The Slave: The Weston House

By Lindsay Murray

Another Master for this slave... but this one is different. This one stops. This one listens. Why? What has Slave done to deserve such a good Master?


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This is a companion novella to Ashes of Sin and Stardust. This story will not make a lot of sense out of context, and is designed to be read after or side-by-side. 

 

All proceeds from The Slave go to True Justice International.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Murray
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005438869

Book preview

Author’s Note

Hello lovelies. This is a non-erotic story that provides some color and some background to one of my favorite characters, Mr. Reuben Weston. The Slave in this story was mentioned in a few of my other pieces, and it’s a sad, sweet story that I felt compelled to write, mostly to satisfy my Maladaptive Daydreaming tendencies.

This story contains depictions and recollections of physical and sexual abuse.

Chapter 1

This One

Cold. It’s so cold. Frigid air beats down on skin, pebbling it into goose flesh. Shivering uncontrollably doesn’t help. Teeth chatter so much they hurt. 

A blanket is handed over. It stops the chattering and the goose flesh, but it doesn’t stop the cold. 

Maybe it’s not cold. Maybe it’s the deep numbness. The nothingness. 

Legs and arms are a distant memory. Fingers and toes, too. They ceased to exist several years ago, when they were bound too many times, too tightly. 

Numbness and cold are easy, though. Preferable. The alternative is... 

Every day is the same. It has been the same for years. Maybe decades. Maybe centuries. Nobody knows how long. The others look around sometimes, or look this direction. Sometimes they try to talk. 

But lips have ceased to exist a long time ago as well. 

Years ago, there were prayers for the lips and the fingers and the toes to return, for the numbness to go away. But now? The prayer is for everything to end. To slip into the dark warmth of blissful, silent sleep. 

A loud bang, and rumbling. The ground shakes. The ceiling above the cage rattles. There is a loud crack, a bang, like the sound of a gun. The numb hands cover the numb ears to prevent the sound again. It’s too loud. There is screaming. 

A hand tilts this chin up to force eye contact. A face appears. Bright green eyes.

Everything goes dark once again. 

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Time has passed. All nine bodies were brought to a mansion. Everybody knows what will happen next. Some have already disappeared. The bright ones, the ones that fight and talk and kick and scream are the first to be taken, because the Masters enjoy breaking them. 

It’s the quiet ones that remain. The leftovers. 

They bathe and dress our bodies, comb our hair, as if we are movie stars or princesses to be taken to a ball. The woman who dresses this body is kind and quiet, and tries to make conversation, but doesn’t force or push when the body doesn’t answer. 

All the bodies are brought into a large room, and seated at a massive wooden table. Food is brought and set in front of each person.

There are so many slaves here. Some appear frightened and withdrawn. Others seem satisfied and happy. Others cry. Many are numb, like this one.

The food on the plate is rich, savory, and smells divine. Vegetables, fresh bread and butter, and sliced meat covered in sauce.

The bodies are not often treated in this way. No hands, or other things, have invaded this one since the cage. The clothing is too nice. The food is too fresh and too good. Why would they spend so much time and money on these bodies?

There is something wrong. Perhaps this time is different. What could be different? What could the Masters want with this body that they would spend so much on it? 

The sight of the food changes from a beautiful luxury to a death sentence.

Are you not hungry, little one? a voice interrupts the internal battle.

The shaking starts. Memories and stories from past nightmares infiltrate, and the purpose of this