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Leonard McCoy could not, at the moment, legally refer to himself as a doctor.
Now, what his clients decided to call him was up to them, and a few of them did continue to use the title. He always appreciated that. Operating in a legal gray area like this, he couldn’t really afford to be picky about the clients he did and didn’t take on, but he was entitled to his preferences as much as the next free man.
And Spock was far and away his favorite client.
Vulcans in general seemed to take better care of their slaves than a lot of other people did-there was no logic in damaging your own property, after all. Their slaves were usually easier to handle, too. Instead of being beaten and broken into submission, most of them have been, to some degree or another, simply mentally influenced into obedience. Leonard really didn’t like to think about that process too hard, but the results spoke for themselves. Most of them seemed downright content with their lots in life, which made his job a whole world easier.
Stripped of his medical license, he was no longer allowed to act as a doctor. But it was perfectly legal for him to go into business maintaining and modifying someone’s property for them. And if that property just so happened to be a human, well. That’s the law’s fault, not his.
Morals don’t get you very far in this world. He sold his soul a long time ago.
Spock got onto his good side the second they met by electing to refer to him as a doctor. He maintained that high opinion by requesting a general health examination of his recent purchase, and the administration of relevant vaccines. Most people just jump right in to the changes they want. Spock knew he had to be patient.
“Well, he’s got all his teeth,” Leonard begins conversationally. “That’s something.”
The young man in question is sitting obediently on the exam table, swinging his feet back and forth where they dangle off. Spock doesn’t reprimand the behavior, so Leonard ignores it.
“You got a name, kid?”
The slave shuts his open mouth at the question, and shakes his head no, with a soft, strangely smug sort of smile on his face.
“No, sir. My master gets to name me.”
Leonard rolls his eyes at the canned answer. He’s heard that line a million times-it’s what they’re coached to say, but it’s almost never true.
Spock, apparently just as observant as every other Vulcan Leonard has ever met, if not more so, picks up on his disbelief.
“You believe him to be lying?”
“He’s human,” Leonard answers, shrugging. “We name each other. It was probably kept a secret, but either his mom named him, or the other slaves gave him a nickname.” Then, because he doesn’t want to get the kid into too much trouble out the gate, Leonard clarifies. “He’ll still respond to whatever you decide to call him, though. You got him from a good trader, based on the slave mark, and the fact he ain’t half dead out the box. He’ll learn quick.”
The slave looks nervous at Leonard’s explanation, and Spock shoots the young man a sharp, chastising look.
“I do not appreciate being lied to.”
“...I’m sorry, sir.”
“See that it never happens again.”
“Yes sir.”
“Your name?”
“James, sir. Or...everyone called me Jim, but my mom named me James. I must’ve had a last name, too, but I forgot it. Honest. Mom sold me when I was like, six or something. All I remember is that she said keeping me for even that long was a mistake.”
Spock nods. Leonard tries his hardest not to cringe, and fails. Assuming the story is true, it’s one he’s heard only a handful of times in the past, and even that was too many. He has no idea how a parent could do that to their own child.
“I see no reason to change this,” Spock decides aloud. “You have already learned to respond to your given name. It would be unnecessary and inefficient to re-train you to respond to a different one.”
Jim nods, looking relieved that he wasn’t in bigger trouble. New slaves were always skittish, still trying to feel out what their masters expected of them. Despite Jim’s strangely relaxed, confident demeanor, it looks like he still had the good sense to be nervous, too.
Leonard hypos Jim with every childhood vaccine he’s sure he missed, ones against every STD modern science has found a way to prevent, and a multivitamin shot. The typical cocktail for this sort of visit. He informs his owner that the slave he purchased is in his early 20s, has several notable food allergies, and is otherwise in about as good health as can be reasonably expected-he’s slightly undernourished, and he could do with a good bath. He’s got some buildup in his lungs, consistent with the story Jim had given them with a little prompting (a childhood spent in a mine shaft until he got old enough and pretty enough that someone decided he could make them more money elsewhere), something Leonard can treat over a couple of sessions.
At Spock’s request, he removes the tattoo on Jim’s lower back indicating the slaving company which had previously owned him. Leonard explains the process, that he would essentially have to cut the tattoo out of his skin and then regenerate the flesh, and Jim’s eyes go wide even as he works to keep himself still and obedient. Spock requests pain management options. Leonard barely manages not to grin, not to say “oh, you like him, don’t you?”, because that sort of behavior is downright compassionate, downright spoiling him. Jim is going to be the slave equivalent of a lap dog, Leonard can already tell, and it just makes him like Spock even more.
Jim shivers at tingling sensation of the dermal regenerator, and Spock cards his fingers through the young man’s sandy hair in a strangely comforting gesture.
Jim has a new mark the next time Leonard sees him.
A brand instead of a tattoo, on his right shoulder. A Vulcan character, simply reading “slave”. It’s shiny, barely healed. A recent addition. He wears a collar, too, leather and locked around his neck, with a metal plate on the front. Leonard can’t read much Vulcan, but he’s seen this sort of collar enough times to know the looping, elegant engraving more or less reads “property of Spock”.
It’s the same sort of collar they put on animals.
Jim has a few other new accessories too. Both his nipples have been pierced, with gold hoops connected to each other by a delicate little gold chain. He’s nude, aside from a few diaphanous strips of fabric acting as a loincloth, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a pair of strappy sandals. Finally, his genitals have been locked tightly into a metal cock cage. Leonard almost wants to wince in sympathy. It’s really tight on there, the flesh bulging against it a little. There’s no sign of irritation, though, so clearly Spock knows how to use it correctly.
Jim seems fairly at ease about all of this, even more so than before. He smiles placidly as he follows his owner a few steps behind like a lost puppy, and responds quietly and obediently to what appear to be non-verbal commands. Either he’s a wickedly good actor, or Spock has already worked some of that Vulcan mind voodoo on him, and it stuck hard.
Leonard begins the process of cleaning years of deuterium particulates out of the poor kid’s lungs. It’s a long process that mostly consists of waiting around for a machine to do all the work, and Spock strokes Jim’s hair again through most of the process, strangely tender. The kid even manages to fall asleep through part of it.
“My betrothed has annulled our engagement,” Spock says suddenly, out of fucking nowhere, and Leonard stares at him. “This was a favorable turn of events. I do not desire a wife.”
“O...kay…”
“I wish to make my...intentions, in my purchase of a slave, clear to you. I do not desire a wife. But I do desire a companion. Even if I did not, I will eventually...require one.”
“You’re saying this like you’re the first man in the galaxy to buy a sex slave,” Leonard scoffs. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t judge my clients. Quite frankly, I can’t afford to. You tell me what you want, I tell you how we get there and how much it’ll cost you, then we both go home and forget about each other. You watched me sign an NDA.”
Spock nods, looking strangely relieved. He’s still petting Jim’s hair. It occurs to Leonard that he may have been doing that to put Jim to sleep in order to discuss this.
“...Breasts,” Spock finally says quietly, pointedly looking at Jim and not at Leonard. “I would like for him to...he is a man. I enjoy that he is a man. But I also enjoy...softness.”
Leonard bites his tongue to keep from laughing. Laughing at a client is not how you get repeat business, he tells himself sternly. Laughing at a client you can sell a drug-based treatment to is especially not good business. But fuck, Spock is making it very hard not to laugh at him, blushing like a fucking schoolgirl while he asks for a quite frankly very common body mod request. Leonard manages not to burst out laughing, manages to maintain an air of professionalism, but only just barely.
“We could do breast implants, but if you really want soft, I’d say natural is the way to go. Get him started on some estrogen, and everything’ll soften out a little. D’ya think you can get him to take a pill everyday?”
“He has proven to be exceedingly obedient,” Spock answers, nodding. “He has had a deep-seated fear instilled into him of being unwanted and undesirable, likely stemming from his mother’s rejection of him. Additionally, he fears being returned to manual labor, and understands that displeasing me may result in this. This has made him...extremely malleable, and eager to seek praise and approval.”
Leonard hums, typing out a few notes on his PADD.
“Makes my job easier, then. Yours too. You can pick up his script from Christine on the way out.”
“Your discretion is noted and appreciated.”
Leonard makes a point to remind his clients that, if they want to get the most out of their property, then it’s important to follow through with preventative maintenance. He stresses the importance of regular checkups. Most ignore his advice, write it off as a scheme to part them with more of their credits-which it sort of is, but also sort of isn’t, because he’s not wrong exactly. He doesn’t even charge that much for them, honestly.
Spock has the good sense, and the disposable income, to heed Leonard’s advice.
After cleaning all the crap out of Jim’s lungs and making sure he was adjusting to his new hormone therapy well enough, he doesn’t see his favorite client for about a year.
Spock looks the same. He carries himself with a little more confidence, admittedly, like he’s settled into his role finally. But visually, he looks unchanged.
Jim...decidedly doesn’t. He’s dressed the same, Leonard realizes, in strappy sandals and sheer drapey fabrics that hide absolutely nothing, but he’s been ornamented with a few more pieces of gold jewelry. Cuffs around his wrists, and a few pairs of earrings in his ears. His breasts – and they truly are breasts now, round and soft and heavy – are still pierced, still strung together by a dangling chain. The hormones definitely did their job. His body hair is soft and sparse, his hips and ass have taken on a decidedly feminine appearance, and the muscles he’d built from years of manual labor have all but completely smoothed and softened away. Some of that loss in muscle tone is probably thanks to his new lifestyle as a bedwarmer, though. And the fact that he’s almost definitely being fed better than he’s ever been fed before in his life, in terms of taste, quantity, and nutritional value. He’s lucky his owner’s stated preference is “soft”, because he’s actually starting to develop a little bit of a paunch, a gentle softness in his middle that bows out slightly, being pinched a little by the belt holding his loincloth in place.
His hair has grown out over the last year, and he wears it in a single braid running down his back. His plump lips are soft and kiss-swollen (and probably blowjob swollen too, if Leonard is being honest), and his pale flesh is bruised and bitten in more places than not. His cock is still caged tightly.
He smiles contentedly, placidly-borderline stupidly. He walks behind Spock obediently, head down, and doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Leonard scans him, and declares him to be well taken care of.
Spock asks if there is any way to “reduce the degree of preparation required for anal intercourse”, and Leonard loves how direct Vulcans are, and also hates it, because how the hell is he meant to not laugh at that.
Thanks to the highly intelligent perverts of the universe, there in fact is a way to reduce the preparation required. Multiple ways, actually, which Leonard outlines and Spock considers carefully and Jim...just sort of stands there listening to, though his face is red and he shifts his weight a little from foot to foot.
His cage looks tighter, somehow.
When Leonard went to med school, “creating a self lubricating asshole” was not a procedure he thought he’d end up doing so often he could do it in his sleep, but here he is. Creating a self lubricating asshole for the third time that day alone. Because the sort of people who buy sex slaves aren’t known for their care and patience.
Though, Leonard considers, Spock seems to have been exercising plenty of care and patience, based on the lack of damage to Jim’s rear. There’s some micro-tearing, but that’s pretty normal for someone who’s having a lot of anal sex no matter how careful. It’s not his job or his place to worry or judge-he’s had clients who were downright cruel, who used his services to heal injuries just to give themselves a clean state to create them again, and their money spends just as good as anyone else’s. He can’t afford to be choosey. But he’s allowed to have preferences, and he very much prefers something like this.
“Alright Jimmy, bend over and prove I did my job.”
“I assure you that this is unnecessary-” Spock begins, and is cut off by a wet ‘squelch’ as his slave spreads himself and dips two tentative fingers into his freshly healed ass. Spock’s face goes green, and Leonard grins.
“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I’ve had people accuse me of ripping them off before, and I don’t take chances on that anymore. I’m no hack, dammit. I went to med school.”
“C-can I...please? Wanna…” Jim huffs, and whimpers, his fingers just barely dipping in and out of his hole, just enough to tease. He was emboldened to go this far by Leonard’s instructions, but he’s clearly smart enough-or just obedient enough-not to go any further without express permission.
“Use your words,” Spock corrects sternly, and Jim whines. “My ability to read your mind does not give you permission to be inarticulate.”
“Please sir, may I finger myself?”
“You may, in order to test the efficacy of the doctor’s procedure.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jim whimpers breathlessly, and those two fingers bury in as deeply as he can thrust them, pistoning in and out impatiently. Slick leaks out around them and drips down his thighs.
“It responds to his own arousal, so he shouldn’t be, you know, leaking everywhere all the time. Just when he’s horned up.”
“You underestimate the voracity of my slave’s appetite.”
Jim whimpers again, adding a third finger. He spreads them inside his ass, strings of slick webbing them together, and fucks himself on his own fingers even harder, panting, face pressed against the exam table he’s bending himself over. His cock is red, pressing tightly against the cage restraining it, oozing precum into a puddle underneath him.
“Please. Please please please please-”
“Enough.”
Jim whines unhappily, but obeys immediately, fingers stilling and slipping free from himself. His chest heaves as he pants for breath.
Leonard politely ignores the very obvious outline of Spock’s hard-on through his clothing, and directs him to schedule Jim’s next physical with Christine on their way out.
Another year passes. Leonard doesn’t think about them much, in the interim, but seeing their upcoming appointment draw near refreshes his memory, and he can’t help but look forward to it a little. Spock was one of his better, more respectful clients. And Jim was certainly a sight for sore eyes. Leonard tried not to get turned on by his client’s property, but hell. He was only human.
Jim has been outfitted with even more jewelry this go around. Additional piercings in his ears, and one in his navel, all glittering with gold. When he opens his mouth for Leonard to give a cursory look at his teeth, Leonard sees that his tongue has been pierced as well.
Delicate little chains string his wrists together by their cuffs, in much the same way his nipple piercings are still strung together. They’re clearly decorative, because Jim is far too well behaved to warrant real restraints, and they’re too delicate and too generous in length to actually be effective anyways. Just another thing to make him look pretty, all dolled up like some prince’s favorite whore. Which, now that Leonard thinks about it, is more or less exactly what Jim is.
He’s still wearing a cock cage. He’s wearing an anal plug now, too.
He’s in excellent health. Maybe, if Leonard wanted to nit-pick, a little over-fed, but not anywhere close to enough to be a health concern. Just enough to leave him slightly plump around the midsection, attractively so, while most of his weight is distributed to his ass and hips and breasts. He’s bruised and bitten all over, but after years in this line of work, Leonard has learned to tell the difference between “rough sex” bruises and “getting the shit beat out of you” bruises, and these are very decidedly the former.
“I have a request regarding his genitals.”
Jim blushes. Leonard has no idea how he’s managing to react like he’s shy, when Spock has him going out like this all the time. Maybe it’s because he’s being talked about directly. Jim is probably used to being regarded by everyone else as a sort of decoration, like a mildly interesting and very sexy houseplant.
“Go on.”
“I find his phallus...unwieldy.”
Jim’s face goes even redder. He shifts his weight uncomfortably. Leonard can’t quite manage to stifle his laugh, but he does manage to break it off after a chuckle.
“Unwieldy...can’t say I’ve ever heard a dick described like that before.”
“Perhaps that is not the most accurate word. I simply find it...unnecessarily large, for my purposes. I do not allow him to penetrate me.”
Leonard nods, reaching for his PADD.
“So do you want it gone, or do you just want it smaller?”
“Smaller. Much smaller. It has reduced in size already from being frequently confined, and I find this change favorable. I allow him to orgasm often, but he is caged before and after.”
“Can you unlock him now, show me what we’re working with?”
Spock obliges, producing a key from a chain around his neck and freeing his slave’s junk from it’s confinement. Jim whimpers, and his cock twitches at his owner’s touch, already starting to harden.
“You see now the necessity of the cage. He is...well suited to his current role. Perhaps too well suited.”
Leonard chuckles. Normally he’d blame that on conditioning, or Vulcan mind voodoo, but based on the way Jim was acting at his first couple of appointments, fresh off the auction block and already taking to being Spock’s like a duck to water, Leonard knows Spock is right. Jim was either predisposed towards being a perfect sex slave, or maybe just born to belong to Spock.
“Can you get him fully hard?”
“It would be more difficult for me to prevent this,” Spock replies, with a strange note of fondness in his voice. He takes Jim’s cock into his hand and strokes him slowly. The young man squirms a little, bucking his hips into his master’s fist, and makes a sad whimper when Spock determines him to be sufficiently erect and removes his hand. Leonard blinks at the cute four inch dick revealed by the removal of Spock’s fist. He didn’t really see much of Jim’s cock uncaged before, but he saw enough to know that his dick has definitely gotten smaller.
“Huh. I was expecting more, honestly, based on how you were talking about it. This is maybe...a couple inches below average, for a human. Estrogen can sometimes cause the erectile tissue to atrophy, though, and the cage is probably helping it along. If we give it time it might keep going, but that’s not a guarantee.”
“I would prefer you...expedite matters.”
Jim squirms a little, face red and hot, avoiding looking at either of them. Despite the fact that they’re discussing his cock in a distinctly unflattering sort of way – or maybe even because of it – he’s still hard as a rock, his cock drooling precum. Leonard explains the procedure to Spock, and watches Jim out of the corner of his eye. His cock twitches and jumps the whole time, and he clasps his hands together behind his back to keep from touching himself.
Jim is returned to his owner a couple hours later, slowly shaking off the last vestiges of induced grogginess. Spock, familiar with Leonard’s policy of proving that he did his damn job correctly before letting his clients loose, inspects his slave’s modified genitals. Jim whimpers as Spock trails his fingers across the soft flesh of his tiny cock, watching it stir to life and thicken with blood, growing to an adorably unimpressive one and a half inches long. Jim covers his face with his hands, and Spock gives him a stern look, no doubt communicating a chastisement telepathically. Jim drops his hands from his face and stares at his owner, cock oozing precum, and nods, taking his dick into his own shaky hand, fingers wrapping around it’s length and obscuring it completely.
With a handful of careful strokes, he spatters cum across the floor of the exam room with a loud cry.
“Kneel and clean your mess,” Spock orders, and before Leonard can tell him that that’s really not necessary, Jim is already lapping up his own cum with practiced ease. Leonard sighs.
“You can schedule your next appointment with Christine on the way out.”