A Slaves Strength

A Slave's Strength (Chapter Seven):
Settlement

by

mechgogo

Beth Comisky was on the toilet when her phone chirped at her, announcing the arrival of a new email. She had been remembering the previous night with Tom. Thoughts of his mouth between her legs warmed her, made her moist. The teasing way he had held back almost to the point of overt refusal once she put him to work on her breasts had been exquisite. She mentally ran through her finances, wondering if there was any way at all she could swing the necessary moves to afford his contract. She'd have to look into it. The idea of that beautiful, strong body spread out underneath her as she took him with a strapon....her hand drifted down between her legs.

That was when the damned phone bleeped at her. She would have ignored it but she recognized Mark's personal alert. She sighed. What now? He really was turning into a Grade A pain in the ass.

When Beth opened the email, she frowned. Why was Mr. Harris's address on this? For that matter what was Mark doing emailing Tom Donovan's lawyer? Then she read the body of the email and, horrified, hit the play button on the attached video.

Beth pushed 'stop' thirty seconds into the show. She sat there, shaking with rage. That idiot! What in Christ's name had he been thinking?!? Had he not been present when Tom Donovan threatened to burn them both alive barely twenty-four hours earlier? Or when Nicki Donovan had to be beaten with a shotgun butt to keep her from going with them? She went into her directory, intent on calling her now-former-as-far-as-she-was-concerned partner and tearing a wide strip off his ignorant ass. An incoming call stopped her. Mr. Harris, head of the center, and her boss. His name among the email's addressees didn't leave much doubt as to why he was calling.

Five minutes later Beth was in her car bombing down the road to the center. She tried to keep the speed down but her anger kept making her foot heavy. Not getting pulled over was more a matter of luck than anything else. She got through the security checkpoints and stalked to Harris's office. Several residents saw her, started to greet her – she was one of the more well liked IA's – and scurried out of her way when they saw her expression.

The meeting that followed took more than an hour. Her position was simple: she and Mark were done, period. Your partner was supposed to watch your back. They were not, as Tom Donovan had put it, supposed to draw a bull's-eye on it for a pair of half-crazy Irish banshees to use as target practice.

Mark tried to downplay things with little success. When that didn't work he tried blaming Tom. That proved even less effective.

"I was just trying to put him in his place." He said."Show him how helpless he is. That's what we do here isn't it?"

"By attacking his family?" Beth demanded."Are you insane? The man almost shot you over an offhand remark about Nicollete and you really think something like this is going to garner a passive response? And that's just him. God only knows what his women are cooking up. You do remember Tom speaking to an attorney before we took him into custody, don't you? What do you think is going to happen when Angela and Nicollete sit down with him? Assuming they aren't in his office right now?"

Eventually Tom was summoned. He shook Harris's hand, gave Frenchy a smile that stopped just short of his eyes and accepted an offer of a cup of coffee. Funny how breakfast time's chattel was lunchtime's respected guest.

With the pleasantries over, Harris got right to the point. "Mr. Donovan, first off, I just want to apologize for Agent French's behavior. I try to run a humane facility here and I can assure you I don't condone what he did. That being said, I'm sure you can understand that I can't have the residents making threats against my trainers."

"It wasn't a threat, Mr. Harris." Tom told him. "It was more of a warning than I'd give anyone else working here." He thought for a second and nodded to himself. "And the best way I could think of to pay Frenchy back for his bullshit without spending the rest of my life in jail. But we both know you didn't ask me here to slap my wrist for sending that email. You asked me here to help assess just how much trouble this bualadh craicinn amadán has gotten you into."

"What did you call me?" French demanded.

"Sorry." Tom said."I forgot. I'm the one with the ninth grade education but you're the ignorant one in this conversation. It means fucking idiot, you fucking idiot."

French went for him and once again Beth had to put herself between the two men. Things settled down before security had to be brought in but not without Beth going into Mistress Mode on Tom.

"You wanna know the threat level you're looking at, Mr. Harris?" Tom asked when things had settled down. On the far side of Beth from him, Frenchy was massaging a sore wrist and a fat lip that now kept his black eye company. For all of that, Tom's voice held no more stress than if he was discussing the best way to change the oil in a motorcycle.

"You're talking about two women who have kept me in line for the past ten years with nothing but the force of their will. You're talking about two women married to a guy who's street name used to be Bug. As in fire bug. Be surprised the kinds of things married people share with one another, you know? What ratio of Styrofoam packing peanuts to one gallon of gas makes the best napalm for instance."

"You're talking about them both wracked with pain and misery and, in the case of my Nicki, a world of guilt. And all of it looking for a focus. And this unprofessional asshole over here," he inclined his head in Mark's direction, "gives them just that. Oh and let's not forget the whole Irish thing. Two thousand years of genetics that don't hold a grudge so much as breast-feed the fuckin' thing."

Tom turned to Beth. "Lemme ask you something, Mistress Beth." He said."You really think it's so improbable that amid all my other plans for yesterday, I didn't take the time to string a few nanny cams or the odd microphone, hm? You think my girls didn't know about 'em and got your name from 'em? And what exactly d'you reckon the odds are on my sweet little Nicki focusing all her guilt and anger and gambling addict's obsessive tendencies on finding out where you live and paying you back for making her big strong husband who sacrificed himself for her cry like a little baby, hm?" He gave her exactly the kind of smile you'd expect from a little boy who had come down Christmas morning to find a brand new puppy waiting for him under the tree. And promptly skinned the thing alive.

"We've dealt with threats against our staff before, Mr. Donovan." Harris said.

Tom nodded."I know. I follow the news." And occasionally make it." Thing is, we both know the average person who starts banging their dick about all the terrible shit they're gonna do to somebody tends to be all talk. My girls aren't. And neither am I. And they wouldn't be acting alone or all that precipitously either. Just because they were stupid enough to marry me doesn't mean they're too stupid to plan things out. I'd be shocked as hell if they weren't in a bar full of witnesses miles away when the anvil lands. And it will land, Mr Harris. Unless I intervene. The will-you of which I'm guessing is another reason I'm here."

"And if I asked, what would your answer be?" Harris asked.

Tom shrugged."Of course, I will. For a price."

"Tom!" Beth exclaimed."I thought you liked me!"

"I do like you Mistress Beth. Fact is, if you could afford me, I'd crawl out of here at the end of your leash and mark myself a lucky man. And I didn't name my terms before you spoke up. You and Mr. Harris want my help, you pull Frenchy off the training rotation. Ignorant bastard's proved he's unfit. And I mean I don't see his face anywhere in this facility the rest of my stay. Frenchy hand-writes a separate letter of apology to each of my girls taking full responsibility for what he did, begging their forgiveness and including his full legal name at the bottom. You let me call home and have a conversation with my girls. In Irish. Only way they'll even half consider what I have to say. And a pillow for my bunk'd be nice. Something nice and firm. I must be getting soft in my old age. Time was I could sleep on concrete and be ok."

"That's it?" Beth and Harris asked in unison.

Tom shrugged."Ten minutes alone in a locked room with no cameras, weapons, witnesses or chip with Frenchy would be nice too but I'll settle for a marker I can cash in later. Nothing huge, just a get outta trouble free card I can burn later if I need to. Let's face it. I'm a willful bastard. Be nice to have a little insurance policy, you know?"

Harris looked over at Beth. They had already discussed the threat level posed by Tom's wives and known associates. In her opinion the girls were even more dangerous than he was. And at least a couple of Tom's friends were persons of interest in on-going investigations into the local militant movement. She nodded.

"We can do that. I have to say, Mr. Donovan, I appreciate how reasonable you're being. Given how you came to be here, I expected a more extreme response."

Tom shrugged."It isn't Mistress Beth's fault her partner's a retard. And I never said that made me and Agent French square." He looked across Agent Comisky at French. "I can wait to settle up." He said glaring death at the man. "You put the deal in writing, fax it to my lawyer and I'll write up what I plan to tell my wives so you know I'm being straight with you."

Harris nodded."Marie, can he use the computer in your office?" This to an older, silver haired woman who had been introduced as the deputy administrator for the facility.

"Of course." She said and stood."If you'll just follow me, Thomas?"

"Just a minute, Marie." Harris said."Mr. Donovan, there's still the small matter of you destroying Agent French's phone. Unless you'd like to use your marker now, I'm afraid I'll have to fine you a six month extension on your contract for that."

Tom shrugged. "That's fair. I'll keep the marker for now. Long as we're discussing small matters, can I ask how you plan to deal with the lawsuit?"

"Lawsuit?" Harris looked confused.

Tom gave a predatory grin. "The one, I absolutely promise you, my girls are talking to my lawyer about bringing against this place. The one that will be like a giant chum slick in shark infested water for the abolitionists and probably have you personally as a named defendant. Price of command, Mr. Harris. Your asshole employee violated the law and caused serious pain and suffering to two civilians. Might not be your fault but it's damned sure your responsibility. Unless I intervene."

"For a price." The 'You mercenary little bastard' went unspoken but was still louder than three feet from the stage at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

Tom nodded. "Just so. Helping out somebody I like, that's one thing. Helping out an institution I hated even before I got caught up in it, that's another."

Harris sighed and ran a hand over his balding head. "What do you want, Mr. Donovan? Agent French's job? Your contract nullified? A settlement for your family? And bear in mind I can't promise anything on this matter. It has to go through our legal department."

Tom gave French an appraising look."Be a certain justice in having you fire Frenchy. How long you reckon it'd be before the van pulled up at your place, hm?" He took real pleasure in French's horrified expression and let his own face show it.

"You do what you want with the little shit." Tom told Harris. "I wouldn't shed any tears if I heard he wound up in the system but I won't pull the trigger myself. Far as what I want? Billy and Aaron, to start."

"Who?" Harris asked

"Tom has been sort of looking out for two of the younger newcomers who were in-processed at the same time he was." Beth explained."How exactly did you mean that, Tom?"

"Not like it might sound. You find them good homes. As free people and not in the foster care system. They've gotta have somebody can take them in, aunt, uncle, grandparents. My guess is the biggest barrier is an inability to buy out their contract. You get your bosses to overlook that and I'm your man."

"And your own contract?"

"How many more kids d'you reckon I'm worth, Mr. Harris, hm?" Tom asked him "How much would you say it'd be worth to your bosses to avoid a big messy media shitstorm and expensive settlement? Because you know they've as good as lost already. Find me a number we can both agree on. Add in, say, what I made last year before taxes so my girls got something to show for their suffering – tax free mind – and I'll do what I can. Meantime, while things are in motion the male staffers keep their hands off Billy and Aaron. Bare minimum contact needed to ensure compliance with the rules. But no intimate work, you know? And I mean not so much as a goose on the ass. Oh, and none of the kids I buy free learn of my involvement. Cook up whatever story you want. My name comes up, deal's off."

Harris thought for a moment. The offer was a good one. The media was sure to have a field day when they got wind of this incident and the little he knew of the Donovan family convinced him that was inevitable without Tom's help. He nodded.

"I'll talk to my superiors. But no promises."

"Fair enough."

Tom was sent to wait in the reception are while the wheels got in motion then. He sat in a chair, looking around, singing to himself. Mr Harris' receptionist smiled at him.

"Someone's in a good mood."

"It's been a good day, mostly. Promises to be better before we're done. Anything I can do for you while I'm waiting? Idleness doesn't really set well with me."

"It's kind of you to offer, but I'm all caught up on my work at the moment."

Tom gave her a frank stare. "Then I'd say that means you've earned a break. Which brings us back to me doing anything for you."

She got the hint, gave a surprised little laugh and blushed. "I'm old enough to be your mother!"

"And?"

She looked him over. She had seen the video of his performance the previous night and wondered what it would be like to spend some time with Tom. Generally though that was a trainer's prerogative even if any non-indentured staff could make use of the residents at will. She glanced around, put a do not disturb on her phone and took some keys from a desk drawer.

"There's a supply closet just down the hall." She said standing up.

Tom was already in motion. The truth was he wasn't particularly attracted to the woman. She was a bit old for his tastes and the whole random-sex-with-total-strangers thing was still taking some getting used to. But it never hurt to get in good with the boss's assistant and the best way to get used to something was to do it a lot.

Once inside the closet, the receptionist locked the door, ordered Tom out of his shirt and told him to set up some boxes so she could sit on them. While he was going that she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her hose and panties.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She muttered, sitting down. She opened her legs and put a hand on the back of Tom's head. Obedient, he got his face between her thighs and went to work.

It was a little surreal. Like most teenaged boys Tom had screwed pretty much anything attractive and willing. Living as he had without a home or limits beyond what he set on himself there had been plenty of chances to have sex without the other person being willing or necessarily conscious at the time too. He'd passed on those. Even being the vicious little bastard he was well into his twenties and still could be with the proper motivation, that was a line he refused to cross. It was a principle that had nearly gotten him killed at one point but he reckoned you needed to have standards.

Since getting serious with the twins though Tom had never once strayed. And here he was, offering himself to a woman whose first name he didn't even know in a closet surrounded by paper clips and printer paper. He used his fingers to spread her open a little. She was hairier than his girls. They didn't shave but they kept things trimmed down there. Harris' assistant looked as if her bush had never even seen a picture of a razor. The hair was dark, with gray and white mixed in. It was kind of interesting that. He'd never been down on a woman with gray hair anywhere on her body, let alone on her sex.

The scent of her was heavy and musky, clean. He'd expected a woman her age to be a bit dry but when he found her clit with his tongue she was already damp. He worked quickly. His tongue, a little dry and raspy – Angie had once compared it to a cat's – lapped at her, concentrating on the clitoris. There wasn't time to tease and play like he preferred.

Her hand pressed on the back of his head, pushing him against her triangle harder. Tom burrowed in, licking inside of her, tasting her juices and trying to reach her G-spot with his tongue. Her legs wrapped around his shoulders. Nails dug into the sore skin of his upper back, covered with rapidly fading welts. He'd always been a fast healer. He whimpered and pressed in harder. His fingers danced over her clitoris, rubbing in little circles. Her hips were moving now. Without looking up Tom knew his temporary Mistress was biting her lip, getting close. He worked his way out of her, went back to lapping and sucking hungrily on the little button between her legs. Fingers found the G-spot at the same time. Strong, calloused hands kneaded and rubbed with gentle firmness even as his lips and tongue worked their will higher up.

Two hands gripped his hair then. A muffled scream sounded from behind clenched jaws and Maryanne, the fifty-five year old assistant with a son five years Tom's senior bucked and thrashed. She shoved his face hard against her slippery wet opening, forcing him to lap and swallow as she came in his mouth. Tom gagged a little. It was hard to breath and Maryanne was one of the few women he'd ever been with who came white. Still, he didn't pull back. He kept his jaws and tongue moving until she pulled him back by the hair.

Tom smiled up at Maryanne. She was winded. Her face was flushed. A sheen of sweat gave her skin a little glow. The whole closet smelled of sex and pheromones. Tom couldn't help but wonder if anyone had heard them or what the next person needing staples or correction fluid would think. The possible reaction gave him a little thrill. Looking deeper into himself he realized he'd enjoyed the experience. That didn't surprise him. He'd always enjoyed getting women off. It was an ego thing and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.

Maryanne stroked his hair."Oh my." She said."That was...very nice."

Tom smiled at her."For both of us, Miss. I'm glad you had a good time. But we should probably get back out there before we're both missed." He kissed her thigh and looked around for something to clean up with.

One shelf held paper several rolls of paper towels. Not exactly ideal but they'd do. A few minutes later Tom was back in his chair and Maryanne was behind her desk again. They were both grinning to themselves when Harris called Tom back into his office.

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