‘— I don’t think you have quite understood what I wanted, Derek.’ I explained to the trader, resting the book on my desk. ‘I am looking for someone about my age, a little younger if possible. You are offering me twenty-somethings!’

‘— But Mr. Stewart, your secretary told me you were specifically looking for a companion slave.’

I laughed.

‘— Actually, I remember using the term “sex slave”. Nina has such a stand for political-correctness.’

‘— I told her that though we are proud of the variety of our portfolio, the number of top-attractive slaves holding a college degree is very limited. Besides, they usually come to the market when they fail to secure the means to pay their student loans, often in the couple of years following their graduation. That’s the reason they are all this young. We don’t keep them much long: they sell like cakes.’

‘— Hmm…’ I pondered. ‘I remember being very specific about the college degree, but I can’t recall ever saying “top-attractive”. I am quite sure I told Nina “handsome”.’

‘— That’s what she told me, Mr. Stewart, but when I asked what should I consider “handsome” in my scale, she told me “Mr. Stewart doesn’t assent but to the best”.’

I laughed again.

‘— Did she? Well, that explains a lot. I will remember to be more specific about my requirements in the future, lest I will be always paying for features I don’t need.’

Derek looked with pity at the brochure on my desk.

‘— I am sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Stewart. If you would only be kind to tell me exactly what you want, I’ll have a new catalogue ready for you tomorrow.’

‘— That won’t do, I’m afraid. I have everything scheduled, and this delay will have a disastrous domino effect. Forget about the catalogue, Derek, let’s just browse your database on-screen.’

‘— Are you sure, Mr. Stewart? I want you to have the best experience.’

‘— I assure you the best experience would be you shipping my slave by noon.’

‘— If you are sure’, he told me, taking a portable computer from his suitcase, ‘but I’m afraid the viewing conditions are far from optimal.’

‘— I am sure they will suffice.’

He started to type on the small computer.

‘— May I put an age range from 25 to 35, Mr. Stewart?’

‘— Try 30 to 35 first.’

‘— Hmmm… that won’t be easy. Educated people that old usually become available because of behaviour problems or addictions, and of course we don’t keep any of those in our portfolio. Outside these cases, it’s not but by a good deal of bad luck a man at this age comes to the market.’

‘— One’s misfortune is another’s lucky strike. Let’s give it a try.’

He kept typing, while muttering to himself.

‘— Hmmm… no luck so far… I will relax attractiveness a bit more… Hmmm… This one won’t finish his conditioning until August… What if I?… Okay… this is starting to work. Let’s see…’

He looked at me, doubtful.

‘— I have three possibilities very close to your specs, Mr. Stewart, but they are all 29.’

‘— Oh, that should be good enough.’

He turned the computer to my direction.

‘— Just click on the thumbnails.’

I saw the names Ernest1733, Ernest2504 and Günther205. The two Ernest had a striking resemblance, which probably meant that those were not their real names, but some sort of code. Though Derek had muttered something about relaxing on attractiveness, the three were quite good-looking, certainly more than me, and I am far from ugly.

‘— I guess we both wouldn’t sell for much on the market, uh, Derek?’ I chuckled.

‘— God forbid us from ever discovering!’ he answer with a shudder, adding as a second thought ‘Not that you are not very handsome, Mr. Stewart, quite the contrary.’

But I was too concentrated on the profiles, and just dismissed his flattery with a gesture.

‘— Ernest2504 is quite what I was looking for. “Degree on social sciences”. Poor sucker. “IQ of 142”? This shall ensure interesting conversations. Yes, yes. “Plays the piano”? Let not Aunt Lynn hear of that, lest she will be borrowing him all the time. Nice package, too. Too bad for him. “Originally straight”? What does this mean?’

‘— This is mostly to satisfy your curiosity. At the end of the training they are all skilled bisexual lovers. And accomplished in all active and passive roles.’

‘— Hm. I am afraid his topping skills won’t serve him too long. “Vestigial southern accent”. Why “vestigial”?’

‘— Top slaves are trained to talk in a perfectly neutral accent. I relaxed this criterion a bit, hope it isn’t a problem?’

‘— Of course not. Must you brainwash the poor beasts like that?’

‘— Trust me, Mr. Stewart, it’s better this way. The more educated they arrive; the more intensive must be the conditioning. For a working slave, it is easier, but for a companion slave we have to preserve some of their personalities while suppressing their volition. It is a very delicate compromise.’

‘— No wonder they cost what they cost. Let us say Ernest2504. How much is he worth?’

He took a deep breath and told me a seven-digit value. It was actually a little less than what I expected, but I told him nevertheless:

‘— Expensive little sucker, this Ernest! I hope you are prepared for a negotiation battle with my accountant?’

He sighted in a theatrical way, but was smiling broadly.

‘— Am I not always? You are aware also of the liabilities, Mr. Stewart?’

‘— Oh, yes. I have my lawyer ready to meet you this afternoon.’

Derek was a perspicacious businessman, and his next question showed me he had already read my intentions.

‘— You do also realise, Mr. Stewart, that if you…’, he chose the word carefully ‘…customise the slave in any significant way, the refund clause will be void?’

I just smiled.

‘— I will try to remember this. Work out the details with Peter. I will just sign everything before I leave.’

He understood himself dismissed, complimented me on the excellent choice and thanked me effusively for choosing his services. He assured me that Ernest2504 would be entering the plane on Atlanta the next morning, and arriving at Seattle at worst in the middle of the afternoon. We shook hands and he parted.

The rest of the morning was spent on less interesting matters, but even while I read some boring memos and took some difficult decisions, a nice sexual excitement sneaked in the background of my mind. I caught myself unconsciously rubbing my cock, as I deciphered the numbers of a financial report. When my PDA started to beep announcing my lunch meeting with the vice-president in three quarters of hour, I intercommed Nina and told her I was available to no one.

I unzipped my pants and reached for my dick, which was so hard and engorged that only reluctantly let itself through the flyer. I caressed myself lightly and shivered. It would be great to edge for hours before finally letting go, but, unfortunately there was no time for such extended fun. Just a quick one, then.

I opened a drawer and took a small tin of petroleum jelly. Old good Vaseline. Obsolete in this world of latex condoms, it was still the perfect choice for playing alone. I took a tiny dollop and started to ritualistically glaze my meat. Maybe I should train Ernest to do that. It would certainly step up one notch in the mindfucking I was planning to play with him.

I paused a bit to admire myself. When you have the kind of money I have, women will gravitate to you without you having to succumb to this hysteria of penile enlargement. But I was glad to know that even if I was penniless, I would still be nicely endowed downstairs. Not absurdly long, but as thick as they come. I had always been able to provide a nice experience to my partners, and kept a good score on the ratio of real to fake orgasms I elicited. Women could be such good actresses! But an old fox like me knows instinctively to separate the real thing from the forgery.

I glanced at the watch and started to stroke softly, getting chills down my spine. I knew I could climax immediately if I had to, but I also could keep playing for as much as wanted. Or, in the circumstances, could.

Another look at the watch and I automatically traced my plan. Little by little, my strokes moved faster, my grip tightened. I started to add some special effects. A little pause. Three long strokes in sequence. A smallish tug. The excitement was getting me crazy. I started to moan softly, trying to keep the noise at office-friendly levels.

Anytime now. Before I became too wild to think of anything, I reached my tissue box with my unoccupied hand and swiftly pulled three tissues in sequence. I felt my sack starting to contract, my balls pleading to implode. Two mighty strokes and I busted in orgasm, fiery ropes of white hot cum flying out of my body. As my vision blurred and darkened, I bit my lip to suppress a roar that would otherwise scare the entire company. Unless for this precaution, I let myself completely drown on the wave of sensations.

A minute and a half later (or was it an entire aeon?) I recomposed myself and dropped the soaked tissues on my paper basket. I took three more tissues and wiped my hand and my cock, getting pleasant goosebumps from the friction. Another tissue to clean a spurt that escaped my right hand’s goalkeeping and landed on my desk. Moments later, my proud dick succumbed to the effort, and slowly collapsed to the limp shape of dead snake, now oozing some clear fluid. I wiped it again and tucked it in.

My PDA started to bip furiously. ‘Just in time’, I thought to myself with satisfaction. That’s efficiency! I pondered guiltily that it would be more decent to pass at the lavatory, just in case I had to shake hands with someone, but finally decided that a mentholated tissue was enough. After all, it was Nina herself who kept saying that what the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve.

When I walked off my office, the vice-president was just arriving. Through the lunch he repeatedly joked about my good mood, and asked me if that meant money for the company. But my joy came from Ernest (I had to think of a new name for him), who was revealing a fantastic deal. He hadn’t even arrived and already had given me the best orgasm in months. It was a pity he was himself destined to give up this pleasure forever.