Jailed Soul - 1 - The Rose on the Grave
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Author's Note: This little thing I've been working on has been going on for a month now, at least, Jailed Soul as a whole. Now, I know many of you probably want to jump straight into a pool of raunchy sex! Well, don't look here, just yet anyway, for I believe stories of this nature are so much more enjoyable when it has a build up, a peak, a romance. Thus, if you, as the reader, are patient, and read through the paces of the story, you may have your desire filled. And heck, you might read it just by liking it straight as story! Let's hope so. :D By the way, a lot of effects in the writing, such as words in italics, are somewhat lost, because formatting this stuff in HTML coding is a chore. So, if the stuff seems wack, it's probably because I haven't gone over it enough. Ah well.
You are encouraged to either critique, comment, suggest, or point out grammatical/spelling flaws. I want to keep this stuff as good as possible!
Enjoy, and have a fantastic day!
Jailed Soul
-a romantic piece by Cryptosporidium
-The Rose on the Grave-
I'm not a man of fruitful companionship. I'm not married, I don't have a girlfriend, just a few friends, a spot of close ones, but nothing drastic, nothing stupendous. I guess you could say that's my fault, for a great many reasons, though I sometimes feel a bit closed off, cut away from the marble treasures that oh so fill this world to the neck. It could be my work. I deal with Mentally Kinetic Advancing Cognition Synapsis... er, at the Majestic Asylum (or Asylum Majestic, as it's referred to). Insane people. Well, not so much stupid, or daft, but ingenious and otherworldly, so much in fact, that I believe the Asylum was made to keep people out, not keep the patrons in. Oh, but that's more of a different story, not the one I wanted to delve in to. I don't necessarily prefer loneliness. I enjoy solitude, peace, so as to keep my thoughts well organized, but I don't think I enjoy being alone. The estate, this bizarre manor that I inherited from my Grandfather (only man who ever raised me) is substantially large, a bit too big for myself. Meant for parties, families, great occasions and the like. Not for the emptiness that consumes it.
It gets kind of cold. I can sometimes hear the shrieks of my patients running through the iron bars and pipes (some have a great deal to say), and I the only one to hear it. I hardly have anyone to speak to. Yes, I do go out, attending the upper echelons of society and their massive balls, pointless meetings, the jittering of trying to look better than the other. I find it, in so many ways, repulsive, the indecency of my fellow man. Perhaps that's why I keep to myself mostly. I live in an interesting world, you see, one where servitude is absolute normalcy, slavery a continuous reality. By humans? No. We humans think ourselves too good to be humbled. No, there are servants of a different breed, and by this I mean literally. Anthropoids. The features and qualities of a favored animal brushed into the DNA strands of a human donor. To many, they are fodder, butchered cattle, good for nothing but labor. This is why, I think, I've been keeping to myself. I don't want to imagine one of these creatures under the hand of a monstrous lord.
In retrospect, I believe I'm quite a hypocrite. With the large estate I live at, things tend to get out of hand, concerning the upkeep of the place. I've had a few people come by, clean it, try and keep it pristine and untouched, but eventually, I tire of their presence. They simply become mechanical, unliving workers who simply do their job and leave. That's the half of me that wanted a friend, a better one, by the very least. So, why does this make me a hypocrite? I bought one of these slave anthropoids. It started out as a recommendation. My co-worker offered the idea of having a constant cleaner, one who could keep the place in the condition I desired, while also having to do my every bidding. It was, at first, repulsing to me, all over again. Yes, certainly, buy one, force them to be my friend, live a lie to keep the chill away. Unthinkable. But it grew on me. I gave it a great deal of thought. I surmised that, if I did indeed purchase the slave, I could set them free, see if they stay for the hope of my company. Perhaps I would be keeping them from an even worse fate, taken from the whip of a sadistic master.
A few months went by, I continuously deciding against it... until finally, I thought I'd give it a try. Why not? I helped people constantly at Majestic, and I did have money to burn. Didn't seem like a bad idea. If the slave wasn't a good turnout, I'd set them free and they could live a new, (hopefully) happy life. So, I picked up a catalogue (yes, they all came in a nice, streamline looking magazine, all named, tagged, numbered like a product ready for market) and began to struggle through what would be the most desirable. When I first looked through it, I was nearly set about tossing it in the fire. They had so many ridiculous "flavors", some holiday specials, some in preferred colors, some with a preferred taste in clothing, so on and so forth. Like dolls, practically. I shuddered at the thought of some nine year old brat demanding one of these people, and then growing bored and asking they be terminated. Oh yes, did I not mention that? A slave could be killed for non-satisfactory performance, even if they were perfectly just. This is why loneliness wasn't so bad.
But, overall, I got over it. I theorized I could find a friend in one of these indentured servants, and I only hoped that was true. One of the catalogue specials was one I found very intriguing, a maid-servant whom, and I quote "will measure up to every desire of her master to every level expected. She is trained in the newest servant protocol with manners impeccable...", and it went on. She was a rabbit hybrid, a shapely girl that had all the features that would appeal to a male, masterfully sculpted legs and thighs, delightful hips, strong buttocks, fruitful breasts, cool, delicate arms and hands, warmly complimenting eyes, finely kept hair that draped down her neck, taut pink nose, and the familiarly long ears. I will not deny that I found her beautiful, as any man could tell you, and I certainly wished to see these "impeccable manners" for myself, but I think it was something in her eyes that attracted me. Something was there that felt more than just a servant girl, something more alive, more human. I'm not sure, I think I was hallucinating.
At any rate, I decided to purchase her. I went through the phases they asked me
for, what was my family insignia (a gear within a cog, if you must know), what would be her fur and hair color, which package I was taking, background check, financial check, it went on and on. They told me (on the phone) that she would be ready in three weeks. I felt quite dirty, after the whole deal, like I'd purchased some illegal drug from the black market. I almost wanted to cancel the order, for the very reason of its sounding. Order, purchase, preparing, papers, all too much like a product, like an unfeeling thing. It was horrendous. She was not some piece of rock. She would have feelings, sadness, fear, happiness, all those things that made her living, and yet she was being handed to me as casually as a package. For some reason, I wept to God that night. Guilt, I think.
Then that day came, or should I say night. Around 7:30, I was called to the Global-Sun Corporation, where they had my maid ready to go, simply awaiting my arrival for pickup. I nervously had a taxi go the way, since I felt a tad light headed, and really didn't have the impulse to drive. A nervous anxiety that built up in my head, I suppose, as I did usually get that way when dealing with matters I deemed important. When we got there, it was all I could do to not lose my footing.
I remember when I first met her. She told me her name was Sapphire, and she curtseyed deeply, with a slender mahogany leather collar with my family emblem on it to represent that she belonged to me. In a way, I felt empowered, but at the same time, sinful and filthy. I had not realized the magnitude of what had been done. She was in my life now, this hybrid, her thoughts, dreams, her very spirit, they were all in my hands, to care for and nurture (at least that's what I intended to do). When I thought of all those other servants, those who had to go to places where they were abused, the privilege of "owning" these people utterly ravaged, I almost wept. It had me in a deep sadness.
Regardless though, with a polite word, I took her by the hand, smiled, and escorted her to the cab (though, she was highly resilient to this, insisting that I go in first). I think I can remember what she was wearing, as I so do try to be a gentleman of modesty. Her entire ensemble was composed of the strangely cliche french maid's uniform, though the black skirt was cut a tad too high, her dress the onyx velvet I'd seen only a few times, thigh long stockings a prudish color of near tan, nimble high-heels and a singular, star silver earring that hooked at the top in her left ear, a sharply carved stud for, I suppose, the sake to appear exotic. Beautiful in many manners. I was sorry that I hadn't told her that the night I met her. Of course, as I had requested, the part that I felt ashamed of, was the details they placed in perfectly. Her nails were polished with a deep lavender I ordered, her hair the precise color for consistency. Her fur was a sandy colored cream, a far more lighter shade of aforementioned hue running up her stomach and chest (I assumed). In other words, her palette of colors were flawless; no wonder these slaves sold so well.
I'm not sure what she expected when we arrived at the manor, and truthfully, neither did I. Sapphire had all ready remained mostly silent for the trip home, eyes downcast, gaze averted, perhaps fearing that a mere glance at me would cause me to beat her violently. Perhaps she dreaded what was to come. I was the young man in his prime (somewhat...), full of hope and dreams, Sapphire could've thought me a man who wanted her body. Make her clean and cook, rape her every night, and continue. She was wrong, thankfully, but if a slave had to face that... Again, my solitude wasn't so misplaced.
It was a clear memory, though. A crisp carpet of satin rolling above my head, moon a pale flame, air fresh and chilling. A fresh start, a fresh time...
~*~
"Welcome, madame, to your new home," came the poised, refined voice of Malic Majestic, the oily warmth of his tone that of a caring individual full of council and youth. He turned to his side, gesturing for his new slave, Sapphire, to take his hand as he led her inside the estate.
"Master, I must digress," she quickly said, a singsong melody that of an angel's call. "It would be unsuitable for one such as I to stand equally with you. Please, I will open the door," she continued, stepping ahead of Malic to grasp the cold brass that clicked at her touch, the facade of a rusted gear to gaze at them both.
"Erm, thank you, madame. But please, do not stress yourself. This is your home now, and I want you to be as comfortable as possible," he replied, stepping past her soulful stare and into the echoing emptiness of his home. She closed the door, but shook her head, a solemn frown tugging at her face.
"Forgive my bluntness master, but that is completely improper for a slave. My assigned protocol dictates that I belong to you, and that my needs come last to your own. My comfort is of no concern during my servitude," she cooly stated, curtsying swiftly with her eyes lowering to the ground. Malic paused, and sighed a great deal, chuckling weakly and wiping his head.
"Well my dear, I'll overlook it. You do have duties, yes, but I will not have you uncomfortable while in this home. Let's not argue about what I hold true to all things in life." the gentleman mused, removing his suit jacket and placing it on an oaken coat hanger. Sapphire bowed her head apologetically.
"Forgive me master, I was out of line. You may punish me in any way you deem fit," she lightly said, clasping her hands together in front of her waist. Malic scoffed slightly, and waved an off hand.
"No, no, nothing to be sorry for. Rubbish and such. Now, my dear, you are entitled to these responsibilities: I will need these rooms cleaned, at your pace for convenience, you know, just the upkeep of the place.. I will need the morning paper, should I have not gotten it myself. If I ask it of you, you will cook, granted this causes you no discomfort. You must avoid the northern hall at the topmost part of the manor, I cannot express this enough. I will be gone for some part of the day, every Wednesday and Thursday, working with my patients, and you may do what you wish in that free time. Do you have any questions, Miss Sapphire?" asked smoothly Malic, a touching smile draped upon his face. She shook her head with a lithe grace.
"No master. You will find my service to be well trained, master." she promptly said, hands still folded before her. Malic gave an approving look, and paused for a spell, glancing at the vast corridors of his estate. He then snapped his wrist up, checking his watch, lips contorting to a subtle.
"Well, er, it's only a bit after eight. Would you, uh, care to the see the home, Miss Sapphire?" he queried dubiously. It was practically rhetorical, for Malic all ready new that his "slave" would not object, even if it was utterly disinteresting in every manner. She walked closer to him, a perfect two feet from her master, a signification that she would follow.
"Of course, master. It would be my pleasure." she answered, taking another slight curtsy. Malic appealed with a soft grin, and immediately set off toward the ornate rugged stairs, taking Sapphire by the hand, a pleasing shrill flicker through his arm at the sensation of her touch and soft fur. She of course, grew a slight puzzled expression, not expecting to be directed as an equal. Although her protocol and training resisted it, deep down, it felt nice, a rush of equality, even from the tiniest action of casualty.
A new spring in his step, Malic began to take her up the stairs, immediately pointing out aged paintings and statues that were ornate relics laid down by his grandfather. He relayed details about the beginning of Asylum Majestic, how the organization was dedicated to pristine treatment of the gifted and mentally unstable (though, he rectified that the "mentally unstable" were bizarre geniuses, not deranged idiots). He pointed out multiple chamber rooms, each designed for a singular purpose, such as a "water room", the entire purpose that of an enormous bath, everything designed for cleaning. Other rooms were for guests, chambers painted with fanciful designs, christened by upper class lights and beds, silk lined furniture dotting every aspect of the interior. The entire manor itself was built from the finest cedars and pines, the layers strewn together with delicate efficiency, glossed with an undying polish. It allowed Malic to swell with pride, even more so that he felt Sapphire would be happy, never to face the hardships and cruelty that lingered in the world.
And then the northern hall. Malic had led Sapphire to the topmost levels of the house, through many dormitories and open ended areas, passing over an outside garden that bridged to sections of the estate. When they passed it, he made a brief pause, gazing at a solemn, grey smoldered hallway with a ghastly door at the end of it, hinged by metal and iron bolts, ominous to every respect. He turned to speak to her, controlled, though strong in his meaning.
"My dear... you must never go into that hall. Never must you venture past that door, understand? You are forbidden to do so, as all who wander my home. It is only something that I may know," he punctually said, a veiled threat that was idle, but demanding. Sapphire nodded pleasingly, in a way that she seemed to want the command.
"Of course, master. I live to obey and serve," came her mild reply, the life of diamonds itself. Malic retained his stony visage, if only for a few seconds, and noted how Sapphire continuously reminded him of her enslavement.
"Thank you, dear. Hm. Well, I suppose I should get your room prepared," stated Malic. Sapphire simply retorted with a shake of her head.
"Master! That would be highly inappropriate for a servant of myself to remain in a place for valued house guests. I can find a more suitable accommodation elsewhere." she wistfully replied, lowering her gaze submissively. The young man rolled his eyes lightly, gritting his teeth for an appropriate decision. Inventively, he managed to find a relatively quick solution.
"Er, well, actually, I wasn't planning on putting you in a guest room. Actually, it, ah... was the slave room, where I figured... you'd live, yes?" coughed out the strung up suggestion, belittled by sheepish impulse and frantic attempts to deceive his sharp-minded maid. She merely smiled.
"Thank you master. That will do just fine." she said with a thanking curtsy, Malic blowing a swift sigh as he patted his legs for something. With a remembered thought, the Majestic youth gestured for his servant to follow, something that was always a polite request, never a command. He led her past several rooms and halls, until the two reached a cabinet door in a meek, oak room that appeared to be used for storage. Quickly, Malic frittered around for something, opening the cabinet revealing an enormous collection of keys all hinged on rusty, iron rings.
"God help my grandfather for making so many blasted rooms... oh which one... no not that... what, there's a room 18!? What in god's name is this... pah... no... lord have mercy... webs... no.. wh... AH!" exclaimed Malic, snapping up a slightly less rusted brass ring, dangling with at least a dozen chiseled old door-breakers. Again, appearing meek before Sapphire, the noblemen led his maid out the door, before repeating the same course of journeying through many corridors and chambers. At last, they came to a finely ornate section of the estate, a round room with a singular tread of stairs leading up to a gold decorated door, two other rooms on the side below. Malic walked to the one on the right, fumbled with his copious level of metal trinkets, and slipped in the correct apparatus to unlock the knob. It clicked, and Malic sniffed the air, as if checking for staleness.
Within was a beautifully decorated chamber, vastly built with rich pines and redwoods, leveled by silver lined furniture wrapped carefully by blue velvet and silk cushions. The carpet was beyond luxurious, a pattern of foreign design that only a master could achieve, while crafted books held by rich leather silently sat on shelves. A grandfather clock ticked monotonously, time its everlasting companion, and a fine, medium sized bed waited in the corner, lulling hands of comfortable sheets and pillows that guaranteed perfect sleep. Malic happily turned to Sapphire, turning on the light, as she stepped in, speechless.
"A tad obsolete, I should say. My grandfather always had a taste for classic style Victorian houses, though this is an apparent blemish for the scope of the place. Hah! That is why he made Asylum Majestic, I suppose," Malic sniffed with a broad chuckle, rubbing his nose. A strange paused wriggled into the air, and Malic nearly thought his servant had vanished.
"Sapphire?" he queried to the girl, who was still blinking in... well, a reaction somewhere mixed between surprise, confusion, happiness, fear and... other things. Malic frowned.
"I'm sorry dear, is this not good?" repeated the tone, the familiar chipper, warming grace of Malic's vocals. It was a few moments before the girl managed to find herself. As the many times before, something Malic was urging to remove, she shook her head, many times, over and over, lips paling to either frown or smile.
"Master... this is... too much... No! I cannot except this! This is improper! Slave protocol cannot allow this!" she yelled, mind obviously being fuddle at the very hint of being treated equally. Malic smirk, and tilted his head daftly.
"This is the slave room, my dear. You er, want to serve me as best you can, correct Miss Sapphire?" he shot back carefully, laying his kind trap. She instantly turned to him, eyes pleading, bowing her head in apologies.
"Yes, of course master... but-" Malic lifted a finger, eyebrows raised. "Ah, yes. Well, this is preferable. My room is up the stairs, you know, and should I need you, you're as close as can be." he interjected, defying all her methods of argumentation, even though he found it cute and pleasing. Seconds drifted on, and Sapphire curtsied warmly, her thanks apparent round her face.
"Thank you master, you are too kind," she said whimsically, taking slow steps to embrace the full extent of her room.
"I suppose. Well, anyway... Goodness, I have a great deal of paperwork to start on, batch of new patients rolling in. Ehm, if you get hungry, the kitchen is downstairs, or... one of them. Tomorrow you'll start your work, all right dear?" Malic drawled cooly, swinging the keys in a circular motion around his finger.
"Yes, master. I'll be certain to keep your estate in fine condition," she happily said, further prompted to work extra hard because of such a luxurious... "slave room". Strange thing indeed. Malic nodded, assured, and began to make his way out the door, stopping to glance over his shoulder.
"Have a well slept night, Miss Sapphire," came the methodic traces of his kind word. Sapphire could barely hold back a bright grin.
"Good night, master. And thank you."