Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5392562.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Finder_no_Hyouteki_|_Finder_Series
  Relationship:
      Asami_Ryuichi/Takaba_Akihito
  Character:
      Asami_Ryuichi, Takaba_Akihito
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Harem, Alternate
      Universe_-_Slavery, Slavery, Concubine, Sexual_Slavery, Sexual_Violence,
      Corporal_Punishment, Caning, Whipping, Riding_Crops, Branding, Claiming,
      Master/Slave, Bad_BDSM_Etiquette, Subdrop, Regret, Pony_Play,
      Dehumanization, Gags, Painful_Sex, Domdrop
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-10 Words: 5706
****** Unworthy ******
by Amelita
Summary
     Breaking a young colt is about more than simply jumping on its back
     and riding the heart out of him. It is about taming a wild spirit,
     directing it, not crushing it. It is a dance, a courtship between a
     untamed beast and the one who would dare to be his Master. It is an
     art and a love affair that only the finest of horsemen can
     understand.
Inspirational_Art
-
He supposed it had always been this way. David and Bathshebah, Paris and Helen
of Troy, Xerxes and Artaynte, Samson and Delilah. Men at the height of their
power, with the world at their feet who had built great Kingdoms…. Kingdoms
laid to ruin all because their leader became distracted by a pretty face. It
was a tale of death and destruction that had been repeated time and time again
throughout history. All this the Sultan knew.
But it made no difference.
His obsession continued, roaring out of control, obliterating all rational
thoughts and cluttering his mind with useless thoughts. Thoughts of him. His
own little Achilles heel.
The Sultan glared down over his Kingdom with hot golden eyes, his hands
clenched at his sides. He would not succumb to this… to this weakness. He was
the Emperor of the Three Cities and Ruler of all he surveyed. What he wanted,
he took. His harem was filled with beauties from across the globe, all eager
for his attentions and yet, all he could think of was him. The proud little
slaveboy with flashing eyes, who held his head high and tossed it, as does a
purebred stallion, telling him without words that even if he could be ridden,
he could never be tamed.
Asami’s eyes narrowed as the gates to the palace opened and his men came
through. The runaway slave was tied to the horse he had stolen, his feet lashed
to the stirrups and his hands bound to the saddle. Akihito sat proud and tall,
his back ramrod straight and his blue eyes blazing with anger. The slave glared
at the Sultan’s tower as if blaming Asami for his failure to escape, as if
blaming him for daring to recapture his property.
And Akihito WAS his property.
He simply refused to accept it. Little wild beast.
The knot of anxiety that had arisen in his throat the moment his guards had
informed him of Akihito’s most recent escape, relaxed and the Sultan’s broad
shoulders dropped as he breathed a sigh of relief. His favorite little stallion
was back in the stables where he belonged.
Asami strode to his chambers and poured himself a glass of wine. Alcohol was of
course, forbidden in the Ottoman Empire, but then so was homosexuality. The
Sultan paid no mind to such rules, as they were written for the common people,
not for ones such as he.
Akihito was being prepared for him at this very moment, bathed and perfumed,
and then trussed and tied. Not punished though. Never punished. That was for
the Sultan alone to do and no one would dare lay a finger on his favorite. And
Akihito was his favorite. Had been from the moment Asami had laid eyes on him.
He took him, as he took everything he wanted and had thought, with time, his
obsession might fade. But it hadn’t.
The Sultan waited another ten minutes, pacing irritably, before making his way
to the harem through the back passageway that connected his room to Akihito’s.
The room was dimly lit, with burning incense and candles, the heavy draperies
pulled closed to block the dying light of the sun. It was warm, but not
uncomfortably so. He and his slave were finally alone. Asami drew a deep breath
of anticipation and stalked forward.
The blond quivered angrily like a mare tied in a breeding stock, trapped,
pinned and helpless to do anything but submit to a stallion. Akihito lay on the
bed with his hands tied over his hand and his pretty mouth gagged with a
horsebit clenched between his pearl-like teeth. It was held in his mouth by a
leather bridle that crossed his cheeks and wrapped around the back of his
golden head. He lay with his cheek on the satin sheets, his wide lashed eyes
open but unable to see the large man coming up behind him. The bed he lay on
had been built just for him. The four posters of the gorgeous bed arched up and
together, twisting like the vines of a gilded cage, framing the sacrificial
altar for the most precious of beasts in the Sultan’s stable.
Both his knees and ankles were tied apart, fastened to a spreader bar which was
fastened to the bed, thoroughly immobilizing his lower body. Under his delicate
hips was placed a thick bolster pillow which had the effect of raising his
beautiful bare bottom high and vulnerable.
It was perfection. Two perfect alabaster globes; round and luscious and plump.
Perfect twin handfuls. The crack between them was dark and rosy, musky with the
secrets of his lovely’s boy’s bowels. The Sultan placed his hands gently on his
slave’s lower back and then drew his palms up the luscious slope of the boy’s
ass until they rested almost reverently on the highest curve of those beautiful
buttocks. He could feel the slightest curl and clench of muscles tightening
under porcelain skin as he began to sweep his hands in circles, caressing,
gently squeezing…. worshiping those two glorious mounds of flesh like a pagan
at an altar.
The sides of his delectable butt rippled and clenched as Asami lowered his face
in order to rub his smiling mouth and stubble rough cheeks over the slaveboy’s
entire bottom. He planted enormous, wet, filthy kisses over the entire expanse
of it. Laid claim to his beloved slave’s body. Every square inch of that
impeccable flesh. Flawless. Pristine. Perfect.
Except for his brand.
It was placed halfway between his bottom and his back, on the smooth flesh to
the right of his dimple. In the place where Asami’s thumb rested when he held
the boy’s hips high and fucked into his beautiful body. While he rode him, he
liked to stroke the upraised ridges of it with the pads of his fingers. The
scrolls that surrounded his symbol. It was his family crest and all of his
slaves wore it with pride. To be marked as the Sultan’s was a badge of honor
and offered them considerable protection. Akihito was the only one who had ever
had to be restrained to receive it.
He remembered strapping the boy down himself, the black leather straps cutting
tightly into young skin. Asami remembered the sound of Akihito’s scream when he
pressed the branding iron firmly into his flank and the smell of his flesh
burning as the brand sunk in and became a part of him, forever marking him as
property of the Sultan himself.
It could never be removed anymore than Akihito could escape him.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the mark before moving on to the many other
delights of his young slave’s body.
Asami smirked in anticipation as he ran his tongue up the beautiful boy’s
asscrack, bathing the musky cleft with juices from his mouth. He used his palms
to part those fleshy cheeks wider, exposing Akihito’s entire pink crack to his
gaze and affording him access to that pretty little pucker.The lush pink of his
rosebud looked so appetizing. The Sultan’s eyes slanted closed as he pushed his
nose into his crack, it was sensory overload. The way it felt, looked and
smelled was amazing, and he simply had to taste it. He breathed deeply, like a
connoisseur breathing the aromatics of a fine wine. After his nostrils were
thick with the pungent perfume of Akihito’s asshole, he went for the taste,
pushing his tongue against that tightly clenched starfish. He relished the feel
of those two perfect globes of flesh trembling under his palms as he brushed
his tongue ever so slightly over his slave’s delicate little taint.
With large hands the older man petted the slaveboy’s quivering flanks, his face
buried between those plump cheeks as his tongue languidly traced Akihito’s
twitching rectum, circling, teasing and then finally probing. He pushed, pushed
and pushed against it until the muscles relax just enough for the tip of his
tongue to squeeze gently inside. He pushed it in, then withdrew almost all the
way, then pushed it in a little farther, then withdrew, then pushed inward
again until finally every bit of his tongue was inside the boy. It felt like a
band was wrapped around the base. He kneaded the fleshy cheeks like a baker
kneading dough as his tongue’s inward, and outward, movement became faster, and
faster, and faster until he was tongue fucking that scrumptious ass with the
slurping relish of a fat man devouring a holiday ham.
The humiliated whimpers that escaped the boy’s gag were music to his ears and
the swell of plump flesh between Akihito’s legs was glory to his eyes. He moved
one hand to gently cup his erection. Finding the boy’s member engorged to his
satisfaction, he reluctantly withdrew his tongue from his moist ass. Asami
knelt between Akihito’s widespread legs, slender ankles each tied apart and
withdrew a long silken sash from his robe. With one large hand he cupped
Akihito’s penis and testicles and gently drew them down between his legs, away
from his body enough that Asami could wrap the sash around them; once, twice
and then tied in a bow. Secure, but not tight, as one might tie back a mare’s
tail after a grooming. He tied one more knot to lock it in place and then tied
the other end of the sash to the spreader bar. Now it was tight, tight enough
that any movement of the slaveboy’s hips, whether side to side or up and down,
would create and uncomfortable tugging sensation on his testicles.
Asami moved to stand over him. Akihito whimpered in his throat, expressing
fearful anticipation of what was to come. The Sultan hummed low in his throat
and reached down to stroke his thigh as one might soothe a frightened animal.
Even as he stroked him though, his amber eyes burned with demonic light,
tracing the pale flesh of Akihito’s back like a painter mapping a blank canvas.
He remembered the first time he had seen those two perfect globes, upturned and
gleaming in the sun, a perfect pink heart that his father was busy blistering
with the palm of a calloused hand.
The boy was wailing so loud as he was spanked that neither of them heard the
Sultan or his men approach. Asami stopped and held his hand up to his men,
indicating that they should stop too. The Royal and his guard sat silent on
their dark steeds as the young boy kicked and struggled mightily, bucking
against his father’s hold like a young bronco that refused to be tamed. His
father was known for breeding and training the best Arabians in the land and it
was obvious that he was employing similar techniques on his young son. The
horse breeder pulled his arm back and cracked his hand against his son’s pale
bottom. White flesh wobbled and a giant pink handprint appeared on it, nearly
spanning both small cheeks. The young one cried out and twisted, pinned under
the older man’s forearm. The man’s hand fell, again and again, the young boy
lurching forward with each hard spank, his lovely voice crying out as he
pressed his legs together and then spread them wide apart to ease the burn. As
he wiggled and squirmed to escape his punishment, Asami could see his small
undeveloped testicles and penis dangling between childish, jiggling thighs.
The Sultan had shifted on his horse, his cock hard and pinched in unyielding
leather breeches. He could not remember the last time he had been so aroused.
His reaction to the little boy’s distress was almost violent. He was instantly
angered and appalled by the marks the father was leaving on his son’s bared
ass. He stared though, frozen and unmoving, hypnotized by his desire until the
man lost his temper and picked up a leather razor strap.
It was only then he sprang into action, vaulting off his horse and staying the
man’s hand.
He stopped him not because he couldn’t bear to see the little one’s bottom
beaten black and blue, in fact… he longed for it. It wasn’t that the marks that
angered him so….. it was the fact that he was not the one who had made them. It
was in that instant that Asami decided that the only one to ever mark that pale
flesh would be him. That wild little colt would be tamed only by his own hand.
He knew then the boy would belong to him.
The child looked at him like a savior, with worshipful blue eyes, tears in long
lashes, his cheeks red as he quivered and sobbed. Yes, he looked at him as a
hero. But Asami had no intention of being the boy’s hero. He left that day with
two expensive Arabian stallions and the most magnificent little animal he had
ever purchased seated before him on his saddle, with his sore little bottom
pressed innocently against the Sultan’s groin.
Oh yes, Akihito was the most favored of all Asami’s steeds and it was perhaps
because, for all the Sultan’s trying, the lovely little colt remained
thoroughly unbroken.
Despite being being the most beloved of the Sultan’s harem slaves, Akihito was
willful, stubborn, disobedient and as likely to snap at his Master’s fingers
than eat from his hand. It wasn’t that he was ill-tempered. He had observed him
from afar, and the truth was Akihito was in fact very sweet-tempered with
everyone but his Master. The problem was simply that the boy saw himself as
free. Despite the Sultan’s very clear ownership, the slaveboy still behaved as
if he had no claim over him, like a wild stallion that had not yet recognized
its Master. And the more Akihito fought his ownership, the more determined
Asami became to claim him.
It was an obsession. As evidenced by the fact that since Akihito had grown old
enough to join his harem, Asami had not laid with another slave.
Night after night, he found himself drawn to Akihito's bed, to his young nubile
body and angry, flashing eyes.
And each night, Akihito resisted him as heartily as he had the night before.
Perhaps he should cast him aside and take another, Asami thought petulantly,
his eyes narrowed angrily on the boy’s frail form. After all, it wasn’t as if
Akihito appreciated his favor or done anything to be worthy of it. The boy was
given his own private stable, all the best food and care. He had his own
personal groomer to take care of his every need. His life was one of ultimate
luxury and yet all he wanted was to run free with the peasants. Any opening,
any opportunity he was given, Akihito paid him back by running away.
But his Master found him, he always did, and Asami would lead his wayward
little colt back to his pen, taking care to secure the bridle about that lovely
neck even tighter.
Short of chaining him to the bed, he didn't know what else to do.
The Sultan gazed at the boy’s beautiful body with admiration. Akihito was lean
without being skinny and strong without being muscular. He was all fine lines
and long limbs. Not good for hard labor, but fast as lightning when he chose to
be. But then, the Sultan had always preferred racehorses to workhorses.
He reached for the leather crop setting on the table beside the bed and took
care to pass the implement before Akihito’s frightened eyes. It had a supple
leather tongue attached to a slender black cane with a handle. Depending on how
he wielded the implement, he could strike with either the tongue or the cane.
He only caned Akihito when the boy had done something that put Asami in a
particularly foul mood. Stealing one of the Sultan’s black Arabians from the
stables and running away yet again certainly qualified. It didn’t help that the
boy had taken the most treacherous route possible, putting both himself and
Asami’s men in harm’s way. He felt compelled to send a strong message to the
boy, to ward off future, potentially more egregious acts of rebellion. It
didn’t help that Asami’s heart was full of jealousy and heart-broken rejection;
feelings that the Sultan pushed down in preference of his anger.
The powerful man smiled and palmed his cock in anticipation as he watched that
plump, perfect butt shiver in fear. Akihito’s tiny asshole was clenched tight
in anticipation. Though he never punished Akihito purely for his own amusement,
he would freely admit that he derived great pleasure from thrashing that pretty
butt.
Fortunately for Asami, Akihito never failed gave his Master plentiful reasons
to punish him.
The Sultan’s voice was smooth like velvet when he spoke to Akihito, and
terrifyingly calm, “You were very naughty habibi. You know I must punish you
now.”
His pretty slave tossed his head like a spirited mare, angry and proud. His
blue eyes flashed and he fought the bit in his mouth, pushing at it with his
lips and tongue and teeth. The angry words he tried to speak were muffled and
intelligible, though that probably worked in his favor Asami mused. No need to
add to his punishment. Akihito was not good at holding his tongue and Asami was
already planning on leaving his bottom so raw he wouldn’t be able to sit
comfortably for weeks.
“I would hold very still now darling, if I were you. I have no wish to see you
injured, but then that, is entirely up to you.”
Akihito could not see the flash of white teeth as Asami smiled cruelly. With
his genitals tied the way they were, Akihito really had no choice to stay
perfectly still for his whipping, ass up, legs spread. If he moved, the pain in
his testicles would be excruciating. Of course, this was a kindness, that would
prevent Asami from striking something more delicate if Akihito moved
unexpectedly, but Asami somehow doubted the boy would see it that way.
He stroked the porcelain pale flesh of his bottom once more before raising the
crop high in the air. He arched the crop above his shoulder and cracked it
down, slicing the air and landing the cane with a heavy thwack across the
centre of the slaveboy’s glorious rump. A perfect horizontal welt bloomed
across his bare ass, like the horizon on a painting, around which all the other
brushstrokes would be centered. The line was bright blood red at the sitbones
and then faded a bit as it went into the crease of Akihito’s ass and curved
around his hips. It was stark against the pale white.
He laid another across the swell of his sitbones and then up towards the dip of
his back before moving down again towards the soft, tender skin of Akihito’s
upper thighs. The crop is flexible, but dense and the shaft bit deeply into the
slaveboy’s flesh with each hit. Akihito yelped and howled his misery beneath
his gag and the muscles in his body undulated as they flexed and contracted in
an attempt to keep himself still. He succeeded mostly, but every now and then
bucked and the rope tugged painful on his tender ballsack.
Asami did not count the strokes, nor did he have a number in his head to strive
for. He knew the boy’s body better than his own and he would know when enough
was enough. He knew when to stop. The welts were even spaced now, blood red
line after line cascading from his lower back to the tops of his pale thighs.
Asami smiled as he ran his finger over the bumps and Akihito hissed in pain.
His inner thighs pulled and trembled in exertion. The Sultan could see a sheen
of sweat beginning to break out on his lower back. He moved around to look into
the slaveboy’s eyes. They were dry and full of impotent fury. Asami smirked.
He pulled his arm back and let the crop fly again, now beginning to layered
marks over existing welts, like crosshatching, shading the boy’s bottom until
it was scarlet. Where the lines met, blood blisters bloomed. Akihito wailed
behind his gag, his voice full of both white hot agony and anger. Again and
again he lashed him with the full of his considerable strength behind the
torturous crop, caning his slave’s ass with an almost systematic precision.
Each additional line lay parallel to the previous and only millimeters away.
Only when Akihito’s cries began to grow weaker and hoarse did Asami slow the
beating.
He moved again to stand by the slave boy’s head. His pretty face was buried in
the covers. He took deep, hitching breaths, bordering on sobs. It sounded as if
he were crying but when Asami nudged his chin up, there were no tears on his
cheeks.
The Sultan shook his head, “Still not sorry habibi?”
Akihito answered only by closing his lovely eyes and stubbornly turning away
from him. Asami’s hard jaw clenched with a pain he refused to acknowledge. He
moved again to stand between Akihito’s widepread legs. With false tenderness,
he untied the black sash that constricted the base of the boy’s genitals. He
rubbed them carefully to assess blood flow and then let them hang free. The boy
would not be able to stop himself from jerking from this next punishment and
Asami had no wish to geld his magnificent little beauty.
The entirety of his ass was blood red, covered in welts and livid blue bruises
but the center of his crease was unmarked. The flesh of his inner sex looked
pristine, almost virginal. The muscles in the Sultan’s jaw clenched and then
released and then clenched again as he stared at Akihito’s tender bud. He had
caned almost every part of a slave’s anatomy, but never directly on their anus.
He took careful aim, using only a fraction of his strength and snapped the tip
of the leather against Akihito’s tender, exposed hole. The muscles in the
slave’s slim thighs jerked spastically as his entire body lurched forward in
the physical embodiment of a scream. Asami slapped it again and again, beating
the boy directly on his sex with the cruel tip of the crop. Akihito screamed
behind the bit in his mouth, bucking his hips wildly up and down, side to side
so that the Sultan had to be excruciatingly careful not to hit his jiggling
ballsack or plump cock. He struck the slaveboy’s taint, landing a blow
diagonally across it and then again, working his way up that dusky crease until
the leather again cracked against the soft, pink flesh of Akihito’s boycunt. He
hit him repeatedly between the legs until his anus was almost unrecognizable as
the tiny pink clench of muscle it had been moments ago. It was now so inflamed,
so puffy, swollen and red and full of blood it almost looked like a fat woman’s
cunt.
His slave’s taut back cried tears of sweat, the droplets ran down his wet neck,
between trembling shoulder blades and into the hollow of his spine. His face
was soaked with tears when Asami lifted Akihito’s chin to gaze into his eyes.
The Sultan traced his lovely slave’s sweat soaked temples, kissed his cheeks
and thumbed the tears from his eyes. His eyes were full of tender compassion,
“Oh habibi, my precious, do you yield? Just tell me you are sorry, tell me
you’ll never run from me again. Tell me beloved one, you know thats all you
have to do to end this torment.”
His slave was mute, but his red-rimmed eyes spoke volumes. They glared, still
full of stubborn pride and angry spirit, wordlessly denouncing his Master’s
claim on him.
Cold anger clenched in Asami’s belly as he stood tall. His voice was hard as
steel when he spoke, “Very well then.”
Asami shed his robes and his cock stood proud and immense between his thighs.
He slicked himself with fragrant oils and the knelt between Akihito’s tied
legs. The boy’s ass was turning purple, swollen and covered with welts. His
poor little asshole was swollen and engorged with blood from the beating it had
sustained. Fucking him was going to be inhumanly painful. Asami decided to give
him one last chance to escape.
The Sultan leaned over to speak softly in his boy’s pretty ear, “It doesn’t
have to be this way beloved, I would hold you tenderly, make love to you
endlessly, pleasure you until you cried for joy. I would place you on a
pedestal high above all others, make you my queen, my kaden, lay the world at
your feet, if only you would be mine, as you were meant to be.”
Akihito shook his golden head and Asami frowned at the colt’s impudence before
plunging his cock into the boy’s beaten sex. It was exquisite, hot and tender
and puffy, swollen even tighter and squeezing his cock like a wet glove. Each
thrust battered the boy’s poor bruised ass more fully, and Akihito thrashed and
pulled at his bonds to get away from the white hot pain emanating from his
bottom. His hips jolted, lurching and twisting like a wild bronco desperately
trying to throw off its rider. Asami clung to his skinny hips with strong
hands. While equally matched in determination, Akihito was sorely outmatched by
Asami’s strength. The Sultan pinned the young one to the mattress, hands and
feet tied as he pistoned into the slaveboy’s poor welted asshole. Each time
Asami’s hips smacked against his bruised bottom it was like being spanked yet
again. Asami gritted his teeth in frustration because he knew the pain had to
be excruciating. The hot wet pull-push of the boy’s clenching bottom was
driving him to a pleasure like no other but this wasn’t for sexual pleasure,
not his and not Akihito’s. This was punishment, punishment for Akihito for
fighting the inevitable so hard, for resisting, for running… but most of all,
for rejecting Asami and all he had to offer.
It was punishment for Asami himself for he knew, deep in his heart, if he were
a better Master, Akihito would have yielded to his hand by now.
He ejaculated deep into the boy’s bowels, beating the boy’s soft insides with
his cock and forcing Akihito’s own orgasm. The Sultan rode him through both,
turning both of their pleasure to pain. Asami moved like a machine, unyielding,
unceasing.
It wasn’t too much longer until finally, exhausted and overwhelmed, Akihito
went limp beneath him. His entire body relaxed in his bonds and he began to
wail incoherently behind his gag. Tears streamed from tightly closed lashes and
Asami stilled his movements as he removed the bridle from Akihito’s face. A
string of saliva pulled with the gag as he removed it from Akihito’s swollen
lips. The boy continued to sob as Asami untied his hands and released his
ankles from the spreader. Tears poured from beneath his lashes as Asami
manhandled the little slave boy into his lap, mindful of his poor beaten
bottom. Engorged with blood, it felt red-hot even under Asami’s palm. Akihito
wept like a child in his arms and never before had he felt so small or
vulnerable to the Sultan and the powerful man was reminded that truly, the
sixteen year old was little more than a boy.
Slowly Akihito’s sobs quieted and he stilled as if remembering just whose
shoulder he was crying on. Asami kissed his head and threaded his fingers
through the sweat-soaked silk at his temples
“Now will you call me Master?” he asked softly.
Even while swollen, lashes clumped with tears, Akihito’s blue eyes flashed
weakly at him, “Never”
Asami's stomach clenched in his disappointment for he was at the end of all he
knew to gain his slave's submission.
He sighed heavily, “Why do you fight so hard? Is your life with me so bad, so
hard?”
The boy shook his head, “Its- its not. Its… just…”
For the first time, Akihito was voluntarily talking to him. Asami held his
breath waiting for him to finish.
“I- I never got to choose.”
“Most don’t.” Asami said simply.
Akihito looked at him sharply, “What do you mean?”
“Most people have no choice in all the most important things that shape their
lives. You didn’t get to chose to be born a boy or a girl, a King or a pauper.
You didn’t get to chose your parents, where you live or what you would have
been. All those things were already determined for you and your marriage would
have been arranged by your father. Why is what I did when I took you so much
different?”
The boy was silent.
“You cannot control what happens to you in this world. You are one tiny boat,
with a tiny oar on a vast sea that has power far beyond yours. The best you can
do it control how you react to it. You can choose to be happy, or not.”
“I’m a slave. I belong to you! How can I ever be happy?”
Asami shrugged as he laid back on the bed and he propped his head up in hands,
“We all belong to someone. I belong to my subjects as they belong to me. Sons
and daughters to fathers and those same fathers are slaves to their families.
Mothers belong to their children and wives to their husbands and husbands to
their wives. You simply belong to me.”
Akihito's jaw thrust out mutinously, “What if I don’t want to belong to you?”
The Sultan sighed again, “That is not something you have control over. I will
not let you go. If you run, I will chase you, I will catch you and I will
punish you. But you can choose to accept your life as it is. You can choose to
be happy here. I care for you, more than I intended. It is my hope, that
perhaps someday, you might come to care for me as well.”
He drew a sharp breath as his careless words betrayed more than he intended.
The boy went very, very still and Asami was suddenly reminded of a wild horse
the first time it gazed into a human’s eyes. Asami also held very still,
returning his gaze calmly.
Akihito didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but he let Asami turn him
over onto his belly and rub him down with a healing salve. His muscles twitched
as the Sultan rubbed the stingy poultice over his abused backside. Asami lifted
his hands and legs and examined the scratches on his feet. He clicked his
tongue as a horse’s owner might over a chipped hoof and massaged some salve
into those too. He finished by cleaning his back and combing his tangled hair.
He had never been one to ride a horse hard and put it away wet. He fed the boy
sweet fruits and left him clean and dry and comfortable, tucked into a bed fit
for royalty.
A strange sense of melancholia fell over him as he stood to leave. The silence
between them was oppressive but Asami didn’t know how to fill it. He knew how
to make a slave moan with pleasure, scream with ecstacy, cry with pain…. but he
didn’t know how to talk to one. This was the first time he wanted to. He wanted
to say something, something to bridge the gap between a Sultan and a slave.
Between himself and…. Akihito.
He turned to leave, opening the door to his room and was stopped by a soft
voice from behind him.
“You can stay. If you want.”
Asami’s back stiffened at the timid invitation. Of course he could stay if he
wanted to. He was the Sultan, Akihito was his slave and this was his castle. He
could go anywhere he pleased, sleep anywhere he wanted. And yet, it was unheard
of for the Sultan to spend the night with a concubine. But then Akihito wasn’t
just a concubine, was he? He moved to sit on the bedside. Akihito’s face was
filled with apprehension and hope, even despite all that Asami had done to him.
He looked so young and fragile and Asami was stricken with guilt. Two words the
young Sultan had never spoken before in his life filled the air of the chamber.
“I’m sorry.”
The awkward tension hung in the air between them. It was unheard of, for a
Sultan to apologize to a slave and they were both acutely aware of it. Akihito'
lower lip trembled and then he sucked it into his mouth with a shy nod. Asami
released the breath he had been holding the moment the boy accepted his
apology. Akihito scooted over carefully with soft round eyes and watched the
King lay down beside him. They spoke no more than night, but Asami woke with
his hand holding Akihito’s and in the morning, the boy didn’t pull away. As
many times as Asami and Akihito had had sex, it was as intimate as they had
ever been. For the first time, they faced each other and talked with voices
soft as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon. When Akihito smiled at him for
the first time, it was like watching the sun rise in the sky and Asami's heart
fluttered in his chest.
It was then Asami finally began to understand that one could not break a wild
horse by beating it, punishing it or forcing his will upon it. Taming a
stallion was about gaining its trust and respect and proving himself to be
worthy of the ride. The surrender had to be earned and a partnership forged. To
truly master a horse, his Master had to love him and be loved by him, in
return.
He wasn't worthy of calling himself Akihito's Master.
But he would be.
 
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Inspirational_Music:_More_than_Anything
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