Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2016 18:04:27 +0000 (UTC) From: Walter King Subject: A Slave at MI6 Please remember to donate to nifty, so they can continue to get these stories out. I've enjoyed yours. I hope you enjoy mine. All comments - positive or negative - appreciated.http://donate.nifty.og/donate/html A SLAVE AT MI6 - CHAPTER THREE Esi worked in a care home nearby. `I'm not around this evening, Lucky. You'llhave your Master all to yourself. Make sure you make him a nice Jamaican supper.There's nothing like food to put him in a good mood. There's a recipe book inthe kitchen. I should stick to fried chicken until you're more confident.Better go down to the shop before I leave, or you'll not be able to get backin. I wasn't being entrusted with a key, so I realized that if my Master wasout late, I would be spending a lot of time waiting for him outside the flat onthat walkway. That meant being at the mercy of Mr Mike and his friends. Inwinter it also meant that I was going to get very cold. I hoped that I would beable to work out strategies for survival. I thought I would try fried chicken, withrice and peas for supper. At least it didn't require any unknown ingredientsthat I wasn't sure I would get in Burgess Park. My Master got back at his usual time, whichI was to learn was 6 pm. He let himself in and went straight into the lounge. `Lucky!' I went in to him. He looked tired. I bowed. `Yes, Sir.' `I'm whacked, Lucky. Get a bowl of warmwater and massage my feet.' This was one of the first things I was tolearn about my Master. When he was tired, he loved to have his feet soaked in warmwater and massaged. I was to get good at foot massage, but on that firstoccasion I couldn't have helped him much. He was however gracious. I took off his shoes and socks. His feetwere gigantic – like the rest of him. Maybe size twelve or thirteen, even. Theywere broad too, with long toes. I found myself thinking how beautiful they wereand how content I felt doing this service for him. `Have you some oils, Sir? I could maybe rubsome oils into your feet?' `Don't have that stuff. You could see if youcould get some.' `Yes, Sir.' I wondered how I might get advice about thecare of feet. I wasn't of course allowed on my Master's computer, but my lunchbreak wasn't monitored. Maybe I could get some stuff then. I wanted to make myMaster's feet even more beautiful. But how would I get the money? I didn't havemoney. My salary was paid into a special account that only my Master couldaccess (under certain conditions). I thought I would see what was permissible. `Would you give me some money tomorrow, Sir?I could get some stuff during my lunch hour.' `OK. Call in at my office on your way out. I need my feet looked after. Ifthey feel good, I feel good.' `Yes, Sir.' I was a bit surprised that I was to beallowed to go shopping as a free man, with money, but I was excited. It wasn'tthat I wanted to pretend to be a free man outside the office. It was that Iwanted the best stuff for my Master and I would get that most easily as a free manin a good shop. I was suddenly looking forward to tomorrow. After I had spent quite a while at his feet,my Master began to get hungry. `Whatever you've got there in the kitchen smells good, Lucky. You bringit in now.' I was worried about the chicken. It was meatto be crispy. I had tried frying it like they said in the recipe, but it hadn'tworked very well. It was a bit soggy. Now, after sitting in the oven for a bit,it was really soggy. There was nothingto be done. I had to take it in to him. `What the fuck is this stuff?' Master stuckhis fork in the chicken. `I'm sorry, Master. I tried to get itcrispy, but it didn't work.' `You're a useless little shit, boy. Younever done an hour of real work in your whole life and now you expect me to eatthis rubbish. You take this straight back to the kitchen and put it in thebin.' I picked up his plate and hurried into thekitchen. He followed me there. `I'm going out. And you'd better learn tocook pretty quick, boy, or your butt'll be so sore you won't be able to sitdown. When you've cleared up this mess, get the cane out of the drawer, put iton the table and wait there for me to get back. You're going to get a thrashing,boy.' I spent a miserable hour standing by thattable. I knew I deserved punishment. I hadn't prepared carefully enough. I hadbeen a fool to chose the fried chicken. But the last beating had been horrible.When I heard Master's key in the door, I found myself shaking. I kept my headbowed as he walked in. `Over the chair' I bent over. I tried to disappear frommyself. I tried to be somewhere – anywhere – else but here. I tried not to bein the body that was going to get beaten. But I couldn't manage it and I was.The pain shot through me. It has real, mind-numbing. I couldn't understand howI was going to learn to live with being hurt like this, constantly, over years– forced into this space where nothing existed except pain. `Tomorrow, you get a haircut. Doesn't do tohave a slave with long hair. A No.1 cut for you.' That was it. He put the cane down, switchedon the TV and I went back to the kitchen. I leant against the work surface. Itwas dark outside. How was this life possible? I knew there was a Wellness Centre close tothe office that offered different kinds of therapeutic massage, besides otherbeauty treatments. I thought I would go there to see what they could offer. So,I called in at Master's office for my money. As ever, he treated me withrespect and called me `Sir' as he handed over the envelope. It was as if lastnight hadn't happened. The Wellness Centre was pretty daunting. What my Masterreally needed was a private visit by one of the trained masseurs, but I waspretty sure he wouldn't be up for that. In the end, I settled for someessential oils and a leaflet giving a beginner's guide to foot massage. Theleaflet looked interesting and I was keen to get started on my Master's feet. PerhapsI would find a way of pleasing him. Perhaps I could get really skilled as amasseur. My other lunch time job was my hair. I hadprepared the ground with my colleagues by saying I was getting a new image.They were looking forward to seeing the result. I'm not sure that I was myself.I had never had a short cut and I had no idea what I would look like. I was alsoa bit nervous that the guy cutting my hair might see my slave collar if he pokedabout too much. Fortunately, he didn't and fortunately too I didn't look toobad. One of my colleagues called it `Kennedy's slave cut', which everyone(including me) thought funny, but otherwise no one seemed to think much aboutit. After I finished at the gym, I ran back toBurgess Park, hoping to be able to try out my massaging skills on Master. Istopped off at the shop to get something for supper. I played safe - ready madebeef patties. I hoped that Master would prefer ready made stuff to cack-handedhome made mush. I then ran up the stairsto Master's flat. Esi was with him. Shelet me in and I went into the kitchen. When I had prepared supper, I waited forthem to call for it. They didn't sayanything, but they finished it all up so they must have liked it. Then, afew days after my `hair cut day', Esi and my Master had a row. They had beenfucking and Esi had obviously decided to make a stand. She started shouting atMaster saying that he had no idea how to please a woman, that he was a selfishbrute and that even I, Lucky, locked up as I was, knew better what to do withher. Master told her she was a filthy, no good slut and she could get the hellout and not come back. She pulled on her clothes and left, slamming the doorbehind her. I thought she had smashed the glass the door, but she hadn't. `Boy!' Master didn't use my name much. I knocked on the door of the bedroom andwent in. `I need a drink. Get me the whiskey.' I had seen the bottle in the kitchen, butMaster hadn't had any since I had been there. I brought it to him, with aglass. He ignored the glass, sat up in bed and drank out of the bottle. I didn't want to leave him, but I didn'twant to stand over him either. I decided to kneel, a little way from the bed,with my head bowed. I pondered my Master. His great bulk made him lookimpregnable. He weighed in at 270lbs,all muscle. He stood 6ft 5in tall. I knew what he weighed, because he had toldme. I knew how tall he was because Esi had told me. I stayed that way for an hour at least. Bythat time, Master had finished the bottle. `I need another bottle.' `There isn't one, Master.' I didn't know if he had one hidden away, butI didn't want him to drink anymore. That bottle had been almost full. He wascrying. `Bloody bitch. Dirty fucking bitch. If I seeher black arse round here again, I'll make sure she has something to remember.Never fucking trust a woman. They're all greedy bitches, bleed you dry and thenget out.' He lay back there on the bed, drunk andangry. `Shall I cook supper, Master?' `I'm not hungry. Stay there and be quiet.' Master may not have been hungry, but I was.I could have done with my chow. After a while, he fell asleep, propped up onthe pillow. Quietly, I stood up and looked down at his naked body. It was sobeautiful, black and glistening with sweat. His shoulders and pecs were huge,but his lower body was slim and taut. I wondered what sport he played. He mustplay something, to have such a superb athlete's body. Maybe he played rugbyunion. He reminded me of an African Jonah Lomu. I pulled to duvet up over him, and resumedmy place on the floor beside him. Esi may have walked out on him, but I couldn'tand in a funny way I didn't want to.