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o o o

WARNING: This chapter has serious dub-con in it, very NC-17. Contains graphic oral sex. While it is consensual in the loosest sense of the word, in spirit the consent is very questionable.

We're getting veeery close to Peter and Neal actually getting together, and the point of the sex scene in this chapter is to show what "normal" sexual relationships between free men and slaves in this society are like so it can act in contrast to what Peter and Neal have (as well as explain why Neal is so confused by the kind way Peter treats him). Because YES, what Jones does in this chapter would be considered perfectly acceptable in their society, despite being totally sick and fucked up. Humiliation and degradation are the essence of a slave's training in this world, so treating someone like an animal and an idiot during sex is a again, Neal had managed to find himself knee deep in metaphorical shit.

o o o

"I have no issues with Caffrey, just the way he behaves sometimes, Jones intoned through Neal's earphones. "It's obvious he's very torn inside over his place—not surprising if he really spent a decade living with a liberationist—and his confusion causes him to swing back and forth between making good choices based on his conscience and acting out to assuage his ego."

Wow, wasn't Jones a regular Dr. Phil? Okay, yeah, technically he was right—Neal *did* spend most of his time swinging back and forth between trying to prove he was a Very Good Slave by acting out every bit of training he'd ever received and trying to prove that he was better than everyone else by screwing protocol and doing whatever he pleased. But that didn't mean Neal enjoyed being psychoanalyzed by arrogant free men.

"Yeah, well, I would really appreciate it if you'd try and improve your relationship with him. I need my team to run smoothly, and that's hard to do when you're constantly going at it over something stupid with Neal." Peter sounded like he was ready to bitch slap someone, and Neal had a feeling Jones wasn't the one who would end up getting slapped.

"Yeah, sure thing, Boss. Consider the problem whipped." There they were again, those words. Said with such an amused lilt, like some kind of inside joke. Not that it was hard to figure out.

Neal backed up the recording, letting it play for what was probably the tenth time. Who knew having Alec rewire the bug so the recording went to Neal's computer instead of Fowler's cellphone would come in so handy? Neal hadn't been sure that his master would actually keep the thing in his pocket, but so far, so good.

This thing with Jones, though… Neal really needed to get it under control. It was obvious that the man had a lot more experience with slaves than Peter, not to mention a much more traditional view on how they should be treated. Neal's mouthiness definitely did not help their relationship.

Despite what it might seem, Neal wasn't actually *trying* to piss Peter's best agent off. In fact, he'd been trying to get on the man's good side, albeit without much success. Now, though, it was even more important that Neal win Agent Jones over, as it was obviously what his master wanted, and he was all about giving Peter what he wanted.

Unfortunately, everything he tried tended to blow up in his face.

'Improve your relationship,' Peter had said. The question was, what did that mean?

After the mess with the hat stealer, Neal knew what it probably *didn't* mean—he doubted Peter would appreciate his slave fucking yet another of his employees—but at the same time, Neal was really at his wits end.

Neal had a lot of experience winning over free men, it was one of his biggest cons, but it had been based off the ability to use his body. His personality definitely wasn't going to win Jones over, that was for sure. In fact, he was fairly certain that the man couldn't stand him. No, he needed something else to make himself worthwhile in the agent's eyes.

The problem was, Neal was only good at two things, and Jones was definitely not impressed by his criminal wits, which only left…

No, he really shouldn't go there. Peter had gone ape-shit when he heard about the hat stealer. Of course, this wasn't the same thing as the hat stealer. It wasn't like the agent would be jumping him in the supply closet or whatever. No, this would simply be Neal offering to help out a fellow member of the team.

And who said that Peter needed to know? Neal's master was a busy man; there was no reason to bother him with little things like this.

Mind made up, Neal tossed his headphones back in the drawer and stood up. It was time to improve himself a relationship.

o o o

Peter frowned as he studied the files, tapping his pen idly against his desk. The so-called Brent Gatewood stared up at him with the sort of deep, soulful eyes that kind of make a man want to cream his pants. He had no problem understanding why Vicus had bought the boy a second time.

He bit his lip, leaning back in his chair with a sigh as he looked out his window into the main office area, studying Neal at his desk. The boy was turning lazily in his chair with his eyes closed, a pair of earbuds in his ears as he listened to, well, something.

At some point Peter was going to have to talk to him about this whole Hand to Mouth/Vienna Gambit con, and while he doubted that was going to be a fun conversation, it wasn't the one he was most nervous about having. No, another topic won that award, for sure.

"I want you to have sex with Neal." The words were still echoing in his mind, making his heart race and his stomach flip.

At first, Peter had been one hundred percent against the idea. After all, using people for sex was *not* the same thing as making love, and the latter was definitely what Peter found pleasurable. However, as more and more of Neal's past was revealed, Peter found himself starting to understand what El meant when she said that it was time they started thinking about what Neal actually needed, not what they *wanted* him to need.

It was obvious that Neal considered his body and his charm to be his most valuable assets, at least when it came to being wanted by masters. The fact that Peter had spent the last week basically ignoring both had certainly not helped the slave feel like a part of the household.

The truth was, if they wanted to start a journey with Neal then Peter was going to have to make the first steps, even if it wasn't the most pleasant walk. Even Neal's weird little trainer agreed with that, and Peter was pretty sure that one didn't suggest people get it on with his friend lightly.

Peter took a deep breath, letting it out with a whoosh, eyes still on Neal. The man had ditched his earbuds and was leaving his desk, headed in the general direction of the coffee maker with a very intense look on his face.

God, he really was beautiful.

Screw it. Tonight was the night. If Peter waited any longer, he'd chicken out for sure. He would call up El, suggest that she go out with her girlfriends for dinner and a drink or three after work. He and Neal could have some time alone, and Peter would make the first steps in showing the boy that he was worth way more than he realized.

Mind made up, Peter tossed the Brent Gatewood file into his desk drawer and pulled out his cellphone. It was time to set himself up a little date night.

o o o

Jones was all alone in the second floor records room, making this a rather opportune moment to spring. Apparently the gods of fucklings were smiling down on Neal today.

Neal ran a hand lightly through his hair and straightened his tie, pasting the smile he used for seduction on his face as he walked through the door, trying his best to look casual.

"Hello, Agent Jones."

Jones looked up from the file he was flipping through, eyebrow raising. "Caffrey. What are you doing here?"

Right to the point, that was Jones for you. Neal widened his smile.

"Actually, I was looking for you, sir," he said, hoping his voice didn't come off too husky. He didn't want it to seem like he was trying too hard.

"Really?" Jones replied, not sounding particularly pleased that Neal had been searching the building for him. Not that he'd had to search long; Bob Two had known exactly where the agent was. Hell, Neal was fairly sure that the Bobs knew absolutely everything that was going on in the building at any given time.

"Really," Neal confirmed, knowing that he was being a catty bastard but unable to stop himself. He moved a step closer to Jones. "I heard it through the grapevine that my master wants us to work on improving our… *relationship*." He put extra emphasis on the last word, figuring Jones would get what he meant. He was a fuckling, after all, something that the entire office knew by now.

"Caffrey, I really don't think I like where this is going," Jones said, his eyes narrowing a little.

"*I* think," Neal said, stepping forward until he was close enough to run his hand along the man's lapel, "that you would be amazed how much you could like where this goes." Yikes, that was a terrible line. Neal was seriously off his game, but it *had* been over four years since he'd had to worry about seducing someone.

"What confuses me," Jones said, looking down at Neal's hand on his jacket with open disdain, "is what makes a slave think it can tell me what I do or don't like." The words sounded more like a cheerful question than an angry statement, but they still made Neal pause, feeling a little nervous.

"I, uh…"

"You, uuuuuuuh," Jones mimicked, shaking his head as he reached up and began to unknot his tie. "Oh, Caffrey. I really didn't want to take it this far, but you're not giving me much of a choice here, boy."

He reached up, and Neal's stomach dropped as the agent wrapped his tie around Neal's face, effectively blinding him.

"Agent Jones, I—"

"Not interested in hearing it, Caffrey. Close your mouth and wait." He paused, and then added. "Don't worry, boy, I'm not going to hurt you."

There was a shuffling sound then the door clicked, making Neal want to rip the blindfold from his face, but he restrained himself, despite the churning in his gut and the pounding of his heart.

Jones wasn't going to hurt him, eh? Neal would believe that when he saw it.

A few minutes passed, though it felt like an eternity, then Neal felt a a rush of relief as the door opened again.

"Take him out through the back, to my car," Jones voice said, his tone brisk. "Make sure no one sees him—Vice Collar doesn't need anymore gossip. I'm going to let Burke know we're taking a little trip. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Jones," a soft voice that Neal was fairly sure belonged to Bob One said. "I will take him out through the back to the parking garage and place him in your car, sir."

"Good." There was a jangling sound, probably Jones handing over his keys, then Neal felt a hand on his upper arm.

"Come on, Neal," Bob One said, the pity clear in his voice. "Walk with me, boy. You're going for a ride with Master Jones."

o o o

Peter looked up as Jones walked into his office, offering the agent a smile.

"Hey, Jones, what's up?"

The man smiled back at him. "I just came to let you know that I'm taking Neal for a ride so we can have that little talk you wanted us to have."

Peter frowned, brow furrowing a little. "A ride? What do you mean, a ride?"

Jones shrugged. "I think this conversation would be best had somewhere outside the office, someplace where things are a little clearer for him. I mean, it's pretty obvious that he's confused as hell about whether he's your partner, your slave, or your damn boyfriend."

Peter's cheeks warmed slightly at the words, and he glared at his agent. "Ha ha. You're really a riot, Clinton. What sort of conversation are you planning to have with him, exactly?" he questioned, feeling a little suspicious. He didn't love the way Jones treated Neal, even if Neal seemed to think the man's attitude was normal.

"I just want to talk to him about the little rough patches we keep having and ask him what he thinks can be done to improve the behavior. Maybe also take a few minutes to work on it."

"Okay," Peter said slowly. "That sounds like a good plan. How long do you think you'll be gone? I actually have some, erm, plans of my own tonight."

Jones raised an eyebrow at that, looking amused. "It shouldn't take long, Boss. Neal really is a decent boy, not a rebel bone in his body. I feel like once we get the issue out there and address it head on instead of ducking around it, going back and forth, that we'll be able to solve it."

Peter nodded. "Okay, well try and have him back by six, okay?"

Jones smiled. "No problem. See you in a few, Burke."

o o o

Neal sat in silence in what he was fairly sure was the backseat of Jones' car. He hadn't dared to look, even after Bob One had left him sitting in it all alone, so he couldn't be totally certain. It was the most likely scenario, though.

They had been driving for at least ten or fifteen minutes, and Jones hadn't spoken to Neal at all during that time. The conman in Neal really wanted to speak up, to say something to try and manipulate the man in the front seat into taking off this damn blindfold, but the slave in him was screaming to keep his mouth shut. Considering that Jones seemed to like slaves a lot more than he liked conmen, it was probably a good idea. And yet, keeping his mouth shut was so hard…

"So, Agent Jones, do you always use your tie as a blindfold when you kidnap people, or do you sometimes go for your pocket square?"

Oh, dear God, what the hell was wrong with him?

There was a silence, then Jones spoke up, his voice unreadable.

"You're not a person, Caffrey, and I'm not kidnapping you. I'm trying to help you."

Right. Because there was nothing like wrapping your tie around someone's face and hauling them off to God-knows-where when you wanted to lend a hand.

The car slowed and made a turn, bouncing a little in that way cars do when they hit the dips leading into parking lots or up driveways.

The car turned again—into a parking space, if Neal had to make a guess—and Jones killed the engine, opening his door.

"Come on, boy," Jones said as he opened the door to the backseat and unbuckled the seatbelt Bob One had put on for Neal. "Let's go."

Neal climbed carefully out of the car, feeling his way around as best he could. What he guessed was probably Jones' hand clamped down on his arm once he was standing, and he felt himself being led across concrete. Yeah, he was pretty sure they were in a parking lot.

The warmth from the sun lessened as they crossed into shade, and there was a whooshing sound followed by a blast of cool air, then the floor beneath Neal's feet went from rough concrete to slick tile.

"We don't need any help, thank you," Jones said, and Neal didn't think the man was talking to him. He continued to walk, arm in arm with Jones, trying his best to ignore the way his stomach was churning. After a moment they came to a stop, and Neal nearly cried in relief as he felt Jones' hands reach for the knot on the tie, tugging at it with his strong fingers.

All that relief was gone in a flash, though, as the silk fell away from Neal's face and he found himself standing in hell.

"Welcome home, Caffrey," Jones said in a soft voice, smiling kindly at the other man as he nodded at the SlaveMart aisles.

Neal whimpered, not caring if he sounded like a pitiful child. At that moment, he felt like a pitiful child.

"Shhh, it's okay, boy," Jones said, reaching an arm around Neal and pulling him close. "We're just here to have a talk and do a little work on your behavior. I thought getting back to your roots would help put you in the right headspace."

Neal looked sharply at Jones, swallowing hard. The man was talking like a trainer, and not the kind of bullshit trainer that Mozzie was. No, he was talking like someone who knew his protocol.

This was not good, not good at all. Because if Jones knew his protocol, then he also knew—

"The way you came on to me today was completely unacceptable, boy."

—he also knew that.

"I don't know where you learned those kind of seduction tactics," Jones said, shaking his head, "but it was like being approached by a boy on a streetcorner."

Neal's face flamed, and he dropped his eyes.

"You have a problem, Caffrey. Your need to be in control is unhealthy. The fact that you're actually surprised when your scheming and your attempts at manipulation blow up in your face shows how big the problem is," Jones said, arm moving from Neal's shoulders down his back. "I know that it's difficult for you, remembering what your place is in life. I can't even blame you for that—it's obvious that outside influences have affected your ability to see yourself clearly."

Yes, and those same outside influences would be flipping out if they knew just how hard Jones' words were hitting home with Neal. Well, flipping out and hiding from government satellites.

"Tell me, Caffrey, if you wanted to put your product usage to work, then how should you have approached me today?" Jones asked, and Neal took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I should have asked permission to serve you, sir," Neal said quietly. "And then left the decision to you."

"And why do we ask politely instead of talking like a cheap whore?" Jones questioned.

"Because attempting to seduce a master who has not asked for sexual advances involves making a decision for your master, sir."

"That's right," Jones said, nodding. "I know that you and Burke have a strange little relationship going on, but I'm not Agent Burke, and you need to learn to respect me."

Neal looked up sharply. "I do respect you, Agent Jones," he said. "I swear, I really do."

"No, Caffrey," Jones said quietly, "you don't. Maybe what you have for me would be respect if you were a free man, but you're not a free man. This attitude, it's going to change, though." He removed his hand from Neal's back and crossed his arms over his chest, staring Neal down, and the slave sort of felt like he wanted to melt into the ground. "Tell me, what do you think you can do to prove you respect me?"

The answer to that was easy enough, considering that the reason they were here at all is because Neal had decided to forget every piece of protocol he'd been trained in and try to run a version of his best con on Jones.

"If you would allow me, I would love to show my respect by serving you, sir," Neal said, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. It was one thing to fuck somebody as a part of his plans, but to actually give up control like a good slave… Jones was right when he said that Neal had control issues. Hence his tendency to be a sassy, mouthy bitch.

"Do you really mean it, Caffrey?" Jones questioned, stepping forward and running his thumb over the slave's lips. "Because I am only interested in doing this if your intention is truly to prove your respect for me and earn my appreciation. I am most definitely not interested in a repeat of Agent Johnson's sick little game." The man's lip curled up in disgust. "He got what he deserved."

Neal had to smile at that, though it was a little wobbly. "I agree, sir," he said. "And yes, Agent Jones, I really do want to prove my respect for you." Not necessarily by playing with the man's dick, but it didn't look like he had a lot of choice in what manner said respect would be shown.

Mozzie would tell him to wash the brainwashing bullshit out of his head and haul his butt out of there. Too bad Mozzie wasn't actually here.

"Then I'm willing to let you," Jones said in a gracious voice, like he knew he was doing Neal a huge favor. Just like a fucking trainer would.

"Thank you, sir," Neal said, because it was expected of him, as Jones took him by the arm again and started leading him toward the back of the big box store.

Neal wasn't sure where they were going, but he knew better than to ask. It was clear that Jones was very, *very* familiar with slave training protocol, though Neal had no idea how considering that the man hadn't even realized that a criminal using slaves to produce goods would kill his stock when he was done.

They reached the men's room, and Neal tried to hide his grimace. Oh goody, a chance to kneel on the floor of a public restroom, right next to the damn toilet. It was good to know that free men saw such a classy slave when they looked at him.

Apparently Neal didn't do a very good job of hiding his disgust, because Jones chuckled, shaking his head. "See, this is exactly your problem, boy. Your ego is massive. You're a sex slave—you're not too good for a restroom. You're not too good for *anywhere.* But you've built up this other person in your mind, this suave conman who's better than everyone. Only he doesn't actually exist."

Neal couldn't argue with the idea that his ego was massive, considering how badly it was bleeding right now.

They entered the restroom, bypassing the urinals and heading toward the handicap stall at the end. Jones opened the stall, gesturing for Neal to enter, and Neal obeyed, albeit it with a grimace.

Jones stepped in, shutting the door behind them, then he turned around, giving Neal a kind smile, the sort of smile trainers gave you when they wanted you to remember that they were doing you a favor.

"It's okay, Caffrey, just let the feelings go," he said, running a hand over Neal's frowning mouth. Neal took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried his best to obey. He was getting what he wanted, what he had offered Jones to begin with. No, it wasn't turning out the way he had planned, but it wasn't his job to make plans. It was his job to do what he was told.

"On your knees, boy," Jones commanded, and Neal opened his eyes, hoping his face looked somewhat less disgusted now. It was just a restroom—he would survive.

Neal knelt down on the floor, doing his best to ignore the stickiness of the tile, and moved into position with his arms behind his back and his knees spread.

"Good boy," Jones said, his voice once again back to that no-nonsense voice as he stepped forward and ran his hand through Neal's hair, softening the gel and loosening the curls. His other hand worked his trousers, slipping down the zipper. His erection was already starting to grow, and Neal sucked in a sharp breath as the man pulled his rather impressively sized cock from his pants.

Wow, that was *not* going to be fun to swallow. Was the man a porn star in his free time or something?

Jones palmed himself, dick rising slowly as the blood rushed between his legs, and Neal felt himself begin to rise as well, making his face go hot. Damn, damn, *damn* his training! The last thing he wanted was a hard on while he was on his knees next to a freaking toilet in the men's room at SlaveMart, no less.

"You can't say you don't enjoy serving," Jones said, and it took everything Neal had in him not to respond with a catty comment. "I can tell you're embarrassed, but you don't have to be. The fact that you like this doesn't make me think less of you."

Neal opened his mouth, about to tell Jones to take his bullshit training talk and go fuck himself, then he snapped it shut again, taking a deep, steadying breath. He didn't have to be here. Jones had made it clear that this little scenario was about Neal proving that he was capable of submitting like he was supposed to so that they could fix their 'relationship,' as Peter had called it. Being a mouthy asshole would pretty much defeat the whole purpose.

Jones smiled, a look of pride on his face. "There's a good boy. That's it right there, Caffrey. Think before you speak, and remember who you are. Now, open your mouth."

And they were off. Neal's stomach turned as he obeyed, tilting his head up and opening his mouth as wide as he could.

Jones reached out with the hand that wasn't working his dick, slipping his thumb into Neal's mouth. Neal closed his lips around it, sucking, and the agent chuckled.

"You really are a fuckling."

The words made Neal's shoulders tense, fear washing over him, but Jones simply smiled at him again as he continued to suck the man's thumb.

"It's okay, boy. I have no problem with fucklings. I know some people use what you are as an excuse to hurt their slaves, but I think that's bull. You have your use, just like all slaves." He paused, pulling his thumb from Neal's mouth and inspecting it with an amused look on his face. "Now, I wouldn't let my dog kiss that mouth of yours knowing where it's been, but I'm not going to punish you for what you are."

And now they were starting on the 3Ds. Sadly, it was working, as Neal was indeed feeling the weird blend of humiliation and gratitude that came from Dehumanization with a touch of Dedication on the side. Mozzie would be so disappointed in him.

"I know you're manipulating me," Neal said quietly, raising his eyes to look at Jones. "That you're knocking me down so you can pick me back up. I can tell you've trained slaves before."

Jones smile grew even wider, and he laughed. "Oh, Caffrey. I told those idiot agents gossiping in the cafeteria today that being a fuckling didn't make you stupid. They kept insisting that Burke was only using the consultation thing as an excuse to fuck you, but I said to them, 'The slave's smarter than you can even imagine.' You're smarter than those dumb asses, for sure—of course, that's not saying much."

Neal's whole body stiffened, his face growing even hotter and his throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Sure, he knew that he was the hot topic at the FBI right now, but to actually hear that a group of agents had been talking about him, had called him a stupid fuckling… It was horribly humiliating.

"There's that ego again," Jones said, and Neal swallowed hard. "What does it matter if most of the building thinks you're a dumb whore? You're not, but they don't need to know that. You're only a slave, so it doesn't matter whether or not you're stupid, right?"

Neal blinked back the wetness in his eyes, the words painfully true.

"I asked you a question, boy."

Neal cleared his throat. "No, Master Jones, it doesn't matter whether or not I'm stupid."

Jones smiled. "That's right!" he said, like Neal had taken the prize on The Price Is Right. "Now come on," he said, directing his hard cock toward Neal's face, running the shaft along the slave's jawline, then slapping it lightly against Neal's cheek before moving the head to his lips.

Neal obediently opened his mouth, taking the mushroom-like tip of the man's cock between his lips and suckling at the warm flesh, running his tongue lightly across the slit.

Unsurprisingly, this fairly comfortable position didn't last long. After a minute or so of this, Jones took Neal's head firmly between his hands and angled it, tilting it in an uncomfortable way until Neal's ear was almost touching his shoulder. Jones then thrust in, his cock pressing deep into Neal's cheek, leaving it bulging outward. The man moved one hand down, applying several firm swats to the bulging cheek, letting out a muffled sound of pleasure as they came off as vibrations to the dick beneath the flesh.

Jones began to press in and out methodically, making Neal's cheek bulge with each thrust, and Neal felt his already beaten and bruised ego take another stab. The slave dropped his eyes in embarrassment, locking them on Jones' belt.

Neal shouldn't be feeling this way, he knew that. He had no right to feel this way. But the fact that a man Neal worked with was using his mouth like a hole to be plundered, like there was no one worth considering attached, was painful.

"Eyes on me, boy," Jones said in a patient but firm voice, and Neal obeyed, rolling his eyes up until they were locked on the man above him.

Despite the harshness of his thrusts, Jones was smiling down at Neal, and it actually made the slave feel a little better. Neal might be a hole to be plundered, but Jones did at least acknowledge that someone was attached.

"That's a good boy," Jones said, sounding like he was talking to his dog. "You're doing so well, Caffrey."

Sure, if your idea of 'doing well' was acting like a brainless SlaveMart castoff. Mozzie would say he'd gone backward a decade when he'd made the decision to mindlessly follow training instead of trying to manipulate his way out of the situation.

And yet, Jones' words still made the little slave boy inside of him well up with pride.

The agent paused in his thrusting, and Neal moved to pull off of his cock, hoping to catch a full breath, but before he made it an inch, Jones caught him by the hair, holding him tight. Neal made a soft sound of pain as Jones shook his head.

"No," he said in an amused voice, though his eyes were serious. "Peter may have no clue when it comes to your training, but I wasn't born yesterday, Caffrey. No breaks. If you need to catch your breath, you can keep it here," the man pulled his hips back until only the tip of his cock was left in Neal's mouth.

If Neal had thought he was humiliated before, well, this was a whole new level. Before it had just been the conman in him, the catty criminal with an ego the size of Manhattan, who was embarrassed. Now the slave in him was humiliated as well. He'd tried to avoid his training, and Master Jones had caught him in the act, calling him out on his bad behavior. Trainer Joey would be furious to know that after all these years and all those flavored condoms, Neal was *still* trying to get away with slacking on blow jobs.

Neal spent a few moments taking careful breaths around Jones' dick to ease his aching lungs, then pointedly slid down a little on the man's cock.

Jones smiled at him. "We're going deep now, Caffrey, so I need you to do something for me. I need you to set aside that ego, to put a bullet in the head of that make believe person you've created, relax, open your throat, and take it. Do you think you can do that, boy? Blink two times if you do."

Neal blinked, though he was really busy wondering where the hell Jones had picked up slave protocol established by nationally renowned slave trainer Max Shoreman and whether or not it was a coincidence that Jones was using the protocol Shoreman had invented while Neal was running a con on him.

"Good boy, Caffrey," Jones said, and then his very sizable shaft buried itself deep in Neal's throat, the tip ramming against the back then slipping at an angle downward. Neal swallowed rapidly, trying unsuccessfully not to choke. His eyes began to water at the effort, his throat spasming like crazy as he gagged and his stomach turned.

Spittle ran down his chin, and if Neal had been a free man, he probably would have wiped it off. However, considering that Jones obviously had experience training slaves, he resisted the urge. As embarrassing as it was for someone as picky about their appearance as he was to have drool running down his face, Neal's trainers had always been very clear that sucking cock was a messy job and it wasn't a slave's place to clean themselves up.

Ugh, he hated sucking cock. Why the hell was he doing this again?

Jones' dick pressed in even farther, thick and heavy down Neal's throat, and though Neal fought it like crazy, in the end the man was just too big and Neal felt himself heave. He tried his best to swallow the sticky, acidic substance rising in his throat, but it was no use. His stomach turned, the vomit came up, and he released it onto Jones' cock.

A wave of terror rolled over him, and it took everything Neal had not to curl up in a little ball and beg forgiveness. None of Neal's trainers had taken well to him retching while he had cock in his throat, and the consequences were never pretty. Considering that Jones had made a point of telling him to relax and take it, Neal figured he wouldn't be any happier than Trainer Joey had been when Neal was a kid.

Neal's fear must have been written on his face, because Jones pulled all the way out, making a point not to touch his now sticky dick, and he ran a hand through Neal's hair, the amusement clear on his face.

"Hey, it's okay, boy. Go on, spit it out." He nodded toward the toilet, and Neal looked at it in surprise. Usually his trainers made him choke it back down. That or they made him spit it out onto himself, which was even worse.

A little wary that this might be some kind of trick, Neal crawled on hands and knees to the toilet, leaning over it and spitting out what was left of the vomit. He glanced over at Jones, who still looked like he was on the edge of laughing, but Neal supposed that was better than being furious. Neal flushed the toilet then crawled back over to the agent, sitting back in position in front of him.

Jones rubbed the shaft of his cock along Neal's cheeks, using the boy's face to wipe the puke off his dick, grimacing a little as he did so.

"Sorry, Master Jones," Neal said, the embarrassment starting to rise now that his fear had passed. "You're kind of large."

Not that being large was an excuse for puking all over a man's dick.

Jones chuckled as he wiped the last of the sticky substance off on Neal's jaw—thankfully he'd avoided the slave's hair—and returned the tip of his cock to Neal's mouth.

"It has nothing to do with my size, Caffrey, and I think you know that," Jones said in a chastising voice. "You were listening to that ego of yours scream, and you fought it, up here." Jones tapped the side of Neal's forehead. "But you need to let that make believe person go. I mean, what's the point in pretending? Let's be honest: Would the world-wise, savvy, confident conman you made up be on his knees in a dirty bathroom with vomit on his cheeks, drooling all over himself with a man's cock cradled in his mouth?"

Neal would have given anything to be allowed to look away right then.

"You were asked a question, boy."

Neal's brow furrowed up as he tried to figure out how, exactly, he could answer that question with Jones' very fat cock in his mouth.

"You can still talk around it," Jones said, answering Neal's silent question, and Neal winced.

Yes, he technically could still talk around it. That didn't make it any less embarrassing.

"So tell me. *Would* a man like the one you made up be on his knees in a dirty bathroom, covered in vomit, drooling everywhere, with a cock in his mouth?"

"No, Master Jones," Neal said, though it sounded more like, "Nah, Mah-huh Hawn-uh-suh."

"No, he definitely wouldn't," Jones agreed. "So we're going to try this again, but this time I need the real you here with me. No fighting, no disgust; I want total acceptance. I want you to take what you're given, to relax and embrace it."

Seriously, the man should consider a fucking side business in slave training. Hell, from the way he talked, Neal wouldn't be surprised to find out he *had* a side business in slave training, though he wasn't sure Peter would be down with that from one of his agents.

The thought of Peter made a wave of guilt rush over Neal. He knew for damn sure Peter wouldn't be down with what he was doing to improve his relationship with Jones. There was no way that Neal's oh-so-naive master expected this to be the result of his little talk with Jones. Of course, Neal wouldn't be going through this if he hadn't been a mouthy, lying bitch to Jones to begin with. Then Jones wouldn't feel the need to work on Neal's ego at all.

Honestly, Jones was being fairly generous, though Peter probably wouldn't get that. Jones was simply doing what he believed was the best method for the two of them to get along, exactly what Neal's master had asked him to do. Compared to the kind of trainers you were usually sent to for acting up, Jones was exceptionally kind. Hell, he was kind compared to pretty much all of Neal's trainers, which is why Neal would have to make certain that anything Peter learned about his session with Jones was explained in a way that made it clear that the things being done were to improve Neal's attitude, not to be a sadistic prick. Considering how Peter had felt about Master Jack and his slaves, Neal had a feeling that the distinction was blurry to him.

Mozzie and Peter actually had a surprising amount in common.

"Okay, boy," Jones said, breaking Neal out of his thoughts as he slid his cock deeper into Neal's mouth. "Time to take it like the good boy I know you really are. Relax and take it."

Neal really wished he could close his eyes to help him focus, but Jones had ordered that he look at him. He breathed in deeply through his nose as the man's dick hit the back of his throat and started its downward slide, trying his hardest to force his throat open as much as possible. Neal's stomach was turning and the inside of his throat was twitching, but he forced the sensations out of his mind, concentrating on swallowing the agent's dick down farther and farther, just like he'd learned as a kid.

Neal's nose bumped Jones' belt buckle, little curls of pubic hair tickling his lips as he pressed his face against the man's belly, the entire cock down his throat.

"Good boy," Jones muttered, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure as he fumbled with Neal's hair, pressing the slave's face even harder into him, and Neal felt a flash of pride.

Man, Mozzie would be pissed off to realize that Neal still felt pride when a free man spoke to him like a dog that sits on command.

Being pressed against the agent's belly was blocking Neal's nasal passages, and his lungs were starting to burn. Jones' big hands held him firmly in place, trapping the slave against his body, and as the clock ticked slowly on, Neal's mind got more and more anxious. It started as a tickle on his neck that grew to a tingling throughout his body that transformed into a desperate, frantic need to yank his head back, to shove himself away, to fight the grip holding him down, to *breathe*.

Neal didn't move.

Neal was starting to feel lightheaded, his whole body screaming at him to move, when the agent released him and he jerked back, gasping. Well, gasping as much as you can around someone's cock, considering that he hadn't forgotten the warning about not removing his mouth from Jones' dick.

Neal's shoulders were trembling slightly, and Jones massaged one of them, big hands slowly working at the muscles.

"You're doing a good job, Caffrey," Jones said, and Neal flinched at the sound of his last name. It was one thing for these free men to call him that while he was consulting on cases, but when his face was buried in the man's crotch like this? It was a little disturbing. Sex toys didn't go by their last names.

Without any warning, Jones shoved in deep, going from brushing Neal's lips with the head of his cock to buried shaft deep down his throat. Jones' hands holding the back of Neal's head were the only thing that kept the slave's head from snapping back with the force, and Neal began to gag as he choked it down, tilting his head up to ease the path and relaxing his throat as much as he could.

It was a good thing he did, too, because the second Neal's nose hit his crotch, Jones pulled back out all the way then slammed in deep again, starting the whole process over.

All the way in, all the way out, then back in, then out, in and out… The rhythm was steady, but Neal couldn't focus on that. All of his attention was going to keeping his gagging to a minimum and sucking the occasional breath through his nose. He made sure to suck as much air as he could when he got the chance, because every now and then Jones would reach out with the hand not holding Neal's head steady and pinch his nose shut, plugging his airway for what seemed like eternity each time, but was probably no more than ten seconds or so.

Neal's eyes were watering so much that there were tears running down his cheeks even though he wasn't actually crying, and a mix of spit, vomit, and pre-cum was bubbling out of his mouth around Jones' cock, dripping down his face.

Maybe Peter would be more interested in actually taking Neal for a test drive if he saw what sort of sex fucklings were used for. Neal doubted Mistress El was into this kind of thing, but he thought that Peter would probably enjoy it. He had yet to meet a man who didn't enjoy pounding his face.

After several minutes of deep thrusting, Jones slowed his hips, leaning his body back against the stall door as he released the back of Neal's head from his firm grip.

"Now you're going to fuck your own face for me," Jones said, not surprising Neal in the least. This whole encounter had followed the classic training methods practically to a tee, and having the slave do the work was next on the checklist. "But I don't want to catch you half-assing it." There was warning in his tone.

Considering how red Neal's face was from the physical strain of deep throating, he hadn't thought it could possibly get any hotter, but he was pretty sure that it increased a couple of shades at those words.

Jones was a good, fair, generous trainer, and he saw Neal as disrespectful enough to need a warning like that. Talk about humiliating.

Wow, Neal's slave mentality was really going at full throttle today, which he supposed was the point of this escapade.

Neal shifted around until he was in a position where he could slam his mouth down on Jones' cock, hard and fast like the man obviously wanted, without having to use his hands to hold it in place. It was disrespectful to touch your master's cock with your hands when you were supposed to be using your mouth, and Neal did not need to give Jones any other reason to think of him as disrespectful.

Neal took a deep breath, filling his lungs as much as possible, then he dropped down onto the man's shaft.

Neal sucked hard at the cock, cheeks hollowing, as he took the man in a way that was very uncomfortable for him but very pleasurable for Jones. Or Neal assumed that it was very pleasurable—he'd never actually had someone do it to him, but he'd never gotten any complaints, either.

The constant gagging was more like background noise now, the burning in his throat old news, and Neal rode the man's cock up and down in an almost violent motion. The movements were a little slower than Jones' thrusting had been simply because of the intense amount of suction Neal was applying, but the ride itself was just as rough as it would have been if Jones had been the one in the driver's seat. Trainer Joey would be proud.

Jones groaned above him, and Neal tasted the firsts hints of semen in his mouth as the agent wrapped his fingers in Neal's curls, gripping them hard as he dragged the boy completely off his cock by his hair.

"That's good," Jones murmured, wrapping one hand around his shiny cock. Neal had a feeling this was going to be over soon.

Thank God.

Neal sat with his hands behind his back, cock still hard between his legs and his eyes locked on Jones. He held his mouth open as wide as he could, extending his tongue a little as the agent stroked his dick with one big hand, pointing it in the general direction of Neal's face. It only took a few strokes, and the cum splattered across Neal's face. Some of it landed in his mouth, some caught on his eyelashes, and some sprinkled across his cheeks, hot and sticky.

Jones moved forward a step, using his softening cock to scrape up the semen that had landed on Neal's face then offering it to the slave to clean. Neal obeyed, leaning forward and sucking the salty substance off of the soft flesh, making a show of swallowing it.

"God, boy, you really *are* good," Jones said as he bounced his dick on Neal's tongue for a moment before pulling out and rubbing the shaft along Neal's annoyingly sticky face.

"Thank you, sir," Neal replied, because there wasn't really anything else to say.

"Wait here," Jones ordered as he slipped himself back into his pants. Neal obeyed, staying in position on the floor, hands still behind his back, as the man pushed his way out of the stall, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Neal's stomach fluttered nervously. Jones wouldn't just leave him here, would he?

A few seconds later the stall opened again and Jones reappeared, a handful of paper towels at his side. He knelt down on the floor beside the toilet and motioned for Neal to come to him.

Neal obeyed, crawling on hands and knees until he was in front of Jones, then sitting up and returning to position.

Jones took one of the paper towels and dipped it in the toilet, wringing it out before lifting it up to Neal's face, gently wiping away the nasty mess of bodily fluids covering it. When he'd first entered this bathroom, Neal might have found the idea of having his face cleaned with water from a toilet both humiliating and disgusting, but at this point he simply acknowledged it as kindness. Jones didn't have to clean him at all.

"Do you understand why I brought you here, Caffrey?" Jones questioned as he worked, and Neal frowned.

"Gee, I don't know, because you wanted a blow job, sir?" Neal said, then flinched at his own words. What the *fuck* was wrong with him? "I'm sorry, Master Jones," he said in a rush. "I am a stupid, mouthy bitch."

Jones laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, yes, you are, Caffrey. 'Stupid, mouthy bitch' could honestly be your sir-name. But getting you to acknowledge that is exactly why I brought you here. Like I said before, you have no respect for me—or you had no respect for me before this—but the reason you have no respect is because you are so full of yourself."

He dipped the paper towel into the toilet bowl again, and Neal closed his eyes so the man could wash the semen off of his eyelashes.

"I've seen slaves like you before, Neal, back in my military days. Slaves who know they're all that—and yes, I said 'know,' because you *are* all that. You're smart, you're talented, you're capable, you're strong. But because you know this, there is only one way to earn your respect, and that's by regularly reminding you of who you are."

Neal dropped his eyes. "I'm nobody," he said softly, and Jones sighed, tipping his chin back up.

"You're not nobody, Neal. You're Burke's consultant and companion. You're that Moreau woman's boytoy. You're the little bald guy's favorite pet. Hell, now you're my cocksucker. There's nothing wrong with being those things. What you're *not* is a federal agent, a free conman, or even a real criminal. You're a slave, and who you are is dependent on what the people you serve want you to do, not on what you want to be when you grow up."

Neal swallowed down the lump in his already sore throat, nodding. "You're right, Master Jones."

The agent reached into his pocket, pulling out a travel size bottle of mouthwash. "For you."

Neal reached out, taking it slowly. "Thank you, Master Jones."

"You're welcome," he replied, ruffling a hand in Neal's hair as he dampened the paper towel again and wiped the last hints of stickiness from Neal's lips. "I like you, boy. I didn't at first, but you're growing on me. I was willing to put up with your attitude, but Burke says that we need to get our relationship under control. I can't pretend that your misbehavior doesn't exist the way he does, so if we're going to make this work then I can't let it go anymore."

Neal licked his lips nervously. "You might not want to mention the details to Master. I… I know that you're right, but I don't think he would understand. He is very strange about how people train their slaves. He might be angry."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm not worried about that right now. He's never trained slaves, and you were headed down a messy path, boy. You needed a reminder that it's not your job to play the free man, doing and saying whatever that big brain of yours tells you is best, even if it breaks all the rules. It's your job to be obedient and accept when things don't go the way you think they should with a good attitude and a smile on your face."

"Yes, sir," Neal agreed quietly.

Jones stroked his hand across Neal's face, smiling at him. "I don't believe in punishing slaves for crossing lines they didn't know existed, so I'm going to let what happened today with the letter go. But you know now that if you ever try and manipulate me the way you did earlier today, lying and sneaking around with your liberationist friend, that I will call you out on your misbehavior and we *will* work on fixing the training you broke."

"Yes, Master Jones," Neal said, nodding rapidly as his stomach did a nervous dance. "I know that now."

"You also know that if you continue to treat me with the kind of disrespect that you've shown me since you arrived, that I will call you out on that as well. Burke has zero interest in keeping up your training, but I have no problem being the enforcer."

"Yes, sir," Neal replied, heart beating a little too fast. "I promise that I will show you the proper respect in the future." And he would. Jones was being more than fair, laying out his expectations and warning Neal of the consequences of not meeting them. Sure, he didn't exactly adore the man, but he'd been nuts to go around lying to him and mouthing off and generally acting like the shittiest slave in existence when it was damn obvious Jones was more than willing to put Neal in his place.

Spending time with the oh-so-liberal Peter was almost as bad as being around Mozzie. Neal's childhood trainers would weep to see him now.

Jones ruffled his hair again, giving him another smile. "You *are* a good boy, Neal. How Burke ever mistook you for a rebel, I don't know. You say you're willing to do your best, and that's all I ask of slaves. I do think we need to try this again, though." He gestured vaguely to Neal's kneeling form. "In a few days you can offer yourself again. We'll see if we can't skip the vomiting and go straight to the acceptance instead of you spending ten minutes trying to fight something you should be eager to take."

"Yes, Master Jones," Neal agreed, cheeks reddening again. "I'm sorry that I threw up on you, sir." His voice kind of sounded like a small child's, but he didn't give a shit anymore. He just wanted Jones to know he really was sorry, for real.

"It's okay, Neal," Jones said, waving off the words. "You didn't do it on purpose, you were consciously trying to stop it. I'm not going to get angry at you over something you were trying your best not to do. Any trainers you had who did that should be training dogs, not slaves. All I expect is for you to try harder next time."

Not only had someone taught Jones to train slaves, they'd taught him to train them well. That sort of reasonable attitude was not the kind of thing you saw with your average SlaveMart trainer.

Neal opened his mouth to ask the man where he'd learned to train slaves, then shut it again as it occurred to him that it was none of his business. If Jones wanted Neal to know, he would tell him. Otherwise, Neal had no right to even think about it.

"You finish cleaning up," Jones said, nodding toward the toilet as he climbed to his feet. "I'll meet you at the front of the store. Make sure you clean your mouth well. I meant it when I said that I wouldn't let my dog kiss you, not knowing what your mouth does, but I don't want to have to smell puke on the way back."

"Wait," Neal said as Jones started to exit the stall and the man paused, raising an eyebrow at Neal's still kneeling form.


"Thank you, Master Jones, for allowing me to be used for your pleasure."

The words felt strange on his tongue, it had been so long since he said them. He sure as hell hadn't thanked the asshole inmates for banging him—they didn't follow protocol in their treatment of him, so why should he?—and he'd never really bothered with Mistress Kate, either. At the time he'd claimed that he saved the party lines for his con jobs, but the reality was that he didn't respect her like he did other masters. It had been true, what he'd said to Mistress El, that she'd been his first time where he wasn't afraid. But if you weren't at least a little afraid of someone, how could you possibly respect them?

Jones gave him a kind smile. "You're welcome, boy. Now clean up."

Neal sat up as the stall door swung shut behind Jones, sighing as he moved over to the toilet and stuck his hands in it, splashing water on his face then using what was left to slick back the curls Jones had ruffled.

As a boy trained in the art of the con, Neal knew that he should be working out a plan on how to handle Agent Jones from now in a manner that would keep this sort of lesson from being repeated—of course, it was going to be repeated anyway thanks to his amazing purging demonstration, wasn't it? He also knew that he should be working on a story to tell Peter if his master somehow found out about this, preferably one that would keep both him and Jones out of trouble.

All Neal could really think at the moment, though, was how generous it was of Jones to give him something to rinse his mouth with other than toilet water. Well, that and how he needed to practice his deep throating skills so that the agent wouldn't be disappointed the next time he hauled Neal to a public restroom and very politely ordered him to get on his knees and swallow his penis.

Neal tossed back a mouthful of the mouthwash, swishing it around for awhile before spitting it into the toilet.

Mozzie was going to throw an absolute *shit* fit when he heard about this.