care not to disturb the plug. "You won't even feel it an hour from now."
"I still don't see what this has to do with your boss's visit. I thought I just had to cook."
"It has to do with your attitude, and the fact that you only behave when it suits you. You're not here for your own enjoyment, you know. You're here to repay your debt to society. If being a slave were easy, it wouldn't be much of a repayment." He said this matter-of-factly.
Neal raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know your sex life was for the good of society."
Peter ran his hand up Neal's back, up to his shoulders. "I spent a lot of time chasing you. And I used a lot of federal resources."
"Seriously? That's the reasoning you're going with?"
"If it helps us get on the same page, sure."
It wasn't helping. In fact, it seemed like Peter was getting desperate for ways to coax him. Still, he told himself that Peter's desperation was a good sign. It said that the resistance was getting to him.
Peter leaned over and gave Neal a peck on the cheek. Neal wasn't expecting it. Peter's lips left a wet imprint on his face, and as it faded, Neal still didn't know how to react.
"Neal," Peter said, sounding vaguely amused, "what do you think you're going to get by making things difficult? What are you expecting? That I'll sell you?"
Neal turned so that he could look at Peter. "The thought may have crossed my mind."
Peter pursed his lips. "Then you should know that's not going to happen. You'd have to do something much worse than this to make us send you away. And if you ever did do anything serious—I'm talking about running away, something like that—then I'm not going to sell you to some innocent person so you can con them. You'll go straight back to the processing center, and you'll serve the rest of your sentence as government property, working in a secure environment."
Neal frowned. He'd never considered that failing as Peter's slave wouldn't mean a new master. But now that he considered it, there was little doubt that Peter was capable of doing just what he'd threatened.
Slaves who weren't sold at auction, or who were deemed too difficult for private ownership, stayed in the government's possession. The processing center had owned several, to help manage and train the new arrivals. Most government slaves did menial labor. They slept in dormitories, and ate bland slave meals.
They most certainly did not visit museums.
Peter let the information sink in for a moment. Then he said, "I'm not threatening you. I'm just telling you how it'll turn out if you're not careful. I want to be a good master, but some of that depends on you."
"Understood," Neal said.
"Good," Peter said with a smile. "Now, do you think we can end this evening on a high note, and see some obedience?"
"You're the master," Neal said. "Are you asking or telling me?"
"Right, I'm the master. I want you to play with the plug a little. Pull it out and put it back in. I want you to see how easy it is."
Neal thought about resisting more, but Peter hadn't taken the paddle away yet, and Neal wasn't sure if it was wise to risk his ass any more tonight. And this was the first time Peter had so much as acknowledged the possibility of not keeping Neal. It was what Neal had been pushing for, but now he needed to pull back to avoid pushing too hard. He settled for making an exaggerated sigh as he reached back and felt for the plug.
He grasped the base and twisted and tugged. He couldn't see Peter's face, but Neal was sure he was watching with rapt attention. In fact, he suspected the real point of the "obedience training" was to get a show. Still, it was easier now that he didn't have to see Peter's eyes glued to him.
The plug offered some resistance, and then pulled free with a light tug. Without hesitating, Neal spread his legs a little further and pressed the tip of the plug against his hole. As he pushed it back in, Peter let out a murmur of approval.
"That was very good," Peter said. He patted Neal on the back, and then kissed his shoulder. "Listen, it's almost time for me to go to bed. After I leave, you can take out the plug and get some rest."
When Peter stood up, Neal suddenly felt chilled. The hairs rose on his back where Peter's body heat had kept him warm.
Before leaving, Peter stopped and asked, "Would you really rather do this for a stranger?"
Neal had asked himself that a lot. Part of him still felt that submitting to a stranger would be less humiliating, but part of him was glad to be with someone he understood.
"I don't know, Peter."
Peter accepted the answer with a brief nod, and then left him alone.
"Peter didn't spank you too hard last night, did he?"
Elizabeth looked concerned. Some of it melted away when Neal shook his head, but it still lingered in her eyes.
"You've been quiet today." She played with his hair. "If you're not feeling up to it, I understand. We can always do this another time."
They were lying next to each other in the master bedroom, curled up naked under the covers. Elizabeth had finished a major event yesterday, and she was taking the day off.
"Peter doesn't care if I'm feeling up to it," Neal muttered.
"He does care," she said, clicking her tongue. "He doesn't want to hurt you, Neal. Neither of us do."
Neal raised his eyebrows and plastered a good-humored smile on his face. "I don't know if he'll be able to help it. He's big."
Elizabeth returned his smile. "Well, don't tell Peter, but I've seen bigger." She rubbed Neal's arm. "But honestly, I don't think you'll have any trouble—the whole reason he's taking it slow is so that you'll be able to enjoy it."
"I don't think that's possible. It's not like this," he said, gesturing to the two of them and the bed.
With a small frown, she said, "Still, I know you probably think about Kate when we’re together."
Neal blinked, a little surprised at her bluntness. "Sometimes I think about her," he admitted. "But not as often as you'd think." He rested his head on Elizabeth's shoulder.
"Neal...."
"You're beautiful. And when we do this...it’s nice."
"You don’t have to pretend. I'm telling you I understand."
"I wouldn’t lie to you about this."
He was being honest, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that. He wondered sometimes if he was betraying Kate. But Elizabeth was what he'd hoped for, wasn't she? The best thing a companion slave could hope for was an attractive owner whom they enjoyed sleeping with. Surely it was better to make the most of his situation. It wasn't just about the pleasure, but the prospect of four years without any intimacy. If that made him weak, then, well, he was weak.
"I’m glad, Neal," she said with smile. "Because I like you. And Peter likes you, too, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. I know you’re not attracted to men—"
"I’m not. But it’s not just that."
"Then what is it?"
Neal pulled the covers up to his neck to stay warm. He pressed against Elizabeth. "Peter spent three years chasing me. He saw me at my best. Honestly, I have to admire his persistence."
"You respect him," Elizabeth said softly.
"As the guy who caught me, yeah. It's hard not to."
But respecting Peter as an FBI agent wasn't the same as respecting him as his master. And Neal couldn't explain to Elizabeth that he knew Peter didn't mean to hurt him. She wouldn't understand why the knowledge didn't make things much easier.
Elizabeth cocked her head. "I hope you don't believe he thinks less of you. We're both proud to have an intelligent slave."
Neal didn't think that being called an intelligent slave was much of a compliment. But he knew Elizabeth was trying to flatter him. Under the covers, he snaked an arm around her naked torso, feeling the soft curves of her body. He kissed her shoulder.
He didn't want to talk anymore. And he really didn't want to talk about Peter. Neal crawled under the covers and moved between Elizabeth's spread legs. She had the sheet and quilt pulled up to her chest, and it was dark underneath except for the light that peeked in from the edges. She reached in and tangled her fingers in his hair.
He wrapped his hands around her thighs and started to gently tongue her clit. Elizabeth arched her back and sank down further into the bed. She flexed her fingers in his hair and murmured soft words of encouragement.
It hadn't taken him long to learn what she enjoyed. He didn't worry about being quick or efficient about it. If she wanted him for the afternoon, she could have him.
When she came, he could tell by the way the muscles in her thighs stiffened and she bit off a soft cry. When he emerged from under the covers, he saw that her face was flushed with arousal. Neal closed his eyes as she pulled him to her chest.
Chapter 9
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
the Devil You Know/8
Date: 2014-01-21 04:03 am (UTC)