Worse

         Surly to bed, surly to rise. Flipping bright auburn hair over her shoulder, the girl hurried past her owner's slave manager, glaring as she evaded the slap aimed at her scantily clad bottom. He'd expected that, though, and the quirt held in his other hand landed with a sharp snap.
         "Move it, girl, and if you look at me that way again, you'll be getting worse before the night's through. Again."
         She yelped at the smack, jumping like a spurred horse. Her peridot eyes avoiding him, she moved on hastily, ruefully rubbing where the flogger had landed. She knew very well what 'worse' could entail, and most definitely it wasn't anything she cared to experience a second time. She was getting awfully close to it though, she knew, and she shivered as she emerged into the tavern proper.
         Emerald Dreams, baby and brainchild of Michael O'Bannon, had begun as a tiny pub more than twenty years before. He'd been a young man barely out of his teens when he immigrated from Ireland, and the tavern he opened was themed after that country. Popularity and prosperity struck the bar very quickly, and O'Bannon was able to expand it into an establishment acclaimed as one of the most elegant in the city of Corshire. The large dance square was backed by the bar on one side, and rows of cozy tables on the other three. Everything was paneled in rich, dark wood, and brass fixtures gleamed, polished every day to a mirror shine. Stairs at either end of the bar led to the balcony that overlooked the dance floor, and the discreet door that led to the second-story rooms available to customers was up there as well. A kiosk flanked the aperture, an employee within taking rental fees and providing room keys. Reminders of the Emerald Isles- artwork, sprigs of fresh shamrock, and even a duplicate of the Blarney Stone- were displayed with tasteful frequency.
         The girl who now hurried from the tavern's slave quarters into its public area was a fresh acquisition by Michael O'Bannon. Like all the serving girls in Emerald Dreams, she was a special order from Ireland itself; unlike them, she had arrived at the tavern just weeks before. The inherent problem with slaves imported by special order, of course, is that they didn't receive the taming and training given to regular imports in quarantine. Like this girl, each is delivered to his or her new owner unbroken and untrained. O'Bannon's slave manager knew the girl would be tamed eventually, but in the meantime, she was being a pain in his neck. He shrugged. She'd learn. They always learned.
         The girl stopped at the bar to check the assignment board and sighed in relief, reaching for a round, cork-covered tray. Playing waitress in this joint wasn't too bad, considering the circumstances, though the decor did make her long for home until she cried herself to sleep every morning. She'd spent one night on cage duty early on- locked into a low pen behind the bar that held the slaves designated for customers to rent for themselves. Taken to one of the private rooms, she'd been shocked when the men who'd rented her removed her clothes and tried to use her body for their pleasure. One of them ended up with bloody scratches, the other with a black eye, and naturally they complained to the management. They received free drinks and slave usage for the rest of the evening; that was the night she learned the definition of 'worse'. Ever since then, though, she'd been on waitress duty. Not that customers couldn't rent the wait staff, of course, but the new slave's sulky demeanor tended to discourage that temptation. She knew that, and used it, but she suspected the management wasn't going to allow for it much longer.

         It was still fairly early, and the slowest day of the week at that, so she was surprised to see a customer settling at one of her assigned tables on the balcony. With a sigh- she liked having a few free minutes at the beginning of her shift- she made her way over to drop to her knees beside his chair, looking him over. The man was probably in his thirties, lean and lanky with dark hair drawn back into a ponytail. It flowed down over the back of the crimson Simpsons T-shirt he had tucked into what looked like very comfortable denim jeans for which she felt a stab of envy. She hated the clothes she was given at the tavern, but it was either wear them, or go naked.
         When he glanced down, acknowledging her, she asked, "Whattaya want?". Her tone was brisk and not particularly friendly.
         Jay Nash blinked at the slave, taken aback by her demeanor. "So much for service with a smile. What's your name, girl?"
         She smiled slyly, watching his face closely. "Connie," she answered. Or at least, that's what it sounded like she said.
         His left eyebrow quirked. Slaves were not, in general, given 'Free' names. Indeed, no self-respecting business would insult its customers by serving them with a slave named like that. "I think you're lying," he said, his voice altering abruptly to cold steel. Narrowed brown eyes held her green ones steadily.
         His tone took her by surprise, sending a shiver down her spine. After a few seconds, she flushed, dropping her gaze as she admitted, "It's short for Leprechaun."
         Jay grunted without letting his amusement show. "And I bet your owner doesn't know you're shortening it, does he." It wasn't really a question. She shrugged, confirming it, and he went on. "So you did lie. And your attitude sucks. So do your manners," he said bluntly, and pushed down on the table as he stood. "Well, we can fix that."
         Lep cringed in fear, then yelped when his hard fingers closed on the back of her collar, hauling her to her feet. Frantic words tumbled from her mouth in panicked squeaks as she tried in vain to resist the inexorable dragging. "Oh God, please, no, master! I promise, I'll be better, I'll be good!" He ignored it all.
         Nash pulled her to a halt in front of the rental kiosk, and her panic doubled. He ignored her struggles too, his firm hand holding her in place easily. "I'll need this slave and a room for the rest of the evening."
         The cashier, a Free woman, didn't seem particularly sympathetic to Lep's plight as she took the man's money and handed him a key card. In fact, she chuckled when the girl was dragged screeching toward her doom.

         Jay tossed the girl bodily into the spacious suite he'd leased, and turned to close and lock the door behind him. Pulling forward a metal plate beside the door, he dropped the key card into the small drawer thus revealed, shut it again, and entered a lock code. Now there was no way she'd be able to leave the room until he wanted her to do so. He turned to see where she'd gotten herself to in her panic.
         To his mild surprise, she was standing upright in the center of the room, glaring at him with her fists clenched at her sides. Before he could say a word, she blurted, "You can't hurt me! You don't own me!"
         Oh, that one. Jay gave her a slow smile. "Little one," he said gently, starting to move toward her, "I'm guessing from your accent and your bad manners that you haven't been in Bona Spei or a collar for very long, eh?"
         Lep nodded warily, backing away as he advanced.
         "Well, now, I'm going to fill you in on a few facts of life, and then we are going to discuss your behavior."
         The backs of her knees hit the bed, and she stumbled, scrambling to work her way around the furniture. Not once did she look away from him, her eyes filled with dread. Jay was kind enough to wait for her recovery before continuing. "First of all, little girl, I just rented you. I can do pretty much anything I want to you, except for permanent damage. It's kind of like renting a car or a house. And even if I did... accidentally... damage you, I'd probably only have to pay your owner for those damages, and that is hardly an incentive for me to be careful."
         Lep stared at him as the horrifying implications of his words dawned on her. "No... No, that can't be. I'm not just a piece of-"
         "Property," he finished for her, watching her levelly. "Yes, that is exactly what you are. And here's another fact for you, one I'm sure is just going to have you jumping for joy," Jay smirked, dragging an armless, straight-backed chair from the table to the center of the room.
         The girl watched him with growing alarm. "What?" she whispered.
         "You are, partially, correct," he nodded, settling into the chair. "In general, punishing a privately owned slave that doesn't belong to you is, at best, rude. At worst, you could find yourself arrested for destruction of private property, if the slave takes serious damage. However," and here Jay grinned. The expression was neither pleasant nor comforting. Not that it was meant to be either. "However, there are exceptions to the rule. For example, it's generally accepted that slaves owned by a business, in a service capacity, may be used, abused, and punished by their customers." He paused to let that sink in.
         It didn't take long. Abruptly she swallowed hard, and he nodded. "Now that we have that straightened out, let's discuss those bad manners of yours. Do I need to specify, or do you have a brain in that pretty little head of yours?"
         Her lips pursed at the near-insult, and from the tiny sound she made, Jay suspected she'd stifled an insult of her own. Her answer came out finally between clenched teeth. "You don't have to explain."
         "Good." And his voice filled with approval. "This is very simple. A slave's bad behavior must be corrected, and swiftly. It's up to you whether your punishment will be hard or easy. Well, comparatively. Remove your clothes," he ordered.
         Lep's peridot eyes darted to the locked door, then back to him, wide with fear. With a whimper, the girl unlatched the hook between her breasts that held her filmy green bikini top in place. She blushed hard as it slipped to the floor. After her gauzy skirt joined it, leaving her wearing only the collar of Emerald Dreams, she couldn't look up at him at all.
         Nash nodded approvingly. "So far, so good." He lifted a hand to beckon, and the girl cringed as she crept forward. The hand dropped, pointing to a spot right beside his chair, and she moved there, still unable to look up into his face. She seemed for all the world like a deer poised on the edge of flight.
         "Alright," he said, his voice serious. "Since you're relatively new to the collar, I'm going to take it fairly easy on you, as long as you continue to cooperate. Since you've been acting like a pouty brat, I think it's only fitting to give you a good spanking to put a stop to that behavior." He watched her carefully as he ordered, "Over my knee, slave."
         She started to tremble at the word 'spanking', a flood of emotions moving in an ugly rush across her face. Fear of the punishment she could scarcely believe. Fear of worse punishment if she disobeyed him. Humiliation and hot embarrassment at being spanked like a child, and at the notion of meekly taking the position for it. He was patient, waiting for her to submit or flee. It was always one or the other, and he made a private bet with himself as to which she would choose.
         He won the bet. Abruptly she stumbled back, her hands thrust out in a defensive gesture. It was the humiliation that had been the key factor. "I... I can't! I'm sorry, but I just can't..."
         Jay moved like lightning, so fast that Lep screamed in startlement. In a flash, he caught her wrist in his grip, his face unnaturally calm. "The hard way, I see."
         Several rooms were attached to the suite's living area: kitchen, bathroom, playroom. Jay dragged her into the latter and took a swift look around. "Yep, that'll do," he said casually, and kept dragging. She wasn't really resisting- just stumbling a bit as she wept in terror; at his words, she looked up through her tears, terrified. And she blinked, dissolving into bewilderment. No contraption of doom loomed before her. A chain dangled from through a hole in the ceiling, a pair of leather cuffs suspended from its end. Her wrists were swiftly locked in them in front of her nose, then he let go and strode toward the door, which only confused her more. Granted, she wasn't thrilled about beng shackled, but she still had some decent freedom of movement, and she wasn't in pain. This was supposed to be punishment? Lep swung around to peer at him. "Master?"
         Jay paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. He didn't say a word; instead he merely reached for the controls beside the jamb. A mechanical whirring sprang to life somewhere above the ceiling. Lep's gaze flew up, just as her hands were jerked over her head. Jay didn't stop the chain's ascent until Lep could barely brush the thick carpet with her emerald-painted toenails, her arms stretched painfully overhead.
         Okay, major discomfort. "Oh hell!" she spat, and scowled helplessly at the man. He just grinned infuriatingly and flipped another switch. The soft overhead lights flared into a painfully bright glare. Lep ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut, only to hear him chuckle.
         "Enjoy your alone time, sweetling," he told her. "I suggest you use it to think things over very carefully." And he stepped out, gently closing the door behind him.
         Misery and pain rapidly found the dangling girl. Thirst, heat, incredible cramps in her shoulders and arms, and vision swimming from the glare even behind closed eyelids, Leprechaun began to cry out in agony, begging for relief. Only the echo of her cries answered, reverberating mockingly. And the pain only grew worse.
         She was sobbing uncontrollably in such a red haze of agony that she didn't notice when the door opened again, or that he moved to stand before her, until he calmly spoke.
         "You called? Did you need something?"
         Lep froze, twisting to squint at him. Her silence lasted all of three seconds, then she burst into babbling- frantic pleas for release, oaths to behave. He let it go on for nearly a minute, then his hand gently but firmly covered her mouth. She shut up, letting out a single piteous whimper.
         "Are you going to be quiet?"
         She nodded rapidly, and he removed his hand.
         "Now," he said, "Calmly answer this question for me: what do you want?"
         Lep took a deep breath and dropped her gaze to whisper tearfully, "Please let me down, master. I'll behave, I swear."
         Nash studied her. "I think you mean that. I even think your manners will be impeccable... until I leave the premises. I need more."
         Fresh tears sprang to her frantic eyes. "I don't... I don't know what you want..."
         He moved in close, invading her personal space. She was grateful, at least, that his form threw welcome shadow over her tortured eyes. His voice low and intent, he informed her, "I need you to prove you're ready and willing to start accepting what you are. That you're going to work at it. I don't expect you to become the perfect slave overnight. I do expect an honest effort on your part."
         The young woman shuddered and paled, staring at him with wild, reddened eyes. He waited, knowing the sort of thoughts going through her mind.
         I can't! I'm not supposed to be a slave! I wanna go home... Lep's vision swam, wreathing his face. His very kindly, determined face. She quailed. They were never going to let her go. She'd refused to believe that before. She'd been so sure she'd wear them down, that they'd become so frustrated with her resistance that they would let her go home. But she'd never had a chance. Maybe... The other slaves at the tavern were happy, she knew. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad...
         "How?" Her voice, whisper though it was, broke, hoarse.
         Jay tilted his head and repeated softly, "What do you want?"
         Somehow her strained shoulders slumped. "Please. Help me be a better s-s-slave, master," she whispered miserably.
         He nodded. "How?"
         The question took her by surprise, and desperately her mind flailed for an answer. The searing cramps in her arms brought it to her in a rush, and the memory of why she'd been hung up like a side of beef. Shivering, Lep squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "I need... correction. My be-behavior."
         Since she wasn't looking, he allowed himself a slow smile. She was quick, he'd give her that. Jay turned to head back to the door, and hit both controls at once. The chain holding Leprechaun in that torturous position abruptly slackened, spilling the woman to the floor. She cried out with relief even as the lights dimmed to normalcy again, then began to writhe with fresh agony as normal circulation returned to her limbs. Jay strode to her and waited for her to calm down a bit before bending to unlock the cuffs on her wrists. Then he disappeared through the door, leaving it open behind him.
         She made her shaky way out of the playroom several minutes later, and halted with a hard swallow. He was seated on the chair again, his lap ready for her, his belt doubled in his right hand as he met her gaze solemnly. He hadn't removed his belt before. His words floated back to her. "... It's up to you whether your punishment will be hard or easy..." She knew she'd earned the strapping when she disobeyed him.
         He didn't say a word, but simply waited. Trembling hard, the girl forced herself forward to move to his side again. Closing her eyes, she felt for his lap, and laid her belly carefully across his thighs, guided by his gentle empty hand. He adjusted her position slightly, then she felt his right leg move out and over her own, trapping them. His arm curled around her waist to hold her firmly in place, and her punishment began...

         "You're an artist, Jay." Nash's companion grinned at him and lifted his glass, and Jay clinked his own against it with a chuckle. He turned his head to look out the office's one-way glass wall that looked out over the tavern of Emerald Dreams, spotting a particular red-headed, red-bottomed slave hurrying to serve her customers.
         "It could've been worse, Mike. It could've been worse."