Chapter Text
The most important thing to remember once in the Keep-- the singular piece of knowledge that is going to lessen the pain and increase your chance of survival is this: Utilize your talents.
Even if you only have one talent, hone it and use it. Make the most important person above you aware of that skill, and continue from there. If you cannot convince someone that you are more than just a body, that is all you will be.
And bodies often turn up in bags at the Keep.
“A gift?” the young woman smiled, but her eyes were cautious. It wasn’t very often her boss and the public relations’ head Group member, Director Osamu, visited her cubicle and it was difficult to imagine it could be a good thing.
“It’s really more of a reward, Nagasawa-san. Director Osamu visited my office and asked if there was a female employee that I felt merited a reward for her consistent good work and was, perhaps, affiliated with the successful damage-control report for the exterminated mid-slave debacle last month. Both answers were you, Masami Nagasawa.”
It was true that she had written several reports negating The Kobayashi-Osamu Group’s affiliation with the “suicide” of a “former employee”. The story that the public and legitimate law enforcers were fed involved the points that the man was 1) still actively employed and valued by the Group 2) Was left by his wife for a younger man, and finally, 3) had been receiving company-provided counseling with his wife as their marriage was disintegrating. That last point showed that the Group is not only aware of their employees’ feelings, but also actively provides aid so that they can assure their clients and consumers the best product (etc.) possible.
Complete lies -- the man had been a mid-class slave who tried to run, resulting in his “extermination” -- but apparently, the higher-ups liked it.
Director Osamu, a man in his late fifties, cleared his throat and added, “It was a gift for my wife a few years back, but I’ve grown tired of having it around. I wanted to pass it on not only to someone deserving, but also where I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. I’m so tired of looking at it-- but you’re a young woman. You like pretty things.”
Masami nodded. Girl. Pretty things. Yes.
But what could the director possibly be giving her? Jewelry is pretty, and people grow tired of paintings, but couldn’t he resell either of those things in the outside world? Really, whatever it was, it should be able to be resold outside of the Keep. Maybe it was stolen...
Remembering herself, Masami started to express her gratitude to the director for being so generous, and to her boss, Nagano, for deeming her worthy. Satisfied, Director Osamu gestured he was ready to leave and both men turned to go, but not before the superior added, “I’ll have it delivered to your quarters this afternoon.”
She had wanted to run over to her apartment during lunch to see what her mystery reward was, but Masami hadn’t gotten the chance. The only reason she ate at all was because Erika noticed she wasn’t taking a break and gave her two onigiri, demanding she eat them.
It had been a long day, rife with the production of falsehoods and the revision of a few corporate policies, but that didn’t stop Masami from being inwardly excited to find out what kind of reward was waiting for her at home. She double-timed it from the business sector of the Keep towards the mid-class residential area.
As she opened her door and flicked the light on in the entryway, Masami gasped, surprised by a rather large box laying in front of her. If she hadn’t turned the light on, she would have fallen over it. The box was probably 5x3x3 feet, coming up to her thigh.
“What in the world?” Masami breathed, slipping out of her shoes and letting her purse slump to the floor. Just then she noticed there were grates on the sides of the box and she slapped a worried hand to her mouth.
“Don’t tell me it’s an animal,” her voice was concerned, “He should have told me if it was alive! Poor thing would have been in there for hours now...”
Masami ran to the kitchen to grab scissors from the drawer. Kneeling next to the box, she pursed her lips and made the “sssppss, sssppss, sppsssss” sound before saying softly, “If you’re a kitty, you better stay down from the top. Ma-chan is going to get you out of there now.”
There was a slight rustling that sounded larger than a kitty, and Masami jumped. Whatever it was, it was definitely alive and probably more than ready to be out of that box. Preparing herself to face a restless dog, she sliced the tape with the blade of the scissors and lifted the flaps.
She was not prepared at all for what she found. It was a man.
Masami stifled a surprised yelp, backing away as he unfolded his limbs and started to rise. Coppery brown hair fell forward as he kept his head lowered, stiffly straightening to stand with his feet in the box. Still looking down, he stretched lean, yet muscular arms over his head. He was wearing a fitted black tee with matching, loose cotton pants... and Masami just stared silently, back against the door.
When he did raise his head, she audibly swallowed. Dark eyes met hers, and she quickly glanced down, noticing that his lips were rather full and well-shaped. She first noted the beauty mark delicately dotting his top lip before seeing the second beneath the plush bottom. There was another high on his cheek, but Masami was still staring at his mouth when his tongue ran across the lips quickly before smiling.
She realized she must have been caught staring, so she tried to meet his eyes again while searching her brain for the appropriate thing to say. Her mind was blank, but she managed an “um...” before he cleared his throat.
With grace that should have been impossible for anyone cramped inside a box, he stepped out of it, took her hand in his, and bowed slightly before her, “My Lady, “ his voice low and melodic, “It is my pleasure to be yours.”
Drawing her knuckles to his lips, he added, “What shall we do now?”
Masami’s eyes widened as his lips brushed across her fingers, soft and warm. When he drew her in against his chest and started lowering his head, she gasped, wriggled free, and placed both of her palms flat against his chest-- pushing until there was a bit of distance between them.
She left her hands there as she found her voice, “Wait a second. I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s going-- “and then she paused mid-sentence as a light went off in her head, “Oh my God, I’ve been given a pleasure slave.”
The smile on the man’s face faltered for a second at the words, but he only replied, “I am whatever My Lady wishes me to be.”
“Uh huh,” Masami dropped her hands to her side, “How about we take this into the living room? We can decide what we wish you to be in there.”
She motioned for him to lead the way out of the entryway into the apartment, shaking her head over the unexpected predicament, but he only made it a few steps before she noticed that his movements actually were strained and rather stiff. That box that seemed so large a few moments ago now seemed very, very small. Masami noted how incredibly small it was to have fit a man inside-- and he’d been in there for so long!
“Oh, you have to be hurting,” she rushed forward and ducked under his left arm, “I wasn’t thinking, but just lean on me. I can’t believe they put you in that box.”
Masami flipped the first lightswitch on the panel, illuminating the living room and dining area. The kitchenette off to the side remained dark. From there she lead him over to the couch, “You can lay down or prop yourself up here. How long were you in there anyway?”
With that question, she turned her head to look at the man and was surprised to find him just staring at her. Somehow, he was now the one with a dazed expression on his face.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly. Those dark eyes fixed on her were starting to make her uncomfortable again.
He blinked a couple times, “Yeah-- I mean, yes. Yes, I’m fine, My Lady. Thank you.”
He eased down on the couch, muscles still making his movements stiff. His voice was unaffected, though. Smooth and velvety, he added, “Have you decided what we’re going to do now, My Lady?”
“Erm, not exactly. We can start with you not calling me that again. Ever.”
“What would you like me to call you?” the man was fairly purring now, and Masami’s heart quickened in response.
“Did they give you my name? It’s Masami Nagasawa. I’m...Well, I guess I’m your, your...” She struggled to finish the sentence.
“Owner,” the young man supplied, purr gone.
His expression darkened for a moment, and she knew he must resent his position. Pleasure slaves were low-slaves, regarded generally as possessions and playthings among the Group members and some high-slaves. Mid-class slaves, like herself, rarely had low-slaves... and Masami wasn’t sure how they generally treated them. She believed the most popular use was housekeeping, but her new low-slave didn’t look suited for cleaning. He was quite suited for something else... But she wasn’t going to sink so low as to demand a strange slave for favors.
Regardless of how pretty he is.
“Mmhmm,” Masami started, then, dropping to kneel next to the couch, decided to turn the subject away, “What’s your name?”
“You can call me, or name me, whatever you like,” his voice was still low, but had an air of curiosity to it. He wasn’t sure how she would respond.
Masami answered immediately, “Please just tell me.”
“Jun,” he supplied, half whispering.
“Any surname?”
“Yours, now.”
Masami gaped at that a little. It was a strange feeling to know a man was taking her last name. Of course, that would only be for Keep records and life-- not in the real world. She was about to ask him what his real-world last name was, but then thought better of it. They all dreamed of being free, but Masami had yet to hear of it happening to anyone beneath the rank of high-slave-- and it was extraordinarily rare then. The Kobayashi-Osamu Group had a stranglehold on this indentured servant/slave scheme they were running, and there didn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel any time soon.
Right at that moment, they heard Jun’s stomach rumble angrily. Masami felt another pang of guilt as she realized he must be starving.
“Okay Jun,” she said standing up and noticing his slightly sharp intake of breath as she used his name, “You must be half-starved. I’ll make you something to eat, then I’ll give you something for the pain. It’s my fault you were trapped in that box so long-- but I swear I would have come home right away if I knew you were in there. I just don’t understand people sometimes; putting a man in a box.”
The dark eyes were just staring again, so she added, “Try to feel better. Here’s the remote for the T.V. I’ll be right over here if you need anything... Ah, let me get you something to drink before I put the water on to boil. Juice, water, tea? Water?”
And then she scurried away towards the kitchenette, Jun’s eyes following her as she went. Once she was out of his line of vision, he let himself sink into the sofa and gazed at the ceiling.