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Big Glass



The big, empty hall would soon be abuzz with light, gentle music, laughter, and eager conversation. For now, waiters and waitresses in immaculate black uniforms moved with quick steps to smooth wrinkles from tablecloths, line up glittering champagne glasses, and polish the empty glass cases in anticipation of their displays. The glass walls of the displays were already gleaming, but even the tiniest speck of dust needed to be brushed off before the crowds arrived. One waiter steadied himself as a couple of his fellows busily unrolled a thick, plush carpet, accidentally bumping into each other as they ran along their ways.

The elaborate, gilded doors swung open with a sudden rush of air as the silent hinges gave way, concealing any creaks or squeaks that may have escaped. Immediately the wait staff ceased what they were doing and rushed to stand in two straight lines, in order by height, with the women on one side and the men on the other, every pair of eyes turned studiously down towards the ground.

Shining chrome cases, long and slim, began to float in noiselessly, hovering above the freshly laid carpet. The containers were strictly supervised by two men who stood in the doorway, their eyes hidden by the darkest sunglasses, stern expressions on their face while the wind from outside ruffled their coats, though they didn't seem to be at all bothered. The entire operation was unfolding like a perfectly choreographed ballet. The containers continued to file in, but as the first ones in made their way to the back of the hall, the staff snapped into motion again, the lids of the containers opening with a pneumatic hiss. The female staff busily ran around carrying in a variety of ornate couches and chairs, opening the glass cases with gloved hands, while the male staff members lifted perfect, sleeping people from the cases.

The bodies of the sleeping individuals were perfect, no flaws visible on their skin, wholly visible as they remained naked and exposed, but wholly unaware of their nakedness in their slumber. sleeping young men and women were carried from their silver carrying chambers and arranged in cases, some alone and some in groups and pairs, lounging on the couches and chairs looking both seductive and innocent. The final touches of sheer, shimmering cloths were added, d****d carefully over each individual to add color and intrigue to their still sleeping forms. A young woman with short, violet hair slumped forwards and bumped her forehead against the glass wall of her display and had to be adjusted immediately while one of the men in sunglasses chuckled to himself.

"A good variety this time," he said to his partner who nodded in affirmation.

"That one's stirred up a good deal of excitement."

"As she should," came the reply, "coming directly from Rishul, properly trained."

"If only they all came with training." Both of them looked around at the now finished ballroom, occasionally catching one of the sleepers shifting their positions. The staff were closing and locking the cases now and activating the cases screens, which scrolled a soft white text describing the origins of each person in their cases, along with a never-fading starting price for the annual slave auctions. Here and there in the room the text would glow green, displaying a message about the individual inside. Most of the news was good news, though some cautioned the potential buyers about a possible personality flaw, or a problem in their past.

"That's all," came a command from one of the men, though none of the staff could see which, and then the now-empty containers began their silent procession outwards while the staff exited the other way, shoes clicking quietly on the marble floors. In a matter of moments the hall was empty, save for the sleeping merchandise, anticipating the arrival of the rich, famous, and influential to see what, and whom, would be available for them to bring into their houses to be slaves, pets, for those who have everything.



Only a few hours had passed since the preparations were complete, but already the hall had been transformed. Cheery music streamed through the light chatter that permeated the air, occasionally punctuated by laughter. An air of excitement was palpable as men and women strolled through the hall drinking champagne, eating from golden plates, and looking with bright, curious faces at the figures in their cases, consulting glossy catalogues with colorful pictures and profiles of the occupants within. Women in sumptuous gowns oohed and ahh-ed over sleeping girls with pastel hair and young men with beautiful faces while the men chuckled amongst each other, comparing the physical merits of the occupants, both sets of eyes reading different parts of each slave's profile.

The lights dimmed and the music came to a gentle halt and the conversation in the hall dropped down to the occasional murmur. A man dressed in a fine red suit with a purple robe appeared on the stage, long green hair glittering with a serum that must have taken hours to evenly apply.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a pleasant, but echoing, voice, "welcome to our annual slave auction. We have many fine specimen here tonight for your delight, each of which has been handpicked for their physical attributes. Featured in tonight's collection are several that have been trained by Rishul himself," he paused here to gesture towards a man dressed in head to toe pink, a matching blush in his cheeks from the alcohol, "and some who even come directly from Lordens. We will start the auction with specimen 001."

The light in one of the cases came on to illuminate a beautiful girl with brown hair and a very small physique, her ears finishing in a small point. "Specimen 001 was bred and trained in the Brights District, directly from the source of appropriate behavior. She has been guaranteed virginal with a soft voice, and quiet temper. She has no special physical attributes, nor any history of behavioral problems. Our starting bid," he paused while a large figure manifested itself in a hologram to his left, displaying an enormous sum of money to the richly dressed, "is at 1.3 million telk. You may begin your bidding now."

Numbered cards on delicate silver wands hit the air. Men and women bid for the beautiful female slave and as the number of her bids kept rising, she slept on. The final figure was some 2 million telk, and a smug couple stepped forwards to the stage to collect their prize, while the auctioneer moved on to the next. The process repeated itself over and over and the air grew more and more excited as the remaining people saw the winners leaving with their spoils and envied them. Barely awake, recently purchased slaves stumbled out, supported by their new owners, covered in white cloaks to cover their naked forms. A trio of red headed young men went to a portly man, the lavender-haired girl who had bumped her forehead was whisked away by a stern-looking older woman, and they steadily began to leave, none left unsold.

"We resume the auction with specimen 032. This specimen was taken from the Pren District and has been rehabilitated. Several tattoos have been removed. He is beautiful, anally virginal, but may have temper problems. He does not have any remarkable physical traits, but is quite skilled in both painting and drawing." A murmur of intrigue rippled through the crowd as they looked at this newly rehabilitated specimen, highlighted in the warm glow of his display's light. Long, yellow-blond hair was tied back to reveal his now-flawless physique. Peaceful in sleep, it was hard to imagine he had any temper problems, let alone anything that would seriously deter a potential buyer. The rapid influx of bids confirmed these theories. The numbers rose quickly and the auctioneer looked more excited than he had before when an abrupt hush fell over the crowd and the bids stopped at an even 1 million telk, the lowest bid of the night. The soon to be winner was slowly walking up the thick carpet while the crowds parted to let him through.

A long, flowing silver robe opened to reveal a suit of deepest navy and very long, shiny black hair that moved like water over the robe. A navy-gloved hand extended gracefully to accept the deed of ownership as the proverbial gavel signified his winning bid. An intermission was announced and the auctioneer bustled over to address the new owner directly.

"My Lord," he breathed as he dipped into a comically emphasized bow, bumping his own nose with his knee, "I appreciate your patronage of our lowly event, but perhaps I could interest you in another of our fine slaves. This one," he lowered his voice, "is a rehabilitated criminal, not suited or trained for a man of your stature. Perhaps this one," he pointed to another sleeping man with pink hair, "he was trained by Rishul-"

"I'll have this one," came a deep, but soft voice that carried an absolute air of finality. "My last slave failed to captivate my attention. Perhaps this one will be an improvement."

"Yes, Lord Sensir." The auctioneer stood upright immediately and snapped his fingers. Two of the black-clad waiters came over, supporting the blonde between them, the ill-fitting white robe dragging on the carpet as he slumped and stumbled, ungainly on his feet. The Lord Sensir said nothing and made no gesture except to swiftly pick up his new acquisition into his arms and make his way towards the exit without another word or a backwards glance.

The paperwork told him that the blond was named Connor. After settling into the back of his vehicle, Connor sleeping on the floor, Sensir had turned his attention to the thick dossier that accompanied his purchase. The files told him that Connor was an artist of great talent, and had been taken from a correctional facility and placed into a training program for slaves just 6 month previously, but had managed to be given saleable marks. Previous images showed a Connor with horribly colored black hair, several unattractive piercings on his face, and badly done tattoos on his shoulders, though there was no trace of his former rebellion left on his person. Connor let out a soft sigh and his hand fell from where it had rested on his stomach, resting on Sensir's soft boots, though he made no measure to remove his foot from beneath the curved fingers.

"We're home, sir." His driver said as the car stopped with a light chime to signify their arrival. The door was opened for him and Sensir stepped out before the black construction before him that was his home. Outwardly, it was a large black cube constructed of perfect glass, but inwardly the luxurious dwelling was only befitting one of the aristocratic ranks, of which Sensir was one. A trio of maids stood at the door to greet him, and a young man in a black suit was ready to retrieve the sleeping Connor where he still lay inside. He heard his assistant speaking to him, relaying the messages he had missed while he was out, but Sensir was hearing none of it. His eyes, and thoughts, were firmly fixed on the newcomer who was being guided carefully up the stairs and out of his sight.








Connor was not born to the life of a slave. If anything, he aspired to one day become a man of prestige and riches to where it was not only possible for him to own a slave, but it was expected of him to have a well-groomed slave of his own. He imagined that one day he would own a beautiful, young female slave to take the parties, to show off, to sleep with every night and, maybe, to bring into the bedroom with his wife, if he were to get married. He dreamed that he would have a slave whose good looks would turn heads, and whose sexual prowess would keep him satisfied and satiated night after night. He never feared like the c***dren born in slums, to poor families, to shantytowns, to prostitutes, or just generally born to misfortune. His family was middle class and had never fallen to the point of disgrace where it was necessary, or even expected, to sell a c***d to a trader. But life didn't always stay on the trajectory it starts on. The past years had been a blur of prisons, cellblocks, courtrooms, classrooms, and faces that he'd either never see again, or that would haunt his dreams.

It wasn't an immediate surprise to him when he opened his eyes and was in a room that he had never been in. The surprise came when he realized that the room he was in, and the bed he lay on, were of a quality that had lingered in his dreams. The slightest movement from even the smallest of his bones prompted the mattress beneath him to conform to his body, and the sheets were kept at a wonderful, comfortable coolness to make sure that the sleeper was never disturbed by the heat. The room was also wonderfully cool and quiet, the air conditioner humming nearly silently. He sat up slowly and immediately felt a rush of pain flood his head, but he looked around in wonder, curiosity temporarily pushing the pain away.

The entire room was shades of white, from the off white comforter to the bright white of the furniture. A table with a vase of white flowers was in the middle of the room, directly in front of the bed, which Connor noticed was circular shaped and hovered above the thick white carpeting. He could see a seam in the wall that he assumed lead to a closet, or else to the door leading out. He tried to move to explore, to swing his legs out of bed and stand, and noticed that his limbs weren't responding as they should have.

"So you're awake," came a pleasant voice from the corner. Squinting through the pain that had just returned to his head, Connor could see a figure dressed immaculately in red coming over. As they got closer Connor could see shining black hair without a single strand out of place, a bright smile, golden glasses, and a glass of water in the newcomer's hand.

"My name is Rider," he handed Connor the glass, making sure his grip was solid around the glass before letting go, "and I'm to be your caretaker here."

"Caretaker?" Connor could hear his voice, cracked and strained, and immediately became aware he was thirsty so he began to clumsily drink from the glass, ending up spilling most of it all over his chest, which he noticed was bare, and the comforter. Before he could even think of apologizing Rider had taken a handkerchief from his pocket and dried Connor's chest, and whisked the comforter off of the bed.

"My job is to ensure you are always in top condition for your master." Rider smiled and looked at Connor expectantly, but when he was met with a blank stare he continued. "I'll make sure you're dressed well, in good shape, properly groomed and hygienic, and that you're happy and comfortable here. I'll also be in charge of ensuring you behave, and that your behavior is always to a standard appropriate of your master."

Even though Rider had only said the word twice, the word 'master' was enough to send a fresh wave of agitated pain through Connor's mind and he gritted his teeth. "I'm nobody's fucking property."

"Unfortunately, Connor, you now belong to a master and my job is to make sure you behave as such," said Rider in the same friendly tone without hesitation. "Though if you make my job miserable, or attempt to make things difficult, I can only promise that your life will be as miserable as you attempt to make ours."

"So, what, you're my inferior? Gotta do what I say?" Connor knew he was taunting the only person who was currently helping him, but the pain and the anger were clanking around in his head. He also realized that he sounded petulant and immature, but continued to give what he could only hope was a haughty look to Rider.

"Absolutely not," Rider stood and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. "You belong to the master and I am your caretaker. So long as you mind your place, life here can be quite comfortable for you." He seemed to be waiting for a response, most likely gratitude or wonder, but when all he got was the angry glare and cold silence from Connor, Rider kept smiling his unwavering smile and continued on. "The sedatives are still making their way out of your system, so don't try and tax your body too much or you'll injure yourself. Keep hydrated and sleep, I'll have bread and broth sent up to you when you feel hungry. Lord Sensir won't be returning for another couple of days, by then you should be feeling up to meeting him."

"Where'd he go?"

"That isn't my place to tell you. You must still be tired, so I'll leave you to sleep."

Connor was about to retaliate that he was absolutely not tired, but the wave of fatigue sloshed over him before he could grumble out his contrary statement and he slumped back down against the comfortable pillows and closed his eyes. He heard and felt Rider place a new comforter over his body, but he didn't open his eyes or acknowledge the gesture; his mind was too busy spinning the past few moments over and over in his head as he tried to make sense of everything as well as piece together the emptiness that must have been the past few days.

"Goodnight, little Connor." It was the last thing he heard before the emptiness became u*********sness and Connor once again fell into a deep, almost peaceful sleep.





"Turn to the left," a bright flash of light sent the constellations into Connor's vision and he tried to reach up to rub his eyes, but found himself held in place by the shackles around his wrists, holding him more immobile than the old handcuffs from vintage police shows could have dreamed. These went from his wrist to his elbow and kept his arms perfectly still with a gentle hum and a yellow glow. "Face front again." Connor turned back to face the officer and the bright light rotated around his head, creating a 3D replica of even the most inconspicuous of features on his face. He looked at the replica. He blinked and the digital face blinked with him. The bright light finally shut off and left a now-unblinking holographic head that slowly rotated on the screen and displayed his name, age, sex, and offense.

"Connor Holwood, 21 years old, male, accused of assault with a deadly weapon." The officer came into view, a trim young woman with a shaved head, her black uniform like a glove on her body, a silver belt containing her weapons standing out in bright contrast. "You're awfully cute for a troublemaker," she said in a patronizing voice, "what did you do? What got into your head?"

Connor stayed completely silent and just stared straight ahead. The officer approached him and stood right in his face to make sure he made eye contact.

"You stabbed that boy twelve times. It's a miracle he made it through, but his parents took him to Pash Ahash so he'll be just fine. Unfortunately for you, that still constitutes a crime. You could be facing a life sentence in here, k**."

"You could send me to Pash Ahash, too. Seems that's where all of life's problems get carried away."

"Okay, wise guy, let's go." She gave him a nudge and pushed him towards the white doors that parted automatically without a sound to let them through. They walked together along the brightly lit corridor, faces looking out at them from behind the impenetrable glass. Some of them simply looked away, but Connor noticed that a few of them seemed to be studying him rather seriously. He turned away and hurried up his steps to catch up to the officer, who hadn't broke strides to look at the inmates in their cages.

"Here you are, troublemaker." The glass before one of the cells vanished and Connor stepped inside his new cell. In the corner, a bed was pushed up against the wall and in the other corner was a toilet and what looked like a black dinner plate laying on the floor. "Electro shower," explained the woman behind him. "All you do is step on the circle and the computer does the rest. When you're in there the glass will opaque so passerbys can't see you, but the guards will so don't do anything stupid or they'll have you sedated."

"What's your name?" Connor realized it was a trivial detail, but he also knew that he needed to make it known that some parts of his body still had their humanity. He knew what he had done was wrong, that he could have painted an entire canvas with the blood he'd drawn and still have some leftover for an autograph, but he also knew he had no desire to waste away in these cells and spend his life, and youth, wondering what could have been if life had been fairer to him. He turned to see that his police escort was giving him a calculated, yet quizzical, look. It was as though she was deciding whether to answer or to give him a good hit. Fortunately for him, she chose the former.

"You can call me Officer Tris." She gave him a smirk and shook her head." Lot's of luck, troublemaker. You'll be here until you're called to trial."

When Connor woke up he could swear that the rotating bright light had come back to find him, and he'd discover that he had never left the prison. He shielded his eyes from the light and squinted, looking around. The bright whites of the room were reflecting the sunlight as it streamed through the all-glass exterior walls. He looked around and couldn't find any curtains or blinds, anything to help with the enormous glare.

"Too bright, too fucking bright." Connor grumbled and pulled the covers over his face. He could hear a quiet whirring and could almost feel the light decreasing so he tentatively pulled the covers away from his face. The previously transparent glass had turned a soft grey, adding a tint to the room and turning the offensive shine into a pleasant natural light. Connor nodded to himself in silent appreciation and stretched his neck and shoulders, looking around the room with fresh eyes. The white flowers had been replaced with a set of bright blue flowers, which caught his eye immediately. Their petals rustled silently in the currents from the silent air conditioning unit, which Connor had traced up to the glass of the ceiling.

It was a long few minutes before he sat up, fully expecting to be sore and tired, but he was surprised by how energized he felt, his body free from the usual aches and pains. He swung his legs out of bed and sprung to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and feeling the satisfying tension in his back melt away. He walked over to the tinted panes of glass and looked down at the sweeping grounds below. In stark contrast to the hyper modern look, the grounds below were an expanse of lush green grass and elaborate gardens, flowers of many colors in beautiful arrangements all around. Connor turned to make his way around and slipped slightly on a sheer fabric he wasn't previously aware of. He realized he was wearing a sheer red robe and matching pants of the same fabric, elaborate embroidery decorating the trim and edges and falling down to the ground and a little beyond to form a tiny train.

"Do you like it?" A simple question came from the doorway and Connor lurched forward in surprise.

"You scared me," he said unnecessarily. Rider was wearing a purple suit that day with a feather behind his ear, the same black hairstyle looking like a wig, and a smile.

"Not my intention, I assure you. I did take the liberty of changing your clothing. I hope it's to your liking."

"It's weird," said Connor honestly, "like wearing something and nothing at the same time." He turned in place, trying to get a glimpse of the back of his clothing while Rider laughed.

"That is the point, for you to look pretty. You're feeling much better today, it seems, so I'll give you a tour of the house and explain your rules." When Connor gave him an angry look, Rider continued to look unapologetic. "Connor, little dear, we can be friends and I hope that we will be. These are just the rules of your life now. I didn't draft you here, you ended up in this place of your own design. You can either make life hard or you can enjoy it. Life can be lucrative and comfortable for you, or you can be cold and bitter and miserable. It's your choice."

"Just show me the house," said Connor dully, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Anything to eat here?" He'd suddenly realized exactly how hungry he was, and wasn't about to spend the rest of the day feeling a crippling hunger pain with his mouth watering and his throat dry in a house that he knew was more than capable of providing.

"Of course, you must be hungry. This way," Rider gestured towards the door he'd come through, an open space in a vast expanse of glass.

"Any chance of some more clothes?"

"Your master's specifically chosen that for you." Rider disappeared down the hall and Connor made the split decision that being fed was much more important than preserving any false modesty and he ran a few steps to chase after Rider.

The house was just as interesting outside of his room as it was inside. The glass walls seemed to be capable of turning essentially invisible and then becoming an opaque black. Rider lead him into an enormous kitchen, every part of which was shining black, including the cushions on the chairs and the surface of the table itself.

"Sit, little Connor, and I'll bring you something to eat." Automatically, Connor sat in one of the empty seats at the table and propped his elbows on the surface to watch Rider, fully expecting him to do something besides stand there, but he didn't. Before he could ask a single question, a pretty girl in a black catsuit rushed in and began to prepare breakfast. Connor stared at her and she busied around while Rider took a seat besides Connor. "That's Linny, our chef. Anytime you wish for something in the kitchen that needs to be prepared, you'll ask Linny to help you. If it's something you can just grab from the pantries or the fridge, take it. Touch the cabinets or the refrigerator to see an inventory so you can pick what you would like."

"Are all the rooms like this? Glassy and screen-y and technological?"

"Of course," said Rider nonchalantly. "Every room is designed to optimize the comfort of the resident."

"Great." Connor folded his arms over his chest and turned his attention back to Linny, who was fastidiously continuing with her cooking and not sparing another glance for Rider and Connor.

"Your master has a present for you." Rider set a plush red box on the table before Connor who frowned.

"What is it?" He took the box and opened it, drawing out a black chain with what looked like a square black pendant dangling on it.

"That will enable you to get around the house. It also serves as your identification and will allow you to go into town and shop at the stores you are able to."

"This is a tracking bracelet," said Connor in an accusatory tone, dangling the necklace off of his finger and giving Rider a dark look.

"You'll need it if you want to go anywhere or do anything, so I suggest you put it on." Connor wanted to protest, but instead he gritted his teeth and put the necklace on, being sure to stare Rider directly in the eyes as he did so.

No sooner had the clasp fastened and the pendant settled against his neck, Connor felt a sharp pain in the front and back of his neck. He snapped his head down just in time to see his skin turning red as the pendant he thought to have been harmless pierced his skin around the perimeter, securing itself not just against his skin, but sinking inside of the first layer of skin to lay completely flush with his flesh.

"What the fuck is that?!" Connor yelled in a panic, trying both to sit up and run backwards at the same time, tripping over the chair and falling over the frame, wincing in combined pain from the fall and the new addition to his skin.

"As I said, that is your identification. And it cannot be removed by anybody but Lord Sensir."









There was an angry silence at the breakfast table that day. Rider calmly ate the dish that Linny had placed before him, reading the daily news on the surface of the glass table. Connor, on the other hand, was angrily stabbing portions of his food while glaring at Rider with as much hatred and anger has he could muster up into his gaze.

"Don't look at me like that, little Connor," said Rider without turning his head, "this is a situation entirely of your own design. If you were considered more trustworthy as to not remove a form of identification then you might have been permitted to go without the implant."

"Don't even talk to me right now." Connor spat out his words and clenched his fork tightly in his hand. The lack of a reaction from Rider made him angrier than he had been and he shot to his feet, sending the chair flying backwards and clattering to the ground. Rider sighed and stood himself, the heel of his boots allowing him to stand taller than Connor did in his bare feet.

"Don't make an embarrassment of yourself." Rider righted the chair and picked up a napkin, wiping Connor's face clean and then staring him directly in the eyes. "This is your life now. As I said before, I can make it comfortable or miserable for you. Now I suggest that you pull yourself together and act in a more dignified fashion before I have to inflict punishment on you."

"You should just be grateful I don't strangle you with this bathrobe."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rider smiled placidly at Connor then clapped his hands together. "Let's get you dressed. This is your first day awake with your new owner, you should look good and proper." He took Connor's hand in his own to lead him along and Connor yanked his hand free and slapped Rider across the face with an indignant look.

Before he could even think of being apologetic, Rider had shoved him to the ground, jamming his knee into Connor's throat, hand grabbing at his hair. Struggling to breathe, the pain in his chest from the implant flaring up, Connor tried to wriggle free but Rider held him fast and he could feel a coolness creeping through his veins, holding him still and docile, despite his attempts to fight back. He swore to himself as he realized the sensation was coming from the implanted device.

"Connor, you should never test me. I'll treat you with the level of trust and respect I think you deserve." With that he gave Connor another hard jab in the throat before standing up and releasing his prey. As soon as he was free, Connor rolled over coughing and gasping for breath, slowly pushing himself back onto his feet as the cold crept away. This time when Rider put his arm around his shoulders he only offered a slight jerk of resistance before allowing himself to be lead back to the room he was going to become intimately familiar with, doing everything he could to keep the burning rage in his stomach from boiling over again. He was outmatched and he knew that, and his own acknowledgement made him angrier than anything else.

"While you're still new here you'll be wearing a uniform. Once we can trust you to behave without supervision then you'll be given regular clothing." Rider was lining up sets of identical black clothing on the bed, a pair of black pants, black boots, and several black tank tops with an accompanying jacket. All of which were made out of a material that Connor would have thought to be leather, but when he went and picked up one of the shirts he figured out it was something much more expensive and luxurious than standard leather. The fabric was malleable and soft, yet had a toughness he couldn't explain.

"That is pure latoric cloth. It adjusts to the temperature as well, so be careful with it." Rider set a few pairs of socks on the bed as well and then went over to the large wall of glass that was the windows, tapping a control panel to allow in more light. Without another word Rider turned and left, closing the door to leave Connor alone with his thoughts.

Connor sat down on the bed in his flimsy, almost pointless red clothes and surveyed the room around him. Anyone else in another situation would be happy to be in a house that was clearly the labor of generations of wealth, handed clothing made out of the most exclusive of fabrics, and allowed free reign of the staff of the home as well, but all Connor wanted to do was rip off what he was wearing and run himself back to the prison and turn himself back in, apologize that it was all a mistake and he should never have signed on for this deranged program, but instead he found himself slowly dressing in the all-black clothing that had been set out on the bed for him. Every single article fit him perfectly, of course, but he couldn't enjoy the comfort.

"I'm trapped," he said aloud to nobody. He stood in the impersonal white room, made the physical manifestation of the black hopelessness that was starting to settle around him. He sat on the bed with the intention of tying his shoes, but as soon as he'd sat he found himself collapsed on his side, knees to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably at what his life had become, and what he had done to himself. He gripped his hair and dug his nails into his skin, feeling the hot tears rushing down his face and he hoped beyond all hope that nobody was watching.

It was pitch black by the time Connor opened his eyes again, feeling sore and sick. He sat up slowly and blinked several times to get his head to stop spinning.

"Light," he croaked through a dry throat, and a dim glow illuminated the room. Across the room he caught sight of his reflection and had to admit that he looked horrid. His skin was pale, his eyes were red, and his hair looked like it had been through a hurricane. He coughed a bit to try and clear his throat and stretched his arms to energize himself, but all he really felt like doing was going back to sleep and falling further into the bottomless pit of emptiness that he'd climbed into that morning, but Rider interrupted the fall by bustling into the room with what looked like a bowl of noodles and a glass of water.

"You're awake, which is good. I thought I'd have to wake you before Lord Sensir returned home." He put the bowl in Connor's lap and pressed the glass into his hand before assessing his charge. "You're a mess, Connor, and there's not much time. Eat quickly, drink, and brush your hair at least and give your face a splash and then come downstairs." Rider gave Connor's hair a few unsatisfying brushes with his fingers before shaking his head and leaving.

The bowl of noodles promptly went on a side table, as Connor wasn't in much of a mood to eat. He poured some of the water in his hands and roughly washed his face with his fingers, combed his hair with his still-damp hands, and then went downstairs without giving his reflection another glance.

Rider was standing at the ready with his portable screen and two maids stood at the door, prepared to spring at any time. Rider gestured for him to come join, so Connor went to stand besides him.

"What are we waiting for?"

"Lord Sensir is a very busy man," Rider explained while he flipped rapidly through screens on his tablet, "it's our job to help him any way that we can so we're ready to greet him when the driver tells us he's entered the neighborhood." Connor snuck a glance at Rider's work and saw lists of everything from appointments to contacts to people working in the house. He even thought he saw his own name, but it was gone in a second.

The quiet yet pleasant hum of an expensive craft approached the door and the two maids instantly stood taller. The sharply-dressed butler opened the door smoothly and bowed.

"Welcome home, Lord Sensir."

At first glance, Connor didn't find this man who was to be his master to be anything to be afraid of, or impressed by. He wore gloves of a deep plum color that matched the cloak he was wearing over the black suit that was revealed when the maid approached and whisked the cloak away. He took off his gloves and handed them to the second maid before wordlessly removing his shoes and stepping inside, causing Connor to u*********sly take a step backwards to make room. Sensir had long, flowing black hair and skin that reminded Connor of coffee with cream, but what stood him apart was a pair of alert green eyes that were looking directly at Connor, causing him to feel more self conscious than anything else.

"Come with me, Connor." Sensir walked past the waiting cluster and gestured briefly with his hand that he was to be followed. Rider poked Connor in the back with a surprisingly strong finger and he jumped. Giving Rider an irritated look over his shoulder, he followed Sensir down the hallways and up a set of stairs he hadn't seen beforehand. When they arrived at the top of the stairs and the lights turned out, he stared around in awe.

The room was plush and decadent, filled with priceless art, gorgeous furniture, and an assortment of technological marvels that he'd got a glimpse of downstairs. While he lurked uncomfortably in the doorway, Sensir had made his way to his closet and was undressing without looking back at Connor. Connor immediately turned and headed over to examine a case of intricately made knives.

"So, Connor," said Sensir in a surprisingly soft voice, "how are you?" Connor turned to answer and immediately turned right back when he realized his companion was completely naked, though the artist in him did take note that Sensir had a long, lean body and was not aesthetically displeasing.

"I'm fine," Connor lied, picking up a dagger with a crystal blade and turning it over in his palms.

"You're lying." The response came immediately and Connor found himself narrowing his eyes.

"What, would you want to be in my place?"

"No," Sensir pulled on a robe and tied it at the waist before approaching Connor, whose back was still turned. "But you are in this situation. What is it that makes you so unhappy to be here?" Connor felt a warm hand on his shoulder and suddenly the tension seemed to slide away, at least a little. "Come, sit," Sensir guided him with a gentle command to sit on one of the plush couches, covering his lap with a soft, warm throw and taking a seat besides him. Connor pulled the throw up to his shoulders and shrugged. The more he thought, the less it seemed like his brain was willing to work with him, like his thoughts kept grinding into each other like incompatible gears. He felt himself grinding his teeth in frustration and tugging at the blanket.

"Relax, you're okay here." Connor felt his grip being loosened from the blanket, and gentle fingers brushing the hair from his face. "Not to worry. All you need to do here is be yourself, Connor, and let me see who you really are." Connor made a face at that enigmatic statement and looked Sensir directly in the eyes.

"Why? What would that do for you?"

"If I like you then I'll keep you," Sensir said simply before gently pulling Connor's head to rest on his shoulder. "But while you're here don't worry about anything. I've got it under control."

Connor had a small desire inside him to argue. How could he say it would be okay without really knowing? Why should he trust somebody who spent money to acquire him? But he didn't have the energy to argue yet. The soothing feeling of his hair being brushed through with Sensir's fingers was calming to him, and the heat and the comfort was making him tired again from the long, emotionally stressful day.

"Don't worry about a thing," the whispered words so close to his forehead sent a slight shiver down his spine. Instead of flinching or running away, Connor found himself relaxing more into the arms of the authoritative man who soothed him. And before he knew it himself, he was slipping away into a much calmer, much more peaceful sleep, but not without a parting thought to himself.

What's happening to me?





"Connor. Connor, wake up. Connor!" The voice was swimming through a haze and Connor struggled to open his eyes to see Rider's face coming into focus.

"Where am I?" Connor blurted out immediately as he looked around in confusion at the strange new room, taking in the tapestry, art, throw pillows, and various artifacts and antiques before he remembered he was in Sensir's room, though Sensir was nowhere to be found.

"Lord Sensir said to let you sleep, but he left already. But it's time for you to get up and get moving."

"I'm so tired," Connor sighed as he sat up and rubbed his face.

"The d**gs are still working out of your system. You should start feeling sharper and more like yourself soon." Rider smiled at Connor and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. "In the meantime, we'll do what we can with you. Now, Lord Sensir won't be back until late tonight," Rider consulted the slim tablet in his hands, "so you're free to do as you like. I can send you into town if you want to explode."

"Cigarettes." Connor said bluntly, rubbing his eyes.

"I bet your pardon?"

"Cigarettes!" Connor barked out in irritation, more than likely from the realization that he had been out of them for a very long time.

Rider crinkled his nose. "Why would you smoke those terrible things when we have the shisha pipe?" He gestured to a long, slim, shining silver pipe that looked more like a baton or a flute of sorts. "Any flavors or sensations you like are available and it's much cleaner, much more classic."

"I want cigarettes." Connor spoke with the same stubbornness of a c***d and even folded his arms. Rider noticed his stance and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, Connor, if you say so. I'll send you to Black Alley, that's a street of shops and businesses that all allow in unaccompanied slaves."

"I need money." Connor ignored the latter part of the sentence and nodded his head.

"Any business will scan that chip on your chest and we will be billed for your expenses. That being said, be reasonable."

"What's reasonable?" Connor stood and stretched his arms over his head to try and pull away any remaining tension from sleeping in a strange place.

"Reasonable is reasonable, Connor," Rider glanced over, "don't be excessive."

"So this thing," Connor tapped his nails against his newest body modification, "is basically an ID card and a pay account all in one?"

"That and more." Rider gave Connor a smile and then looked down at the slim black screen that Connor was speculating was secretly fused to Rider's sleeves. "I'll have to driver come to get you."

"I can walk, you know," Connor said rudely, following Rider down the stairs and adjusting yesterday's black clothes to look like he hadn't slept in them.

"It's about 5 miles away, Connor, sweetheart, you will be driven." Rider turned and smiled at Connor and adjusted his own glasses. "Now go to your room and freshen up. I've put a towel for you to wash your face by the sink and purchased you a hairbrush specifically for long hair. Then change into fresh clothes and get your shoes. The driver will meet you outside the front door."

"It's bright outside, though." Connor made his way into his room and to the adjoining bathroom, which, he noticed for the first time, was also comprised of the same glass that made up the entire house. Except for, he'd noted, Sensir's room, which seemed to have more traditional walls. "Okay, is there some privacy here?" Before he'd even finished his sentence the bathroom walls had gone opaque and allowed Connor to strip in peace while Rider talked at him through the door, though he wasn't really paying attention.

For the first time since embarking on the strange journey that ended him in Sensir's home, Connor took a look at himself full in the mirror. The tattoos he'd got during his late teen years were completely gone, as was every scar, pimple, blemish, and mark that he'd accumulated over the years of falling down, crashing a car, and running into doors instead of paying attention. Years of dying his hair brown, black, and everything between had disguised the fact that he was a natural blonde, and the long strands of hair falling down his back were almost a surprise to him. He combed his hair through with his own fingers feeling the healthy, smooth texture instead of the crunch of badly-treated hair. What impressed him the most, though, was the condition his body was in. The bulk of the muscles he'd got during his years of gym regiments was gone and had left behind a lean, toned build beneath the newly treated skin. He studied his reflection like he might study a stranger, awed in the best way how he'd managed to turn out.

"Connor, honey, you okay in there?" Rider's rapping on the door and the voice snapped him back to reality and Connor dressed quickly, roughly brushed out his hair and then emerged. "You were in there an awful long time, everything okay?"

"Just looking. Hadn't seen myself since I left prison."

"Ahhhhh," Rider sighed with a smile, "must be a shock. May I just say that you look beautiful now?"

"Can we just go?"

"Well, if that's your attitude about it, come along." Rider lead Connor back through the house to the front door, stopping him to put on a pair of what looked like ordinary, but chic, sunglasses on Connor's face.

"Nice. I can dig it." Connor took the glasses off to see them clearer and gave a nod of approval before putting them back on.

"They are also SmartGlas. Touch the sensor on the lefthand stem to activate it. Once the screen is active you can make and take calls, read and compose messages, view maps, and analyze data as well as access the database and internet."

"Okay," Connor nodded seriously and held up his hands to Rider. "But, tell me this, and this is very important."

"Yes? Yes, what is it?" Rider stood up taller to look more authoritative.

"Will they, "Connor paused, "protect my eyes from the sun?"

Rider sighed in agitation and opened the door. "Just go get your nasty smokes. Don't be gone too late, you should be home and dressed for Lord Sensir when he arrives home. I will contact you when he has left the office. It takes about thirty minutes for him to arrive at the house after that. If you leave when I contact you then you should be here and ready in time." Outside on the white walking path was the silently hovering craft. "The driver knows where to go. Just tell him you need Black Alley." With that, Rider pushed Connor out the door and closed it before anything else could be said.

Connor approached the craft and looked for a door. He raised his hand to feel for a handle, and a door slid open seamlessly, allowing him to climb straight in.

"Umm Black Alley, please." The door slid shut and a voice called out from the front.

"Of course. My name is Edwin. If you need to go anywhere, just come and find me."

Connor nodded his head to acknowledge he had heard what was said, but he was mesmerized by the interior. The whole interior of the craft was red velvet and black leather trim. There was enough room on the ground for him to lie down comfortably and not worry about hitting anything. A screen was ready to play music or movies, whatever the viewer was in the mood for. A shining silver handle prompted Connor to tug on it to reveal wine, liquor, and some light foods. He lay back in the seat further to look out the window and realized that the back of the seat was reclining.

"This is nice," he said aloud.

"Isn't it? A prototype model from the company, if I remember, a gift from the owner to Lord Sensir from the head of the Luxe Travel Company."

"How fast does this thing go?" Connor crawled up to the glass that separated him from Edwin to hear better.

"Well, we have to follow the city laws here," Edwin explained with a brief glance backwards, "but if you were to take this outside of the city or the open air tracks, I think we could easily reach speeds of four hundred miles an hour."

"Is there ever a real reason to go that fast?"

"Well, if you're doing state or country travel privately," Edwin replied cheerily. "But for now we're going at about a hundred. That'll get you right to Black Alley in about ten minutes. Well, from the house, we're almost there. Have a look outside, take a look at Enodi."

Connor leaned over to look out the window as they entered the city. People were milling about in expensive, elaborate clothes. Shop windows displaying their goods were everywhere, interspersed with cafes, bars, restaurants, and all sorts of service salons. He saw c***dren playing in a toy shop, women getting their hair intricately coiffed, and men talking with the same shisha pipes that Connor had seen in Sensir's room, though at a much more practical size. He also took notice of people turning to look with interest at the craft as it passed.

"This is the leisure district. Shopping, dining, all of that," Edwin explained and then pointed to the tops of some taller buildings in the background. "That over there is the finance district. Businesses, banks, all sorts of things."

"Is that where Sensir works?"

"Lord Sensir? Yes," Edwin nodded.

"What does he do, exactly?" Connor came back to the privacy barrier.

"Lord Sensir is the heir to the Sehla Tea Company. Their corporate offices are in the finance district." Edwin turned to face Connor fully. "We're here. Just go into that store there," he pointed at a convenience store, " and go out the back door to the Black Alley entrance." The door that had vanished reappeared again and the noise of the street swept into the craft.

"So how do I let you know when I want to leave?"

"Touch the sensor and tell it to call me and I'll come get you." Connor gave Edwin a node and then hopped out of the craft onto the pavement, suddenly aware of the people who were staring at him. He looked around at a few of the people and then did his best to ignore their curiosity as he headed into the convenience store.

The blast of cold air was a refreshing change from the heat of the outdoors. The store was small and cramped, but clean and brightly lit. Connor made his way to the counter and looked at the clerk who was towering over him.

"What can I do for you? You must be new. I'm Mike." Red hair, freckles, bulging muscles, and a enormous smile accompanied this man named Mike. Connor shook his hand and then shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm Connor, new, and I need smokes. Like yesterday."

Mike laughed heartily and Connor would have sworn that the shelves shook with the force. "Right then, what's your choice?"

"Black Ribbons back home, but anything similar's fine."

"Need a light? Something tells me so." Mike didn't even wait for a response, he just put the pack and the lighter down on the counter and then touched Connor's identification plate with his finger which was glowing at the tip. Connor saw that each of Mike's fingers had the same glow.

"Sensors," Mike explained with a grin. "Lets me scan anyone. Any shop worth shopping at's got one at the ready. In Black Alley, at least."

"What do the rich people use?"

"They carry their ID chips on them. Not in them or anything like that." Mike handed Connor his purchase and sat on a small stool that was almost too small for him. "So what else are you looking for here? First time in Black Alley, I bet."

"Yeah. A drink would be nice."

"There's a bar right across the street. No smoking inside that one, too many fires, but you can get your fancy there."

"Thanks," Connor's fingers were itching for the strike of the lighter and the satisfaction of the cigarette. "See you around."

"Come again, then!" Connor closed the door on Mike, lit his cigarette, and exhaled in satisfaction as the cheap nicotine hit his veins and the smoke filled his lungs. Pure bliss, for the first time in a long time. While he enjoyed the first cigarette in what felt like an eternity, Connor looked around the alley. He'd been picturing a dark, dingy place with cobblestones for paving, but he was surprised to see a clean strip of shops and businesses and a fair amount of slaves walking around, some in groups. A group of girls sat outside of a cafe drinking some odd colored soda, laughing loudly. Through the window the bar he could see several groups inside talking or watching something on a large screen. Some of them wore street clothes, some wore the same uniform he wore, all of them had their ID chips visible, on lanyards or necklaces, some also had theirs in their skin. A good handful that he saw of the slaves had metallic tattoos on their upper arms and shoulders and Connor made a note to find out about them.

"Gimme one of them, would you?" A finger snapped by his shoulder and then poked him. He turned around to snap at whoever had interrupted him and was met by a confident smile and a pair of folded arms boasting shining silver tattoos of intricate designs. The girl before him was wearing a tight black jumpsuit to show off her arms, tattoos, and her chest, her green hair tied back in an impossibly high ponytail and she was, Connor had to admit to himself, extremely attractive. She had green eyes and an aura of mischief to her. "My name's Sidella, everyone calls me Ella. C'mon, share."

"That's a way of introducing yourself." Connor said with a sideways glance, though he did fish out a cigarette for Ella and handed it to her, lighting it when she leaned in.

"Ah-hah," she said with a grin, "but you'll remember it. So what's your name?"

"Connor," he replied, still looking the newcomer up and down. She was shorter than he was, but she was standing with her hand resting on her jutted hip as she smoked. "So, do you normally just go up to strangers and make demands?"

"No, I normally go up to strangers and just take things." Connor's raised eyebrows must have said a lot because she laughed. "I'm k**ding, Connor. I've been here a long time and I know just about everyone. I like it when I see new people."

"How long you been here? And where d'you live?"

"President Lochlan and his family own me. Owned me since I was fifteen and I've been with them twenty years."

Connor's eyes widened, "you're fucking k**ding me. No way you're in your thirties, you're a teenager."

"Rich people have ways of keeping themselves and their slaves looking young and pretty and healthy, remember that. Don't take anyone here at face value. Literally." She snickered a bit at her own joke, which Connor ignored since he hadn't found it funny in the slightest.

"Does everyone keep their slaves long as you?"

Ella blew out a steady stream of smoke and shook her head. "That depends. Some families really love their slaves and keep them for years. Others get tired of the ones they have and that's that." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders with a faraway look for about a fraction of a second before she turned back to Connor. "Well, thanks for the cigarette. How about a drink? Least I can do is buy you a drink to welcome you and show my gratitude."





"Why are you running?" The rain was still pouring down in great sheets and hitting the ground with alarming crackles of sound that drowned out just about everything else, but Connor heard the words cut through the noise like a knife and spun around, almost tripping over the soaking wet hem of his pants.

There was Sensir, alone before him, the fabric of his shirt clinging to the definition of his chest, black hair plastered against his skin. He wore no gloves, no cloak, no shoes, he just stood before Connor with the same calm he brought with him everywhere as though it wasn't raining at all. "Connor," he said again, "why are you running?"

"I got lost," Connor shouted, pointlessly wiping the rain out of his eyes and shaking his hands. He shivered in the cold and wrapped his arms around himself. "I couldn't find my way back!" He bent over slightly, trying to capture as much warmth from his body as he could, trying to move but feeling paralyzed instead. "I got lost," he repeated, almost to himself.

Connor felt a hand take one of his own, an arm circling around his back, and then he was pressed against Sensir's strong body and a sudden wave of warmth washed over him like a spell. He was suddenly aware of the back of his hand as Sensir's thumb rubbed over the skin there, warming it, and it was like the rain had stopped and it was just the two of them in an infinite space made of black glass. Even when I'm frozen I feel his warmth. He tilted his head back to look up at Sensir for just a moment before pressing closer against him and kissing hard, arching his back to close any gaps between himself and Sensir. He kissed him with an almost desperation, feeling Sensir pulling away all of his control and he just stood, helplessly bound, against his master while the storm crashed around them.


"You aren't a virgin, are you?"

"Of course not!" Connor snapped, turning to face Sensir as he lounged on the couch, leisurely smoking from the silver hookah pipe. He felt his face flare up red when Sensir merely gave him a placid smile. "I'm not a virgin at all, stop thinking weird shit."

"You're the one acting strange," Sensir pointed out, breathing out a small cloud of pink smoke. He took off his glasses and set them on a little table along with the tablet he had been using to work and stretched his arms over his head, causing his robe to fall open, which Connor noticed immediately, though he'd tell himself he didn't see the exposed muscles that moved beneath brown skin like currents in a river. "Come sit with me." Sensir sat up from where he had been stretched out on the couch to make room for Connor, who did his level best to sit as far away as possible. "Closer, Connor," came the instruction and he moved to sit besides Sensir, aware that his heart was beating as though he'd been running. He felt the gentle touch of Sensir's fingers on his cheek as his hair was played with. "Who are you, Connor? And why do you intrigue me so?"

"I'm me. You read my file, you know who I am," Connor said dismissively, eyeing the fingers from the corner of his vision. He was so focused on Sensir's hand that he didn't notice how close they'd become as Sensir had leaned in close to him. He felt Sensir's warm breath on his ear and shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold and he was suddenly feeling very hot.

"You interest me, Connor. I'm going to find out why even if you won't help me." Connor closed his eyes and shivered again as the soft lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his ear, slowly moving their way down with barely felt kisses along his jaw down to his neck. He sucked in a breath when he felt Sensir pause and immediately let it out in a quiet moan as Sensir began to kiss his neck with slow determination, and Connor let his head fall back to expose his skin further. He'd had a mind to protest, but the kisses and touches were like an addictive drink and he wanted more.

"Mmm-I, ah!" Words vanished as Sensir slid his hand under Connor's shirt and along his chest until they reached the now-firm peak of his nipple, gently stroking the sensitive skin in a circle, pressing his lips harder against Connor's neck, fingers squeezing his nipple. Connor felt his breath getting heavier, his arousal laboring his breath, his erection pressing against the tightness of his pants. Sensir had never been so forceful or erotic with him before, but it was like his body had been trained in its responses. He felt disappointment when the hand fell away from his chest.

"I know you want release," the words came from Sensir's lips still pressed against his now tender skin, "but you need to ask for it. I've been patient with you by waiting, but now you have to fulfill your end." Connor clenched his jaw and stared at Sensir in disbelief, breathing heavily through the cloud of his own lust. Before he could forumate a thought in a remotely human language, Sensir let his hand settle on Connor's loins, giving a light and firm squeeze to the swollen shaft in its cloth prison and Connor groaned, lips parting to suck in more air. "I know you want it. All you have to do is ask."


The banquet hall was full of the traditional chatter and buzz as the hopeful families dined with their eligible sons and daughters at their side, wondering who would ask for whom and when it would happen. It had been several days of balls and parties and socials and yet there had not been a single engagement.

From his place at the head table with all of the eligible young bachelors and bachelorettes, Sensir could see the crowd easily. He saw his own parents with their heads bent in to their fellow diners, presumably gossipping about who would be engaged and who wouldn't, and what prospects they wanted most for him, their son, their one and only son.

"Sick, isn't it?" Laehn spoke up besides him with a grin. Laehn's hand wandered down and squeezed at Sensir's knee beneath the elaborate tablecloth and, in such tight quarters, there was no escape. Laehn leaned in close, dramatically, to whisper to Sensir. "Let's run away, you and I. We could be happy without this." Sensir said nothing and instead took another bite of his food, even though his appetite had all but abandoned him. He could feel Laehn's disappointment and was doing his best to ignore it. "We'll leave this bullshit behind. If you won't make the move, then I will."

"No, don't-!" Sensir knocked over several plates and a glass trying to grab Laehn, but he wasn't quick enough. Laehn was already on his feet, tapping his glass with his fork and the entire hall fell silent as the crowd waited with bated breath for the announcement of the first engagement request.

"I, Earl Laehn Solverik, would like to make a formal engagement request." Sensir felt his entire heart sinking and his hands shook where they were clenched tightly in his lap. "I would like to formally request that I be permitted to enter into an engagement with the Lord Sensir."

The entire room fell silent in shock. Silverware was dropped, mouths popped open, and a panicked quiet snaked through the hall. Eve