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The Slave Control officers had been talking to Peter in the boardroom for almost an hour.
Neal longed to be in there with them. He couldn't do anything to improve his situation while sitting in Peter's office with his hands cuffed in front of him. But then, he'd had a chance to charm the officers on the way over here, and it hadn't worked then.
The long wait couldn't be a bad thing, though. It must mean that Peter was negotiating with the officers. Hughes was in the boardroom, as well, and Neal didn't know why he was involved. He hoped Peter wouldn't be embarrassed by his boss's involvement. When Neal caused him embarrassment, the punishments were memorable.
Finally, Peter came through the door that connected the office to the boardroom. Neal sat up straight.
He expected Peter to shoo him out of the desk chair, but he didn't. Instead, Peter leaned against the side of the desk and peered down at Neal with an unbearably disappointed look on his face.
"They're charging you with trespassing and impersonating a free person."
"If you'll give me a minute to explain—"
"Please do. I want to know what you were thinking going into a bar that had a 'No Slaves Allowed' sign in the window."
He knew that if he lied, Peter would be able to tell. The officers had probably already told him enough, and being honest now would only give Neal a chance to mitigate the damage.
"There was a pool table. I just wanted to play."
Peter crossed his arms. "Play or hustle?"
"Okay, maybe I thought I could make a little extra cash."
"You're lucky you're not being charged for that, too. What the hell were you thinking? Why did you want to get cash behind my back?"
"It wasn't like that. I just thought it would be nice to have some. Just in case."
But mainly, he'd been bored, and wanted to know that he could still hustle pool if he wanted to. He hadn't expected to be caught.
"So you concealed your collar."
Peter gestured toward Neal's neck. Neal was wearing a bulky turtleneck sweater that belonged to Peter, and had managed to cover up the collar surprisingly well.
He'd only been caught because his opponent hadn't liked how well he was playing, and wasn't keen to lose his money. He'd caught a glimpse of Neal's collar when Neal leaned over the pool table to take a shot, and ratted him out to the manager, who locked Neal in a supply closet until Slave Control arrived.
"What's going to happen to me?" Neal asked. "Am I going to court?"
"You've been charged with summary offenses. That means so you can be disciplined without going before a judge. Unless I dispute the charges." Peter paused. He looked Neal in the eye. "If you gave me a good reason to think the charges were wrong, then I'd stand up for you and dispute the charges. I hope you know that."
Neal believed him. Unfortunately, he had no reason to give Peter to dispute the charges.
With a sigh, he asked, "So, what do they want to do to me?"
"They want to take you to a corrections center for punishment."
Neal leaned forward in alarm. "What? No, Peter...."
Peter held up his hand. "Relax. First of all, it'd just be for the afternoon. Second, I have no intention of letting them do that. I don't want to have to take off work so I can witness your punishment. Luckily, they're willing to let me punish you."
Neal relaxed. He could handle that. "So what, you'll promise to spank me when we get home?"
"Not quite. We'll do it here so they can witness it."
That sounded like less of a good deal.
"What about Elizabeth? Doesn't she have to okay this?"
"We've already contacted her. But it doesn't matter, Neal—El and I don't need to okay the punishment. These officers have the authority to discipline you."
"And I don't get a say in this at all?" he asked tetchily. He immediately realized it was a stupid question.
"You're a slave, Neal. What do you think? Look, it won't be so bad. I've agreed to give you fourteen strikes with my belt. But if you make things difficult, they'll take you to the corrections center."
"Fine."
He hated the idea of accepting the punishment, but he hated the thought of what might be in store for him at the corrections center even more.
"All right. I'll go tell them we're ready."
Peter returned to the boardroom. A minute later, he returned with the two Slave Control officers and Hughes.
"Why don't you use the interrogation room?" Hughes said.
"Thanks, that sounds like a good idea," Peter said. He motioned for Neal to stand up.
The two officers were both men who appeared to be in their early thirties. The taller of the two had the name Jacobi embroidered on his uniform shirt. The other had the name Nelson.
As Nelson took off Neal's cuffs, Jacobi handed Peter a bulky padded envelope.
"Here. These are the items we confiscated from your slave when we arrested him."
They'd made him empty out his pockets, and had used Neal's slave ID to get Peter's contact information. Elizabeth's number was on the ID, as well, and Neal wondered how things would have fared for him if they'd called her, instead.
Peter accepted the envelope and set it on the desk. Then he put a hand on Neal's shoulder and steered him out of the room.
Neal felt the eyes of the other agents on him as they walked through the bullpen. He looked straight ahead and didn't make eye contact.
When they arrived at the interrogation room, he realized that Hughes was still with them. Did he intend to observe the punishment?
The room itself gave Neal even more misgivings. He eyed the two-way mirror warily. What was stopping someone from watching from the other side?
"The slave will need to take off his clothes," Nelson said.
Looking at Neal, Peter simply nodded.
"Are you sure this room is private enough?" Neal asked.
"Neal," Peter said through gritted teeth, "just do what you're told."
Neal peeled off his turtleneck and draped it over the back of a chair. He started to take off his belt as slowly as possible. It was one thing to be naked at home. It was another to have to strip here, where he was used to mostly avoiding the indignities of slavery. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hughes watching impassively, with his arms crossed. Luckily, the officers were too busy talking to Peter to complain about Neal's dawdling.
"Thanks again for letting us handle this here," Peter said.
"No problem," Jacobi said. "It's better to take care of things here than to drag him downtown. And we prefer to work something out with the owners. It makes it easier for everyone."
Neal toed off his shoes and lowered his pants. He laid his pants over the chair with his shirt. They hadn't told him if he needed to take his socks off, but in his experience, "naked" meant fully unclothed. Besides, he'd feel even more ridiculous with the socks on. He took them off and stashed him in his shoes.
When he couldn’t delay it any more, he stepped out of his boxer briefs. He put his hands over his groin, which immediately caught the attention of Officer Nelson.
"No covering yourself."
Neal moved his hands to his sides, even as he noticed that the officer's command brought more unwanted eyes on him.
"All right," Peter said. "I'd like to get it done so I can go back to work."
The officers gave their assent, and Peter ordered Neal to bend over the interrogation table. Neal obeyed, relieved that at least he didn't have to stand in front of them anymore.
He leaned over with his elbows on the table and kept his eyes downcast. He heard a metallic clink as Peter unbuckled his belt.
There was an almost unbearable moment of silence, and then the belt came down on Neal's ass with a loud crack. Neal flinched. He'd thought he knew what to expect. Peter had used the belt on him once before. But that had been over Peter's knee, and he discovered that the belt was much worse as a long-range implement. Much worse. Still, it might have been even worse if Peter had let the officers take him to the corrections center. He hoped to never know.
Neal twisted his head and was able to see Peter draw back his arm. He had the belt doubled over, but it still had considerable length. It swished through the air like a whip and left a sharp, burning sting in Neal's ass. Neal grimaced. For all his abilities to lie and deceive, Neal had never been good at concealing pain. Perhaps it would have been better to try to stay impassive, but months back, when he'd been at the slave processing center, he'd complained and resisted when the guards had thrashed him, too. Stoicism felt too much like acceptance.
The next two blows caught him on the underside of his cheeks, and Neal rose up on his toes as though that would help him evade the onslaught.
He couldn't decide if the whipping got worse or better as it wore on—the blows started to land on fresh welts, but his ass was so tenderized that he was growing used to the pain. He hung his head and silently counted each stroke.
When it came to the end, Peter gave him the final four blows on his untouched thighs. Neal squirmed and groaned.
There was a heavy moment of silence, and then Neal heard the buckle jingle as Peter put his belt back on. Neal's shoulders slumped in relief, and he exhaled. His back ached from tensing his muscles.
Officer Nelson spoke up. "Maybe you should give him a few more. He needs to learn his lesson, and that ass can take some more welts."
"We agreed on fourteen," Peter said, firmly. "That's what I gave him."
"He's right," Hughes said. "I think the whipping was more than adequate. If Caffrey didn't learn from it, then a few more won't make a difference."
"Fine," Nelson said. He didn't sound pleased. "He's still got the final bit, anyway." To Neal, he said, "Stay there, slave. You're almost done."
Almost? There was more?
Nelson pulled a pair of latex gloves and a small plastic bag out of his pocket. There was some sort of small plastic syringe inside. He put on the gloves and walked behind Neal. Neal could hear the sound of the plastic wrapper being torn, and then he felt something small but firm press against his asshole.
He jumped. "Hey, what are you doing?"
The officer pushed the tip of the syringe inside him.
"Ow...." He tried to stand, but Jacobi stepped forward and put a hand on his back.
Something cool, soft, and wet entered his hole. Were they lubing his ass for a plug? He didn't think he could bear that.
"And you're sure that stuff is safe for him?" Peter asked.
Nelson withdrew the syringe and said, "Oh, yeah. We use it all the time. If you've used ginger on him, it's basically the same thing. It'll wear off in about a half hour."
At the mention of ginger, Neal tensed.
Before he could say anything, Peter said, "If we're all done, I'll let Neal get dressed."
As soon as one of the officers gave the okay, Neal stood up and reached for his clothes. He quickly pulled his underwear on.
As Nelson disposed of the syringe and gloves, Jacobi handed Peter some paperwork. Peter sat down to look at it.
"This is an acknowledgement of the charges against your slave," Jacobi said, "and this is a form stating that your slave has been punished in accordance with the law. The carbon copies underneath are yours, and you'll get something in the mail once the report is processed. Also, your wife will need to fill out this form and fax or mail it to us. It's just an acknowledgement that she knows the slave was punished."
While Peter read and filled out the forms, Neal finished getting dressed. He tried to ignore the unpleasant tingling sensation that was building up in his ass. Whatever they'd put inside him burned, and Neal's breathing quickened as it worsened. Indeed, it did feel like the ginger Peter put in his ass from time to time. But unlike the ginger plugs Peter was so fond of, the lube couldn't be so easily removed. He hoped Nelson had been telling the truth when he'd said that the lube would lose its potency soon.
Finally, the forms were finished and the officers left.
"Thanks again," Peter said to Hughes. "I'm sorry you had to take time out of your day for this."
"It's no problem," Hughes said. "I felt I should supervise any official discipline happening in my department. But I hope I didn't intrude."
"Not at all."
"No," Neal muttered, "I didn't mind at all...."
Peter took Neal back to his office with him. He pointed at the floor beside his chair, and Neal took the signal and dropped to his knees.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked as Peter took a seat.
"I'm going to keep you in my sight for a while."
Neal knew it was more than that. If Peter merely wanted to keep him in his sight, there was no reason Neal couldn't sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. No, this was Peter sending a message, both to Neal and to everyone else in the department, that he had control over his slave.
"Besides," Peter continued, "do you really feel like sitting down right now?"
He had a point—with his ass welted as it was by the belt, perhaps kneeling was better.
Neal squirmed. "What did they put inside me?"
"Just a little punishment lube. Don't worry, it just has ginger and maybe some other natural ingredients."
"Well, it hurts."
His ass was burning and tingling, and he wished he could walk around to ease it.
"If you'd been taken to the corrections center, you might have gotten a plug to go with it. Count your blessings."
"Was it really necessary for Hughes to watch me get punished?"
"You should be grateful. To me and Hughes. You weren't in the boardroom with us when we were talking to the officers."
"No, I wasn't. I guess slaves don't deserve to know what's going to happen to them."
"Giving you the fourteen with my belt was my idea. Officer Jacobi was willing to work with me, but Officer Nelson didn't think it was severe enough. He wanted to take you to the corrections center. Hughes supported me. They were also considering charging you with some more serious crimes, like attempted theft."
"But I didn't steal anything!"
"You gambled with a free person under deceptive circumstances. They thought it might count as attempted theft under the law. If they'd charged you, you would have had to go before a judge. Hughes told them how ridiculous they were being, and that the current charges were serious enough on their own."
Neal sobered as he took that in.
He stayed on his knees by Peter's side for the next hour. The discomfort from the punishment lube subsided, but it was replaced by a dull ache in his knees. Finally, Peter took pity on him and sent him on a coffee run. Neal gratefully got up and stretched his legs.
At the coffee station, he made two cups instead of one. On his way back to Peter, he stopped at Hughes's office first.
"Sir?"
Hughes looked up from his work, eyebrows raised. "You need something, Caffrey?"
"I got you a cup of coffee." He smiled and set the cup on Hughes's desk.
"I already have a cup, but thank you, Caffrey."
Neal returned to Peter's office, gave Peter his cup, and returned to his place beside Peter's chair. In the remaining hour before they would be able to go home, Neal tried to occupy his thoughts with something other than his punishment. He wished Peter would give him something to do. Finally, he decided to spare his knees at the expense of his ass, and sat down on the floor. He put his back against the desk and drew his knees up to his chest.
At last, Peter put a hand on his shoulder and said, "All right, Neal. Let's go home."
* * *
When they arrived home, Elizabeth greeted them in the living room. They'd barely gotten in when she turned to Neal, frowned, and said, "All right, Neal. Let's see the damage."
Nodding, Peter said, "Go on."
With a sigh, Neal undid his pants and pushed them, with his underwear, down to his knees. He bent over the arm of the sofa so Elizabeth could inspect his bottom.
He flinched when he felt her cool fingers on his skin.
"He has some welts," she said.
"It looks better than it did earlier," Peter said. "A lot of the redness is gone. They put some ginger-laced lube or something inside him, but I think that wore off."
Elizabeth spread Neal's cheeks to inspect his hole. Neal hung his head, more than ready for this fresh humiliation to end.
Finally, he was allowed to stand and pull up his pants.
"I was thinking about ordering Chinese tonight," Elizabeth said. "You guys have had a long day, and I thought a simple dinner would be good."
"That'd be great, Hon."
Elizabeth placed the order, and after she went out to pick up the carry-out, Peter turned on the TV and sat on the sofa.
Neal started to make his way toward the stairs, intending to retreat to his room until dinner. But Peter called him back.
Turning around, Neal saw Peter unzipping his fly. Neal's shoulders slumped and he cocked his head. "What? Is this part of me being grateful to you?"
"Yep."
Neal raised his eyebrows, a little surprised by Peter's bluntness.
He trudged over to Peter and sank to his knees between Peter's feet. His knees complained, still aching from the time spent kneeling on the floor at the office.
"You know," he said, "I think I'm the one who deserves some special treatment after what I've been through today."
"Oh, yeah? You broke the law and got arrested. I had to take time away from work to save your ass and discipline you. I think the least you can do is show a little submission."
Neal hadn't expected this sort of reaction, and he didn't know what to do with it. When he'd been arrested, he'd expected Peter to be angry with him. He didn't seem angry, but he didn't have any sympathy, either. Even Elizabeth, whom Neal had hoped might feel bad for him, seemed more exasperated than sympathetic.
And after his ordeal, it was hard for Neal to have much sympathy for Peter's inconvenience.
But Neal wasn't in the mood to argue. He took Peter's cock out of his underwear and began to suck.
His exhaustion made his work slow, but Peter didn't seem to mind. Peter leaned back contentedly as Neal flicked his tongue against his hardening cock.
Abruptly, Neal pulled back. "They gave you back my license, right?"
Peter blinked. "Yeah, it was in the envelope."
"Will I be getting it back?"
Peter hesitated, and then sighed. "Yeah, I guess. I thought about taking it away for a while, but hopefully you've learned your lesson. Besides, it makes it easier for Slave Control to contact us if you get into trouble."
Without his license, the only way to find out who Neal was or who owned him would be to look up the number that was engraved on his collar, or scan the chip that was inside it. Looking at his license was probably simpler.
Neal grinned at the news that he'd be getting his license back. That meant they probably wouldn't confine him to the house. At least not for long.
"All right," Peter said, "don't get too excited. El and I still need to discuss whether we're going to restrict your movements. Now, back to work."
As Neal returned to his ministrations, Peter reached down and started to gently play with Neal's collar.
It took an unusually long time to get Peter off, and Neal blamed the presence of the TV, which Peter seemed to be half-listening to. By the time Peter finally came in his mouth, Neal's jaw and tongue were as tired as his knees.
He put Peter's cock back in his underwear, and zipped up his fly for him. Peter ran a hand through his hair.
"You have been through a lot today, haven't you? Here, why don't you join me? You've been kneeling a lot."
Neal didn't hesitate. He pulled himself up onto the sofa and sat beside Peter. He toed off his shoes and lifted his legs up, laying them across Peter's lap.
"Oh, just make yourself comfortable," Peter said dryly.
"Don't mind if I do."
Peter stroked Neal's legs.
"Listen," Peter said softly. "I know you think I'm being hard on you—"
"No, I get it. I broke the law. You did what you had to."
"You realize there was no way I could have gotten you out of that mess. You got yourself into it—all I could do was take responsibility for the consequences."
Neal understood. He couldn't blame Peter. But it was easier to be annoyed at Peter than it was to take it out on Slave Control.
"You don't make it easy for us, you know," Peter continued. "I try to give you some independence, and you get arrested for hustling pool."
"I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought I'd be caught."
"That isn't a justification, and you know it."
Something occurred to Neal. "It doesn't reflect poorly on you, does it? That I got arrested?"
He hadn't considered that his arrest might bring Peter's control of him into question, and he couldn't help but feel bad about the possibility. He'd never worried about it before, but if Peter really had stood up for him and negotiated a less severe punishment....
"No," Peter said, "I don't think so. They told me that trespassing and impersonating a free person are very common charges." After a moment, Peter asked, "Speaking of which...was this the first time you did this?"
"Did what?"
"You know what. Hide your collar in public. Sneak into slave-free places."
"Are you sure you want me to answer that?"
"Neal...." Peter shook his head. "I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm not giving you another spanking."
"Another spanking?"
"What you got this afternoon was technically given by the state. Not me. You're just lucky I think that's sufficient."
"You already made your point. I won't be sitting down for days."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're sitting now."
"Well, if you want to be technical...."
A minute later, Elizabeth returned with the Chinese food. Neal managed to sit down at the dining room table to eat. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he started eating his beef and broccoli. He hadn't gotten a chance to eat lunch, and it had been over twelve hours since breakfast. Before, he'd been too shaken by his punishment to think about food. But now he devoured his dinner.
When dinner was finished, Neal went upstairs. He went into the bathroom, closed the door, and lowered his pants to examine his ass in the mirror.
He looked over his shoulder to study his reflection. His ass wasn't as red as he'd expected, but he could still see a few raised welts. He ran his fingers along one of them.
He'd learned one lesson for sure—Slave Control was a force to be reckoned with. If he wanted to conceal his status in the future, he'd need to do better.
Neal pulled his pants back up and went downstairs to rejoin Peter and Elizabeth.