{fic} Eager to Please/Lucky to Love 2/?
Author - HamHockLover
Title - Eager to Please/Lucky To Love
Characters, main - Kurt Hummel (slave) and Dave Karofsky (owner)
Rating - R, will reach NC-17
Word Count - 2,500
A/N - Thank you all so much for commenting. I'm so happy most of you were willing to give (yet another) slave fic a try and I'm glad you like how this one starts out. My brain has written a few more scenarios for the struggle that will take place around ch 7, so, this may turn out to be closer to 10 or 12ch....no promises, but it's growing. Hope you don't mind!
Chapter Summary - Dave has the long drive home to get to know his new slave, but how do you get to know someone if you can't even find out their name?
Chapter 1
“I can’t believe it. Boy. Boy…? Do you realize what just happened?” The blonde girl was smiling at him. A few of the others had gathered around him as well. “That man is paying a lot of money for you.”
The boy just shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how to feel. “I hope he’s not disappointed,” he answered quietly.
“At least he’s a man. I mean, it could be worse, right?” another girl, a dark-haired Hispanic beauty spoke up.
“I don’t know,” he looked down, confused. “I just want to please him. Nothing’s worse than disappointing your owner.”
“And for 40 grand…that’s a lot of disappointment if you do,” the large brute sitting by herself chimed in.
One of the trainers entered the room. “Alright, #212, you’ve been bought and you’ll be leaving us tomorrow. We have some last minute training to go over, follow me.”
He looked down, following closely as the trainer led him out of the room. He knew what happened next. Videos, mostly. Explicit videos that showed detailed examples on how to pleasure someone sexually. They were nothing like porn, of course, but rather more detailed instruction on how to perform well, read body language, take cues, remain submissive. It was a classroom type atmosphere, males and females learning the skills of pleasuring both males and females since a slave’s sole purpose was doing whatever the owner asked. Sometimes that meant being shared or offered as an overnight treat to a friend or guest.
He watched the video carefully, reviewing in his mind what he’d learned from his ‘practical training review,’ the few sex acts that he’d had to perform on the trainer directly, similar to a final exam. He was rewarded for his enthusiastic oral performance with extra outdoor recess.
He started his training when he was twelve, just after his mother died. He was born to a slave but her owner let his mother keep him. So technically, one could say his training started at birth. But after his mother died, he was given to the training facility in exchange for an older, more experienced female. He was already adept at domestic chores. He honed his skills in cooking, being taught many different styles of food preparation and committing recipes to memory perfectly. He already had in place the submissive, eager-to-please attitude that the training centers work hard to instill. Personal opinions and preferences were rooted out. Only the preference and opinion of the owner mattered to a slave.
He spent five years at the facility, waiting for the day his training would be complete and he’d finally be bought, only to be caught in the middle of a bidding war with two prospective owners on the same day. It was daunting. He only hoped he didn’t disappoint his owner somehow.
He studied the film dutifully, watching as the demonstrator used his fingers to gently massage the man’s scrotum while bobbing up and down on his penis. He worried that his owner might quickly realize he’d only performed the act twice in his life. He didn’t want to seem inadequate or untrained. His trainer assured him, however, that in the next week, he’d probably learn more from his owner about what the man preferred than he could possibly learn from a hundred videos. “Just remember, #212, body language and unspoken commands are just as important as when your owner gives you a verbal order. Pay attention to details.”
He nodded thoughtfully to himself. He could do this, he could please his new master. The trainer went over some other basic reminders about hygiene, self-control, the expectations that Schuester himself placed on the aides to give the facility a good name. Not only would the boy disappoint his owner, he was told, but everyone at the training center would know when he had done something unsatisfactorily. It was a lot to remember. He was sent back to the barracks with the girls and instructed to pack his few belongings and articles of clothing. This was his last night here and he tried not to let his nerves show.
“You’ll be fine, boy. Don’t worry,” a dark haired girl sat next to him on his bed. She was always the optimistic one, calming doubt or worry when it found its way into the group of girls. “You’re going to make your owner very proud, I’m sure of it.”
He smiled weakly, trying to believe her words as he quietly studied his hands. “He wanted a girl,” he finally said, almost a whisper, admitting to her what he’d been worried about since the man left. “Why did he change his mind and pick me instead?”
The girl shook her head, just as confused as he was.
“I just don’t want to disappoint him.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was late once Dave finally left the office. He’d called the domestic aide facility and informed them it would be closer to 10pm once he finally got there to pick up his housekeeper.
Slave.
Dave had this war going on in his mind all day. Every time he thought of the facility, of what happened yesterday, he was struck with the realization again, like it was still a shock, that he’d actually bought a slave. He tried to remind himself, the boy was going to be his maid, housekeeper, cook, nothing more. But ‘slave’ kept popping into his mind and he couldn’t seem to shake it.
He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, taking a deep breath and reminding himself again, this was not as horrible as it really seemed. At least he was saving the boy from that creepy old pervert. Who cares if all his friends or work associates would assume that he was using him for sexual services? He knew he wasn’t. His apartment would be cleaned, Zeke would be walked and exercised regularly and he’d have a domestic aide to show off to his potential clients, as if that actually mattered to him in the least.
The boy was waiting in the reception area, a small bag at his feet. Dave quickly signed what papers needed to be signed, not bothering to read through any of it, and apologized for the late hour. Mr. Schuester reached out and shook his hand, like a goddamn used car salesman, Dave thought. He shook it weakly, actually finding to strength not to say anything rude to the man, then reached for the bag sitting on the floor. The boy scrambled, reaching for it as well once he realized what Dave was doing.
Mr. Schuester cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Karofsky, my apologies. Please…the boy is quite capable of carrying his own bag.”
Dave looked up, realized what he’d done and what the panicked look on the boy’s face meant. He narrowed his eyes at the director. “The boy is mine, correct?”
“Yes, sir, of course, everything is in order and--”
“And that means the bag, this bag sitting here on the floor…that actually belongs to me now, right?”
“Y-yes…” he answered uncertainly, not understanding what Dave meant.
“That means it’s my bag and I can carry it if I want to. Thank you and have a good night.” He leaned down again, picking up the small duffel and turning towards the door. The boy quickly followed, glancing back nervously at the shrugging shoulders of the director.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I hope I don’t disappoint this man. Please, just remember your training and be good. He could feel his heart pounding as he followed his new owner out into the dark parking lot. He’d never been outside the facility while it was dark. He didn’t have time to decide how he felt about that, he was too busy keeping up with the long strides of his master.
Dave opened the passenger door and stood next to it, expectantly. The boy hesitated then realized he was waiting for him to get inside. Inside the front seat. He quickly got in and sat down, his owner handing him his bag which he held carefully on his lap.
He watched the man walk around the front of the car and get in beside him. He watched too, as he started the car and backed out of the parking lot. “It’s late and I’m tired,” Dave began. “My dog probably shit on the floor again and I hate to do this to you on your first night but I really don’t want to clean it up. So. There’s that.”
He looked down quietly, listening to his owner’s voice, not sure exactly what he meant but hoping he’d be instructed once they arrived. It was late but he was nowhere near tired. His anxiety and worry about being bought and finally going home with his new owner were enough to have him wired.
“What’s your name?” Dave asked.
“I don’t…um…I’m sorry, master…I don’t--”
“No. Don’t call me that. Please. Do not call me master. Ever.” Dave looked over at the boy, waiting for him to look up at him but when he didn’t, he looked back at the road, “My name is Dave, ok? If you have to, you can call me Mr. Karofsky or ‘sir’ but I’d be perfectly alright if you called me Dave. What I need to know is what I should call you.”
“Whatever you’d like to call me, sir,” he spoke softly.
“What did your last owner call you?”
His eyes never moved from his hands as they held his bag on his lap. “Boy, sir.”
“Well that won’t work. Anyone else? Did anyone ever call you a real name? At all?”
He swallowed, confused, unsure why his owner wouldn’t just pick a name for him. That’s how it was supposed to be. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir…what? Someone else called you something? Who?” He didn’t like the irritation creeping into his voice.
“My mother, sir.”
Dave hesitated. “That’s right…you lived with your mother, didn’t you?” Dave softened his tone slightly. “I’m sorry she passed away.” There was an awkward silence as they continued down the road. Dave wondered if maybe the boy didn’t want to be called by the name his mother gave him, maybe it would make him remember her passing and how painful that had been. It had to have been painful, right? They still felt emotions even if they didn’t show them. “What did she call you?” his voice was barely above a whisper.
The boy took a deep breath, “She called me Kurt, mast--, um, sir.” He flinched at his own mistake.
Dave ignored it. He looked over again, trying to see if he could find any sadness on the boy’s face. He couldn’t tell, whether it was the darkness or the fact that the boy was trained to never show emotions. “Do you want me to call you Kurt?”
“If that name pleases you, sir.”
Dave was trying not to get exasperated. “I want to know if that’s what you want to be called. Or do you want us to find a different name?”
Silence. The boy felt like he was making terrible mistakes already and he hadn’t even made it to his owner’s house yet. He wasn’t supposed to be asked what he wants, what he likes. He didn’t understand how to answer him.
They pulled up at a stop light and Dave turned to the boy. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me, ok…I want you to think about this and honestly tell me what you want. Do you like the name Kurt or do you want us to find another name? This is your decision, ok? You get to decide.”
He met his owner’s eyes as ordered but felt strange and insubordinate when he did. He couldn’t answer, he didn’t know how to answer. He loved the name his mother had given him but he’d long since given it up. Tucked away with all the painful memories of losing her. She was the only one who called him that. His owner had called him ‘boy’ and once he was traded to the facility, they called him either ‘boy’ or #212.
The light turned green and Dave turned back to the road, sighing heavily when he didn’t get an answer.
“I’m sorry I’ve angered you, mast--, sir...” he flinched again.
“You haven’t ang--, I’m not upset, ok? This is what’s gonna happen. We have another ten minutes til we get home. Think about it. For the next ten minutes, you get to think about your name and what you want to be called. When we get to my house, I’ll ask you what your name is and you have to tell me, ok? Any name at all, your choice. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, still unsure of himself but relieved that he had time to think. His first order as a new slave was deciding his own name. He’d never heard of that before. He looked down at his hands and out the window briefly, thinking back to the last time he saw his mother. She was sick and he knew she wouldn’t live much longer. She held his hand and made him promise to be a good boy, no matter what. He had to promise to make his master proud, to always obey, to never question or doubt his orders.
But there was more she told him, something she confided in him. She said it was a secret. “You’ll never understand how lucky you are, Kurt,” she had said. “Most slaves don’t have a chance to be loved, to understand real emotion like you do, like you have. I love you so much and I’m sorry I have to leave you. Just remember that you’re special. And you have something special to give. You understand what love is. Not serving, not obeying…but real love and devotion. I hope you get to experience that, Kurt. Don’t let them take that away from you.”
He looked out the window as he wiped a tiny tear from his cheek, suddenly afraid of being caught showing emotion. He chanced a peek back at his owner and relaxed when he realized he hadn’t noticed.
They pulled into a street level parking garage with a large black gate. Dave pulled his car into his spot and shut off the engine. He got out and walked around to the passenger side.
The boy wasn’t sure why he’d sat frozen, waiting for the man to open his door for him, but he did. He’d opened his door for him getting in so maybe his owner didn’t want him to touch door handles. Which was odd to think about.
“Ok. Times up.” Dave tried for a lighthearted smile but was met with a confused look of panic as the boy stepped out of the car. Dave reached for his bag. “My name is Dave,” he began, “what’s yours?”
He looked down at his bag in his owner’s hand, his owner’s arm resting across the frame of the door he’d just opened for him. He slowly met his eyes and saw his new owner's disarming, easy smile and hopeful eyes. He swallowed and let his lips curl just barely at the corners in response, “My name is Kurt, sir.”
“Nice to meet you, Kurt. Now, let’s go home.”
Chapter 3
Title - Eager to Please/Lucky To Love
Characters, main - Kurt Hummel (slave) and Dave Karofsky (owner)
Rating - R, will reach NC-17
Word Count - 2,500
A/N - Thank you all so much for commenting. I'm so happy most of you were willing to give (yet another) slave fic a try and I'm glad you like how this one starts out. My brain has written a few more scenarios for the struggle that will take place around ch 7, so, this may turn out to be closer to 10 or 12ch....no promises, but it's growing. Hope you don't mind!
Chapter Summary - Dave has the long drive home to get to know his new slave, but how do you get to know someone if you can't even find out their name?
Chapter 1
“I can’t believe it. Boy. Boy…? Do you realize what just happened?” The blonde girl was smiling at him. A few of the others had gathered around him as well. “That man is paying a lot of money for you.”
The boy just shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how to feel. “I hope he’s not disappointed,” he answered quietly.
“At least he’s a man. I mean, it could be worse, right?” another girl, a dark-haired Hispanic beauty spoke up.
“I don’t know,” he looked down, confused. “I just want to please him. Nothing’s worse than disappointing your owner.”
“And for 40 grand…that’s a lot of disappointment if you do,” the large brute sitting by herself chimed in.
One of the trainers entered the room. “Alright, #212, you’ve been bought and you’ll be leaving us tomorrow. We have some last minute training to go over, follow me.”
He looked down, following closely as the trainer led him out of the room. He knew what happened next. Videos, mostly. Explicit videos that showed detailed examples on how to pleasure someone sexually. They were nothing like porn, of course, but rather more detailed instruction on how to perform well, read body language, take cues, remain submissive. It was a classroom type atmosphere, males and females learning the skills of pleasuring both males and females since a slave’s sole purpose was doing whatever the owner asked. Sometimes that meant being shared or offered as an overnight treat to a friend or guest.
He watched the video carefully, reviewing in his mind what he’d learned from his ‘practical training review,’ the few sex acts that he’d had to perform on the trainer directly, similar to a final exam. He was rewarded for his enthusiastic oral performance with extra outdoor recess.
He started his training when he was twelve, just after his mother died. He was born to a slave but her owner let his mother keep him. So technically, one could say his training started at birth. But after his mother died, he was given to the training facility in exchange for an older, more experienced female. He was already adept at domestic chores. He honed his skills in cooking, being taught many different styles of food preparation and committing recipes to memory perfectly. He already had in place the submissive, eager-to-please attitude that the training centers work hard to instill. Personal opinions and preferences were rooted out. Only the preference and opinion of the owner mattered to a slave.
He spent five years at the facility, waiting for the day his training would be complete and he’d finally be bought, only to be caught in the middle of a bidding war with two prospective owners on the same day. It was daunting. He only hoped he didn’t disappoint his owner somehow.
He studied the film dutifully, watching as the demonstrator used his fingers to gently massage the man’s scrotum while bobbing up and down on his penis. He worried that his owner might quickly realize he’d only performed the act twice in his life. He didn’t want to seem inadequate or untrained. His trainer assured him, however, that in the next week, he’d probably learn more from his owner about what the man preferred than he could possibly learn from a hundred videos. “Just remember, #212, body language and unspoken commands are just as important as when your owner gives you a verbal order. Pay attention to details.”
He nodded thoughtfully to himself. He could do this, he could please his new master. The trainer went over some other basic reminders about hygiene, self-control, the expectations that Schuester himself placed on the aides to give the facility a good name. Not only would the boy disappoint his owner, he was told, but everyone at the training center would know when he had done something unsatisfactorily. It was a lot to remember. He was sent back to the barracks with the girls and instructed to pack his few belongings and articles of clothing. This was his last night here and he tried not to let his nerves show.
“You’ll be fine, boy. Don’t worry,” a dark haired girl sat next to him on his bed. She was always the optimistic one, calming doubt or worry when it found its way into the group of girls. “You’re going to make your owner very proud, I’m sure of it.”
He smiled weakly, trying to believe her words as he quietly studied his hands. “He wanted a girl,” he finally said, almost a whisper, admitting to her what he’d been worried about since the man left. “Why did he change his mind and pick me instead?”
The girl shook her head, just as confused as he was.
“I just don’t want to disappoint him.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was late once Dave finally left the office. He’d called the domestic aide facility and informed them it would be closer to 10pm once he finally got there to pick up his housekeeper.
Slave.
Dave had this war going on in his mind all day. Every time he thought of the facility, of what happened yesterday, he was struck with the realization again, like it was still a shock, that he’d actually bought a slave. He tried to remind himself, the boy was going to be his maid, housekeeper, cook, nothing more. But ‘slave’ kept popping into his mind and he couldn’t seem to shake it.
He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, taking a deep breath and reminding himself again, this was not as horrible as it really seemed. At least he was saving the boy from that creepy old pervert. Who cares if all his friends or work associates would assume that he was using him for sexual services? He knew he wasn’t. His apartment would be cleaned, Zeke would be walked and exercised regularly and he’d have a domestic aide to show off to his potential clients, as if that actually mattered to him in the least.
The boy was waiting in the reception area, a small bag at his feet. Dave quickly signed what papers needed to be signed, not bothering to read through any of it, and apologized for the late hour. Mr. Schuester reached out and shook his hand, like a goddamn used car salesman, Dave thought. He shook it weakly, actually finding to strength not to say anything rude to the man, then reached for the bag sitting on the floor. The boy scrambled, reaching for it as well once he realized what Dave was doing.
Mr. Schuester cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Karofsky, my apologies. Please…the boy is quite capable of carrying his own bag.”
Dave looked up, realized what he’d done and what the panicked look on the boy’s face meant. He narrowed his eyes at the director. “The boy is mine, correct?”
“Yes, sir, of course, everything is in order and--”
“And that means the bag, this bag sitting here on the floor…that actually belongs to me now, right?”
“Y-yes…” he answered uncertainly, not understanding what Dave meant.
“That means it’s my bag and I can carry it if I want to. Thank you and have a good night.” He leaned down again, picking up the small duffel and turning towards the door. The boy quickly followed, glancing back nervously at the shrugging shoulders of the director.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I hope I don’t disappoint this man. Please, just remember your training and be good. He could feel his heart pounding as he followed his new owner out into the dark parking lot. He’d never been outside the facility while it was dark. He didn’t have time to decide how he felt about that, he was too busy keeping up with the long strides of his master.
Dave opened the passenger door and stood next to it, expectantly. The boy hesitated then realized he was waiting for him to get inside. Inside the front seat. He quickly got in and sat down, his owner handing him his bag which he held carefully on his lap.
He watched the man walk around the front of the car and get in beside him. He watched too, as he started the car and backed out of the parking lot. “It’s late and I’m tired,” Dave began. “My dog probably shit on the floor again and I hate to do this to you on your first night but I really don’t want to clean it up. So. There’s that.”
He looked down quietly, listening to his owner’s voice, not sure exactly what he meant but hoping he’d be instructed once they arrived. It was late but he was nowhere near tired. His anxiety and worry about being bought and finally going home with his new owner were enough to have him wired.
“What’s your name?” Dave asked.
“I don’t…um…I’m sorry, master…I don’t--”
“No. Don’t call me that. Please. Do not call me master. Ever.” Dave looked over at the boy, waiting for him to look up at him but when he didn’t, he looked back at the road, “My name is Dave, ok? If you have to, you can call me Mr. Karofsky or ‘sir’ but I’d be perfectly alright if you called me Dave. What I need to know is what I should call you.”
“Whatever you’d like to call me, sir,” he spoke softly.
“What did your last owner call you?”
His eyes never moved from his hands as they held his bag on his lap. “Boy, sir.”
“Well that won’t work. Anyone else? Did anyone ever call you a real name? At all?”
He swallowed, confused, unsure why his owner wouldn’t just pick a name for him. That’s how it was supposed to be. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir…what? Someone else called you something? Who?” He didn’t like the irritation creeping into his voice.
“My mother, sir.”
Dave hesitated. “That’s right…you lived with your mother, didn’t you?” Dave softened his tone slightly. “I’m sorry she passed away.” There was an awkward silence as they continued down the road. Dave wondered if maybe the boy didn’t want to be called by the name his mother gave him, maybe it would make him remember her passing and how painful that had been. It had to have been painful, right? They still felt emotions even if they didn’t show them. “What did she call you?” his voice was barely above a whisper.
The boy took a deep breath, “She called me Kurt, mast--, um, sir.” He flinched at his own mistake.
Dave ignored it. He looked over again, trying to see if he could find any sadness on the boy’s face. He couldn’t tell, whether it was the darkness or the fact that the boy was trained to never show emotions. “Do you want me to call you Kurt?”
“If that name pleases you, sir.”
Dave was trying not to get exasperated. “I want to know if that’s what you want to be called. Or do you want us to find a different name?”
Silence. The boy felt like he was making terrible mistakes already and he hadn’t even made it to his owner’s house yet. He wasn’t supposed to be asked what he wants, what he likes. He didn’t understand how to answer him.
They pulled up at a stop light and Dave turned to the boy. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me, ok…I want you to think about this and honestly tell me what you want. Do you like the name Kurt or do you want us to find another name? This is your decision, ok? You get to decide.”
He met his owner’s eyes as ordered but felt strange and insubordinate when he did. He couldn’t answer, he didn’t know how to answer. He loved the name his mother had given him but he’d long since given it up. Tucked away with all the painful memories of losing her. She was the only one who called him that. His owner had called him ‘boy’ and once he was traded to the facility, they called him either ‘boy’ or #212.
The light turned green and Dave turned back to the road, sighing heavily when he didn’t get an answer.
“I’m sorry I’ve angered you, mast--, sir...” he flinched again.
“You haven’t ang--, I’m not upset, ok? This is what’s gonna happen. We have another ten minutes til we get home. Think about it. For the next ten minutes, you get to think about your name and what you want to be called. When we get to my house, I’ll ask you what your name is and you have to tell me, ok? Any name at all, your choice. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, still unsure of himself but relieved that he had time to think. His first order as a new slave was deciding his own name. He’d never heard of that before. He looked down at his hands and out the window briefly, thinking back to the last time he saw his mother. She was sick and he knew she wouldn’t live much longer. She held his hand and made him promise to be a good boy, no matter what. He had to promise to make his master proud, to always obey, to never question or doubt his orders.
But there was more she told him, something she confided in him. She said it was a secret. “You’ll never understand how lucky you are, Kurt,” she had said. “Most slaves don’t have a chance to be loved, to understand real emotion like you do, like you have. I love you so much and I’m sorry I have to leave you. Just remember that you’re special. And you have something special to give. You understand what love is. Not serving, not obeying…but real love and devotion. I hope you get to experience that, Kurt. Don’t let them take that away from you.”
He looked out the window as he wiped a tiny tear from his cheek, suddenly afraid of being caught showing emotion. He chanced a peek back at his owner and relaxed when he realized he hadn’t noticed.
They pulled into a street level parking garage with a large black gate. Dave pulled his car into his spot and shut off the engine. He got out and walked around to the passenger side.
The boy wasn’t sure why he’d sat frozen, waiting for the man to open his door for him, but he did. He’d opened his door for him getting in so maybe his owner didn’t want him to touch door handles. Which was odd to think about.
“Ok. Times up.” Dave tried for a lighthearted smile but was met with a confused look of panic as the boy stepped out of the car. Dave reached for his bag. “My name is Dave,” he began, “what’s yours?”
He looked down at his bag in his owner’s hand, his owner’s arm resting across the frame of the door he’d just opened for him. He slowly met his eyes and saw his new owner's disarming, easy smile and hopeful eyes. He swallowed and let his lips curl just barely at the corners in response, “My name is Kurt, sir.”
“Nice to meet you, Kurt. Now, let’s go home.”
Chapter 3