Thread: At your service! (Tristeza and missedstations)

He was called Kitten because his master thought it was funny, or something, and couldn't be bothered to think up of something better. Kitten couldn't exactly complain as far as he was concerned, his master might as well have been God. He had been made to that man's specifications, after all, a slight little red-head that wouldn't even come up to Gerrard's chest. Kitten's looks had been tailored to taste, of course, and his master liked dark red hair and pale skin on his pets, and his bright green eyes were obviously not a natural colour. He didn't have any pubic hair either, and was incapable of growing facial hair. Kitten knew, by at least that difference, that he was not a real human he didn't need the barcode tattooed on his wrist, or to know that there was a computer chip embedded into the bone that told anyone who scanned it his exact genotype. Didn't even really need to have a tracking chip, he was so unique he'd probably be impossible to resell, even if he did get stolen. There were other differences too he knew that real people didn't shiver in pleasure every time their skin was touched, and that they did not have problems concentrating if they didn't get fucked every few days. As far as he understood it, he was made to feel everything a little more intensely, both pain and pleasure, and both were capable of wiping out his conscious mind quite quickly. It did not really bother him, because he knew that his place was at his master's feet and in his master's bed. Sir, where are we goooiiiiiing? he whined, clinging to his master's arm. He really wasn't used to going outside in the first place, shoes felt uncomfortable, and there was so much walking today. Mr. Russell ignored his little pet. The stupid little thing, he'd explained at least twice already. Not his fault Kitten had no concept of distance whatsoever, and an attention span that only lasted about five minutes. Kitten didn't have any sense of personal dignity either, but that would have been of no use to a sex slave anyway. In many ways, Kitten was exactly like a child, impulsive and not very strong willed, but in the end obedient. He did try very hard to please, though. A person could forgive the annoying questions most of the time. Good to see you again, Mr. Russell said, holding his hand out to Gerrard for a handshake. He always wore smart suits, and his bodyguards hid their guns under black jackets. Kitten, on the other hand, wore only simple loose pants and shirt. Such an utterly big difference in status. This is your cargo, Mr. Russell said, pulling on Kitten's hair to stop him from trying to hide behind anyone. Silly coward. He can be a handful sometimes, but he's a good pet. Maybe it was not the most romantic of presents, but he was sure that his boyfriend would appreciate something like this to keep his bed warm on that icy planet's research station. There was sure as hell not going to be any problem of Gerrard commanding Kitten's respect the slave was pretty much just staring, having never seen a man that big before. What the. He didn't listen as his master gave instructions for his care. Summary feed once a day, slap him a bit if he's too annoying, normal for him to sleep up to 16 hours a day, preferable if he wasn't drugged too often, but if you really can't stand him, some sedatives can be used. Oh, and feel free to use him, if you wish, he won't be damaged. Consider it a perk of the job, if you like, Mr. Russell finished, pushing Kitten a little bit forward, forcing him to let go already. Now, I have a meeting to attend. I'll leave him in your care. One of the bodyguards dropped a small bag that held the few things that Kitten owned, and they swept off, leaving the rather stunned looking slave. Where was he going again? With this man? Where were his manners? Ah... He squirmed a little on the spot. Hello, sir. How would you like me to address you? That didn't seem sufficiently respectful for someone like that, so he added, again, Sir.