Adam's Slave

t h r e e -Adam

As careful as I'd been not to show my reaction, Wallis must've noticed my hesitancy, because he then rushed to offer, "They might look gruesome, my Lord, but the only danger they pose is a sour look, and no more."

I wouldn't have called him an eye sore, and I most definitely wouldn't have thought of him as gruesome. They looked like scar marks, at worst. But it didn't matter, that was all the confirmation I needed, I raised my hand, and this time, I touched him.

The scales felt softer than they looked, my hand going through them, slowly. If i'd gone down in the direction of them, I would've missed them, it was only after when going in the opposite direction that I felt their very soft peck. It tickled. And I found myself amused at the prospect of having been a little bit reluctant in touching them.

They went all the way down his back, and stopped above the swell of his ass, and I followed them with my fingers. I made him turn around to see his front, then. There were some brown thrones adorning his pelvis bone, not anything as visible as the ones in his back, but still there.

Two parallel lines of scarring at the side of his abdomen made me pause. Scales were one thing, marks by another Master was a completely different matter. The scales were exotic, and captivated me enough for me to find pleasing. Scars, on the other hand, not so much.

I raised his bowed head, my hand on his chin guiding him up. He looked at me the way slaves usually did, looking at me, but never meeting my eyes.

He had green eyes, and quite thick eyebrows overshadowing them. His mouth and nose weren't anything to write home about, but his jawline made up for it. I let go of his chin, satisfied, to prod his chest, then feel for fat in his underarm. There was non.

He was sturdier than his appearance projected when I first laid eyes on him. His abdominal muscles were non-existent, but he did have some sort of shape to his upper arms.

He stood at least two inches shorter than me, his braids all too tightly done, I had the urge to run my hands through them, and I did, I imagined his hair to be bushy and crinkly if it had to be bound this tightly to keep it under control. I knew that slaves tried to look look their best when meeting potential owners, and if this was the best he could do with his hair, I had to admit I was a little disappointed. I was used to the silky strands slaves had, and I had enjoyed their hair enough to know that I'll miss them when it comes to this slave.

"They're burn marks, my Lord." Wallis quipped in when he saw me looking at the two parallel scars, "I don't imagine who ever caused them had known about his allergy to heat."

"Allergy?"

He coloured a little, "A figure of speech, my Lord. What I meant was, his body heals anything, if given the time, except for burn marks, or anything caused by fire."

I let go of his hair to crouch down on my knees and examine them. Wallis crouched down with me, and continued, "And, from what he told me, they used hot rods on him as a form of punishment. They healed quickly enough, but never disappeared."

I nodded, standing up, and motioned for him to put his clothes back on.

Wallis stood as if strung by a cord, "Surely, he has faults. But, my Lord," he protested, "His character far outweighs his semblance."

"I didn't reject him." I didn't add that I couldn't, even if I wanted to. He was already paid for, and a token of uniformity from Charles that I couldn't turn down. "I like him."

He looked startled, his eyes searching my face before he nodded, hesitant, sagging with obvious relief.

"You look surprised." I said it as a statement, but he clarified anyway.

"Well, yes, my Lord. I won't lie. You are known to be quite hard to please."

°

After Wallis left, I sent the slave with another who was waiting outside, and faced Soraya, she was giving me one hard measuring look.

Which was never a good sign.

"You sent him something?" First things first, I had to get Charles' gift out of the way, it was the most pressing.

She nodded, "I made a call to an art gallery." Then, "I don't trust that slave. I'm putting him under surveillance." Which only meant she'd talk to the security to keep an eye on him through the cameras throughout the house.

I couldn't care less, "Whatever helps you sleep better at night, lady."

"And the Abbots will be here next month. The whole clan is coming."

If she was expecting a reaction, she wasn't getting it. I gave my consent long ago, there was no point delaying the inevitable. The sooner this was over with, the better. My personal preference mattered very little in the matter. Family came first, name came first, reputation came first.

When she didn't get a response, Soraya relaxed her shoulders, agitation leaving her posture. "Well, for the rest of the day, we'll have two places to visit. Our five year contract with the transporting company needs renewing. And there's this summer's clothing line's face." She produced a file, put it on my office desk and opened it, "I've made a list predicting this season's most promising models. There are two new faces here, but both are well within demand. I have a separate file for each, of course. But I combined some of them in one so you won't need to go through them all. Only a selected few."

I didn't bother looking at any, quick to close it, and stand up. "None fit the criteria."

"You've got to be kidding me." She cried. "These are faces of the top models in the world, you didn't even look at them!"

"You know I've already made my pick." I didn't falter, I was, by now, used to her tantrums, "Months ago."

"And I told you then, as I'm going to tell you again. Akira is not a practical choice. Not one you'd want as the face of you new campaign. I've told you-"

I shut her out, after that. Going through messages on my phone, and sipping from my cup of coffee.

"-He has very little experience."

I had to stop her there, "How's he going to get experience if companies don't give him the chance to have them. Experiences come from working, and if every time the man wants to work, someone with your ideals builds a block of walls in his path, he's never going to get the experience."

Her mouth twisting in a snarl, she hissed, "Don't you sell that to me, I'm not buying! You and I both know why you want that small eyed Chinese cow."

I signed, and for the hundredth time, corrected her, "He's Japanese."

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