Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11851926.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Jughead_Jones/Original_Character(s), Archie_Andrews/Jughead_Jones
  Character:
      Jughead_Jones, Archie_Andrews, FP_Jones_II
  Additional Tags:
      Kidnapping, Gang_Rape, Humiliation, Non-Consensual_Voyeurism
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-20 Words: 1823
****** way down we go ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     They have Jughead—incredible, witty, untouchable Jughead—on his knees
     in the middle of the room, one hand twisted behind his back and the
     other grasping at the dirty cement floor.
     (“Your dad doesn’t seem to understand the position he’s in,” the man
     said, crouching down, “What do you say we give him a little more
     incentive?”)
Notes
     for the kinkmeme_prompt : Archie and Jughead are kidnapped by the
     Southside Serpents (FP has a debt or pissed someone off) and Archie
     is forced to watch Jug get gang raped.
     Bonus points if the attack is filmed and sent to FP who is with Fred
     at the time.
     Lots of hurt Jughead with a dash of hurt Archie.
     Extra bonus
     A look into the aftermath.
     (didn't do a look into the aftermath as much as could have, but still
     read the tags be careful dont hurt urself)
See the end of the work for more notes
 
Archie had never been a fan of the Serpents. He didn’t really care about them
at first, but then they’d trashed the drive-in construction site and then
they’d beaten up Moose, andthenhe’d found out that Jughead’s dad—who he wasn’t
the biggest fan of to begin with—was a member, and that Archie’s dad had fired
him because he was doing shady Serpent stuff on the side.
So. Not a great track record.
He liked them even less when they’d cornered he and Jughead on their way home
from school, waiting for that long stretch of road that people rarely use
before grabbing them. They’d done the whole bag-over-the-head thing, duct-taped
their mouths shut before Archie could yell or Jughead could say some snarky
shit that would probably get him kicked—small blessings, Archie guessed, scared
out of his mind.
He doesn’t know where they are now, some room somewhere he’s never been, wrists
duct-taped behind his back, but he does know that he hates the Serpents.
They have Jughead—incredible, witty, untouchable Jughead—on his knees in the
middle of the room, one hand twisted behind his back and the other grasping at
the dirty cement floor.
At first, Archie had been terrified, but once the Serpents had started talking
amongst themselves after they’d tossed the two of them in a corner, he’d
assumed they were being held for some kind of ransom. Apparently, he’d thought,
disappointment overcoming his fear, FP had pissed some powerful people off—how
he’d managed to get into deep shit with people in his own gang was a mystery to
Archie. Jughead just seemed resigned, sagging against the wall, like he knew
this kind of thing would happen someday. Maybe he had.
They’d waited like that, until Archie arms had started to fall asleep and
Jughead himself was starting to fall asleep, for hours, maybe. There wasn’t a
clock, wherever they were.
The Serpents who had stuck around seemed to be getting impatient, checking
their phones and stepping outside to make calls. Archie wondered if FP knew
what was happening. He wondered if he even knew that Jughead was gone, as awful
as that sounded—sure, he’d gotten his job back, and he’d come in to work the
past few days, but change didn’t magically happen overnight. Once, Jughead had
slept over at Archie’s three days in a row before FP started wondering where he
was.
Archie hoped that his dad knew something was up, by now. Maybe he was on his
way to the sheriff’s station, or maybe he just thought he and Jughead were off
being teenagers somewhere. He wouldn’t be wrong, necessarily.
Archie’s right arm was asleep by the time one of the gang members, a man in his
early thirties, maybe, slammed the door and stomped right up to them.
“Your dad doesn’t seem to understand the position he’s in,” he’d said,
crouching down and jerking Jughead awake, “What do you say we give him a little
more incentive?”
And here they were now. They’d dragged Jughead to the middle of the room
despite the way Archie had yelled through the duct tape, despite the way Jug
had tried to pull away. Someone had shoved a boot into Archie’s stomach to get
him to shut up. Someone else had clicked their phone camera on, standing in a
corner on the other side of the room, angling it so Archie was in the shot,
too.
Archie had always been aware of sexual assault in the vaguest of senses. He
knew it was a thing, he knew it happened to people, but it had always beens
something that happened to someone else. Grundy had been a rude awakening, but
he still couldn’t ever picturing anything like that happening to any of his
friends. To Jughead. God, especially not to Jughead.
Grundy was bad. This is worse. This is worlds away from worse.
Jughead is crying.
He’d fought back, at first, kicking at them, cursing at them when they’d ripped
the tape off of his mouth, because of course he had. Archie knew he was scared,
could see it in the way his hands shook behind his back, but Jughead was tough,
always knew how to bury shit where Archie couldn’t. He doesn’t think he’ll ever
be able to bury this.
Someone had pushed the beanie off his head to get a good grip on his hair;
Jughead had made some kind of sound at that, high and scared, but it had been
cut off when the man yanking at his hair had forced his dick into his mouth.
And he’d screamed so so loud when the ringleader, the one who drove the car,
the one who started this mess, pushed into him, gripping his hips hard, pants
shoved down his thighs. Archie thinks he’ll hear that scream for the rest of
his life.
He’s crying, now. Archie is crying too, probably, can’t really tell with the
pounding in his head from when he’d tried to pull free again, to get them to
stop, to do something,and gotten his head knocked back against the wall. He’s
so useless. He’s just watching.He’s so fucking useless.
Jughead gasps for breath, choking as another man cums down his throat. He falls
forward, forehead braced on his arm, coughing, breathing like a drowning man.
It’s a short respite, someone else unzipping his pants, stepping forwards,
taking a fistful of thick hair and pulling.
“God, you have a pretty mouth,” this one says, running a thumb along Jughead’s
lower lip, “No wonder FP doesn’t want you to get involved—knew you’d be
someone’s bitch within an hour.”
A few people laugh. Archie stomach turns in revulsion. Jughead sobs.
“You know, I think I’d be okay if he didn’t cough up the money; I’d get to keep
you, ” he continues, smile greasy, and yanks his head back further, pushing
into his bruised mouth, “Now put that pretty mouth to work, okay?”
Jughead chokes again, pulled between the two men like a rag-doll, body gone
limp, until the bad dirty talker cums. Archie is so fucking useless.
The one fucking him pulls out, manhandles Jughead up until he’s kneeling,
trembling, and pushes back in, fucks into him just like that, a hand in his
hair to keep his head up, baring him to the camera.
“Smile for daddy,” he says, cruel and breathless. Jughead sobs again, squeezing
his eyes shut, and that—that’s what gets the bastard to come.
The one recording puts his phone down, gives a thumbs up like he took a nice
picture of a sunset instead of filming a fucking gang rape. The man propping
Jughead up pushes him off like he’s something gross; Jughead lands in a messy
heap on the ground, curls into himself and just stays there. 
“If that’s not enough to convince him, I don’t know what the fuck will,” he
says, zipping up his pants and dusting himself off.
“Maybe his phone is dead,” someone laughs.
“Better not be, or else his kid’ll be dead, too.”
Jughead doesn’t even flinch, Archie notices, terrified. He doesn’t react at
all. Archie’s heart beats wildly in his chest, beats even faster when one of
them steps up to him, pocket knife in hand.
The man saws through the tape around his wrists, shoves him forwards, and says,
“Clean your friend up. I’m not gonna do it.”
Archie scrambles to Jughead as fast as he fucking can.
 
Fred had knocked on the trailer door, his last resort, heart heavy and anxious.
As soon as it swung open, FP looking half asleep and had to the world, his
heart had felt even heavier.
“Is Archie here?” he’d asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
When FP had shaken his head, Fred’s took a deep, steadying breath, “Is Jug
here, then?”
“Uh—no, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? You don’t know where he is?”
“I thought he was with you,” FP had shot back, defensive, “He’s always over
there these days.”
“Well, he’s not there now. And neither is Archie. They’re not at Betty’s,
either, or Veronica’s. I checked.”
FP’s face had fallen, “Fuck.”
They’d rushed around town for hours, trying to keep calm, fear growing a little
more every time the boys weren’t there, weren’t at Pop’s or the park or even
the construction site. Eventually, they’d driven back to the trailer—FP had
left his phone at home, apparently charging for the first time in days, and
Fred was sure that if Jug didn’t pick up when he called him, he’d lose it. Both
of them would.
It buzzes the moment they’re inside. FP rushes across the trailer; Fred
follows, heart hammering in his throat.
It isn’t a text from Jughead, Fred sees, looking over FP’s shoulder. There are
a series of texts, missed calls, but those aren’t from Jughead, either. The
newest one is an attachment from an unknown number, twenty minutes of video.
Fred hovering behind him, FP swallows, thumb hovering over the little triangle
in the middle of the screen, and presses play.
They stand through it, twenty minutes and thirty six seconds of low lighting,
phone recorded video, frozen. FP flinches every time Jughead makes a sound,
eyes wide in disbelief. Fred throws up in the sink five minutes in, the look of
horror on Archie’s face burned into his mind, Jughead’s scream ringing in his
ears, but FP doesn’t look away even for a moment, just holds the phone tight
enough that his knuckles turn white, hands shaking.
But god, the sounds.The fucking sounds. In the decade Fred has known him, he
thinks, horrified, he’s never heard Jughead scream like that.
Smile for daddy, someone says, and that’s when FP breaks, phone clattering to
the floor. He would’ve clattered to the floor too, but Fred gets an arm around
him, pulls him back up.
“FP,” he says, forcing his voice to be firm, “We don’t have time for a break
down. Where are they?”
“I—“ he shakes his head, looking lost.
“Where are our fucking boys, FP?”
FP opens his mouth, shuts it, runs a shaking hand through his hair, and says,
“We need four thousand dollars.”
 
When Dad and FP finally find them, the Serpents are long gone. They’d seemed
content on their way out, so Archie assumes that they finally got whatever the
fuck they wanted. Good for them. They burst in, looking all kinds of terrified,
and Archie is so relieved he could cry—does cry, when his dad pulls him into a
hug.
FP pulls Jughead out of Archie’s arms where he was curled against him, holds
him to his chest and sobs broken apologies into his hair. Jughead buries his
head in FP’s shoulder, and just shakes.
His beanie is still on the floor, dirty and tossed aside, and Archie knows
nothing will ever be the same.
 
End Notes
     sorry jug
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 get a better look.
I had automatically placed myself in my presentation pose, my feet shoulder
width apart and my back straight.
The man made a full circle, studying every inch of me, but not touching. He
paused when he was directly in front of me.
"Look at me, slave." His voice was gentle, but was deep in timbre.
I looked up slightly so my eyes rested on his mouth. It was an attractive
shape, with a generous Cupid's bow and a plump bottom lip. I softened my vision
so I could see more details of his face. He had warm brown eyes, and thick
chocolate coloured hair. He couldn't have been any older than thirty.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen years old, sir." I responded, although that info should have remained
unchanged in my official file.
"What is your name?"
"I was registered as 'Mignon Fleur', sir."
The man hummed, interested. "A delicate flower. You do not look so delicate."
He reached out towards me and cupped my balls.
His hand was cold, but I craved the attention. I adjusted my stance to hold my
legs open wider, the heat in my groin growing as my cock increasingly
stiffened. My face remained blank, like a good slave.
The man slowly twisted my scrotum, his finger nails digging into my skin with a
painful bite, but I was I nonreactive.
"Are you a pain slut?" He asked, his voice gravely. He was turned on, but he
let go of my balls in favour of palming the large buldge that had tented the
front of his slacks.
"No, sir." I answered truthfully.
The man turned and walked back toward the couch and sat down.
"Present yourself," he commanded.
I dropped lightly to me knees, turned and lowered my chest to the floor, so my
raised ass was facing the couch. I spread my butt cheeks wide with my hands,
the spreading of my skin creating a pleasant burn in my cleft. My sphincter
clenched and relaxed, blinking at the two men on the couch.
"Are you broken?" Said the man, his tone gruff.
"No, sir." I tried to make my voice sound clear though my head was turned to
the side, the sound not directed at them.
I heard one of the men move and start sifting through the papers.
"His records show he has all his vaccinations, and the only physical flaw is
the mark on his neck." Mike said. "I'm willing to let him go for less than half
of what his full brother went for in the Oktoberfest sale."
The man laughed humourlessly, "His full brother went for almost a million
dollars. I understand you want to milk the luck that you stumbled upon and I'm
not about to steal you of making a good profit, but come on Mike. His registry
file has been deleted from The Company's system, and his brand is slashed. He's
now just a well trained slave with pretty eyes."
My heart sank at his words, but I remained where I was. Mike seemed to have
nothing to say and I listened to the silence behind me, waiting for a new
command.
"Hilton offered me two hundred and fifty thousand for him." Mike finally spoke.
The man sharply inhaled. I couldn't see his face but I guessed he was quite
angry by how tight his voice was when he spoke. "Why didn't you take it?"
"You know why. I called you to come look at him before anyone else because I
think he would flourish with you, Nick. You could really make him into
something and I don't want to see him milked for his bloodlines and beaten to
an empty shell."
"You say that, yet I have a feeling the only reason you called me down here is
because you know I have the funds." Nick replied, his voice emotionless.
Mike sighed. "I'm also aware you no longer have a personal slave right now. I'm
sorry to hear about you losing Seth by the way, it's always tragic when
something like that happens and I know you two shared a unique relationship.
But, who knows, perhaps this one will be able to work it's way into your heart
as well."
Nick didn't respond to Mike, instead his deep voice was directed at me. "Stand,
slave."
I did so, fluidly, until I was in my original position, on my feet, facing
them.
"How did he get the burns on his neck?" Nick asked, and I detected something in
his tone; exasperation.
"From what I was told, a Trainer used an unauthorized shock collar. The slave
was more or less tortured for three days until The Company caught wind of what
the trainer was doing with their property."
"They gave him to a trainer off site with no supervision?" Nick said, his voice
betraying the surprise he felt.
Mike nodded."It seems so."
"A multi billion dollar company, run by complete idiots."
Nick's eyes landed on me again, studying. His hand rubbed the bottom of his
cleanly shaven chin, gaze calculated.
"I'll give you the two fifty you would have gotten from Hilton, but no more."
Mike smiled and shook Nick's hand then handed him my complete folder. "He's
yours Nick."
---
After the deal was done Master Nick had left, saying he would pick me up the
next day.
Carl lead me from the room and back to the cage, his shoulders slightly
slumped.
First thing the next morning I was taken back to the doctor. He allowed me to
stay sitting while he bandaged my wound, this time cleaning it with a soft warm
cloth and a small amount of iodine instead of the alcohol.
"You're wound is looking better," he told me as he applied the soothing
poultice. "Remember to tell your Master, when he asks, that I used the aloe and
honey burn poultice, none of that harsh chemical salve that others seem to
favour. I'm hoping your scars heal without puckering, but you let him know that
even when it's healed into scar tissue to put lavender oil on it once a day. It
will help your burnt skin from cracking."
I replied with a "Yes, sir," then I was lead outside of the building.
The morning was crisp and misty, the sun shining brightly but without warmth.
My nipples stiffened and my balls drew up close to my body. I felt every hair
lift from the chill, small bumps now covering my skin.
The cold was forgotten when I saw him. He was standing next to his sleek car
wearing a fashionable coat and dark jeans. His frame was attractive, and in the
low early sunlight, I could see the well balanced features of his face. The
handler lead me to him, then removed the loose lead.
"Good morning." Nick said to me as the handler retreated back to the building.
His voice stroked my psych and I memorized the pleasant baritone.
"Good morning, Master."
Nick opened the passenger door of his sports car and I gracefully climbed in,
shocked and very glad that the heated seat had been turned on. The chill my
body had been burdening dissipated completely by the time we were pulling out
of the parking lot.
Master Nick didn't speak the whole ride home. Was he ignoring me, or was he
just a quiet person? I couldn't tell, but I studied his mannerisms and his
physical form as much as I could without looking at him. He had straight broad
shoulders and long legs and I would have called him strikingly handsome in a
dark sort of way. I noticed his hands would clench and then relax on the
steering wheel, but I was unable to find a correlating cause to that behaviour.
Perhaps it was just a reaction to his thoughts.
He slowed the car down to a halt in front of a large house. It wasn't the
biggest house I had ever seen, but the peaks were beautifully embellished and
it was made of a warm solid brick. Tresses of creeping vines and leafy plants
covered the northern side of it like veins.
"Out," Master Nick commanded, and I jumped to obey, getting out of the car so
fast I was waiting for him before he had a chance to open the driver door.
He didn't even spare me a glance as he walked passed me towards the house, but
I knew to stay in line and followed closely behind him. He unlocked the door
and stepped inside, locking it as he closed it behind me.
He roughly grabbed me by my upper arm and I had to swallow a cry of pain and
shock, as he dragged me up the stairs. If he would have asked, I would have
followed eagerly.
He opened a door to the left once we got to the second floor and hauled me
inside, slamming the door just behind him.
Immediately, I was on my knees my head bowed. Would he hit me? He was now in a
foul mood, but was it because of something that I did? I could tell he had been
reluctant to buy me, was he mad about that?
He didn't hit me though, he walked around me to sit on the bed. Since he was
behind me, I sneaked a good look at the room. I was in a bedroom but I couldn't
tell if it was his or not. It looked lived it, some posters on the wall and
clothes hanging in the open closet. There was a dresser, with three framed
photographs and a collar sitting on top. The collar was an expensive one, black
leather and white diamonds with a silver plaque that said "Seth". In the
pictures behind it was a smiling Nick and a slave, wearing the collar that now
sat empty. I swallowed down bile. I was a replacement.
A soft sob seeped through the silence of the room and I whipped around in a
panic. My master sat on the bed, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with
obvious grief.
I rushed over to comfort him, not knowing what else to do, climbing on the bed
and nuzzling his side. My hands stroking his back as his sobs worsened. The
panic in me rose until it was fluttering in my chest. He had given me no
orders, no rules, and I was failing, I knew I was.
I was so entrapped in my thoughts that I didn't notice when he reach for my
throat. His hand clasped tightly, digging into the bandages causing an
explosion of pain. With the grip he hand on my neck, he ripped me from the bed
and threw me to the ground. In all my shock, I couldn't catch myself and I
landed in a heap on the hardwood floor with a loud bang.
"Don't fucking touch me," he hissed, his eyes red rimmed and his cheeks hot and
gleaming.
"Yes, Master," I whispered as I curled in on myself, my left shoulder aching
and the burn on my neck throbbing from the irritation.
He left then, slamming the door closed. I remained where I was, on the ground
where my Master had put me. I was a good slave.
***** Sweater Weather *****
Nick's POV
When I stormed into the office, Malise practically jumped out of her chair.
"Nick? Is everything alright?" She asked in a worried tone, coming out from
behind her desk.
No, everything was not alright.
I knew what I looked like, dressed in my casual clothes with puffy eyes. She
knew I had been crying, she'd been seeing it on and off for the last two weeks
now. Ever since I lost Seth, some days I woke up normal, and some days the
grief was just as fresh as the day that it happened. Unfortunately, today I had
woken forgetting that he was gone and it felt like I had just relived
everything as the memories poured back.
I had tried hiding it when I had picked up the new slave. He was getting his
first impression of me, and I knew how important that would be for the
development of our relationship.
Then I went and fucked it all up.
It had gotten worse and worse as I neared the house, and took everything I had
not to completely take it out on him. I remember how my hands felt as I dragged
him up the stairs. I had wanted to beat him bloody, to take my frustrations out
on someone who couldn't say no. If he had cost less, I probably would have.
I waved Malise's concern away determined to mope in my office for the rest of
the day.
I got a lot of paperwork done and didn't take any calls. The guilt slowly
eating me alive as my temper simmered to nothing. The look on the poor boy's
face when I had grabbed his injury sent a wave of self loathing through my
body, and I replayed the scene over and over again in my head. I didn't know if
I was trying to torture myself, or take my thoughts further away from Seth.
Maybe I didn't deserve another slave, and perhaps the universe was trying to
tell me that.
I left the office an hour early, my gut telling me to go and deal with the mess
I had made. I sped home, trying to let the adrenaline of driving my sleek
Ferrari clear my head, but all it did was heighten my anxiety. The slave
probably hates me, probably won't trust me. I knew I would have to break him
eventually, if I decided to sell him, but I hadn't wanted to run so hot and
cold with him this early on. He was very obedient, and I figured all I had to
do was stress his pain limits, and he'd be broken in less than a month. But
stress them with structure, not with my uncontrolled bouts of anger that had
surfaced regularly since the day Seth left.
Stepping into my silent house, I paused. There was no Seth to greet me at the
door, and my eyes blurred for a second before I blinked the liquid from my
eyes, and started slowly up the steps.
I opened the door to Seth's room slowly, saddened by what I saw.
The slave had remained where he had landed, curled up on himself on the wooden
floor. I could see his shoulders shiver from the cold and the blood that had
leaked from his bandages was now dry and rust coloured against his pale skin.
He didn't look up as I approached, just rolled slowly onto his knees, his
forhead pressed to the floor and ass up, presenting himself to me.
I cursed inwardly. The poor thing was doing the only thing he knew to do. He
thought I was going to rape him, and another Master may well have. With his
file practically empty, I had no idea what his notes were from his past
trainers, not any clue how he had been trained or what he had been trained in.
I wanted to let out a frustrated breath but I didn't want him to hear it.
"Stand, slave." I commanded clearly.
The boy got up quickly, and surprisingly graceful for having been in the same
position for eight hours. He stared ahead blankly, his vivid blue eyes having
dulled some.
Shit. He looked like he was already starting to shutdown, and the last thing I
needed was a slave with no spark. He was much more sensitive than I thought
he'd be.
"Follow," I told him as I walked passed him and across the room to the
bathroom. I started filling the tub with warm water, his form behind me,
suppressing his shivering.
"Get in," I said, pointing to the tub once I was satisfied with the
temperature.
He walked fluidly, stepping into the white porcelain tub and sinking into the
hot water with barely a sound. His silence training was impeccable, and I filed
that away in my head. I would have to start taking my own notes about him soon.
He didn't look at me as I put some liquid soap into a cloth, and thankfully
didn't flinch as I touch it to his skin and started washing him. He was like a
sculpture; beautiful and static.
Once I had rinsed the soap off I gently peeled the bloody bandage off from
around his neck.
In hindsight, I should have taken a look at his wound before I bought him.
Underneath the bandage was a mangled mess of electrical burns, pock marking
their way across his skin in a straight broad line all the way around his neck.
The flesh was yellow and black in the worst spots, with a sick pale pink and
red along the edges.
I hadn't realized it was this bad. I could see some of the scabs that had
ripped open when I had grabbed him were still bleeding, the blood flowing
freely in a little trickle down his chest, each drop falling soft and pink into
the clear water. Some of the skin was dead, a dull yellow hue coating the
inflamed red flesh behind it. At one of the worse spots, the yellow and black
skin was sloughing off and I was pretty sure I could see the fibrous texture of
his neck muscle underneath.
"Don't move," I told him, dropping the soiled bandage in the garbage, then left
the bathroom, ran down the stairs, took a right, opened the door to the main
floor bathroom, knelt in front of the toilet, and heaved.
I barely puked out anything. I hadn't eaten a proper meal since Seth died, so
all that really came out of me was bile, and the yellow fluid dripped off my
lips as my body convulsed over and over.
I rinsed my mouth out in the sink when it was finally over and took out my cell
phone from my pocket.
It rang twice before he answered.
"Nick! How's it been? Enjoying your new bed warmer?"
I wanted to punch him.
"Mike, you're sending your doctor over to my place right now." I said, fuming.
"I can't do that, he doesn't really--"
"Send him over, NOW."
It took twenty minutes for the doctor to arrive at my door, and he didn't even
have to knock; I had opened my front door the moment he stepped foot on my
porch.
He was a blonde man, in his mid forties. His thin mouth was set in a grim line
as I lead him up the stairs to the slave, hoping that he had brought what he
needed in that little black bag he was carrying.
"Hello, little one," he cooed to my slave, who still sat naked in the tub, the
water a slight tint of pink from the blood.
The slave's lips pick up into a barely there smile, but his eyes stayed down.
"Hello, sir."
His voice was rough, but still contained that sultry purr that it always seemed
to have.
"How does your neck feel?" Asked the Doctor, opening his bag to pull out some
gloves and put them on before he grabbed a stainless steel clamp and scalpel,
setting them on a blue surgical towel he had laid down on the edge of the tub.
"It hurts."
Blood rushed to my cock at his words. That had been Seth's mantra when we
explored my kink for hurt and comfort. This slave almost said it the same way
too, with a little extra breath added to the 'h'.
The doctor nodded, pulling out a syringe and a dark glass bottle from his bag,
his eyes lost in thought, "Does it hurt when you swallow?"
"Yes."
The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed, then he looked at me. "I'm going to have to
peel away the flesh that has died and I might have to cut some skin off so his
scar won't be so jagged. There will be a lot of blood. If you don't want that
happening in your bathroom, we can take him down to my clinic."
I waved my hand dismissively, "The bathroom is as good of a place as any." I
didn't feel like packing the slave anywhere, not when it couldn't wear a
collar.
A syringe was filled with a clear liquid, and I watched as my slave offered his
arm as the doctor tied a tourniquet around his bicep, them slipped the needle
into a vein that the crook of his elbow.
"What did you give him?" I asked, trying to not let too much annoyance grace my
words.
"Something to keep his limbs heavy. He's going to be in a lot of pain while I
do this, and this will hopefully keep him relatively still."
I nodded, wondering if I should just take him downstairs to my play room and
tie him to the medical table, but I decided against it. I wanted him to have a
different mindset when I introduced him to that room.
I watched my slaves eyes glaze over and the pupils dilate with the drug, but he
stayed in perfect posture.
The doctor took the scalpel and clamp and little by little started peeling away
the dead skin. Whenever the skin would get stuck, he'd take the sharp scalpel
and carefully slice the skin. The slave would let an occasional quiet whimper
escape his lips, and I would watch the blood ooze from his neck and run into
the water, trying my best to forget my arousal at the sounds he was making.
When the doctor was done, my slave wore a glistening collar of exposed muscle
and delicate, healing skin. The doctor cleaned it, applied some gel to stop the
bleeding and then carefully applied a transparent layer of synthetic skin
specially designed for burns. The slave's lower neck was cleaned of blood
before he poulticed and bandaged it.
My slave sat in the tub, his eyes hooded and tight with pain, a clean white
bandage around his neck, and his body a bright crimson. The image seared itself
into my memory.
---
Before the doctor left, he gave me some antibiotics and a salve for the slave's
neck with instructions to change the bandage once a day.
I drained the tub of it's red water, then refilled it and rewashed my slave.
The boy was as stationary as ever, allowing me to maneuver his limbs how I saw
fit as I scrubbed the red from his body, but otherwise was completely
motionless.
I had him dried and I was digging through Seth's closet for something warm and
soft for him to wear, when I noticed the change in his eyes. They were no
longer glossed over from the drug, but they also weren't quite as dull as they
had been.
Finding the over sized sweater I was looking for, I handed it to him. He didn't
immediately reach for it. His eyes got big, flickered to my face for a fraction
of a second before they landed back on the sweater.
"Go ahead, put it on," I said in what I hoped was a calm voice.
The slave gingerly took it from me, careful not to touch my hand, and put it on
slowly, trying to avoid disrupting his bandage. Seth was probably a size bigger
than this slave, and where the sweater had been large for Seth, it nearly
completely engulfed the dark haired boy. The bottom hem came down to just above
his knees, and the sleeves were far too long, hiding his hands completely.
"Thank you, Master," he said clearly, but I could here the apprehension in his
voice. His hands wouldn't stop brushing the soft wool knit of the cozy sweater
from inside of the sleeves.
"Have you ever been given clothes to wear?"
His eyes flickered up slightly, then they again faced the ground. "No, Master."
I walked over to the dresser, keeping my own eyes averted so I wouldn't look at
the collar or the pictures that I knew sat innocently on the top. I pulled open
a drawer and pulled out some black boxers then approached him. Instead of
handing them to him, I knelt and opened them up for him to step into.
He went to step in them and reached out with his hands to balance himself on my
shoulders, but the moment his skin touched by shirt he withdrew like he had
been burned and took a step gracefully away from me like a skittish deer.
I gave him stern look, but didn't move from my position. "Get back here." Was
he really that afraid of me? He was almost in my lap when I picked him up this
morning, showing him a small bit of abuse couldn't have made him this skittish,
could it?
The slave returned cautiously, and stuck his one foot into the leg hole and was
preparing to lift the other his arms tight to his chest.
"You may balance on me if you like." I said, trying to give him a chance to be
good. I would only ever set a slave up for failure if it served a purpose.
Right now, I just wanted him to put the god damn underwear on.
"M-master said no touching." His reminder was feeble, and his voice was barely
above a whisper, but it hit me hard. I had told him not to touch me, hadn't I,
and he was trying desperately to obey my every command.
The guilt welled like an ache inside my chest. "You're allowed to touch me,
that was not a rule this morning. I-I..." Fuck.
I felt his hands timid on my shoulders as he stepped the rest of the way into
the boxers and I shimmied them up to his skinny hips, thankful that he took my
silence as the end of my incomplete sentence.
Before I could stand up I felt him delicately stroke his fingers through my
hair on the side of my head. "It's okay." His words still soft, but more
confident. "Losing something always hurts."
Seth wasn't a something, he was a someone. I was tired of explaining that to
everyone who expressed their condolences over the loss of my pet, but were
confused about how deeply I was grieving. He wasn't my pet, he was my other
half, my lover, my everything. How could I explain that to this slave who sees
his own self as merely an object, to be used as it's owner saw fit? The fact
was, I couldn't. He wouldn't understand. I had a new slave but I was still
alone. Seth was gone forever, and I was all alone.
I removed my hands from where they had rested on his hips, wiped a rogue streak
of water from my face, then stood. I grabbed the slaves hand, which he seemed
happy about, his eyes brightening and his graceful gait was active as I lead
him down the stairs and into the kitchen.
I sat him at the table, and nearly laughed at the expression on his face once
his butt touched the chair. It was fear, euphoria, and shock, all fighting for
dominance of his cute features.
"Have you ever been allowed to sit at a table before?"
"No, Master. It is no place for a dog."
Something in my chest squeezed, a faint memory floating to the surface of how
Seth had said something similar when I had allowed him to sleep in the bed.
"Are you a dog?"
"I am no better than a dog, Master." He said, and I could literally see him
shrivel, his head lowering submissively.
I reached forward and gently placed my finger under his chin. His face lifted
up at the pressure and his eyes widened when I levelled them with my own. His
eyes were quite gorgeous, a deep blue gradient to almost an ice white near the
pupil, like a solar eclipse on an arctic planet.
"You are worth much more than any dog. Remember that."
"As you wish, Master," his voice regular, but I could tell I had shook him,
stirred something inside and, if I was completely honest with myself, I knew
better. If I ever wanted to truly break him, I couldn't start giving him
morsels of himself like that. Watching his skin being scraped away must have
made me feel more sorry for him than I consciously thought.
I dropped his chin and turned to a cupboard in the kitchen bringing two plates
out and setting them on the counter.
"When did you last eat?" I asked.
"Yesterday morning, Master."
I opened the drawer where I kept a loaf of bread, not surprised by his answer.
Mike had always been a cheap bastard.
I made us some toast, two pieces for me, one for him. I hesitated, but then put
a thin layer of butter on his before I put peanut butter on mine.
His eyes were still wide when I placed the plate in front of him, and he
blinked, like he couldn't quite believe it.
"Have you ever eaten anything besides a protein block?" I sat down and bit into
my toast waiting for his answer. I still wasn't hungry, but I knew I had to eat
something today.
"I've only ever had apples pieces as a reward, Master."
I swallowed by mouthful, "Have you ever had bread before?"
"No, Master."
I contemplated his answer for a minute. I knew The Company was very strict on
how they raised slaves, their diets included. He seemed quite underfed, his
ripcord muscles lean under his skin, all of his ribs protruding from his side
with every breath. I was surprised he wasn't smaller for his age.
"Today you may have some," I motioned to his plate, "go ahead and eat, but chew
slow and swallow completely before you take a new bite."
He gave a quick, "Yes, Master," before he dove into his meal. I watched,
fascinated by how much self control he had and how feral it still looked. Each
bite he took was huge, but he sat there, chewing and savouring every crumb.
He finished before I did, and I contemplated giving him the last half of my
peanut butter toast, but forced myself to eat it instead.
I collected our plates and put them in the dishwasher then told him to stay
where he was while I went and got a fresh notebook and pen from my study.
I came back and put the stationary on the table then sat down. I stared at the
blank front of the notebook. I had to name my slave, I was getting sick of not
being able to address him properly, but the thought of doing so gave me a
headache so I ignored it.
"Now," I spoke, and my slave lifted his head slightly, letting me know that I
had his attention. "When is your birthday?"
"July 16th, 3580."
I scribbled the date down.
"Were you raised by your biological mother or were you born via embryo
transfer?"
"Embryo transfer."
I wrote that down as well, in short hand, beside his birthdate. I was a little
surprised though. Embryo transfer was expensive, and a seed of doubt about why
his record was really deleted embedded itself into my brain. Was it really just
because he had a bad scar?
I continued,"When did you start your training as a slave?"
"At two years old."
"Sexual training?"
"Four years old."
I paused before I wrote it down. Seth had begun his sexual training when he was
eight, and when I got him for my sixteenth birthday as a ten year old slave,
his file contained a stack of notes as thick as my thumb about what erogenous
zones he had been taught and what had been done to him to make him perfectly
obedient in the bedroom. I wondered how big this slave's file would have been,
if it was started when he was four.
"Why four?" I hadn't meant to ask, but it was unusual to start a slave so young
unless you wanted them to perform specifically, like be a puppy, or a pain
slut.
"I was being tailored for someone specific, Master."
My heart rate went up, "Who?"
"I do not know, Master." His normally stoic face scrunched a little with not
knowing the answer that I wanted.
I decided to dismiss the topic for now, but my curiosity was peaked. He had
turned out to be a far more interesting mystery that I had previously thought.
"You told me you are not broken, is that correct?"
"It is, Master."
"Were they trying to break you?"
The slave didn't speak for a breath and I worried that I would have to punish
him, when he finally spoke, "Yes."
"Why couldn't they break you?" The instant the words left my mouth, I knew they
were the wrong ones, but I was glad I asked them. I watched his face go from
practically unreadable to twisted in anguish. His eyes swam with tears and his
breath caught in his throat.
"Answer me, Slave." I said as stern as I could but not angrily. I didn't expect
a clear answer, I was just seeing how far I could push.
"I-I-I'm..." He hiccuped a few breaths, practically hysterical, but no tears
fell to his cheeks.
I stood up from my chair and he dramatically flinched, then slid from his chair
to kneel in front of me on the kitchen floor, his whole body shaking and
quivering in the knitted sweater.
He looked up at me, but not into my eyes, he knew better. His irises were
blazing in contrast to the red that now lined his eyes, his skin irritated from
holding in his tears.
"I'm a bad slave." He croaked, then his breath became more jagged, his arms
coming around himself as if he could physically hold it all in.
He made quite the pitiful sight, and my heart broke for him. For twelve years
he'd been training to be someone's perfect pet, and all it took was three days
of abuse and ill training to take it all away. This emotion I was seeing from
him now looked like the remnants of that mistake in his training, and I hoped I
would be able to fix it. If I ever planned to resell him, or keep him even,
this was something that could not remain.
***** I Am Milo *****
Milo's POV
The emotion burned inside of my ribs, but I was glad I still had enough control
to not sob in front of my Master.
I couldn't help the tears that tenaciously streamed down my cheeks despite my
efforts, but they gradually stopped and my eye sight cleared as my Master's
gentle hand stroked the top of my head.
"You are not a bad slave," he said, his voice as soft as his touch. "You just
need the proper reform from someone who knows what they are doing."
"Yes, Master," I said steadily, returning to my former composed self from his
petting. I scooted forward so he could continue stroking my head as he sat back
down on his chair and I, on the floor, where I belonged.
I didn't know what kind of game my Master was playing. He pushed me away and
physically hurt me, then called someone to heal me, and gave me food and
clothing. I was a little confused, but whoever owned me could do what they
wanted. I just hoped I would be able to provide for him. I knew how ugly my
neck must look, and I knew that there would be few Masters who bought a scarred
slave if they didn't want to put a few more scars there themselves. I hoped
this Master was not one of those, but I worried.
He was silent, writing a couple things down in his notebook. I felt his eyes on
me, studying. I stayed still, the sweater and boxers that I was wearing feeling
odd and restrictive. I have lived naked for most of my life, but I cherished
the fact that I was wearing clothes at all, despite how uncomfortable they made
me feel.
My Master's hand stopped it's stroking and was removed from my head.
"Up," he said, clapping both his hands on his thighs.
I knew it was dangerous, but I let elation fill me, careful not to show it on
my face. I stood up gracefully and folded my legs across my Master's lap,
before he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest. He
was warm, so warm, and I allowed myself to rest my head in the crook of his
neck, cuddling into his chest, testing my boundaries.
I knew I was permitted this close when he tilted his head slightly and kissed
my hair. My whole body relaxed, my mind settled, content to be in Master's
arms.
"Have you ever been given a name?" My Master asked, speaking quietly. I could
feel his voice reverberate through his broad chest.
I hesitated, knowing I had once been given a name, but technically had never
been given one in training. "No, Master."
He hummed, but it was a playful sound. "I think you're lying."
My whole body stiffened, but my Master stroked my back with one of his hands.
"Hush, you're okay. Just tell me the truth."
I swallowed before I spoke, my mouth dry. "My nurse maid called me Milo."
"Milo." He said slowly, testing out the sound. I melted into him more, my heart
twisting pleasantly at the sound of it rolling off his tongue. "I don't mind
Milo, I think it suits you. Would you like that to be your name?"
My voice caught and I had a small moment of panic. Would I like to be called
that? Yes. Did I even have any say in the matter?
"Only if it pleases you, Master." I said. I had no desire to push my luck with
my new Master. I knew he was fully capable of causing me pain.
"It does," he said, taking his pen and writing 'Milo' on the front of the
notebook in his beautiful scrawling cursive.
Milo. I am Milo.
---
"I have some rules, and you must obey them or I will punish you, am I clear?"
"Crystal, Master." I said.
"Careful, Milo. That was a bit cheeky."
My heart nearly skipped in terror at his warning, but was soothed when I caught
a peak of the genuine smile that stretch across his face.
He had placed me back on the floor, but allowed me to lean against his leg, his
left hand never leaving where it was tangled in my hair and he wrote down more
in my notebook.
"Rule one," he began. "You may address me as "sir" when speaking to me outside
of company, but whenever we are in public or if someone else is present, you
must use "Master." Second: You are to use Seth's room as your own. When I leave
the house, that is where you will reside until I return home. Also, when I
return home I am to be immediately greeted at the door, understand?"
"Yes, sir" I said smoothly. His rules were easy.
"Third: this should go without speaking but you only eat when I tell you and
what I give you and you eat all of it, you are only allowed on the furniture if
I place you there, otherwise sit on the floor, and you are only permitted to
wear clothes when I give them to you, and are to take them off when I tell you
to do so. Still good?"
I nodded against his leg, "Yes, sir."
"I'm assuming your trained enough to know that you must always ask permission
if you want to touch yourself or cum?"
"Yes,sir."
He patted the top of my head lightly. "Good boy."
Heat blazed through me at his words and I had to suppress my cock from
swelling. My legs widened instinctively and my skin flushed.
My Master seemed to have noticed the change in me and stared down in thought,
his hand that was on my head stroked down my back, and I felt myself curl up
into his touch.
"You're not trained as a puppy, are you?"
"No, Sir," I said. "The puppies stayed in the kennels with the dogs, and my
training was much different from theirs."
He hummed a soft acknowledgment, then wrote some more in the notebook, before
closing it and placing his pen down on the table with a small clatter.
"Do you have any questions, Milo?"
I thought seriously. I knew I had to ask the right questions now, because I
didn't know if I would ever get the chance again.
"Will I have chores, Sir?"
"No. I have a house keeper that comes in once a week, and I will introduce you
to her when she is here next. Anything else?"
"No, Sir."
Shifting his weight, my Master pushed his chair back and I stayed where I was,
but he didn't stand up. His hands went to the front of his jeans and he undid
the button and zipper, then opened the front of his underwear and pulled out
his cock. It was long and thick, even in it's flaccid state, with a head that
mushroomed out in a symmetrical flare as he pulled back his foreskin.
I licked my lips at the sight and my master laughed. He had been watching me.
"Come here, slut," he said, motioning with his hands for me to get between his
legs.He stroked his cock a couple times, bringing it to half mast as I settled
in between his open knees.
He brought his hand away from his cock to stroke the side of my face, then
cupped the nape of my neck to lower my mouth to his waiting member.
He rubbed the head of his cock along my lips with his other hand, coating them
with salty pre-cum, before inserting his thumb into the side of my mouth to
open my jaw.
I opened willingly, letting out a soft sigh of contentment as his length slide
into my mouth. He smelt wonderful, like old oak and butterscotch, and the taste
of his skin was earthy and clean. Some of my previous trainers would have my
oral lessons after they had fucked another slave, and I had the misfortune of
growing accustomed to giving head to a cock covered in fecal matter and blood.
Master Nick groaned gently as he slid into my mouth, his cock jumping slightly
and growing harder against my tongue. Encourage, I leaned forward and swallowed
his full eight inches, my throat muscles contracting rhythmically as my nose
pressed into his crotch.
A rough hand in my hair ripped my head off his cock, and I stared up at Master
Nick in shock, a string of saliva still connecting my bottom lip to the flared
head.
"What the fuck," he whispered, breath heavy, and his cock glistening and red.
He opened my mouth with his fingers, pulling back on my lips and stretching my
jaw to peer into my mouth. "Those fuckers removed your uvula." He spoke to me,
I think, but his tone was hushed, like he couldn't believe what his eyes saw.
He let my mouth close and gave me a look that I could not read.
"They removed my uvula and killed the nerves in the back of my throat and soft
palette, I had a over reactive gag reflex and it had to be completely
eliminated."
My Master waited a breath before standing and shoving his cock back in my
mouth, sheathing it until my nose was crushed against the waistband of his
underwear. His hips snapped, fucking my mouth, and holding my head still with a
fist in my hair. His other hand was on the table so he could balance at
different angles while he pounded into my throat.
I remembered my training, curving my lips over my teeth slightly, and only
tried to breath when he pulled out a bit.
He came quickly with a grunt, and came deep. The cum filling my throat, so
sticky I could barely swallow. He pulled out slowly, giving a few extra thrusts
to the back of my throat as his orgasm ebbed. I licked any residual cum and
saliva from the skin on his cock, nuzzling into his crotch when I was done. I
could not get enough of his scent, and his strong hand pulled my hair until his
breathing returned to a normal pace. Him using me as I had been used my whole
life calmed me.
"You may go upstairs and wait for me in Seth's bedroom." He said.
I had to force myself to pull away from his warmth in order to obey. Then stood
and walked to the stairs and up to the room. I did not hear him move behind me,
but I almost wished I had risked a glance at his face.
---
I waited for two hours on my knees beside the bed, before I heard someone
coming up the stairs and the rustle of a plastic bag. The door opened and I
watched my master walk in with a shopping bag in his hand. He ignored me and
went to the bathroom, flicking on the light and opening cupboards.
My anxiety rose seeing the shopping bag. Had he left? Was I supposed to greet
him at the door? Is that why he ignored me?
"Milo," he called, and instantly I was up and made it to the bathroom standing
in the entrance with my eyes down and my hands clasped behind my back.
"Milo, look up," he said, his voice gentle and inviting. However, I was
careful, looking only to the counter and the cupboards that still lay open. He
pointed to the bottom cupboard, filled with bandages and jars of the burn
poultice. "I put all of your burn stuff here, so if you ever need to when I'm
not home you can change the bandage yourself." He then pointed to the cupboard
behind the mirror, "I've put your toothbrush in here, there is also deodorant
and a razor and shaving gel."
I wanted to laugh, but I suppressed it, my only tell a slight twitch of the
lips. My trainer would have beat me for that. Nick, however just gave me a
funny look.
"I will not be needing the razor or the deodorant," I said, watching the look
on Nick's face change into one of confusion. "My hair everywhere but my eye
brows and head has been permanently removed, and my sweat and scent glands in
my underarms were snipped out when I was very small."
"Oh," he said taking the brand new razor and deodorant out of the cupboard and
placing it back in the bag. "Someone spent a shit ton of money on you," he
mused as he started closing the cupboards. "Anyway, brush your teeth, and then
get into bed. If you get too hot you can take the sweater off. Tomorrow
morning, I'll retrieve you for breakfast."
He spoke casually and left the room. I didn't move until I heard him shut the
door.
I brushed my teeth mechanically, then shut the light off in the bathroom and
stared at the bed. I got to sleep in a bed. A bed. And no punishment for not
greeting him at the door? Perhaps he had never left.
I turned the light off in the room and took off the sweater, then crawled
underneath the plush covers. The sheets were soft against my skin and I closed
my eyes, instantly falling asleep.
---
I woke to the cold air of the room hitting a small part of my naked torso as
the covers were drawn back enough to let another body slip under.
Strong arms wrapped tightly around my chest, constricting enough to shallow my
breathing, and I felt a cock between my thighs, hot and hard. Teeth grazed my
skin on the part of my neck that wasn't bandaged, before a tongue burned a
trail back down.
I knew it was my Master. I had memorized his scent and it hung heady in the air
as his hands pulled down my boxers so he could slip a finger between the cheeks
of my ass. His finger didn't enter me, and it was warm and dry as he felt where
my hole was, then he grabbed his cock and pressed it's flared head to my
puckered muscle. I grunted as he pushed in, the pain nearly unbearable, but no
where near my threshold for me to actually cry out. He worked the rest of his
cock inside me, my walls painfully gripping the flesh of his dry cock as I
arched my back and tried to bear down to reduce the pain.
I focused on his smell, his hot breath on the back of my neck and the feel of
his developed pecks against my back. My Master was young and good looking, I
was lucky, and my own cock swelled as I relaxed into his hold and I fluttered
my inner muscles on his dick.
He gave a throaty moan and palmed my scrotum, feeling my hard cock with his
possessive fingers. "Cock slut," he whispered into my ear, giving my balls a
hard tug. My body jerked, nerves and muscles reacting to the pain as my mind
and mouth stayed silent. The thought was fleeting, but I wondered if he would
turn me into a pain slut.
"Fuck, you're tight," he murmured, then gave a good shove with his hips and was
balls deep inside of me. My jaw clenched as the burning sensation of my inner
flesh bubbled up and threatened to make a sound. This was what I was trained
for; to take whatever my Master wanted with silent gratitude, whether that be
pain or pleasure.
As he pulled out, I felt my flesh drag out with a fiery ripple in my lower
back. It turned into a knife sharp pain as he slammed back inside. The rhythm
continued, and I could hear the occasional gasp from my Master as he fucked me
dry.
For the amount of friction that I was feeling in my rectum, I knew he was a
feeling some of it. One of the trainers had explained to me that some Masters
liked to feel pain too and took pleasure from it, kind of like pain sluts. I
wondered about my Master as he withdrew and slammed home again. How he avoided
ever looking at the collar that sat on the dresser, how he would be so kind,
yet cruel without explanation. I wondered what happened to Seth and if he had
been killed by Master Nick. I wondered if it was guilt or just mourning that
left the collar and pictures there, untouched.
A searing, white hot pain in my gut drew the air from my lungs and watered my
eyes. The friction in my ass abated, replaced by a wrenching ache every time
Master's cock pushed in. I could smell it, after his thrusts began to quicken,
the sweet copper scent of blood that stuck to the back of my throat.He had
ripped me, and judging by the amount of blood that I could feel gush with every
drawback of his cock, I would feel it for weeks.
He seemed spurred on now that he had something slicking the way for his massive
cock to stretch my ass. His hands clawed my chest catching a nipple on occasion
and his teeth sunk into the skin on my shoulder as he rutted harder and faster.
He came with a throaty grunt, his teeth buried in the flesh of my shoulder. The
salt of his cum stung my raw channel, but I took the pain silently. Always
silent. Always a good slave.
He rubbed my left ass cheek with a stern hand, squeezing my muscle and pulling
it away from where he was still inserted inside me. My abdomen jerked from the
tender pain, but other wise I stayed perfectly still. His fingers grazed our
connection, my anus reflexively puckering tightly around his flaccid cock as he
touched the inflamed ring of muscle.
"That's a good boy," he cooed, finger tips moving to lightly grazing my
twitching cock.
He pulled out, my body instantly seizing from the emptiness. My whole lower
belly cramping when I tried to bear down against the hollow feeling, and I was
so glad it was dark as my eyes watered.
He pulled away from me completely and got out of the bed, "No cuming." His
voice was emotionless and cold, but I heard his footsteps hesitate before he
left the room.
I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep. I concentrated and controlled my breath
until my erection ebbed, but I could already feel the ache in my balls. Rolling
onto my back, I opened my knees so my genitals were open to the night air of
the dark room. The ache in my bowels flared and I felt the blood, sticky and
hot, trickle out of my body at the movement.
But, despite the pain, I wanted my Master back. I wanted him to fuck me dry
again--just so he could call me a good boy-- but I had to squish that odd
longing as my cock twitched with interest. Longing is what got me into this
mess in the first place.
***** Soured Milk *****
Chapter Notes
     Double update!! Make sure you read Chapter three before chapter four
     lol
Nick's POV
I woke up when the alarm went off and rolled out of bed, dragging my feet to my
bathroom.
Turning the light on, I could see the dusting of dried blood on my cock and I
hoped I hadn't ripped Milo too badly. He needed to hurt when I fucked him, for
now. I knew that--planned it that way--but the coil of guilt that lodged itself
in my rib age was insistent.
I would have never done that to Seth.
Even when I was younger, I had always had a sadistic streak, but I had made
sure Seth trusted me first before I had started training him that way and I
always made it up to him. Milo, I knew, did not trust me. He wanted praise and
he understood he lived for my pleasure, but I saw the way he struggled to
analyze my actions, saw the intelligent gleam in those glacier eyes.
I turned the shower on and washed myself under the hot spray. The thought of
sending Milo back to Mike's Auction House trickled into my brain. Maybe I
wasn't ready for a new slave? Seth's laughter still haunted the hallways and
his smell still lingered in his closet.
I couldn't stop the hot tears that sprung from my eyes and I gave into the sob
that ripped unbidden from my chest. I missed Seth so much that it ached in my
bones.
As I had fucked Milo, Seth's presence had been wrapped around me. His smell was
still in the sheets, and the posters he liked had stared at me from the walls–
it made the guilt that I harboured turn sour. Milo would never replace Seth, he
wouldn't be able to. No slave would be able to. So why the fuck was I trying so
hard to compare him?
When I had finally pulled myself back together, I got out of the shower and got
dressed. I phoned the office, letting Malise know that I would not be in today,
then walked to Seth's room.
Opening the door, I found Milo kneeling next to the bed facing me. His head was
bowed and his hands were on his knees.
"Good morning, sir." He said, his voice smooth.
"Milo." I was going to say more but the words stuck in my throat. I could smell
blood in the room--sticky and sweet-- catching on the back of my tongue so I
nearly tasted it.
It was something that had never breached past the threshold of my play room
with Seth, and I tried not to think about how that made me feel. This room had
been reserved for his comfort and our gentle coupling.
I expected Milo to shift with the silence, the way Seth had always done when he
knew I was stuck for words. However, Milo didn't move a muscle, as always.
"Come, let's get you into the tub," was all I could muster as I moved past him
and into the bathroom. I turned the tap on and waited for it to be warm before
I motioned for him to come sit in the tub as it filled.
Milo still moved fluidly, but he took a bigger breath as he sunk his lower half
into the water.
I poured a few drops of lavender oil in the tub, "Are you sore?"
Milo didn't answer me right away, but as soon as I looked as his face he utterd
a quiet "Yes, sir."
I dipped a cloth into the hot water, lathered it with soap, and began to wash
my slave. He was silent and still, his eyes empty.
I had planned to fuck him again that morning, and I was still unsure why I
didn't feel like it. Why was I holding back? I had planned on breaking him, on
selling him as a malleable bed slave, so why couldn't I get the job done?
A sharp inhale from Milo drew me from my turmoiled thoughts. My washing had
dipped between the cleft of his ass cheeks and I watched in shock as the water
around him quickly clouded pink.
"Bend over, let me see," I instructed calmly, but I could see in the way his
eyes flickered that he knew I was alarmed.
He folded himself awkwardly in the tub so that I could spread his cheeks easily
and assess the damage. Blood trickled from his sphincter freely but slowly,
like a nosebleed. I could see how I had disrupted the scabbing around the
tender muscle, but I needed to know what kind of damage was inside. Carefully,
I pushed at his hole with my thumb, engendering a pained whine from my slave.
His muscle convulsed and a gush of blood coated my hand in hot red and dribbled
sickly into the water.
I rinsed my hand and guided him back into his original position in the tub.
"How much blood is on the bed?" I said calmly.
Milo quivered, but I did not know if it was from fear or pain. "A lot."
That's why the smell of blood had permeated the room so completely.
I left him in the tub to check the bed. Peeling back the covers revealed the
carnage beneath, catching my breath. The sheets had been soaked through to the
mattress, the red bloom covering nearly the whole half of the bed where he had
slept.
I walked slowly back into the bathroom, where Milo still sat quivering in the
tub despite the hot water.
"Before last night, when was the last time you had something inside you?"
I was shocked to watch him lift his head and meet my eyes, but I stayed silent
and let him look. A part of me wanted to smash his head into the side of the
white porcelain tub and punish him for making eye contact with me, but I
couldn't move a muscle. His blues were filled with fear and a longing that I
didn't understand, utterly confusing me and blooming a ache in my chest.
"A year, sir."
His voice was wrecked, like he was about to cry, and his breaths started coming
out faster and harsher. I watched in a disturbed fascination as my normally
composed slave had a panic attack. His hands shook as he clutched them to his
chest and his eyes bulged. Then, over as soon as it started, his breath
returned to normal and his eyelids drooped.
I flipped the drain on the tub and got a towel around him as soon as I could,
lifting him up and carrying him out of the bathroom. I sat down on the carpet
outside of the bathroom, Milo's hands clawing into my shirt, their grip tight
enough to turn his knuckles white.
I knew two things-- he had lost a lot of blood and that I couldn't handle the
sting in my chest right now. Frustration burned behind my eyes and I tucked him
against my chest, letting him rest his head on my shoulder.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm... b-bad."
I held him even tighter as he choked out the words.
"No, Milo, you're a good boy." I tried to coo but my voice was rough, and I was
distracted as I fished my cell phone out of my pocket.
I dialled the number of the cleaning service that I hired my maid from.
"Hello, is Ava available emediatly?"
"Yes, she is, how may she be of service?"
"Could you send her to the Kochev residence please, and we need some help with
mattress disposal."
"I will send two men from the disposal team with Ava, will that be all Mr.
Kochev?"
"Yes, thank you."
When I hung up my phone, I noticed Milo had calmed a considerable amount. He
lay boneless in my arms, his eyes still half lidded and sunken in. I wondered,
with that much blood on the bed, if he had gotten any sleep after my visit last
night.
Gently shifting him so he was easier to carry, I stood with him in my arms and
walked him into my bedroom. He seemed content as I laid him I my bed, wrapping
the towel around his lower half to catch any trickled of blood.
I tucked him in under my down duvet, my fingers finding the hairs on his
forehead to wipe them off his face.
"Last year..." Milo spoke, his eyes barely open and his voice shaky.
I stayed silent, letting him continue.
"... after I had completed most of my training, they... cut into me and--" the
skin on his face paled and I knew I wasn't going to like what he was going to
tell me. "They made me tighter -- not so stretched out -- like a virgin, they
said."
My vision clouded in scarlet and I knew the next time I saw Mike, I was going
to throttle him. A rectal reduction in slaves was a high risk procedure and
even afterward the slave was more prone to lesions and tearing. No wonder he
was bleeding like a faucet after one dry fuck.
I heard Ava and what must be the disposal men walk in my front door.
I turned away from Milo without a word, and went to the top of the stairs where
the cleaning crew could see me from the front door.
I guided them to Seth's room, watching their noses crinkle at the stench of
blood.
"Jesus, Nikola." Ava admonished in her Slavic accent, her head shaking as she
caught site of the mess on the bed.
I left them to the cleaning and rushed down the stairs and headed for my play
room. I had some saline bags and intravenous equipment in one of the cupboards
and grabbed it before I headed back up to my room.
Milo lay where I left him, fast asleep. I gently plucked his arm out from where
he was cuddled in my blankets and he stirred awake, but he made no move to take
his arm back. He just watched as I found a vein on his wrist and began hooking
up the equipment, hanging the saline on my head board.
"Are you going to sell me now?" He whispered, so quiet I barely heard him. His
eyes stared at the wall across the bed, empty.
I let my eyes wander over his form looking obscenely small in my king size bed.
I knew that I had to be careful the answer that I gave. He was smart and scared
about his future.
I tried to remember what Seth had told me about how it felt to be a slave, when
we were young and I would ask him about silly things like that. His voice came
through my memories like it was yesterday that we were still children in my
parent's house.
"It's terrifying never having any influence over where you'll end up. Once you
have a Master, you are at their complete mercy until you die, or they decide to
sell you."
"I'll never sell you."
"I know, Nicki."
I blinked, brought out of my memory by sheer will alone. I didn't want to dive
too deep into our long conversations we used to have in the dark. I wanted to
keep them locked away so the ache in my chest would disappear.
"No, Milo, I'm not going to sell you right now."
"G-good," he whispered, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.
I was reaching out and brushing my hand through his thick mop of hair before I
even realized it. He pushed into my touch and fully closed his eyes, snuggling
into the comforter.
"You can sleep for now," I told him softly. "I'm going to make some phone calls
and then I'm taking you to the clinic."
"Yes, sir." He said, his eyes still closed.
I left the room and shut the door, hearing Ava in the other room scrubbing at
the floor in the bathroom.
I called the clinic first, letting them know about Milo's injuries and
modifications, and that I would be bringing him in shortly. I was happy that
Dr. Garret was available. He had been Seth's doctor and I had had to search
high and low for him. He was one that I knew wouldn't cause any psychological
harm to Milo and was always stocked with the right tranquilizers and freezing
agents.
My next call was to Mike. I had prepared to rip his head off about knowing
nothing about the slave before I bought it, but his secretary said that he was
unavailable.
Depositing my phone into my pocket, I went upstairs to retrieve my slave,
hoping he hadn't bled through the towels yet.
--------
The clinic was as welcoming as I remembered. The walls were painted a warm
beige and the vet-tech at the front desk was friendly and got a gurney for Milo
so I wouldn't have to carry him.
However; Milo's demeanour had changed drastically since we had walked through
the door. His nostrils had flared and his eyes widened. I could practically
smell the fear coming off of him and his hand still clutched my sleeve despite
him now transferred to the gurney. I let him hold onto me, knowing what he had
been through and that he was precedented in his behaviour. Most slave clinics
didn't even stock anesthesia and I doubt he had been put under for any of his
modifications.
"Nick! It's good to see you," Dr. Garret greeted us in the hall and guided us
into a treatment room. "And I'm assuming this is Milo."
He reach out a hand to pet Milo's head from the other side of the gurney, but
Milo flinched violently away and buried his face into my shirt.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Garret. He's had multiple modifications and his records have
been deleted."
Dr. Garret's eyes softened with understanding. "Yes, I did hear that. We'll
just have to go extra slow."
"Thank you for understanding," I said apologetically.
"You're welcome. I want all my patients to feel as comfortable as possible."
Dr. Garret steered the gurney so it locked in place on the floor. "Now, I'm
going to have a look at your injury, and for that I will have to touch you. I
promise I won't hurt you, okay Milo?"
Milo's head whipped around to the doctor when he heard his name, then looked up
at me. I nodded.
"Yes, sir." He said.
As the doctor peeled away the blanket I had wrapped around his lower half for
travel, I saw Milo's body begin to quiver.
"Easy, Milo, you're a good boy," I said in an attempt to calm him down.
Both of his arms had snaked around my waist and he pressed the side of his head
into my stomach, holding me close against him and the metal edge of the gurney,
while still keeping a wary eyeball on the doctor.
Gentle hands maneuvered his body onto the side and bent one knee upward to
expose his blood crusted anus. The doctor said nothing, just grabbed a wet
cleaning cloth and began to slowly wipe.
"The outside doesn't look too bad, just a few lesions," the doctor said when he
was done inspecting. He opened another drawer and took out a tube of ointment.
Putting a generous dollop on his gloved finger he smoothed it over Milo's
clenching muscle.
My slave let out a huge breath as the doctor messaged the ointment in. The
confusion must have been written on my face.
"Antiseptic and numbing," the doctor told me holding up the tube. "It's going
to be uncomfortable for him enough when I have to slide the scapula in."
I nodded, realizing I couldn't speak with how tight my jaw clenched my teeth
together. Milo's shoulders shook and rattled the side of the gurney, shoving me
into the memory of when Seth lay in a hospital bed in this very same clinic.
The instant the thought came I ripped myself away from Milo, as if I could rip
away from reliving the worst day of my life. Milo let out a distressed cry, his
arms reaching for me. The smell of antiseptic and blood pushed the air from my
lungs, and I could do nothing but stand there as several nurses rushed in to
help the doctor restrain Milo. My vision blurred at the edges and the memory of
Seth's limp, lifeless body flickered over my eyes.
My slave's face had gone white with terror and I could hear him screaming for
me, but it sounded like he was underwater. Everything sounded garbled, as the
nurses and doctor shouted trying to get Milo into restraints and hit him with a
dose of tranquilizer. I hadn't realized I had been taking steps backwards until
I hit the wall. Then the world came rushing back, hard enough for my legs to
crumble beneath me.
"MASTER!!! MA-AHAAASTERRR!!!"
I covered my ears and pushed my face into my knees.
"MASTER!!!"
I couldn't breath.
"Ma-Master..."
"Nicki..."
I don't know how long I sat on the floor, my hands covering my ears, my eyes
clenched shut and the breath coming ragged from my lips. The trauma of hearing
Milo's calls morph into the last thing Seth had ever said to me, like some kind
of morbid mind trick, had hit me like a sack of bricks. Nicki... it was his
name for me when I had told him he could call me whatever he wanted. My father
had greatly disproved, but he could do nothing to discourage our relationship.
Seth's papers had been in my name.
At one point a nurse had draped a blanket around my shoulders and set a cup of
coffee in front of me. When I had shaken myself from old memories I grabbed it
hesitantly, my hand shaking enough that I had to bring it quickly to my lips or
I would spill it. It was warm and I took two big gulps in between deep breaths.
Milo now lay peacefully comatose on the gurney, hooked up to a heart monitor
that beeped gently. His neck bandage had been changed to a fun purple colour
and a dark tube went from his wrist to a hanging bag of blood.
I stood up on shaking legs and almost made it to the gurney before Dr. Garret
walked into the room flipping through a clip board.
"How is he?" I asked quietly, reaching the side of the gurney and brushing my
hand against the side of his face. He was warm and his skin was more healthy
looking and pink than what it had been this morning.
"He'll be fine, but I had to cauterize the artery that had been torn and he has
several other large abrasions. He'll need to be kept on a liquid diet for two
weeks and bed rest for about four days. While he was knocked out I cut a small
part of his internal sphincter to hopefully help reverse his reduction. He
should be fully recovered in about eight weeks."
I felt... relieved? Exhausted? I couldn't even tell, so I just nodded.
"Look, Nick..." Dr. Garret began, and I braced myself for what I knew was
coming. "After what happened with Seth, are you sure you're ready for another
slave? Milo is unstable, both physically and mentally. With those burns on his
neck I don't know if he'll ever be able to safely wear a collar, and his
attachment to you is alarming for you owning him for less than forty-eight
hours. Owning a slave like this will take patience, not to mention he will be a
lifetime commitment, there's no way he'll be sellable--"
"He's my slave and I will do with him what I want," I growled, my voice much
stronger than what I felt.
Dr. Garret's eyes darkened and he frowned. "I'm only looking out for Milo's,
and your, best interests, which is what I am paid to do, the reason you hired
me."
I was barely listening, my eyes taking in Milo's beauty while he slept. He
looked so much younger, his long dark lashes casting wispy shadows on his high
cheek bones. I had a desire to protect and cherish him, but my mind was more
logical than my heart. If I was going to make this right– to help him – I had
to protect him from me. The darkest parts of me.
"Seth's death has left you too raw, and Milo is going to need a rock for a
Master."
I could feel all the pressure of the past few weeks build around me, my head a
lead weight atop my shoulders. Had I bought a slave to soon? I had already made
so many mistakes...
"I can't let Milo go."
I was unsure why I confessed the words that I had been denying to myself since
the day I laid eyes on Milo. His dark hair and juxtaposing blue eyes were
stunning, but their was a kindred sorrow in the lines of his face that
attracted me to him like nothing else. He had a rough, unusual past; so highly
trained, but so altered and unprepared.
I felt Dr. Garret's hand on my shoulder and he handed me a tissue. Had I been
crying this whole time?
The doctor sighed, and patted my shoulder before moving away. "Keep it together
for him. You freaking out like that has broken some of his trust in you and
you're going to have to work hard to get it back. I'll give you his full
medical report at the desk, and he will be ready to go home in a few hours."
"Thank you, Dr. Garret."
"I wouldn't thank me yet, Nick."
***** Held Breath *****
Milo's POV
I felt like I was floating on a cloud; numb and weightless. I lifted my eyelids
a crack, the light blinding and piercing.
Someone stroked the side of my face. Their touch was warm and gentle, and I
leaned in to soak up more of the contact. My eye lids felt too heavy against
the light, so I closed them completely and let out a content sigh.
Arms wrapped around me and I was lifted and tucked against a strong chest. I
could hear words being exchanged but they were too muffled to properly hear,
like my ears were stuffed with cotton.
I must have dosed back to sleep, because the next thing I can remembered is a
dull ache in my abdomen, and the realization that a warm body lay asleep beside
me. Hot breath puffed at the back of my neck and a strong arm was draped over
my waist. My mind felt sluggish and it took me a minute to realize that it was
Nick's scent that engulfed me.
Why was he sleeping beside me? Had I been good?
I tried to remember what had happened at the vet clinic, and a waive of
fleeting panic chilled the blood in my veins as I recalled my Master ripping
from my grip. He hadn't stayed no matter how loud I had screamed for him, he
hadn't protected me... but I knew the doctor had given me something to knock me
out while he worked on me. Had Nick paid for that? I had felt no pain after the
darkness had engulfed me and I knew drugs for slaves were very expensive. My
past experiences in a clinic were some of the most pain filled hours of my
life, but that hadn't happened this time.
I opened my eyes, surprised to find that we were in a different bedroom. This
one was tidy and had a big window that looked like it opened up onto a balcony.
I turned slowly in the bed so I faced Nick, his feature's youthful in sleep –
still dark – but his sharp edges were toned down significantly. Hesitantly, I
folded my hands onto his chest and snuggled myself closer to him, tucking my
face against his neck.
I would show him all the affection I could give and that all of the devotion
that I had in my body was his. I didn't know if I could handle being sold. The
thought of being put into another unfamiliar environment made me sick with
fear. All I had ever wished for during my years of training was for a Master. A
real one, not a line of trainers who were paid to keep me in line. I was unsure
how I felt about Nick. His rules were few and he confused me, but I wanted him.
Somehow.
My breath caught as Nick's arm tightened around me to bring our bodies
completely flush, and stroked my bare back under the blanket.
"Are you awake, Milo?" Nick's gravely voice rang lowly through the quiet room,
causing heat to pool in my belly.
"Yes, sir."
One of Nick's hands came up and stroked the hair on the back of my head, "How
are you feeling?"
"Better, sir." I told him, reaching into my training so my voice held a sultry
purr. Content as I was tucked against him under the warm blankets, he was
unpredictable and I wanted this gentle Nick to last as long as possible.
"Good," he rumbled, continuing to stroke my back and making no move to get out
of the bed. "You are to sleep with me in this bed from now on, and the doctor
has prescribed bed rest for the next four days. Only get out of bed to go to
the bathroom. I have hired Ava to stay for a bit until you are fully healed.
She'll be bringing you meals and keeping an eye on you while I'm gone."
"Where are you going, sir?" I asked, though nearly failed in keeping the
pitiful distress in my voice at bay.
I instinctively flinched – cursed inwardly at how careless I was –but Master
Nick just gave a breathy laugh not seeming to have noticed and tilted my chin
up so I nearly looked him in the eye. I could feel he was studying my face, but
I kept it as blank as possible and stared at his mouth.
"I just have a few meetings to get to for work this week, but I'll be back from
the first one this afternoon." He paused, his thumb stroking my cheek gently.
"You be good for Ava, now, okay? And do as she says."
"Yes, sir."
Master Nick slipped out of bed and stepped into the master ensuite, leaving the
door open as he showered.
I dosed, soaking up the warmth he had left in the bed and listened to him move
under the spray of water. I tried to analyze his behaviour this morning, but
the paradox it created from what happened at the clinic and most of our past
communication spun around wildly in my head.
I knew I was a replacement, and he was angry. Not angry at me, but angry at the
world. Those eyes–from the flashes that I have caught–were a raging tumult of
emotions; pitted with the darkest exhaustion, and bursting with grief so
profound, I could find no fault in his lashing out. I was his to lash out at.
He cared for me though, that I knew. He fed me, and had my wounds
professionally dressed. My chest felt hollow when I recalled how imperfect I
was, how my alterations had halted his routine in caring for me and disrupted
his retraining. My hand automatically went to my hip where my ruined brand lay,
a dark fleshy scar against my pale skin, distinctively thick and raised against
the delicate ripples of the older scar tissue. I was defective, and had to
remember that.
When he walked out of the bathroom, I kept my eyes closed and pretended to be
asleep. I feared he would read my thoughts, no longer trusting that I could
keep my mask on around him, lest he say something to trigger another panic
attack induced by how ruined I was. How worthless my marked body has made me.
It didn't quite matter though, because he left the room after getting dressed
and I heard him leave the house a little while later. I let my tears fall then,
shocked when my lungs refused to hold air and my body racked with sobs. I
hadn't openly cried in a very long time.
--------
Ava looked at me like I hadn't been looked at since I was with my nurse maid.
She had walked in quietly a few minutes after Nick had left. Seeing my tears
she rushed over and patted my face with a soft cloth.
"Easy, krykhitka. You are safe."
Her voice was soft and I found her accent endearing although I did not
recognize it. Some of my trainers had accents, but none that matched hers. I
tried my best to calm down for her and eventually my tears dried and only
sniffles remained.
She got me to sit up in bed and drink half a glass of water. After she was sure
I was okay she left to fetch me a portion of my knew liquid diet. I managed one
gulp to please her and then she left me to rest, setting the glass, filled with
the gritty white substance on the table beside the bed.
I don't know how long it was, my brain short circuiting as I drifted in and out
of sleep, but I didn't know that Nick was home until he opened the door to
the room.
I sprang up in the bed, startled, eyes immediately going to the full white
glass. Flickers of terror licked up my spine and I couldn't bring myself to
look at Nick. I deserve to be beaten, to feel the pain for disobeying his
orders, for just being less than perfect.
"Hi, Milo." His greeting was neutral and he followed my eyes to the full glass.
"Hello, sir," I responded, cursing the waver in my voice.
He grabbed the glass silently before sliding carefully onto the bed to sit
beside me. I stared at my shaking hands, bracing for a punishment; my back was
stiff as a board and my shoulders were tight.
"Terrible stuff," Nick muttered as he inspected the glass, before placing it
gently in my hands, wrapping his own around them to stop my tremors.
"I'm going to need you to finish this for me, okay? If you hold your breath
while you drink it, it won't taste as bad."
"Okay, sir," I whispered, doing as he said and chugged the rest of it down as
best as I could. Holding my breath helped, but as soon as I gasped after I was
done, the horrible flavour made me gag.
He took the glass from my hands and rubbed my back as I coughed and choked.
"Good boy," he cooed, and I couldn't help but feel how the words stroked my
earlier feelings of inferiority into the shadows of my mind.
"Ava said you behaved well while I was gone, do you want to take a bath with
me?"
My mouth clammed up. Did he just ask me if I wanted to do something?
"You have no wants. You have no needs." That part of the creed from my training
echoed sickly through my skull.
"I-I..." I was so confused. When was he going to punish me for not finishing my
liquid meal before he got home? Was he going to punish me for anything?
"Come on," he said, and I wasn't looking but I think I caught a flash of a
smile on his face as he pulled back the covers. "I have to redress your wound
anyways."
He helped me out of bed, which I was grateful for, because when my feet hit the
hardwood I found I could barely support my own weight. His one arm looped
around my waist and his other held my arm across his shoulders.
"Little steps," he commanded, and I obeyed easily, the pain from just standing
bubbled in the injured part of my abdomen. I don't think I could have moved any
faster.
He pulled out a small stool in the bathroom and motioned to it. I obeyed, but
winced at the pressure put on my rectum from the mere action of sitting. Nick
frowned at that then quickly turned on the tap to the bathtub.
When he was satisfied with the water temperature he left it to fill while he
opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the poultice and bandages he
must have moved from the other bathroom. He cut my old bandage off my neck and
gently removed it, tossing it in the garbage bin.
My neck felt odd without the bandage, like it didn't have enough support.
He put gloves on and poured a thick antiseptic solution onto a piece of gauze.
I winced as he began to dab at my wound with it.
"Easy, Milo. It's made from aloe, it doesn't sting that much does it?"
It didn't. I thought I would feel that familiar burn which was sometimes
delayed, but all the solution did was cool and sooth my burnt flesh. "No,
Master. It feels nice."
"Good," he said. He began to slowly wipe the poultice on and then bandaged me
slowly, constantly checking the pressure as he wrapped the self adhering
bandage around the delicate structures of my neck.
When he was done, he stroked my cheek with the back of his knuckles. I moved
into the tender touch and his hand ran delightedly through my hair. I dared a
fleeting glance at his face, but couldn't read his expression. His eyes looked
sad though.
He helped me stand again and guided me into the tub. I sank in with a deep
sigh, the hot water warming my exhausted body and soothed the cramps in my
lower belly.
Master Nick began to take off his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them
on the closed lid of the toilet. I had never gotten a good look at him naked
and I peaked with curiosity at his bare form.
His wide shoulders matched his filled chest, and his arms and abdomen were
toned, each ripple of muscle blatant under his skin. A small dusting of dark
hair started at his belly button and condensed into a black treasure trail to
end where his manhood lay thick and heavy between his legs.
He was uncut, common in free folk. I could see the gleam from the tip of the
pink head, barely peaking from under the foreskin. Most slaves were circumcised
like I was and I always wondered what it felt like to have that extra skin. I
licked my lips, my mouth suddenly filling with saliva.
"Like what you see, Milo?"
I paled, and then flushed red so fast my head swam. I had been openly staring
at him and my cock was at half mast under the water. I swallowed my
embarrassment and composed myself as Nick slipped into the tub with me.
He didn't make another comment, he just had a small smile on his face while he
lathered soap in a soft cloth and washed me. He was gentle, but thorough, and
my breath caught when his bare hand stilled in between my legs as he rinsed the
soap from my body. He grasped my balls firmly in his palm, and moved so close
to me I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, despite the warm water that
we sat in.
"Are you naturally attracted to the male form, Milo?"
I had to catch my breath – stunned, excited, over stimulated – but I answered
as soon as I could. "Yes, Master."
He leaned in and kissed me for the first time, his lips hot and gentle. I
inhaled him, that taste of butterscotch and wood flooding my senses. A flicker
of tongue danced in the crease of my lips and I opened easily for him, grazing
my own tongue against his teeth.
He tugged on my balls and swallowed my gasp with his soft lips. My cock was
instantly hard against the back of his hand and my hips moved in the water,
desperate for friction. I wrapped my arms around his neck and slid onto his
lap, his hot, swollen flesh dragging against my own as I moved.
"Easy, Tiger," he hissed against my lips as he broke the kiss and I sucked in
much needed oxygen. He relinquished my scrotum to stroke my cock, his hand
squeezing gently, then palming the tip.
I was a writhing mess against him, my lips parted, huffing aroused gasps and
groans into the crook of his shoulder. My hands pawed at his back – I needed to
be closer.
"You're a very good boy."
I whined at his words.
"Cum, Milo."
I didn't even make it through my name, before white ropes of my release shot
onto his torso and into the water. It had been months since I'd been allowed to
cum and my eyes rolled to the back of my head at the feeling of my balls
drawing up and my cock pumping against his hand.
He held me, his one arm supporting me as my body fluttered and jerked; the
stimulation running it's course through my nervous system.
It was too soon, but he let go of me and placed the washcloth in my hand. My
breath was uneven and I knew my skin was still fevered from my orgasm. All my
strength had left me and I could barely clasp my fingers around the cloth.
I was just sitting there, staring at the cloth, when I heard Nick chuckle. It
was a rumble of mirth that I had never heard him make before.
"It's your turn to wash," he said gently, his hand reaching out to brush my wet
hair that had fallen in front of my eyes.
The order calmed me, and I was able to get the soap onto the cloth without
blundering through it. I placed the cloth to his collar bone first, like he had
done to me.
I noticed how his dark gaze heated as I dragged the cloth across his pecks and
down his arms, his breath hitching when I passed it over his nipples.
He still had some of my cum on his stomach and I washed it clean. I dragged the
cloth along his stiff shaft and down past his scrotum, being nearly as thorough
as he was with me. He barely moved, but I could tell he stifled a groan from
how his diaphragm fluttered.
When I was done lathering his front, he turned around for me to wash his back.
I paused at what I saw etched into his skin, hesitant to drag the soap over it.
Master Nick had a tattoo and it started at the nape of his neck and followed
his spine until it reached his lower back. It was done in a dark ink, and was
made up of small letters and symbols weaving in and out of one another. It was
inherently beautiful; the symbols looked timeless and the way it followed his
vertebrae gave it a hauntingly natural look.
My hand reached out of it's own accord and my fingers grazed along the largest
symbol, an exotic celestial body, imprinted on his lower back. Nick stiffened
under my touch and I pulled my hand back like it burned.
"Sorry, sir," I said quickly.
He turned his head, a brown eye peaking over his shoulder to look at me. "It's
okay. It's natural to be curious."
Despite seeming to have his forgiveness I did not venture with the thousands of
questions I had rolling in my head. It wasn't odd for anyone free to have
tattoos. Most slaves didn't have them unless they were from a special training
program or breeding farm, but even then, brands were more common. I wondered
how the ink was put under his skin in such precise lines and how the skin still
seemed like skin, warm and pliable as I dragged the wash cloth over it.
"Would you like to know what the symbols mean, Milo?"
My hand stilled. "Yes, sir."
"They're hieroglyphs from an ancient language depicting the first half of the
story of why the sun chases the moon."
"What are hieroglyphs?" I asked and continued washing his back as he described
what hieroglyphs were and told the story to me. The symbols to match his story
ended halfway through.
I rinsed the cloth in the water, and brought the soaked cloth up to the top of
his shoulders to rinse the suds off.
"Why don't you have the whole story tattooed on your back, sir?"
I could see and feel his head lower and his shoulders slump forward. I should
not have asked, it was obvious that this bothered him, but he answered me.
"Because the other half was tattooed on Seth..."
I didn't know how to respond to that so I continued rinsing him, letting him
know in a soft voice when I was done his back.
He turned around to face me again, and I rinsed the soap from his front, not
failing to notice that his earlier boner had flagged considerably.
When I was done, he lifted himself from the tub and dried off before opening a
clean fluffy towel for me to step into as I exited the tub.
He patted me dry, then walked into the bedroom. He put on a pair of black
sweatpants, then grabbed some flannel pants with a drawstring for me to wear. I
had to pull the drawstring tight as I could so the pants wouldn't slip right
off my hips. I could tell from how big they fit on me that they were his and
not Seth's.
He helped me back into the bed, and I wiggled myself into the cool blankets,
shivering from the temperature difference from the bath water.
He climbed in next to me and wrapped me in his arms, holding my bare chest to
his.
"I'll stay with you until you warm up," Nick said gently to me.
My eyes were already closed, but I managed to answer with a "Yes, sir."
His skin was like a furnace that I wanted to crawl into. I shivered again and
he held me tighter, tucking my head under his chin so my cheek could rest
against his clavicle. Like this, I quickly warmed up, but Nick made no move to
leave.
I was nearly asleep, when Nick's whispered voice reached me from the edges of a
dream.
"He would have liked you."
***** Lick of Flame *****
Nick's POV
Seth would have liked Milo.
They would have been close enough in age, and I knew Seth would have thought of
him as a little brother. He would have wanted to take him to the zoo, teach him
to read, show him more hieroglyphs... Seth was like that. Battered around until
my father had bought him for me, but still, his heart had been the biggest I
had ever known.
I had emails to get to for work, but I lingered next to Milo. His slow, sleepy
breath, brushed against my skin like a siren's song but it was only three in
the afternoon and I couldn't justify staying in bed. Eventually, I found the
strength to move and carefully got out from under the covers and left him to
rest.
I pulled on a shirt before I headed down the stairs, and I had almost made it
to my home office before Ava's voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Nikola Ivan Kochev."
Shit. Ava only called me that when she was furious.
Ava had been my nanny growingi up. My father had been too busy growing his
company and making money to raise his only son, whereas my mother had little
time for me because she was too busy finding new ways of draining her extensive
allowance. Ava was the closest thing to an actual mother that I have ever had.
When I had taken over half of my father's shipping company after college, I
hired her back as my maid. I would have hired her full time, but she demanded
to remain with the cleaning company saying something about independence, and I
respected that.
She stood now in the archway to the kitchen, her hands on her hips and a
disapproving look on her face; an angry mother hen.
"Nikola. What did you do to that poor boy?"
My stomach sank. "He's my new slave, Ava," I said as if that would justify it.
I knew better.
Ava came from one of the government satellite colonies that was no more than a
ghetto floating in space. She had worked very hard for everything and knew that
if she would have grown up on earth, she and her whole family would have ended
up as slaves. Slavery was illegal on the satellites because of population
restraints, but most people knew it was because families on the satellites
could not afford slaves. As a government run habitat, it would have looked very
bad for the people to sell themselves or their children into slavery to make
ends meet.
The tone of her next words were harsh. "Don't feed me your excuses. That boy is
young and afraid and you physically hurt him enough that you needed a new
mattress."
My eyes were glued to the ground, my shoulders tensing with every word of her
scolding.
"What is happening to you? What has happend–"
"Seth died!" I snapped.
I saw in the lines of her face how her anger quickly turned to pity and it
flared the rage inside my ribs like a creature battering against the sides of a
cage.
"What else do you want to know, Ava?That I can barely function without him?
That I feel like I'm losing my mind and that interacting with Milo feels like
ripping open a raw wound? I'll never be the same again, you know what Seth was
to me. How he changed me."
"You always had that gentle part inside of you Nikola, Seth just helped you
figure it out. It doesn't mean that you lost your empathy when he died, you'll
just have to find it again with Milo."
I was silent, afraid of what I would tell her if I opened my mouth. Though it
was few, there were some things that she didn't know about me.
"Come into the kitchen, you can leave work for later," She said gently. "You
have to talk to me Nikola. I can't see you like this any longer."
I turned and followed her into the kitchen. There was no way out of this. Ava
was probably the only person alive who could challenge my level of
stubbornness.
She had cleaned the kitchen until it shined, and two steaming mugs of tea sat
on the table. I sat down in front of one and took a sip, comforted by the
familiar taste of the fresh mint.
Ava sat down by the other, mixing some honey into hers.
"Why did you buy Milo?"
I sighed into my mug, then set it back down. "Mike needed him moved. Hilton had
already offered money, but that man would have hooked Milo up to his machines
and the boy would be dead before he turned twenty. I didn't want him to be
wasted. I took him, thinking I would train him a bit and sell him, but..." I
had to force myself to relax my jaw. I was getting tense just thinking about
it. "I don't think I can lose anyone else right now."
I could tell Ava was struggling with my answer. There were too many years of
her seeing me with Seth, how she watched him grow to be the maestro of my
darkness. Seth had tamed me from my wild years of youth and became a safe haven
for my violent needs and sadist tendencies. She had been there for the first
weeks I had owned Seth, how I had beaten him bloody with my belt almost every
night -- yet simply adored him, praising with every strike. She had witnessed
less and less as I got older and I feared she had forgotten it was there.
Sometimes even I forgot it was there; yet it was just under the surface,
itching to get out.
"You won't lose Milo, Nikola. What you need to do is talk to the boy, like how
you talked to Seth. You need to get to know him, and he needs to know the real
you."
"But Milo will never trust me, especially now. And I'm afraid that if I get to
know him, if he starts to know me... If I hurt him the way I want to, he'll
look at me like all of his past trainers, and I can't get close to Milo knowing
that he might pull away. I don't know if I can do that over again. And if -
- and if I lose Milo too..." I rubbed the hot tears from my face, embarrassed
that I was a grown man crying in front of his nanny.
"My stupid, stupid boy," Ava said, getting out of her seat so she could walk
over and take my face in her hands. "Seth was not the only person who loves
you, and he won't be the last. If you won't bond with Milo then what were you
going to do with him? Have him cook and clean? That boy has no meat on his
bones and the face of an angel. I doubt he could scrub anything and lift his
arms the next day."
"I know," I responded, smiling a little at her poke of fun. "I really hurt him
by accident, though, and when we went to the clinic, he was so afraid, and I
pulled away from him. You should have heard him, Ava... the way he screamed for
me."
"I think," she began, her eyes soft and motherly, like how I remembered them
from my childhood, "that you should treat him like you would a young Seth. I
haven't forgotten those times where you would come to me bawling, wishing you
could undo how you hurt him, wish that you didn't need it."
"That's the problem, Ava. I still need it."
Her eyes scanned mine, but I don't know if she found in them what she wanted to
see. "Be stronger, then. Don't hurt him, and consciously think of how he feels.
He cannot help you if you are cruel."
My tears sobered at her biting words. Be stronger? I didn't know if I had it in
me to completely hold back.
She sighed. "If it comes to it, when he's ready, train him like you did Seth.
Train him to like it."
I blanched, staring at her in disbelief as her advice did a tail-spin.
When I had gotten Seth, I hadn't known what I was doing. I knew he was mine to
beat however I wanted, and being sixteen, I had a raging sexual nature about
me. Over time, I had played enough physical and mental games with him that he
enjoyed the pain. Begged for it. I loved it, yet there was a solid ball of
permanent guilt inside of me for knowing that I had made him that way, and I
didn't know if I could do it again.
I thought I had known what I was capable of, what the things were that I could
and could not do. Seth's death had dented and twisted that part inside of me
until the bolts rattled loose. I loved to cause pain, to hear someone cry my
name in anguish, but how could I keep living with my buffer gone? Seth had been
that barrier, enjoyed my most sinful urges. I still needed him.
"I want to see you happy again, Nikola."
I didn't know if I would ever be.
------------
Milo wasn't sleeping when I went upstairs, and I was a little worried.
As he sat up, he still looked exhausted, the blue tint showing through on his
lower eye lids. His ice blue eyes acknowledged my presence with a flicker over
my form and then landed back on the floor.
"Milo." I said, trying to make my voice sound gentle.
"Yes, Master?" His words were hollow, despondent.
I cringed inwardly. I knew it would take more than some pampering in the tub
for him to come back around, but I had hoped some of his vibrance would return.
The gears in my head turned. Perhaps I would need to heed what Ava had told me
and move more out of my own comfort zone. My fists clenched and unclenched as I
mentally prepared myself.
"I'm going to change my rules from now on."
That got his interest. It was barely there, but I saw his eyes widen a bit.
"From now on, and only in private, I would like you to call me Nick."
Outwardly, I saw no reaction from my slave, and was disappointed. He just
looked at me blankly, "Okay... Nick."
I forced a smile from myself, desperate to come off as encouraging even though
I felt like beating him just to get more of a reaction. His voice was just so
empty and I could feel my jaw tick in frustration.
"Here," I said, handing him another glass of his liquid diet.
He took it and downed it, gagging only a little as I reached for the empty
glass that he handed to me.
"Your not in more pain are you?"
"No, s–Nick," he said. "It is the same as this morning."
I brushed some of his hair off his forehead, enjoying the silky feel of the
black strands.
"Good, you let me know if it gets worse. More pain could be a sign of infection
and we have to watch out for that."
"Yes, Nick."
A distressed chuckle escaped my chest. "You don't have to use my name in place
of the 'sir'. You may speak to me normally, Milo."
"O-okay," he said, hesitant and with a nod.
I tried to be satisfied with that reaction. He looked lost now, but slightly
less empty. I turned to leave but Ava's words echoed through my head. If we
were going to function I had to put in the effort.
"Milo, is there anything you would like to do once you are off bed rest?"
"Do?" His blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "Like chores?"
"No," I said as gently as possible. "Like something to celebrate you healing,
something you would enjoy."
"Enjoy..." He muttered under his breath, so quiet I only caught it because of
the movement of his lips.
I could see his brain toying with what I had said, looking for an answer. His
eyes brightened and his lips curled up ever so slightly; he had picked
something.
"May I go outside?" His question was hushed and hesitant, but the spark that
lit instantly inside of him elated me. I can do this. I can fix this. I can fix
him.
"Of course, you may. I have a five acres out behind that house that I will show
you. There's lots of trees."
I almost missed his fleeting smile, but it had been there, I caught it.
"Thank you, Nick."
I only hoped that I was steering us in a better direction.
-----------
The remainder of Milo's bed rest went by quietly. He was obedient and seemed to
gain more energy, but he still had that hollow look to him. I had figured he
could use the time to heal without my constant presence, and had buried myself
in some of the work I had missed. I ended up staying longer than intended at
some meetings, but when I arrived home and crawled into bed, Milo still clung
to me in his sleep.
Whether he was just a heat seeking missile or some of his attachment to me
still remained, I used this nugget of evidence to secure my emotions. I could
not lose control and hurt him... not yet.
Ava would go up and talk with him during the days while I was working. She told
me he mostly listened, didn't share much. The only thing he really told her was
that she reminded him of his nurse maid. I suppose that was something. It was
good for him to find comfort outside of what I could give him right now.
I woke up next to him the morning his bed rest ended. He was laying on his
side, curled up into my chest like a faun folded in the long grass. His hair
was wild and tickled my bare chest, my breath shuffling through it and gently
parting the glossy hair.
I checked the time, knowing I had booked the day off from work and hadn't set
an alarm. It was brighter out than when I usually woke, but still early. I
heard Ava downstairs doing something in the kitchen.
I had told her she didn't have to stay, but she insisted that Milo needed her.
I wouldn't deny that, and secretly hoped she would stay indefinitely.
After the few moments of petting, Milo finally stirred awake. His eyes cracked
open, glassy from sleep; a sliver of blue peaking from between his dark
eyelashes.
"Good morning," I said, stroking the side of his warm body.
He straightened his legs, releasing a small sigh as he wiggled a bit to wake
up. "Good morning."
His voice came out rough, and I couldn't help but lean in and kiss him. His
lips were soft and warm against my own and I struggled to pull away from him to
breathe.
"Let's get dressed and eat breakfast, then we'll venture outside, okay?"
And just like that his eyes lit up.
I helped him get out of bed slowly. His legs were a little shaky and I was
convinced he had a small headache from how the corner of his eyes pinched
slightly every time he moved.
I dressed Milo in my track pants and a sweater, though both garments hanged
comically from his thin frame.
Ava had breakfast ready for us when we walked down the stairs. A plate of
French toast sat on the table for me, and Milo's white liquid meal sat in the
place beside it.
"Good morning, boys." Ava said with a smile when she saw us. "Milo, you look
good in that sweater, purple suits you."
I gauged his reaction, my chest warming as the corner of his lips curled up and
his face flushed at the attention. "Thank you, mam."
After breakfast was done, I idly talked to Ava, but I could see Milo kept
sneaking peaks at the back door. I knew what he wanted, what I had promised,
and I hoped it went well. His neck had been healing but it was nowhere near
ready for a collar, but I did have my property fenced.
"There will be some restrictions while your outside today Milo," I stated when
Ava had left the kitchen to start on the laundry.
Milo straightened at my words.
"You may go wherever you wish, but I must be able to see you at all times, so
no dashing off into the trees, okay?"
His eyes blazed, "Yes, Nick. I understand."
"Good boy."
He was right behind me as I stepped out of the back door and onto my deck. The
wooden panels stretched to either side of the house, supporting a platform for
my hot tub and barbecue that I barely used. It was seven steps down to the lawn
and from there about ten meters to the small gathering of wild trees.
I halted above the steps then turned to my slave. He was physically composed
but I could nearly see him bursting with excitement from the way his pale skin
blushed at his cheeks bones and how wide his eyes were.
I gestured down the steps, "Well, go on."
Milo didn't have to be told twice. He gracefully passed me and descended the
steps, his eyes soaking in the tree line and his toes clenching in the cool
blades of grass. The wind picked up and ruffled his hair and despite the fact
that he was facing away from me, I knew he had a full blown grin on his face.
He scampered like a small child over to the tree line, and I held back the urge
to yell at him to take it easy, it was his first day off of bed rest after all.
He touched the branches of the trees, fascinated before he turned to look back
at me. His features blinded me with the joy that I saw in them. I don't think
even calling him a 'good boy' every hour would have brought this out, he looked
like he was in absolute bliss.
He gave me another small smile, then tilted his head to the sky. I followed his
gaze, seeing the sky blue as a sapphire with fluffy white clouds lazily
floating above. A crow clawed and took flight from the trees, and Milo jumped
in his skin from the noise.
I decided to join him then, and walked his way. He watched me a bit warily but
I ignored it and grabbed his hand when I reached him.
"Let's take a walk through the trees, I want to show you something."
"Okay," he said quietly, then followed behind me, his hand loose in my own.
I lead him down the path I hadn't walked on since Seth last dragged me down
here. The air was a little crisp, the morning cold still lingering in the
shadows of the branches, but the sun quickly warmed us as our short walk
entered into a small clearing. There was a homemade fire pit with a circle of
rocks and a couple wooden chairs and stumps set around it. I remember seeing
scenes like this in books of earth's history when there was enough wild land
that people would go camping. Where I enjoyed the small piece of wilderness,
Seth had fallen in love with the notion of living like vagabonds and we had
spent more than one night sleeping in a tent in this very clearing.
I guided Milo to a comfortable wooden chair, then sat myself down on one of the
tree stumps.
"Do you like it?" I asked. Milo's expression was still an odd twist of
wonderment and I wasn't sure what he had been expecting when I guided him into
the trees.
"I love it, Nick."
His smile shattered me completely as the sun shone off his dark hair.
***** Permafrost *****
Milo's POV
The outside was magnificent. The grass itched pleasantly against the tender
pads of my feet, and the difference in air movement fluttered my lungs open in
that pleasant way that only fresh air tends to do.
I had never seen trees this close before, but I knew I was drawn to them, their
trunks so strong, but the outer branches so delicate. I touched them, that
rough bark under my hands sending my nerves haywire.
"This will be your reward," Nick began, and I withdrew my hand from the bark of
the tree to walk obediently behind him as we started up the path back to the
house. "Every day you may have some time outside, as long as you remain well
behaved."
"Every day?" I questioned in disbelief.
A small smile cracked Nick's face as he glanced at me. "Every day."
I couldn't contain my excitement. I would be allowed outside every day. Elation
beyond what I could ever imagine pulsed through my veins and in that moment I
forgot myself. Joy made my head buzz and I threw my arms around Nick from
behind. He stopped walking and I felt every muscle in his body go rigid.
I instantly knew my mistake and tore away from him as if his body burned. My
knees dropped to the ground by instinct and I cowered in the grass at his feet.
Bracing for my punishment, curled in a ball with my forehead pressed against my
forearm, covering my eyes.
I quivered as the seconds dragged on.
I had touched him without permission, and even though he had never spoken it as
a rule, I had learned. I acutely remembered the pain of his hand on my neck and
the impact of the hard floor. I wasn't stupid. I learned.
I soft brush of a hand on my shoulder made me wince, preparing for the assault
of pain.
"Milo," Nick's voice sounded softly near my head. "Milo, I told you it wasn't a
rule, you're allowed to touch me."
I lifted my head carefully, my eyes locking onto Nick's face trying to read it
for any betrayal; trainers had tricked me like this before.
His expression was soft, his eyes gentle. "Come on, get up. I want to take you
shopping this afternoon but I need you to rest first."
Shopping? Was he going to buy me things? Invest in me?
I searched his face -- his irises, rich in a multitude of varying gold tones,
caught my eyes. I held my breath, and his gaze, my heart so loud in my chest I
felt it's thrum in my skull.
"That's it," he cooed.
His hand slowly reached for my face, where he cupped my chin and leaned down to
connect our lips. The kiss was gentle and warm, despite the shiver that weaved
tightly through my spine at its touch. My vision blurred, and his thumb wiped
away a tear that fell down my cheek.
"Must have been too much for you today," he murmured, but it seemed like it was
mostly to himself.
He helped me up off the ground and took me back to the house. I shivered from
the change in temperature as we stepped through the backdoor's threshold and
into the kitchen. Outside had been so crisp, and inside was so cozy.
"Let's get you back into bed," Nick soothed, running his hand down my spine so
it settled on the small of my back and nudged me toward the stairs. My muscles
felt achy and the headache I had this morning came back to throb against my
temples.
"Wh-what about shopping?" I asked tentatively, my voice trembling. Surely the
soft Nick would disappear by now after my anxiety ridden blunders, and yet I
wished so hard for that hard, cruel Nick to never come back. Fear struck me, as
my reality and wishes have never aligned.
"Going outside has exhausted you today," he began, his voice calm and low.
"I'll put you to bed now and we will go shopping tomorrow."
"Okay."
Once I reached the bed, Nick pulled back the blankets as a crawled underneath
them. I tried to thank him as my eyelids closed, but I was asleep before it
passed my lips.
_______________________
I awoke alone in the darkness. My legs were stiff and achy, so I pulled the
blankets off myself and stood to stretch them. A glance at the alarm clock on
the bedside table said it was two in the morning, but Nick's side of the bed
was cold and untouched. A sliver of worry stroked the inside of my chest. Where
was he? He always slept beside me, and he was always back home from work at
least by midnight.
Barefoot, I opened the bedroom door and peaked around the hallway. The house
was dark and silent, and I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. Was I
alone? Curiosity drove me forward, my steps silent as I descended the stair
case.
At the bottom of the stairs I could see the eerie white glow of the computer
screen coming from Nick's home office. The door was half open and the white
light bled into the hall, along with mechanical voices that sounded like he was
watching a video. I hovered, unsure if I should enter and remind Master Nick to
come to bed, or if I should slip back up the stairs and go to sleep.
I must have stood there for a good five minutes, listening to the video, trying
to choose which action I should take. I heard Nick's voice and someone else's
come from the speakers; he must be watching a home video.
An innate curiosity propelled me forward, angling my approach so I could see
what was on the computer screen as I got nearer.
A laughing, smiling Nick. The same Nick that was a black silhouette in front of
the screen, but the video showed one I had never seen before. There was a light
in his eyes that was gone now, and the fuel of that past spark moved into the
camera frame engendering a lump in my throat.
I recognized him from the pictures on the dresser: Seth. He was even more
beautiful in the video, a still frame could never give the healthy flush of his
cheeks nor the brightness of his eyes justice. He was looking directly at the
camera, an carefree grin on his face.
"Nicki, have you been recording this whole time?"
...Nicki?
The camera swung wide, a quick long pan of the room to get a glimpse of a
Christmas tree and other holiday decorations around the living room, before it
landed on a far away Nick.
"Of course! I want to have a fond video to look back on in twenty-- no, thirty
years from now."
"Thirty years?" Came Seth's disembodied voice as the camera was still aimed at
Nick, who was filling two wine glasses and set the wine bottle down on the
coffee table, next to two others. "In thrity years do you really think we are
going to want to watch how hammered we got this Christmas?"
"Yes," Nick deadpanned, as if it was that obvious.
Seth giggled behind the camera, the frame shaking and shifting as he walked up
to Nick. He extended his arm so both him and Nick were in the frame. He was
quite a bit shorter than Nick, and his lighter colouring contrasted well with
Nick's darker tones of hair and eyes. He wrapped an arm around Nick's neck and
brought him down for a kiss. It was slow and passionate. Nick wrapped his arms
tightly around Seth and pressed their bodies together, dipping his tongue into
his lovers mouth.
Because that's what Seth had been to Nick; his lover. Not his slave. Not his
property, despite the expensive collar that was wrapped around that boy's neck.
Seeing them on that screen, it was so obvious.
My chest burned for Nick. The man that stood in front of me now was a broken
version of the one on the video. Had he bought me to fix him? To fill the hole
that Seth had left in his heart?
I suddenly felt inadequate, cheap even. Jealous. I did not know the first thing
about love. Love was something I knew I would never get to experience, and as a
slave if I did find it, it would eventually only bring me pain. Seth had been
very, very lucky to have Nick.
I watched as the video ended and Nick moved the mouse, browsing photos and
clicking on folders. His hand shook, making his mouse erratic and sloppy on the
screen. Upon closer inspection, I could see the rise and fall of his shoulders
held no rhythm and now that the video sound was off, I could make out the small
hiccups of someone crying quietly.
Leaving Nick to wallow in privacy, I went to take a couple steps back deeper
into the hallway, only to collide with the hall table. It whacked it's edge
against the wall and the friction of the leg sliding across the hardwood
emitted a stubborn screech.
Startled by my own carelessness I snapped my head up to see Nick stiffen in his
chair and spin to face me. I couldn't see his face very well in the dark, but I
knew it would be tear stained, and his voice was rough when he spoke.
"Come here, Milo."
I obeyed immediately, but walked to him slowly. Cautiously.
He reached for me when I got near enough for him to touch, and pulled me into
his lap. I curled there without a word, snuggling into his warmth as his arms
wrapped around me and held me tight. My ear to his chest, I could hear the lub-
dub of his hurting heart, and the fluttering of air as it left his lungs.
We sat like that for a few minutes, Nick's breathing slowly returning to
normal, and then he began to speak.
"Seth hadn't been feeling very well for a few weeks, and even though he said it
was just the flu, I insisted that he go to the vet..."
I kept silent, awaiting for him to continue his story. His hot tears splashed
onto the exposed skin on my shoulder and I snuggled into him more, wrapping my
arms around his rib cage. He was was in such emotional pain, I could hear it
lace through his voice.
"He was diagnosed with cancer--" Nick stopped breathing for a moment, then his
arms went rigid around me and started winding tighter as if I was the only
piece of wood afloat in the ocean he was drowning in.
"The government gave me two options: either put him down or send him to the
labs to be tested on. But I just... Fuck!" A ragged sharp inhale, "He was so
scared and his eyes would look at me like I could fix anything, but--but I was
out of options."
A silent sob tore through Nick, filling his face with such an intense pain that
I felt panic zing through my spine. My arms moved from around his ribs to
around his neck so I could bring his head to my chest as his neck muscles
tightened and his mouth bore open in a gasp. His tears quickly soaked through
the oversized cotton shirt that I was wearing.
He seemed... smaller, curled into me like this, and shaking in his sorrow like
a beaten dog. When he got his breath back he continued, his voice quiet, barely
a whisper.
"I told him I was bringing him in for treatment. He was skeptical, knowing that
what I was telling him wasn't the whole truth. When the doctor strapped him to
the table, he knew. He knew there was no way I would send him to the labs for
him to be tortured, and he knew that this was it. I had brought him there to-
to... be euthanized."
Nick was shaking uncontrollably now, nearly hyperventilating. I was surprised I
could even make out what he was saying.
"As the doctor gave him the injection, he told me that he forgave me... that he
would always love m-m--"
Nick never finished his sentence. He physically collapsed against me, sobs
ripping through him as he wailed against my shoulder. I held him tight against
me as if I could somehow keep him from falling apart, but when his breathing
became erratic enough that it was like he was choking on his own tears, I
unwrapped my arms from him and lifted his face with my hands.
He was an absolute wreck. His cheeks glistened from tears and I could see how
puffy his eyes were now, even with the limited light of the computer screen.
His breaths were an erratic staccato and it was like his nervous system had
gone haywire the way his whole body was shaking.
I put my forehead to his, looking straight into his eyes. Instinct warned me
that this was wrong, I was a slave and I had no right to look him in the face
like this. But my bravery was stupid, my chest filled with a kind heart, and if
he kept on like this he was going to have an anxiety attack.
"In," I dared command in a gentle voice as I deeply inhaled, "and out... In...
and out..."
I kept going, relief washing through me as Nick began to mimic my breathing,
our eyes never wavering. I could now smell the alcohol on his breath and
noticed the vodka bottle sitting empty beside the computer out of the corner of
my eye.
That would explain his dramatics.
As he calmed down, his eyelids drooped and his arms went limp. I helped him up
from the office chair and half carried him up the stairs and into the bedroom.
He flopped across the bed like a dead weight, but his eyes remained open a
sliver and watched me.
I crawled up onto the bed beside him, unsure of what action to take next. If he
had passed out, I would have referred to my basic training and dressed him for
bed, then tuck him under the blankets as best as I could.
But, he wasn't unconscious. Those dark eyes followed my movements and his arms
reached out for me.
I melted into his non-verbal command, laying down beside him and tucking myself
against his chest.
He removed his clothes until he was left in just his boxers, then kicked the
covers out from under us so he could draw them over our bodies. He wiggled into
the mattress, clamping his arms and legs around me, and burying his face into
my hair.
"Thank you, Milo." He whispered before falling asleep.
---------------
Morning brought with it the smell of pancakes and Nick's sleepy kisses against
my neck. My breath caught as heat rushed to my groin, sitting heavy as Nick's
thigh brushed my sensitive flesh.
"N-Nick?" I sputtered in between his licks and nips to my neck. My hands itched
to feel the muscles on his back and draw him closer to me, but I held them
firm. If I was honest with myself, I still didn't trust him.
"Morning, Milo," he said huskily, before going back to giving my skin
attention. His hands rubbed up and down my torso, making me arch and ache at
his touch.
He made quick work of the baggy t-shirt and boxers that I was sleeping in,
baring my flushed skin and engorged flesh to the crispness of the morning. His
lips roamed lower, lapping at my pecs and nipples.
I squirmed, unsure how to accept this attention. I was trained to be the one
lavishing him, but I couldn't get over how unpredictable he was.
"Take it easy Milo," he said sensing my unease as he lowered himself on top of
me, the bulge of his cock through his underwear brushing the inside of my
thigh. "I'm not going to punish you for any touching. I'm just going to try
something, and I need you to react as honestly as possible, no holding back,
okay?"
I nooded, "Yes, Nick."
"Good."
His hand wrapped around my bandaged throat. Tightly, and just enough to squeeze
my windpipe so my breathing was laboured. Fear ripped up my spine, but I stayed
absolutely still.
Nick's eyes darkened, and he groaned, as he watched me open my mouth to try to
get in more air. His erection strained under his boxers and with his other hand
he palmed himself before sucking on his two fingers.
His wet fingers rubbed his saliva onto the ring of muscle tucked between my ass
cheeks. One finger slipped in and I went completely rigid with pain. His finger
grazed over what remained of the stitches inside of me, the sting brought water
to my eyes.
"Get harder for me, Milo." Nick commanded, his voice smooth like honey.
I obeyed, despite the pain and the darkness that hovered at the edges of my
vision. I wasn't getting enough air.
His second finger slipped in and in compliance with keeping things honest I let
out the gasp of pain that I would have normally swallowed. It was cut short as
Nick's hand tightened, completely cutting off any oxygen.
My vision darkened and blurred, and I could feel the blood rush to my face. He
loosened his grip slightly, enough that I could suck in a sliver of sweet
breathable air.
His fingers in my hole wriggled sharply until they found my prostrate. I arched
off the bed and his hand crushed my windpipe.
"Come."
My vision nothing but blurs and shadows, yet I still heard him, still felt his
nails dig into the wet flesh inside of me.
I ejaculated across my stomach, the heat of my semen pooling on my skin.
He removed his hand from around my neck first. I choked and gagged as the air
made quick work of bombarding my starved lungs covering the shiver and gasp
that spilled from my lips as Nick removed his fingers from my clenching flesh.
"Good boy, Milo," he cooed, his knuckles brushing my back after turning me on
my side. The endearment allowed me to relax but I couldn't process what just
happened. My body hurt everywhere and I was exhausted, but the hairs all over
my body were still raised in fear.
Nick maneuvered me until I was laying on my chest with my hips up. He kept
stroking me, giving me tender kisses, yet I lay there like a limp doll. A good
boy.
The sound of a cap popping off a bottle of lube made me flinch. The cold gel
was drizzled onto my ass crack and Nick pushed it inside with his fingers. It
soothed the burning inside, but it didn't last long as a butt plug was pushed
into me. It wasn't very big, but it stretched and shoved against my abused
flesh.
"Good boy," he said, as I remained still and silent.
He lowered me to my side, letting me curl my knees up toward my chest. The plug
hurt less this way.
I hadn't notice him take his boxers off, until his cock wagged in front of my
face. I opened up my mouth as he grabbed my hair and inserted his flared head
down into my throat.
I could barely focus, but I managed to lick and lap at his hot skin, swallow
around his thickness. He came quickly and released me.
Despite having swallowed all of his cum, I felt empty.
"Good boy, Milo."
I attempted to let his words warm me, and it almost worked as his hands stroked
my cheeks, then my back. He lifted me up carefully and carried me to the
bathroom where he placed me in the tub, then began to fill it with hot water.
He washed me gently, mindful about the plug buried inside of me. That cold
never left me, despite the hot water.
"Nick?" I whispered.
"Hmm?," he turned back to me with a soft towel and studied my face. "What is it
Milo?"
"Was Seth a pain slut?"
He didn't answer me right away, just helped me out of the tub and began to pat
me dry. I was beginning to think he was just going to ignore the question, when
he finally spoke.
"I'll teach you to like the pain too, Milo."
The cold sank into my bones and I caught the image of myself in the mirror, the
bruising on my upper throat nearly as dark as the purple bandage it sat above.
***** Petrichor *****
Nick's POV
I didn't like the way Milo's eyes had dulled after my lesson I gave him that
morning.
I knew it was necessary. He was trained to obey and he would need to be
conditioned to experience that pleasure with pain. It was for his own good, I
couldn't hold back for much longer.
While he had been healing, I had been reeling that part of myself in and
pushing it down. I hadn't had to do that since I was a young teenager and it
had been hard. I had buried myself in my work, tried to get the stress out by
exercising or getting drunk, but nothing had felt as good as watching his
beautiful crystal blue eyes widen and feeling the tendons of his neck strain
under my palm.
The adrenaline of it hummed through my veins and soothed me like a fix to an
addict. I felt calm. I could breath easier.
That being said, my eyes were still itchy from all my crying the night before.
Instead of numbing the pain, the alcohol had magnified it until I couldn't
breathe unless I heard Seth's voice.
I knew he was dead. Permanently dead. Extinguished. But a part of me refused to
believe that he was irrevocably gone. So I drank, pretended his computerized
voice coming from the computer was of some comfort and tried to cry away the
pain. I hoped Milo wouldn't be brazen enough to bring the subject up today.
I hadn't let Milo sleep after his bath despite how tired he looked. He had been
sleeping and resting for long enough and he needed to get back into a more
regular routine if he was going to recover fully. I had dressed him in the best
outfit I could for going out in public, which wasn't much. He had lost weight
on his liquid diet, making my long sleeve wool Henley droop to the left,
leaving a shoulder bare and hanging off of him as if he were only a skeleton.
I could tell as I ushered him down the stairs that the butt plug was causing
discomfort. His gait was uneven, and he would often take a step where his back
would tense and straighten in pain. It was the smallest butt plug that I had,
but his stitches had yet to dissolve. I made a mental note to remove them after
we are done shopping. Stretching him to reverse what they had done to him was
going to be slow going, so I had to start now. I grabbed a cushion from the
couch and placed it on the floor in the kitchen so he could eat his toast more
comfortably.
He was surprised by the cushion and nudged his forehead against my knee in a
thank you gesture before he took small bites of his toast. I stroked his hair
as Ava dished out some pancakes for me.
"He's too thin, Nick," the older women said gently. "You should dress him in
something warmer."
"I'm leaving right now to buy him some clothes that will fit him Ava. And some
shoes." I replied between mouthfuls of pancakes.
My phone rang, saving to have to hear any more of Ava's careful scolding.
"Hello?"
"Nicko! My man!"
I recognized that voice and smiled, "Roman! It's nice to hear from you, are you
in town?"
"You bet I am! The company can't keep me away from my old stomping grounds for
long. I'm only in for the night though and I'm hoping you're free to come out
for a few beers?"
"How about you come over for a beer and a campfire, we can invite the others. I
haven't seen you guys since... well, you know."
Roman hesitated on the other end of the line, but his voice finally came
through. "How are you holding up?"
I laced my fingers gently through Milo's soft hair so they wouldn't shake.
"Better."
"That's good to hear."
"You can pop by anytime after seven, I'll have Ava pick up some marshmallows.
You mind calling the others and letting them know?"
"Not a problem, Nicko, we'll see you tonight."
"See yah."
------------------
Milo was silent during the car ride. In fact, he had barely breathed a word all
morning. I hoped it was from him being in a state of discomfort from the butt
plug, but his lethargic, near comatose behavior, seemed to be his reaction to
trauma. I needed to fix that.
When we got to the mall he stepped out of my car and looked at the building
with wide eyes. The spark in those blue depths had yet to return, but his gaze
was curious.
"I can't put a collar on you, which is technically illegal, but I have a note
from the vet," I explained to him as I wrapped his small hand in my own and
lead him towards the entrance of the mall. "Just stay close to me at all times
okay? I don't want someone mistaking you for a runaway, or something worse."
I was delighted to find him studying me, and hoped he noted the concern in my
voice. He was mine and only I was allowed to touch him.
"Yes, Master Nick," he responded with a small smile.
He handled the chaos of the mall well. He flinched at a few things and openly
stared at a woman with a crying baby as if horrified by the volume that
something so small could emit. Endearment bubbled inside of me at his innocent
reactions and I gave him a peck on the cheek, much to his surprise.
The first store we entered, I planned to buy him a pair of shoes and some
socks. Right now he was wearing my sandals that were two sizes too big on him
and slapped the linoleum floor as he walked.
I sat him down on a padded bench, noting only a small tenseness at the edges of
his eyes betraying his discomfort. He was much too busy watching people,
looking at the advertising displays and products and generally gawking, to
focus on his sore muscles.
I waived off a sales associate and went to work finding a couple nice pairs of
stylish shoes and a couple running shoes for him to try. I didn't want him out
in the backyard in anything too fancy if he was going to stomp through the wet
grass on a daily basis. I brought them all to him after figuring out his size,
and he tried each one on. We narrowed it down to a few pairs that fit and that
I didn't mind the look of on him. I made him stand up and walk a few steps in
each pair.
"Well, pick a pair that you like best, and pick one of the running shoes that
you felt most comfortable in, then we'll head to the next store."
His eyes lit up after a second of confusion and their returning brightness made
my chest tight.
"I get to pick, sir?"
"Of course, Milo. It will be you wearing them."
With a smile on his face, Milo picked a sleek pair of black shoes and the dark
blue Nikes as his running shoe. I grabbed a package of socks and slipped a pair
on him while we were still in the store so he could wear his new shoes and I
could put my sandals in the bag. He looked a bit ridiculous wearing those shoes
with his sweatpants on, but I knew I would soon have him fitted in a pair of
jeans.
In the next store we visited, I was pleasantly surprised to watch Milo glance
around in excitement. I lead him around, picking some jeans, sweaters, and t-
shirts for him to try on before handing them off to a girl who worked there to
put in a changing room for us.
I allowed Milo into the changing room by himself, while I stood on the other
side of his door.
"You have to show me everything you try on."
"Yes, Master."
I could hear him shuffling, taking off his shoes and zipping up the jeans. When
he finally opened up the door my breath caught in my throat. He was absolutely
stunning. I could tell he was still too thin, despite the dark grey knitted
sweater, but his black feathery hair, blue eyes and those dark wash skinny
jeans made him look like a model.
He shifted uncomfortably under my gaze.
"Are these okay, sir?"
I managed to find my voice as I moved toward him, tugging on the waist band of
the jeans to see that they were a little big on him, but hopefully, he would
gain some weight and maybe even outgrow them. He was still young, and I hoped
he hadn't been malnourished enough to stunt his natural rate of growth.
"Yes, Milo," I affirmed, hoping to calm him a bit. He seemed nervous in the new
clothes, his hands twitching at his side as if resisting the urge to fidget.
"How do they feel? Are you comfortable in them?"
"Yes, sir," he said, much too quickly to be honest.
"Milo," I warned.
A flush crept to his cheeks and his gaze shot to his feet. "Th-the sweater is
itchy."
I brushed my hand against the one side of his jaw and he leaned into my touch.
"Then take it off and try another. I won't spend my money on something you
would prefer not to wear."
Milo got through the rest of the clothes and we narrowed it down to two pairs
of jeans, three soft cotton long sleeve t-shirts, two warm sweaters and one
thinner one. I dressed him in his new clothes and put the rest and my borrowed
ones in one of the shopping bags.
Now that Milo was in a proper outfit he looked less unhealthy, and the
disrespectful glares I was getting from some people, unimpressed with the state
of my slave, had decreased. The bruises from this morning had only grown
darker, however, and I could distinctly make out the shape of my hand from
where it had been around his throat.
The guilt never emerged, like it sometimes did. Instead, my psyche took a deep
satisfaction in seeing my physical mark on him. The only thing that ruined it
was the bandage around his neck and the permanently scarred flesh that lay
beneath it.
We put the shopping bags in the trunk of my car before pulling out of the mall.
"Do I get to go outside when we get home?" Milo asked gently. The shopping had
done him good and had put him in a better mood.
"Yes, but we have one more stop to make."
"Okay," he said, but there was no hint of disappointment in his voice. "Where
are we going now?"
"We are going to go and see about making you something custom to wear instead
of a collar. I want you to be safe," I took my eyes off the road for a second
to watch his reaction to my words. I was not disappointed when his eyes
softened. "And I won't be having you go through a branding for the second time
in your life."
He looked at me then, his mouth slightly open. I continued to concentrate on
driving through the busy streets, when he leaned over and kissed me on my neck,
just beneath the point of my jaw. My blood instantly went south, a flush
covering my whole body, and the hair on my arms rose. Holy shit, he just found
my sweet spot.
I managed to keep my eyes on the road and noticed him studying me.
"What?" I asked.
A smile, devilish and wide, spread onto Milo's face. I had never seen him make
that expression before, it was like the Cheshire Cat with a mouse under its
paw. He kissed that spot again, then licked it, and this time my steering wheel
slipped and my foot slammed on the accelerator, only for me to slam on my
breaks to avoid rear-ending the car in front of me.
We both were jostled from the sudden stop, pinned against our seat belts and
then to the back of our seats. Milo laughed, the sound bubbling into the cab of
my car and sinking into the cold part of my chest.
"It's not funny, Milo. You're distracting me from driving." I tried to sound
angry, but a puppy could have done a better job.
He laughed again and I sighed.
Milo grabbed my hand before I could reach for him as we made our way into the
store. He was smiling now and had a healthy flush to his cheeks. His eyes
widened as we entered the store and to be fair, the wall of dildos has probably
given a heart attack or two to some unsuspecting patrons.
His hand tightened on mine and I observed him shrink into himself a little bit,
causing my lips to turn down in a frown.
"What is it Milo?" Was he afraid of the training paraphernalia?
"Nothing, sir. I just recognize some of this stuff," he said quietly, motioning
to the shelving section where I spotted electro play set ups and several
branding kits.
He moved to the other side of me, farthest away from the mentioned items as we
made our way to the collar desk at the back of the store. I made a mental note
to revers his conditioning to the items once he was a bit stronger. I almost
sighed at the amount of work he would need, but then if I didn't do it, what
would his future be like? Constantly living in fear? What a horrible existence.
"Hello, what brings you in today?" said the man asked politely at the counter.
He cocked his head to try to get a look at Milo, but the kid had glue himself
to my hip and half hid behind me like some toddler.
"I'm looking into making a custom bracelet or possibly even a necklace with his
registration numbers on it," I replied, "He has a sever burn around his neck,
so he can't wear a collar."
"Well we do have several options, provided you have a vet's note," the man
began to explain.
I pulled out the note and the man glanced at it while he pulled out several
options. There were tags on a chain like the ancient style military, a set of
metal cuffs, a couple varieties of thick leather bracelets and an odd
collection of hand chains.
I picked up a simple leather cuff about three inches wide. The leather was
soft, high quality and the name and identification plate were permanently
clamped onto where the leather split so it would be difficult to remove.
Milo was looking at it quizzically, so I handed it to him. He took it gingerly
from me as if it were highly breakable.
"That grain of leather is made from the finest calf skin available, and the
steel plates are also available in silver or gold."
I nodded to the man to acknowledge his explanation. Milo was running his hands
over the bracelet, completely absorbed in the texture.
"What do you think?" I asked him gently. I had learned he was slowly becoming
less flustered when I asked his opinion and more excited. At least he was
improving in some things.
He smiled up at me, and his hand was small enough that he could slip the demo
item onto his wrist. "I like it."
I took the demo back from him and ordered him one in brown leather with simple
steel plates. His measurements were taken and I asked the man at the desk to
make it loose fitting, hoping Milo will have put on some more weight by the
time the identification bracelet was ready.
-----------------
We returned home to the smell of Ava's cooking. My stomach growled as I slipped
my shoes off, Milo doing the same beside me. He stayed behind me as we walked
into the kitchen, but I could feel the energy raising off of the kid.
"How was shopping, boys?" Ava called from the kitchen as she heard us enter.
"It was good. Got Milo a good start on some proper clothes and I ordered him a
leather identification bracelet."
"That sounds wonderful," she said, smiling at us as we walked into the kitchen.
She caught sight of Milo in his new clothes and gushed over him as I filled my
plate, watching the pleasant way the boy's face blushed at the attention.
As we ate, I noticed Milo's attention drawn to the outdoors; his eyes
constantly wandering to the backdoor.
"I'll take you outside in a little while, Milo. You have been a very good boy
today, so you've earned yourself an extra reward."
He cocked his head curiously to the side, the brightness in his eyes flashing.
"An extra reward?"
I smiled at how his silky hair flopped into his glacier coloured eyes. I hoped
- no, prayed, that what I had planned wouldn't destroy the glow in his eyes
that I saw now.
I led him gently to the play room door, taking my key out of my pocket and
opening the room.
I hadn't been in here since my last time with Seth...
I squished the thought and pushed the door open. The lights flickered before
turning completely on, illuminating the room in a soft warm light.
I encouraged Milo to walk in before I did, my hand on the small of his back. He
looked around with large eyes, pausing at every restraining device. He didn't
seem panicked, but he didn't look calm.
"This room is made for pleasure and pain, Milo," I watched with a furrowed brow
as his whole body stiffened at my words. "I am a sadist, but I will not be
unfair to you. Strip, hop up, and lay back on the table please."
I waited for Milo to respond. He stood still, facing away from me. I thought he
would never oblige, and I would have to use force. I closed my fist, stomping
down the urge to toss him onto the table myself. Just a little bit longer.
Maybe all he needed was a little more time.
It came so quietly I barely heard it.
"Yes, Master."
Slowly, and stiffly, Milo stripped then lifted himself onto the medical table.
His delectable body was once again in my sight and that little twinge in my
groin reminded me why I had bought him in the first place. His pale skin was
buttery smooth, the curves of his body inticing. Those blue eyes weren't flat,
but there was a calculated fear in him as he lay down on the cold metal table.
I would have to do this carefully, I didn't know how many chances I had left
with him; how many times the light would come back after it was extinguished.
"Good boy," I cooed as I stroked his thin legs, lifting them into the medical
stirrups. His groin was exposed to me now, and I eyed the way his pink
sphincter clenched around the outer bobble of the buttplug. My cock swelled
against my jeans.
I velcroed his legs in, then did the same to his hands onto the side railings.
He still eyed me in fear, but I kept petting him on the head and telling him
how good he was. That seemed to calm him down as I opened the drawer with the
sterile tools, selecting a pair of scissors and a metal speculum and placing
them on the tray.
I walked a few paces over to a cupboard to grab a bottle of lube when I heard
Milo's breathing turn ragged and raspy with panic. I walked slowly back,
swallowing my own unease, trying not to startle him as he began to thrash
against the restraints. I hadn't even done anything yet.
His skin was almost too pale, his eyes wide and watery. He jerked at his arms
and legs, eyes locked onto me.
"P-please, plea-please don't hurt me. I-I'm a good boy."
And as much as I have wished for him to fearfully utter those words before me,
I knew that his current state of mind was not what I was after.
He was having another breakdown.
I cupped his face in between both of my hands to steady it, trying to ignore
how violently he flinched away from me. I was still unsure what his triggers
were, but I hoped what I had in mind would calm him.
"I'm good... good boy..." he kept mumbling, even as I leaned in and pressed my
mouth to his. His body went still instantly. As I slipped my tongue in between
his lips, he took a deep breath stealing the air from my mouth.
I broke the kiss, licking my lips at the sweet taste of him. My hands were in
his hair and he melted into my touch. Those blue orbs hid behind half
open lids, and I could physically see his body relax back into the table.
"There we are, that's much better, Milo," I cooed, still petting and littering
his face with soft kisses. "I'm going to take your stitches out and I promise I
will be as gentle as possible, but I need you to be calm okay?"
"Yes, Master," he whispered, his eyes a little glazed.
I withdrew from him and prepared the scapula with lube, taking care to gently
touch him on his knee before I got nearer to not spook him.
The pads of my fingers traced the edge of his sphincter against the butt plug,
my lips curling in joy and my dick hardening in protest watching his twitching
pink muscle tighten around the black plastic. I hooked my fingers around the
edge and gently pulled, the toy leaving the warmth of his body with a wet pop.
He moaned and panted, and I couldn't help but slip a finger to feel his loose
hole; feel the hot and irritated flesh flutter against the pads of my fingers.
We moaned together, and I rubbed my bulge against the edge of the table.
Before I got too carried away, I slid the scapula in slowly, watching the way
the muscles in his thighs twitched as the cold metal slipped easily into his
stretched body. I rubbed the area of his stomach, just above his cock, hoping
he would find some comfort in that as I clicked the scapula open. I removed the
stitches easily and quickly with the scissors and a clamp, listening intently
to Milo's breathing. The only sound in the room was the air filling then
leaving his lungs and the occasional metallic clank.
With all of the stitching removed, I threw all of my medical tools into the
sink and turned to take in the state of my slave.
His chest rose and fell, his ribs rubbing under his pale skin. Ava was right,
he did need to put on more weight. His eyes were half-lidded and his head was
tilted toward me, his limbs looked heavy and limp. His legs were still spread,
his anus blinking and weeping, begging to be filled.
I bit my lip to hold back a moan and undid the buckle of my pants. His eyes
opened at complete attention as he watched me pull out my cock. 
He wasn't completely in a subspace yet, and his hole would still need some
conditioning before he could take my girth, but I had promised him a treat. He
watched my movements carefully.
"Milo, you may come whenever you please."
"Yes, Master," his voice was heavy and husky, making my toes curl.
I kissed the inside of each of his knees, trailing my lips down to his crotch,
slipping my lube covered fingers into his hole as my tongue stroked the
underside of his shaft. His body arched beautifully as his hips rose off from
the table and a precious mewl escaped from his mouth, his head thrown back hard
enough against the table to make an audible thump.
I let him feel my grin and whispered, "Good boy," against his swollen flesh.
Limbs rattled in their bindings as I felt the little nub underneath his silky
wet flesh and teased it with pulses and pinches. I knew I had him almost
completely undone by that point. I could feel his body tremble with need
beneath my hand.
My own cock was bothered and sore, so I took it in my hand, stroking to the
time of my thrusts into Milo's warm body. I watched with a burning fascination
the way his body wanted to suck up both of my fingers; the red flesh gripping
mine. He mewled faintly as I rammed his prostate hard, and precum bubbled from
his piss-slit. He was too quiet, we would have to change that, but I saved it
as a mental note as I licked the fluid dripping from the head of his cock.
It only took one more jab, and the kid spilled into my mouth with a small wail.
His body shuddered then went completely slack against the table. His ribs
fluttered as he breathed and I watched him bathe in the after shocks of his
orgasm as I spilled onto the tiled floor.
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