BDSM AU

Clearing out the WIP/rough drafts in my Googledocs that won’t get fics anytime soon. If anyone wants to add on/chime in/create something, feel free.

BDSM AU. not like A/B/O, but there are Doms, Subs, and Switches.
Subs are the scruff of the world, low level jobs, often on the streets.
Switches and Doms have all the free will, but Doms herald the world’s highest positions- doctors, lawyers, CEOs, politicians. Switches work under them, but above Subs.
Skimmers are hunting groups that pick subs off the street and offer them as pets to high-end clientele, selling them at show-auctions.

cw: bdsm, kink, discrimination, service submission, kneeling, bondage, AU where subs are owned pets basically, mention of bruises/beating/implied physical abuse?, collars and leashes, drinking
If I need to tag something, let me know.



Smith is a sub who gets picked up by Skimmers and put up for sale at various show-auctions.
At one of these show-auctions, Trott buys him. Smith is the kind of sub to be bitter and feisty, get roughhoused a bit because he won’t do as they say. bruises hidden under his one piece of clothing- skimpy short-shorts. hands cuffed behind his back. collar on his neck. when he’s sold, they attach a leash and hand him off. Smith has half the mind to spit on the skimmer’s feet before he leaves, but he doesn’t. He’s too interested in this dom who bought him.
The man is shorter and thinner than him, with sharper cheekbones. He’s rather attractive, but Smith shoves that aside. Doms are assholes, and he’s nothing but a pet to this guy. The man leads him aside, through the crowds to get his papers signed, and then into a mostly empty hallway behind some pillars.
“What’s your name?”
“Shouldn’t that be on the paper?”
“It is, but I want to know what you want me to call you.”
“W
hy do you care?” Smith snarks back.
The man sighs. “Just answer the question.”
Fuck you.”
The man purses his lips together and calmly yanks Smith’s leash. Smith stumbles forwards. “Look, you don’t need to make this harder,” he says slowly, staring into Smith’s eyes. “or it will be a lot more difficult for you later on. So answer the question.”
There’s something in his voice…he’s not yelling, like many other doms did. It almost made Smith want to be complacent. Almost.
Smith grinds his teeth together. “Why the fuck do you care?
The man stares him down. “My name is Trott,” he says simply, “and yours is?” Trott waits for a response, completely unfazed.
Smith sighs through his teeth. “Smith.”
“Good.” Trott loosens his hold on the leash, and Smith leans back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it.”
“Fuck you.” Smith mutters under his breath. He looks away, shaking his head and staring around at the other guests. “Why’d you pick me anyway?”
“Because you’re attractive, and I have a business proposal to offer you.”
“I’m not sucking your dick for free.” Smith grinds between his teeth. He looks back at Trott, who shakes his head.
“It’s not about that.”
“What, then?”
Trott shushes him while a big group of people walk past.
Smith grinds his teeth.
“We’ll talk later. For now, you follow me, and you say nothing to anyone but me. Understood?” He has a tight grip on Smith’s leash where it’s attached to his collar, tilting his head down to meet Trott’s eyes.
“Yes.” Smith snaps, very pointedly not adding a moniker. He just wants to stop hunching his head.
Trott humphs and loosens his grip again.

blah blah party, blah blah. Smith led around, guided to sit at Trott’s feet while people come up and talk to him.
(Smith kneels down and winces because of the bruises on his ass.
Trott looks at him curiously. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” He doesn’t need pity.
Trott frowns but says nothing.)
Smith watches Trott eat. Eventually, one of his guests leaves and Smith’s stomach growls loudly.
Trott frowns down at him in concern. “Have you not eaten anything?”
“No.” Smith says simply.
Trott sets down his glass of champagne. (his third tonight, Smith notes)
“Here.” He takes a mini quiche off a plate and holds it to Smith’s lips.
Smith sways back, tugging pointedly at his restraints. “What, you’re just going to leave me locked up like this all night-”
“When we get home, I’ll unlock everything,” Trott says firmly, “For now, it’s either this or nothing at all.”
Smith scowls and grumpily lets Trott feed him bites of appetizers. Little tea sandwiches, bacon wrapped cocktail sausages, petit fours, and flaky fruit pastries. Trott holds a glass to his lips to sate his thirst (it’s water, much to his dismay), and wipes the crumbs from his lips when he’s done.
Smith glares at the floor, clenching his hands into fists. He hates feeling helpless and powerless and weak. on his knees at a dom’s feet, and he doesn’t like the idea that he’s Trott’s pet and nothing else of value. Just something pretty to look at.
(Trott, however, believes subs are people, too. His business proposition with Smith is to work together with other like-minded people and fund lobbyists to change the laws or something. as time goes on, Smith likes Trott a little more. He does actually treat him like a human being…but also makes it clear Smith is his.)
Trott pats Smith’s hair. “Good boy.”
Smith glares at the floor for the rest of the night.

On the way back, Trott grabs him some fast food, and they sit in the back of his soundproofed limousine and chat, eating fries and burgers, drinking milkshakes. Trott proposes the business deal. The caveat is that he’s still Trott’s sub, and as such, Trott has a level of celebrity to hold up. If Smith works well with him, he’ll get more freedom, but if he doesn’t, he’ll get less. “I can just as easily have you work in my kitchen or do my laundry. I know you see being a sub as a shitty, degrading thing, but it doesn’t have to be. I won’t let it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Smith mumbles, “You’re a fucking dom. You’ve lived a privileged-ass life, while I’ve barely scraped by living in the slums.”
“That may be true…but no one can choose whether they’re a dom, sub, or switch. I wish society didn’t segregate that, but they do. That’s what I’m trying to change.”
“And you want me to help?”
Yes. at the end of it all, you and every sub like you will be afforded the same things as switches get. Freedom of choice. That choice starts with this.”
Smith blinks, and stares up at Trott.
“Do you agree?” he asks.
Smith sighs. “I guess. S’not like I have a choice.”
“You always do, Smith. You could choose to lock yourself in the room for the rest of eternity and call up room service for everything.” There’s surprising sincerity in Trott’s voice. Trott sighs and looks out the window. “I hope you don’t do that, because you can’t keep yourself cooped up indoors all the time…but that’s your choice to make.”
The car turns down a long, tree-lined drive, and Smith pays more attention to their surroundings.
“Here we are. Home sweet home.”
It’s a mansion, like something out of a dream or a fantasy world. Trott narrates about the house. When they get out of the car, he leads him upstairs. “This room is yours. Mine’s just next door. If you need anything, the phones have a contact list with all the services, like a hotel of sorts. And if you need me, I’m on the other side of this wall, like I said.”
He takes off Smith’s cuffs. “How are your arms?” carefully inspecting Smith’s hands in his grip.
Smith pulls them away. “Fine.”
Trott reaches up, purses his lips at the flinch Smith makes as he unclips the leash, unbuckles the collar from his neck. “Not too sore?” he asks, tracing the redness on Smith’s skin.
“I’m fine.” Smith growls, hands tightening at his sides.
“Alright.” Trott tuts and pulls his hand away. He turns and sets the items on the dresser across from the bed. Smith watches his reflection in the mirror above it.
Trott turns around again. “Well…there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom if you need it. Get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
detached look.
nod. “Goodnight.”
Smith watches Trott leave the room, turns towards the bed. He really wants a shower. feels disgusting after all those hands on him for so long.
but the bed. massive four poster, silk sheets. holy fuck was Trott rich. he crawls into bed and moans, shucking off his short shorts and throwing them to the floor. fuck…the mattress…Smith buries his face in the pillows and falls asleep.

next morning, wakes with the sunlight through the window. takes a shower, dresses in the bathrobe on the back. there are toiletries in the cabinet under the sink, so he cracks open a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb. sits down on the edge of the bed, watching the clouds pass outside the window. runs a hand through his blow dried hair, rubs his feet in the plush carpet.
luxury. berated himself for feeling relaxed. who knows what would be required of him now that he was owned. old collar on the dresser, with the leash and cuffs. for all Smith knew, this could be worse than before.
sighs, gives a questioning look towards the phone and thinks about breakfast.
knock at the door.
someone bringing him a change of clothes. Nano, Trott’s assistant.
“Hey! You must be Smith.” short asian girl, with red dipped hair, wearing a batman tshirt and skinny jeans.
who are you, the maid?”
“maid? fuck off, mate, I run this place. my name’s Nano.” she stuck her hand out to shake.
Smith blinked and hesitatingly shook it. “er…what do you want?”
“here.” hands him a pile of clothes. “will those fit? I’ll get you a different size if not.”
tshirt and sweatpants. checks the sizes. “yeah, they will. thanks.”
“yup! if you need anything, ring the front desk, yeah? oh, and Trott wants you to meet him in the dining hall for breakfast. that’s just down the hall, down the stairs to the right.”
“okay.”
“see you around.” Nano walks off down the hall again.
Smith shuts the door and gets dressed in confusion. how was she so…helpful? he sort of liked her, though. spunky.
don’t get attached. he chides himself. everything could be gilded in gold, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t shit underneath.
when he’s dressed, he goes looking for breakfast.
the manor is mostly empty. no one pays him any mind while he stands in the entrance hall and tests the door.
unlocked.
for a split second Smith thinks about running. but where would he run to? Trott’s security would probably hunt him down.
his stomach growls. Smith sighs and shuts the door.
“Morning, sunshine,” Trott greets as Smith walks into the dining hall. The other man’s sitting at the end of a long table, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Sleep well?”
“Fine.” better than fine. fantastic, really, but he wasn’t going to tell Trott that. Smith sits down next to him and scoots his chair in, eyes widening at all the food laid before him.
“load up. if there’s something else you’d prefer or need, like certain dietary restrictions, I can let my chefs know and they’ll adjust accordingly.”
Smith gapes. “uh…okay…” he starts loading his plate immediately. best not to look a gift horse in the mouth…though “Trott” reminded him more of trout than horses.
ham, sausage, bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, biscuits, toast, pancakes, fresh fruit.
after Smith has nearly inhales three servings worth of food, he leans back in his chair and groans.
“Good?”
wordless nod. almost too stuffed to talk.
Trott drinks his orange juice. “Today, we’ll get you fitted with a proper collar and leash. Get you some clothes of your own.”

go out shopping at the mall. Smith has to wear the gear from before until Trott gets him a collar with his name on it. hands in his pockets, leash in Trott’s hand as they ride the escalator.

eventually, Smith gets into Trott’s bed when he offers. standing in the doorway to his room, Smith about to say goodnight, but Trott interrupts him with an offer.
“let me set this straight- this is only if you want to. by no means do have any obligation to me, just because of that collar on your neck. you can back out at any time, and this by no means guarantees you have to sleep with me again. but if you want this…I’m offering.”
“sleeping with you, or sleeping with you?
“whichever.” Trott shrugs. “both. either. neither. whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Smith swallows thickly. the idea is certainly appealing. he doesn’t like the thought of saying no and going back to his own cold bed. the idea of joining Trott in bed excites him…but he’s not sure if he’s ready for that step just yet. that’s a line they haven’t crossed yet, and Smith doesn’t want to be used.
Trott waits patiently for his response.
“You…you really want me to?” Smith asks quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“yes. if that’s something that interests you as well, Smith, then yes.” soft smile. one of the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen on a dom.
“okay.” Smith breathes. “yeah, okay.”
“okay.” Trott smiles and steps back to let him through the door. Smith walks in. “cuddling okay tonight? I’m too tired to fuck you.”
“that’s fine.” voice cracks.
Trott chuckles good-naturedly. “alright. come on, then.” slides into bed and lifts up the sheets for Smith to slip in next to him.
Smith hesitates before settling into the pillows.
“you can move in closer.” Trott strokes his cheek. “I don’t bite. unless you want me to.” soft smile on his lips. hand drops to the pillow and he closes his eyes.
“no thanks.” Smith murmurs in response. he shuffles closer, burrowing his face into Trott’s neck and curling an arm and leg around him.
Trott hums, pleased, and his hand moves again to stroke Smith’s skin. down the line of his shoulder and arm. “thank you…Smith,” he whispers, “for trusting me.”
by the time Smith thinks of a response, Trott has fallen asleep.

“I want to get you fitted for a suit.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to?” raises an eyebrow
Smith sighs in objection, but says nothing. He knows by now not to question Trott’s desire to dress him nicely.
“Besides, you’d look good. And you need something sharp to wear, anyway.”
“Where are we going?”
“a tailor’s shop.”
“I meant- never mind.” Trott was probably going to dress him up and drag him to some fancy party. Smith didn’t really care- at the end of the day, he ended up well fed and in Trott’s bed. Not much to complain about that.
old woman with small glasses on her wrinkled face. Trott suggesting fabrics and colors. making the choice for Smith. buying several silk ties in an array of colors. Smith has an inkling they won’t just be worn around his neck.

deals with class issues, economy and job issues, discrimination, and tensions between groups.

Smith wants to weasel in and get better protection for those like him. bumps into Ross at one of the parties Trott takes him to. Ross is waiting tables, carrying a platter of drinks, and spills them down Smith’s suit.
“Fuck, watch it!”
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry- I mean- sorry sir, I-”
“It’s alright…fuck, this suit, though…” the dry cleaning on that would be pricey, shit…
“I’m so sorry, here-” leads him back and helps him clean up
Smith falling for Ross (who “belongs” to/works for Sips)
after they clean up Smith’s suit the best they can, they exit the bathroom and Trott and Sips find them there. Sips cracks a joke to Ross about banging behind his back, and Ross blushes and stutters. Sips laughs and Trott introduces them, and then they go up to Sips’ office and talk business. Sips has quite a sharehold in stocks, and has some political sway with the members of the cabinet. a good ally, in fact.
also while they’re talking, Sips and Trott let Smith and Ross roam a bit- Ross of course being “in charge” of Smith while they roam the party.
when they come back, they’re laughing, getting along really well, and Trott and Sips conspire to have the two work together sometime.
and by work together, I mean scene.

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