Free Subjection by Alicia Cameron Page B

slaves, too friendly, some would say, but even the friendly ones don’t want to risk contaminating their offices by treating slaves in them.
    “Your mother would shake her finger at you for bringing him in here,” the doctor teases as we enter the exam room. “I didn’t realize you were back in the business, anyway. Tell me what’s going on?”
    I glance at Sascha and nod at him. “Lift your arms.”
    He does, getting them about as high as he did earlier, and then he gives me that nervous look again.
    I turn to the doctor. “He can’t lift them any higher without being in pain. It’s been that way for a little over a month, hasn’t it?”
    I glance at Sascha, but it takes him a moment to come out of his panic.
    Finally, he nods. “Yes, master.”
    The doctor frowns. “Cash, what’s gotten into you? I’ve known you and your family for years; you’re not the type of people to bring down the value of a slave like this! Especially not a personal slave.”
    I scowl. “It wasn’t me; I just bought him a few weeks ago. It was an interesting situation… Anyway, I want him taken care of. I would have brought him in sooner, but he didn’t mention that he was in pain. When I bought him, he was all beaten up, bruised and cut and burned all over, but I took care of that. I suppose you could look him over, though, while he’s here.”
    The doctor doesn’t seem exactly pleased with the answer, and he focuses his attention on Sascha. “Be that as it may… what’s your name, my boy?”
    The slave freezes, as if the simple request to say his name is about to destroy him. “It, um, sir, I… Sascha, sir.”
    The doctor nods. “All right, Sascha, go ahead and take your shirt off and sit up on that table for me.”
    I stand to the side of the room, trying to look bored. I’ve never taken anyone else to a doctor before, much less a slave. I watch as the doctor leans over runs his hand over Sascha’s skin, where the scars shine on his flesh, making Sascha wince.
    “Someone got him bad,” the doctor comments. He goes on to peek at a few of the other ones before looking back at me. “Well, you’ve done a good job patching him up. I’m surprised none of them got infected. They were very deep.”
    I just nod. I’d rather move onto other things.
    “Now, Sascha,” the doctor says, his voice calm and professional. “What happened to your arms?”
    “Sir, at the last place I was owned… someone… they tied me up, with my arms above my head, and they hung me like that, from my arms.” Sascha squirms and fidgets; clearly, the conversation is more painful than his arms at the moment.
    The doctor’s eyebrows narrow, but he nods. “Did anything happen to put strain on them?”
    I watch my slave struggle to answer, barely getting the words out as the doctor continues to probe.
    “Um, they hit me, sir,” he manages. “Hard, a lot of times, uh, with a lot of things, and I probably struggled. I think they wanted me to struggle, sir. I don’t really remember much. And then, uh… well, there was probably some strain when…”
    It’s too degrading for me to watch. I cut in with my version of what I’m sure happened. “He was a brothel whore. They tied him up and tortured him and raped him for hours, and this is what it does to a person!”
    “Ahh, all right,” the doctor says. He seems bothered by the information.
    The doctor puts Sascha through a variety of diagnostic movements, pushing to see where things hurt. Sascha is surprisingly quiet. It takes me a moment, but I see the distress on the boy’s face and realize that he’s flinching away every time the doctor goes to touch him.
    “For god’s sake, Sascha, tell him if he’s hurting you!” I snap.
    He does, although with quite a bit of hesitation. The doctor is more gentle, and Sascha no longer looks like he’s going to pass out. The doctor finishes his tests, then he puts a little radiation-scanner on Sascha’s shoulders for the x-ray. While we wait for