Once the new hires caught wind of all the things their new boss was doing outside the public eye and what the boss expected the hired help to do, they were gone. Or worse, they gossiped to all the movie magazines in exchange for a small fee.
The elite wanted dependable help that could keep their mouths shut and do as they are told. No questions asked. So, a private domestic services company was created to serve their unique needs.
These unique needs included an oath to lifelong silence. What you saw, what you did and how you did it were to be taken to your grave. You would sign on to be trained in all areas of service. Once you were done with your contract and you fulfilled your obligations, primarily the oath of silence, you were paid very well.
Like the movie stars of the time, once you were trained, you were under contract for a set number of years. You (your contract) were bought and sold regularly.
It’s technically illegal yet consensual, very derogatory in terms, yet it flourished. They are voluntary, very well-paid slaves. They agree to the terms, they get a huge stack of money put into a private bank account that they get access to when they “retire” if they agree to serve properly as terms of their contract states and they stay silent about who they worked for, what they were paid to do and what they did to who.
Hollywood to Las Vegas
In the 1980’s as Las Vegas began to boom, the casinos needed the same kind of services to help cater to the needs and demands of their growing high rollers. So The Company moved there.
When the slaves are without a Master, either by death of the master or the master is done with the slave for a variety of reasons, with time left on their contract, they are sent to people like myself or my former chauffeuring client, Alex.
We keep them in “slave mode” while The Company tries to find them a new owner. While in our control, we will teach them a new skill they may need or to sharpen the ones they have. Or just fuck the shit out of them every day until they move on to a new owner.
If they are unable to find a new owner, the slave is sent back to The Company to use until they are released or retire.
It’s a tough gig, but someone has to do it!
What Now?
He continued. “See Jake, The Company never put two and two together. Your real name and the name of your company they give the contracts to. JB Training and Consulting, the company, and Jake Baker, or JB to your friends, the person. Then the Baker slaves, Chicago. You moved to Las Vegas from Chicago. Now it all makes sense! ”
He looked up for the paperwork, looked at me over the rim of his glasses, smiled a little, then looked over to my mother, then to my aunt and back to his paperwork.
“I came here to help introduce the new slave owner to the process and answer any questions he may have. That was until I realized the new master was you. Then I realized, “new master — nephew to old slave?” This Is not new; many slaves are passed on to the younger family members. We just never had a new owner be one of our trainers before. ”
Josh just outed me as a slave trainer to my mother and my aunt. Yet my aunt is naked as a slave should be while kneeling at my feet with me holding her leash. All this is really causing a painful tent to grow in my best slacks.
My aunt is a slave? As my mind is trying to wrap around that, my mind and my eyes start to wander back to my mother. Huddling in the corner, looking like a starlet herself, in her French cut bra and matching panties, thin enough for me to see her aureoles and to know she is certainly shaved down below, and she is wet.
As I start to calm down and sit back, my mother gives me her best “I am your Mother” look and explains that she is dressed (or undressed), in order to support her sister in this “unusual difficult time”
.
He hands me my aunt’s leash and my aunt now move to sit at my feet and puts her arm on my knees. Asking permission to do so. Hmmm… Yes, I could get used to this. Then my brain stops my train of thought. She is also my family. I can’t own a family member.
As my mind was pondering that thought, I realized now how it all makes sense. Her behavior growing up, her dress, her showing off her cleavage and my uncle, her master, telling us how to never mind her dress. He likes it that way because he, as her master, told her to show everyone her cleavage.
Alex continued. “So, when I saw in the will that she, as part of the business assets, will now belongs to a man by the name of Jake Baker of Las Vegas, Jake Baker. Nobody put two and two together. No reason to. Who knew your last name was Baker other than a few people in corporate? ”
I was startled. “Wait. I inherited HER?”
Last week they had the reading of the primary will and the family members got an opportunity to pick out the things in this house they wanted as mementos. The only thing off limits were the main bedroom and the office.
What they didn’t see, was the will for his business assets. Who was to get those? And as part of those business assets, was his slave. Slave Linda.
My aunt, I mean my slave explained. “When we went to Las Vegas a few years ago, we went there to sign my last contract before mandatory retirement age of 60. He needed to put down someone as a beneficiary to his business assets, that included me. He didn’t even have to think about who. He put you.”