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He did, and then I pulled out and slammed back in, holding his hips for leverage so I could plow the depths of his ass.

I finished in about ten minutes, tossed the condom on the floor, and walked to the sink to clean my dick before I put it away. I slid his essay into a folder with pockets, the draft pages on the left, final version on the right.

“I appreciate the thought that went into it. Fourteen errors, but we’ll go over them later because I’ve been sitting too long and need to work out. Clean up in here and meet me in the workout room. You can use the restroom in here if you need to.”

He was climbing down from the bed as I left the room. I stopped off in my bedroom long enough to file his essay away in the closet he doesn’t have access to, and then went to the workout room.

I had an hour and a half until practice with the band, and that was likely to take hours. What did I want Davy to do while I was occupied?

I hadn’t put him on the fucking machine yet. That could work. Or, I suppose I could put him to work on the lines he’d be writing, though I hadn’t figured out how to engineer them so he’d learn the difference between your/you’re, it’s/its, etc.

I could require him to look them up and figure out the lines. I wouldn’t do that for a less intelligent slave, but Davy was smart. Not terribly educated, but capable of it if he applied himself. Yeah, that was an idea. Come up with a simple definition for the seven problem words and then write each definition one hundred times. I’d want to look over the definitions before he wrote them out, but that was fine. I could have him tell Mitch when he needed me for a minute, and Mitch could give us a five-minute break between songs.

Meanwhile, we’d worked on his arms and abs the day before, so today was going to be abs and legs. I expected him to have ripped abs when our tour finished, and it was up to me to show him what it takes to make that happen, so he could work out properly while I was gone.

* * * *

Davy

Boot camp was hell, but it also did the job Master wanted it to do — taught me things about submission I hadn’t known, and helped him figure out how he wanted our normal days to go.

That level of activity wasn’t possible long-term, but short-term, it was a good thing. Maybegoodisn’t the right word, but it had positive results.

Around seven o’clock on the third day, I stood facing the corner. Again.

Corner time is a huge reminder of one’s status. Naked, holding my ass tight to keep the heaviest plug from falling out, facing the wall behind a screen in Master’s office. People filed in one after another to talk to him about things he needed to know. One of the venues was trying to cause problems about which freaking bathroom Silver would use, and Master told his business manager, “Threaten to refund all tickets to people who have them, and to be open about the breach of contract the arena is pulling around stupid bathrooms. Silver will have security the whole time, it isn’t like she’s going to walk into a public bathroom alone. Hell, we have private bathrooms in the dressing area, don’t we?”

“You do.”

“You know what, I’m gonna make that call, just to be clear they know how I feel.”

And he’d picked up the phone and chewed the guy a whole new asshole. He did it on speakerphone, so we got to hear both sides of the conversation, and by the end, the arena guy was apologizing for themisunderstanding. “There’s no misunderstanding. Silver uses whatever bathroom is appropriate based on the way Silver is dressed, but that won’t be an issue in your facility because we have our own private bathrooms available only to those allowed in our dressing rooms.” He took a breath. “And if even a hint of this bullshit makes it to Silver, we’ll never use your facilities, or any facility owned by your parent company, ever again.”

It sounded like there’d been a big video call the day before, and these meetings were a follow-up to that call, an update on the problems discussed, and any new issues that’d come up since the call. He talked to a few people over a phone call or video call, but a whole lot of people showed up to talk to him.

Eventually, people stopped coming, and Master called me out from behind my screen, pushed his pants down and off, and ordered me to my knees to blow him.

He came in my mouth instead of down my throat, and while I swallowed, he said, “Go to the kitchen and put the casserole in the oven. While it’s cooking, check the pool levels and add whatever it needs, if anything. I’ll be up in about thirty minutes. If you run out of things to do, find a corner.”

Earlier in the day, Master had me brown the meat and then put the casserole together, but he had me put it into the refrigerator rather than into the oven to cook. He’d also had me clean the oven, all the microwaves in the house, and the eyes on the stove. The day before, I’d had to clean the baseboards of the entire freaking house. He’d given me knee pads to wear, though, so at least there was that.

This casserole’s recipe called for it to spend thirty minutes in the oven, but I figured since it’d been in the fridge and was cold, it probably needed forty minutes, so that’s what I set the timer for.

The pool needed the PH adjusted slightly and more chlorine. I did both, set a program for the robot, dropped it in, and made my way back to the kitchen to check on the casserole. It needed a touch longer, about what was left on the timer, probably, so I walked to a corner and grabbed my elbows behind my back.

Master arrived a few minutes later and said, “Stay put until I tell you to step away. I’ll get it out when the timer dings.”

When Master finally called me away from the corner, I saw my special bowl — the one that fits into a mat that goes on the floor.

He’d moved the mat in front of the sink so it was in front of my bowl, once again thinking of my knees. Rather than order me verbally, he merely pointed me to it, and I dutifully walked to it and went to all fours on the mat — but didn’t eat yet because he hadn’t given me permission.

“Eat.”

One word, and it was an order more than permission, tonight. I leaned my head down and grabbed food in my mouth as best I could.

“Spread your legs a little more so I can see your balls dangling.”

I did, and he said, “A little more. I wasn’t to see the purple of the outside part of the plug I crammed up your ass hours ago.”