A Good Servant – Ch. 9
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2018 Laura S. Fox
All Rights Reserved
Intended for Mature Audiences Only
This story contains graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.
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The dull sound of the large truck moving was lulling him
into sleep. He had no notion of how many hours had passed since he'd been sent
out from his former master's house and shipped to be taken who knew where.
The gray clothes he wore felt like a rash against his skin. The boots were a bit too large, as well. It was like Dion was given a new life, along with a new uniform, that didn't agree well with him. He kept his head down. It was too dark to look at his companions. No one was talking, despair and pain too deep for that. A small thought traveled his mind, like a shooting star, that he was not even going to remember the faces of those riding with him in the old truck.
Suddenly, the truck halted, a sign that they must have arrived at their destination. A loud voice barked at them, and Dion got up along with the rest, waiting patiently in line to descend. No one could say former servants from Drena were not well trained; they knew how to keep in line, how to keep their distance and how to keep their heads down.
A strong hand gripped his elbow and pushed him forward, once he was out. He'd barely noticed that he'd stopped, suddenly aware that the air he was breathing felt foreign as if there was an entirely different world situated outside the gates of Drena.
The gentle sea breeze felt warm against his skin, as it had felt back home. He moved along, as the man guiding them barked another order. He didn't have the energy to make up the words the man was saying. It only meant one thing; that Dion, just like the others, was there to obey.
~A Good Servant~
The room felt small, but Dion was glad there were only he and two other people assigned to it. From what he could gather, there were other accommodations meant for sleeping that were much larger, where dozens were forced to live. He went to sleep and let the world fade away. There was always another day tomorrow.
~A Good Servant~
Ayn examined the stores as they went by. Cory was explaining a lot of stuff with the speed of lighting, and he was too amazed at the richness of the place to pay too much attention. The servant helped him try out some new clothes and even encouraged him to pick a few he truly liked.
"It's ok, it's on our master's tab," Cory winked at him, and Ayn smiled back. He was speaking very little, aware that he was supposed to be an ignorant savage slave with no knowledge of the language.
The store they stopped by proved fascinating to Ayn. He let Cory speak with the store manager about some decorative knives Xavier wanted, and he began exploring the weapons on display. As the servant was vividly bargaining with the shopkeeper, he quickly grabbed the one thing that had truly caught his eye. The servant was still turned with his back to Ayn. Maybe it was for the best if Cory didn't know just everything.
~A Good Servant~
Xavier's heart was filled with joy as he turned back home. He had Lucas's friendship back – sort of -, he had Ayn, and everything was working like a charm in his book.
Cory welcomed him with the same smile on his beautiful face.
"How was your day?" he asked, as the servant took his coat.
"I took Ayn shopping. He loved it," Cory said excitedly. "I let him choose some of the outfits. I hope they will please you, Master."
Yes, he very much wanted to see Ayn wearing beautiful clothes. Not that he didn't prefer the slave naked, his exotic beauty more valuable and interesting than the softest fabric made in Drena's factories. He felt a sudden, urgent need to see the slave.
"Where is he?" he demanded, a bit abruptly.
"He is in his room. Should I put the table, Master?"
"Not right now," Xavier waved his hand and went by Cory to reach Ayn's room, most probably making the servant wonder about his unusual behavior.
He entered the room without even bothering to knock. Ayn turned swiftly, with a small frown on his handsome face. Xavier chose to ignore how the young man had looked quite startled by his sudden appearance. He just took the slave in his arms and kissed him deeply.
"I've thought of you for the entire day. Every single moment," he whispered against moist lips when he had to cut the kiss short so that they could breathe.
Unlike many other times before, the slave grabbed his head and drew him in for a kiss on his own accord. Xavier barely refrained from gasping at his prized slave's forward determination. Maybe Ayn was starting to like him, after all.
He massaged round buttocks through the thin fabric of the tight blue pants Ayn was wearing.
"I wish I could use you right now," he mumbled as he freed his mouth only to nibble down on a graceful neck. "But Cory will be mad if we do not eat first," he added, and reluctantly let Ayn go.
The slave took his hand and guided him out of the room. No matter how strange that seemed, Xavier didn't care. He followed, feeling suddenly at peace, being directed like that, in his own home, where no one ever dared doing that.
~A Good Servant~
Ayn let out a breath, once he was back in his room. He checked under the bed. The gun was secured, strapped to one of the massive legs. It had been a close call; Xavier was starting to get too many liberties. He stopped for a second, to caress the contour of the weapon; its solidity made him feel safe. It was making his heart fill with anticipation, and that he had to rein in if he wanted to succeed in his plans.
Until then, he had to make nice to Xavier. He knew what was going to happen as soon as the night would come, but he did not find it in him to feel dread. It was not indifference what he felt, either.
He shook his head. He was not like that. The damn place was rubbing onto himself, making him weak and self-indulgent. So what if Xavier was kissing him like no girlfriend had ever done it? It didn't mean anything. Not his kisses, not the feeling he got in his gut when he was thinking about how the man was going to take him once again.
When Cory called for him to shower, he was as prepared as he could ever be to face Xavier.
~A Good Servant~
Xavier's long caresses were making his skin catch fire. At Cory's insistence, he had brought a few outfits to show his master. Apparently, Xavier found it more exciting to take Ayn out of them than seeing him dressed.
He was a bit too daring to do that, but besides the tight, see-through clothes Cory had insisted on getting, he also brought along one of the outfits he had chosen.
As he stopped in the middle of the room, dressed in blue jeans, combat boots, and a tight black t-shirt, he waited for Xavier's reaction. He pulled the black leather jacket on, too, and then smirked and challenged his master with his eyes.
There was something unreadable in gray eyes, as Xavier was inspecting him without a word. He wasn't hurrying to take Ayn out of his clothes this time around, either.
"They ... fit you well," Xavier murmured, mostly to himself.
Of course they did. This was how he had used to dress as a free man. Xavier finally got up and reached Ayn. Pulling at the lapels of the black leather jacket, the master dragged his slave in for a kiss. Hungry hands did not try to undress the beautiful body. Instead, Xavier glued himself to Ayn and breathed in the other's scent, burying his head for a moment at the hollow between neck and shoulder, a mix between the strong leather fragrance and Ayn's personal smell making him lightheaded.
There was a moment there, a window of opportunity Ayn didn't want to miss. He let his hands travel to his master's sides, brushing over the small of the man's back. Xavier was wearing nothing but loose black silk pajama pants. Bold hands reached lower and lower until they cupped Xavier's ass.
There was a small grunt of acknowledgment from Xavier, as the master of the house realized what his prized slave meant by that. Yet, Xavier straightened his head, and their eyes clashed. Ayn's dark pools weren't asking for permission.
"You're assuming too much," Xavier suddenly felt angered by the proud, know-it-all look in his slave's eyes.
He pushed the jacket down briskly, forcing the slave out of it.
"Undress," he ordered harshly, ignoring that the slave could not understand him. "Undress," he repeated while grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and yanking it up.
The slave finally seemed to understand, and he proceeded to undress himself.
"I'll have Cory burn these," Xavier said through his teeth, as the heap of clothes was gathered at the slave's feet.
Ayn's eyes grew darker. Xavier pushed him on the bed, this time with his face down. The slave closed his eyes. All the need to react, to grab the man by the throat and force him down, had to be quenched. Tense hands parted his buttocks, and something cold was poured over Ayn's tight hole. Too soon, there was the blunt head he loathed against his entrance, and Xavier pushed inside in one go, angrily.
Ayn bit his lip through. He was not going to give the fucker the satisfaction to hear him scream in pain.
Xavier's heart throbbed painfully in his chest, as he took his slave, in short, punishing strokes. For a short moment, he had felt at peace, happy, in Ayn's arms. That had never happened before; not like this.
This sort of happiness was a luxury he could not afford. For the most powerful master in Drena, letting another gain importance like this was unheard of. He felt scared; the balance had to be restored, and taking Ayn like this, humiliating him, was the only way.
Earlier, Ayn's lips had tasted of freedom. He had to ask Cory to burn those clothes. Ayn as a captive was exhilarating, more than any man he had ever brought to bed; Ayn as a free man was addictive as crack and dangerous like it. One taste and he could have been hooked. He had dodged the bullet just in time.
~A Good Servant~
Dion pushed his hair inside the hard helmet, frustrated at how red strands still spilled over. The same gray clothes and large boots seemed to be the uniform needed to work at the factory. He wondered absently whether there was a place they could shower.
There was a short ride from their sleeping quarters to the factory. The building stood tall and gray and menacing. The only sound that could be heard in the chilly morning was the shuffling of boots through the mud, as the workers headed for their shift.
He was all eyes and ears during the orientation that all new workers had to go through. Manipulating the heavy machinery used for training seemed easy, and the man in charge, an older guy in his 40s, commended his ability to learn so fast. He smiled curtly. It looked like people here weren't that bad, after all.
The work seemed tedious and boring, and it put a strain on Dion's arms after a while. He was indeed grateful when the perfunctory sound of a bell announced them that it was time to take a break to have lunch.
He had yet to talk to anyone, so he searched the room for a quiet place, to sit with his tray in his hands. He noticed a tall, dark man sitting in a corner. The guy looked like he liked his privacy, too. Dion wasn't going to impose on that.
As he sat at a table not far away, he started chewing slowly while watching the other as he ate. He could not say what was drawing him to that man. There was certainty in his moves, short and efficient, as he tore just the right amount of bread needed for each bite. People inside Drena walls were all exquisitely beautiful. Dion doubted he had ever seen a man like the one he was inspecting right now. He hadn't paid any attention to his co-workers, but there was a peacefulness radiating from the man like he had never seen before.
He could not see the man's eyes; they were probably darker than his skin. The guy looked strong, even if he was not bulky or too brawny. Dion's eyes traveled over the hard planes of the man's face; they were harsh, like cut from sterner stuff, just as the rest of his being. But he was not unpleasant to look at. Dion just stood there, his spoon still in his hand, forgetting that he should have been eating.
The man's eyes rose from his plate and clashed with Dion's warm brown ones. His expression remained unreadable, and Dion, suddenly flustered, shook his head and tried to focus back on his food.
He sensed someone taking a seat next to him and turned to see a man in his 30s watching him with intent.
"You're a pretty thing," the man spoke. "Are you spoken for?"
"W-what?" he stammered.
"Do you have a partner yet?" the man insisted, frowning slightly.
"It's my first day," Dion said in his defense.
"Ah," the man said shortly. "Mind if I eat next to you?"
"Not at all," Dion said politely.
Not one minute passed and another man approached their table. He nodded to the other and looked straight at Dion.
"We got a good looking one in our section this round," he spoke, although he wasn't speaking to Dion.
"It was about time," the first one replied.
Dion felt apprehension growing in his gut. Antoine's words came to mind. Was he going to get raped? Maybe killed afterward? These men looked strong and harsh, not the type to mess with. He made himself little in his chair.
"It's his first day," the first one spoke again.
"Ah," said the other. "Let's let him adjust a little."
They continued to eat in silence. Dion felt a lump growing in his throat, and he could not swallow anymore. As his eyes rose, he met the guy's stare from his corner. This time, his eyes looked as the man was disgusted for some reason.
~A Good Servant~
"Your name is Dion, right?" the foreman asked while crossing his fingers over the wooden desk and looking at the redhead over his glasses.
Dion doubted he had done anything wrong, but he was prepared to be punished. There were probably rules of the place he could not yet understand. Like the strange behavior of those workers who had sit next to him during lunch.
"You're pretty," the older man commented, with no trace of emotion in his voice, like he was saying Dion was a cow supposed to give x liters of milk.
The redhead squirmed a little. What was that supposed to mean?
"I don't need fighting in my section, do you hear me?" the man said sternly.
"Fighting? I won't get in any fight," Dion eventually managed to articulate a few words in his defense.
The foreman looked at him as if he was about to ask the former servant what kind of stupid was Dion taking him for.
"Pick one fast, or else they'll start fighting over your ass," the man slammed some files on his desk as if he was trying to make a point.
Dion almost jumped from his chair. The foreman let out a frustrated sigh.
"They should really be telling you a few things before unloading you on our hands. Former servants sent here," he started, as if he felt strained to tell the same text over and over again, "draw immediate attention. There are two choices: either you pick a partner, or you pick all."
"Am I going to get raped?" Dion let out, without even thinking. There had been too much strain on his mind to think clearly.
"We punish such behavior," the foreman spoke, annoyed with the interruption. "It happens very rarely, so you should not be that concerned with that."
"How could I not?" the redhead mumbled. Images of his first time, when Antoine had had over a dozen slaves fuck him, came to mind. It had felt like it was never going to end. No crying and begging had been enough; if anything, the slaves had seemed more turned on by his cries.
"Anyone caught raping another is punished by death," the foreman spelled it for him as if he was hardheaded.
The man rose from his chair and took a look out the window.
"Come here," he told Dion, and the redhead approached cautiously.
"See the one there?" the foreman pointed out a nice looking guy, without a helmet on his blonde head. He was smoking and seemingly waiting. In just a few seconds, another man appeared and went straight to him. The blond kissed him shortly then got on his knees, unbuckling the man's pants with efficient moves. Dion watched, without daring to make a sound, as the blond blew the guy. As the man straightened his pants, the redhead saw how he gave the blond something. The beautiful one slipped the object into his pants, and then returned to his smoking.
"We have good, hard-working guys here. Of course, no one is fond of losing his head. The blond there? He decided he wanted the attention, so anyone who wants to have him comes here during breaks."
"What did the man give him?" Dion asked, not knowing why that aspect mattered.
"A lighter, most probably. He is fond of his smoking, and he collects lighters. Others just give him money."
More men appeared as the foreman spoke. The blond just dropped his pants and turned to face the wall. The guys waited in line, patiently, while each took turns at the blond's ass. The blond only turned a little, each time one man finished, to get his gift or pay and slide it into his pockets.
Dion felt disgusted to watch. The foreman looked bored. He shifted from one foot to another. The older man shook his head.
"Are you really afraid I'm going to jump your bones, kid? Now, go back to your chair, and think. What's going to be? This or that?"
Dion sat gingerly on the chair. "What if I don't want either?" he eventually asked.
The foreman ran his hands through his receding hair. "Then you'll give me a lot of work. If you're too much trouble, I may have to ask for you to be moved."
The man shrugged.
"There are places. Since you don't want to be touched, you may as well just show the goods."
Dion's eyes were big as saucers.
"Will I be forced into prostitution?"
"You're misinterpreting, again. Strip clubs, that's what they are. You'll work the night shift, and dance on tables. If anyone touches you, well, that's up to the bouncers to protect you. Anyway, you won't be my trouble anymore. For some reason, though, all the guys sent there, true, the prettier ones, start selling their ass, too. I guess it's no fun just to let guys drool over you."
Dion could only guess what the foreman didn't care to tell him.
"How much time do I have?" he murmured.
"The sooner you decide, the better. Now out of my office. You've taken enough of my time."
~A Good Servant~
Dion felt his chest growing tighter. What was he going to do? It was not like Antoine had said, but worse, in a way. He would have to give his consent to let some guy or more pawing him. It was a new type of desperation he was experiencing. Choosing one guy seemed like the right option. What if the man was going to prove abusive? What if he was going to get someone as bad as Antoine? Men were punished for raping a guy, but what happened with those so-called partnerships? And how was he supposed to know he would pick right?
The other thing was out of the question. Dion was not going to live through that again. Being sent away was even worse. What was he going to do?
He was walking a long hallway, his head down, not noticing the group of men approaching.
"Hey, cutie," one voice called, and his head snapped up.
Soon enough, he was almost surrounded by five men. His helmet was removed gently from his head, but he felt the need to take a step back.
"Don't be afraid," the man cooed, but he was feeling his heart beating fast, threatening to burst out of his chest.
"Nice hair," one man caught a strand of Dion's red hair and smelled it.
"Stop scaring him," another pushed the man touching Dion's hair. "Look, baby, we just want to know if you've made your choice yet. If not, we have money. We'd really like a go at you. What do you like? We can bring it to you," the third man tried to sound friendly.
A cold chill was running down Dion's spine. He was supposed to have a little more time. His eyes were running like a scared deer's from one man to another.
"Fucking beautiful," another man commented. "Do you think he's a mute?" he asked the others.
"I'm not mute," he eventually managed.
"Good. So what do you say?" the first man got a bit closer, invading his personal space.
Dion heard someone approaching. Maybe he could be saved. As his eyes searched for the man coming through, he realized it was the guy he'd seen on the first day eating alone. He did not seem to care about what was happening, though, and he was about to move along when Dion broke the circle surrounding him and hung on the dark man's arm.
"I'm already taken," he said, taking everyone by surprise.
Dark eyes stared into his from above, and Dion pleaded without words.
"What the hell? John, you fucking jerk, why didn't you say anything?" one guy commented. "Since when are you two sworn for?" he asked suspiciously.
The dark man, whose name Dion had just learned was John, disentangled his arm from the redhead's grip, and the former servant felt sick to his stomach. Being exposed as a liar was not going to sit well with anyone. He cast his eyes down, but suddenly felt his shoulders captured by a warm, heavy hand.
"Since yesterday. My darling here is shy," he heard the man talking in a low, full, masculine voice that made him feel at ease. "Now give him his helmet back."
"Yeah, sorry," the first guy handed the helmet to John.
"Did you fuck him yet?" another asked, followed by the others' laughter.
"None of your fucking business. But yeah, and he's great in the sack, and you're having none of it," John threw over his shoulder as he was guiding Dion away from the group while placing the helmet gently on his head.
They were far from the others when Dion spoke.
"Thank you so much. I had no idea what to do."
The man's arm was still around his shoulders.
"I think I have to go," he said, a bit embarrassed.
"And where do you think you're going?" the man asked, his voice suddenly hard and cold.
"Um, home?" Dion said.
"Then that's where we are both going, darling," the man mocked, and Dion looked suddenly frightened at him. "When you're sworn for, you go live with your partner. From what rock have you crawled here? You're coming home with me."
"But," Dion felt as if suddenly he could not breathe.
"No buts. You imposed yourself on me like an idiot; now I have to. And, don't worry," the arm slid from his shoulders, "I'm not going to beg for your ass like the assholes over there. Your lot makes me sick."
Dion stood in place, frozen. John's words hit him like a ton of bricks. But it was what he wanted, right? He didn't want to be touched.
"What are you doing, standing there like that?" the man spat, annoyed. "The princess feels affronted? Suck it, buttercup," he continued while taking Dion's by one sleeve and dragging him along.
~A Good Servant~
He had to plan well. The memories of being taken so hard by Xavier were making his insides turn and his jaw clench so hard that he almost could not breathe. The guy was an asshole, the worst kind, and Ayn wanted out as fast as possible.
He had to put on a front, too. After the episode when he had tried to make a move on his master, Xavier had made attempts at being gentler. Cory hadn't burned the clothes, either. But all that didn't mean that Ayn wasn't hurt. Any ambivalent feelings he might have had for the guy, they were now turning into pure hatred. He wasn't going to sit down and take it like a stupid bitch.
"Cory," he cautiously approached the servant, "I really think I should take a hike."
The servant's bright, beautiful eyes searched his.
"You're not yet prepared. It's not like you can waltz out of Drena, just like that."
"Why not?" he shrugged. "It doesn't look like there's much security around," his mind traveled to how easy it had been to palm that gun from the store visited together with Cory.
"Don't you think they'll ask you? At the gates?" Cory looked troubled.
"I'll think of something," the expression in Ayn's dark eyes was determined. "We need to plan, though. I don't want you involved in this. We need to make it look like I escaped ... and you couldn't stop me, or something."
Cory seemed to ponder for a while. "Then I'll think you'll have to tie me up. And hit me," the servant said calmly, and Ayn's eyes grew wide.
"Why the fuck should I hit you?"
"I must be absolved of any guilt. Losing you while shopping, or letting you out because you just threatened me wouldn't do. I can face execution for it," Cory continued, and Ayn frowned.
"It would not be your fault. Is this what you're facing? If I'm leaving?"
"If you incapacitate me, then they cannot hold anything against me. Playing the victim, as my part of the deal, is the only way."
"Really, Cory, I could not hit you, what the hell ..." Ayn murmured.
The servant came close to him and embraced him tightly. Ayn caressed the blond head. Cory was just too good for the world he was living in.
"How about leaving with me?" he said all of a sudden.
Blue eyes stared at him, a small glint of hope in then. Right away, they shut down.
"I couldn't. Lucas ... he's here."
"Yes, of course," Ayn caressed the servant's shoulders with affection.
"I know ..." Cory hesitated for a second but quickly continued. "I know that he will get bored one day. But I've never dreamed of living a long life, so what's so bad about making the best of what you have? He's everything I've ever dreamed of and more."
"What's with these ideas?" Ayn felt uncomfortable. "It's not like you'll die without him."
"People down there, working the factories, they don't live long."
"Why? Is it that hard?"
Cory shook his head, suddenly pensive.
"No, work is hard but manageable. People ... they just don't reach a certain age. It's like they hit a wall and die."
"That's fucking strange," Ayn mumbled. "No exceptions?"
"Not many. Guys in their 40s are a rarity. And, strangely enough, they are the ones in management positions. The rest ... it's like they are expendables."
Ayn felt a cold chill running down his spine.
"This is a fucking strange place. Now that I come to think of it, there are no old people inside the city, either."
"You're right," Cory admitted. "Yet, death does not seem to be a presence here. I should ask Lucas about it."
"Or not," Ayn said, more fiercely than he intended. "Don't forget, Cory. He's practically one of them. He may be kind to you, but can you really tell what he would do if you get too curious?"
Cory shook his head. Ayn had a point, but Lucas? He could not hide anything from him, and he was quite certain Lucas would not lie to him, either. Their encounters were usually torrid ones, and they spoke little to one another. How much he really knew the man?
~A Good Servant~
Dion had to admit that he liked what he saw. John's place looked tidy and clean. Apparently, the man had his own small place, even if it did not stand out that much from the rest.
"This is the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom," the man presented him the layout. "The hall at the entrance serves as a living room, too."
"You have a nice house. I didn't know these places could have so many rooms," Dion expressed his admiration.
"They don't. I built the interior walls," the man said curtly, and Dion stared at him, nothing short of amazement in his hazel eyes.
John didn't spare him a glance.
"Help yourself to the fridge. There is plenty of food. I'm going to take a shower," he spoke quickly, efficiently and disappeared in the bathroom.
Dion took a look in the refrigerator. There were enough ingredients for at least a generous omelet, so he decided for the quick dish. Later on, he would have to create a menu, but right now there were pressing matters like rambling stomachs to tend to. He could bet John was hungry, too.
He had the table laid out by the time the man came out of the shower. He looked a bit younger, out of his factory clothes, and dressed in some soft flannel outfit. He was still massive, making the small kitchen look even smaller, as he sat at the table.
"I didn't ask you to cook for me," he commented sourly, although Dion could tell he was eyeing the loaded plate.
"We started on the wrong foot. This is the least I can do," Dion spoke.
"Wrong foot, eh?" John seemed amused, but he dug into his plate without a word and Dion joined him.
They ate in silence. Dion stood and picked up the dishes.
"You don't have to play servant here. I'm not your master," the man spoke in a lower tone.
Dion looked into the dark eyes. A rebellious strand of black hair was almost glued to the tall forehead. It made John look at bit more ... without thinking, the redhead rose his hand and pushed the strand to the side.
The man flinched from the touch.
"What kind of game do you think you're playing?" he stood up with an angry expression on his face.
"I'm not playing anything," Dion breathed out. It looked like he was walking on eggshells, no matter what he was doing.
"Yes, you are. You just got here, and you're playing house."
Dion cast his eyes down.
"I apologize. It's everything I know."
"Oh, really? You don't know anything else?" the man's voice sounded dangerous, as he approached Dion, invading his private space.
"I don't know," John got even closer. "You Drena whores only know how to wrap men around your fingers, don't you?"
Dion blushed and suddenly felt angered.
"I am not a whore," he said through his teeth, as he pushed John aside.
He needed air. His arm was caught, and John pulled him back.
"Is this your act to make me beg to have you? It won't work, princess," he said menacingly.
"It's no act. I would not dream of having the likes of you touch me," Dion spat, and regretted his words right away.
John released his arm as if he had been burned.
"Alright, then. Make yourself at home," he said mockingly. "Just stay out of my way, as much as possible. You can take the bedroom; I'll have the couch."
Dion could not stop the feeling of dread washing over him, as John slammed the door to head to the so-called living room. He really had no idea how to handle the man.
~A Good Servant~
"There seems to be a lot of things on your mind lately," Lucas kissed Cory's shoulder gently, making the young man shudder and lean into the other male.
"It's nothing. Just a bit tired, I think," the servant said right away.
Lucas did not believe a thing. But it was too tempting just to bury himself in Cory's body, as he let all the weariness of the day wash away and only enjoy the feeling of having the one he adored so much in his arms, pliant under his touch.
~A Good Servant~
"Damn, that hurt," Cory commented, working his jaw.
"You fucking asked for it," Ayn said exasperatedly. "I think you'll have a nice bruise, though," he grinned.
"Jerk," Cory stuck out his tongue, but let himself tied to the chair with the improvised ropes Ayn had made from some clothes.
"Do you think you can play the fool?" Ayn asked, concern visible in his eyes.
"I think I'm pretty good at it," Cory said proudly, although an unsettling thought was nagging him, reminding him how Lucas was poking him for info he did not care to share.
"Alright, then, all set," Ayn added, admiring his handiwork. He pulled a bit at Cory's clothes until he ripped the fabric.
"You fucking look too good like that," Ayn commented playfully.
They laughed, but, like on cue, they both stopped and shared a long, meaningful look.
"I guess this is goodbye or something," Ayn said embarrassed.
"Yes," Cory admitted.
"We may not see each other again," Ayn added.
"I think so," Cory nodded.
Ayn closed the distance and embraced the young servant awkwardly.
"You should go," Cory whispered, not wanting to show how much Ayn's departure meant to him. It had been bad enough to learn about Dion being sent to the factories outside the city gates. Now he was losing another friend.
~A Good Servant~
He had no reason to go home at that hour, but Xavier thought the break was going to do him good, even if he was just going to spend half an hour with Ayn and Cory. The slave was still mad at him, for the incident from that day, so he had to tread lightly around him. He was quite certain he was going to win Ayn over again, despite that unfortunate mishap.
As he entered the house, he frowned. It was unusual for his penthouse to be so quiet. Cory should have been at the door right away.
"Cory," he called and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Ayn standing right in front of him, dressed like that particular day.
There was something odd about his slave. Xavier's eyes traveled to the slave's right hand and froze. Blood ran to his feet.
Ayn raised the weapon casually.
"TRK-106," he commented with dark glee in his voice, startling Xavier.
In a second, he was all over the master of the house, with the barrel of the gun resting right under the man's chin.
"I doubt I should explain to you what it can do," Ayn whispered.
"Who are you?" Xavier managed to talk.
"Do you really have to ask, Master?" Ayn mocked. "I am Ayn, your personal, dear slave."
"Did you kill Cory?"
"He'll live. I guess. Now, onto more pressing matters. I heard you ride a fucking awesome car. I really want to see that. Move."
"What do you think you can do? The moment we are out this door ..." Xavier spoke, as Ayn turned him unceremoniously and pushed the gun onto his side.
"... we will walk right to your car, we'll get inside, and you will drive me out of this shithole. If anyone's asking, we're out for a bit of a stroll."
"You won't get away with this," Xavier spoke.
"Just watch me. Care for a trip to the wild side, Xavier?"
For a brief moment, Ayn's hot breath touched Xavier's cheek. He only had to touch his right hand with the left and search for the panic button on his silver bracelet. But as quickly as the thought came, it flew away.
Xavier opened the door, and let Ayn guide him outside. For the first time in his life, something totally unpredictable was about to happen.
In the dark, helpless witness to the angry conversation in the hallways, Cory felt his insides turn. What are you doing, Ayn?
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There are many things in life people regret and there are things they just cannot let go. Blake Everton wants to cut all the ties with his past, but there is just one thing he cannot seem to forget about so he can have a clean slate and start the life his family wants for him. Getting a male escort to satisfy his needs sounds like a good idea and the key to letting go, but things do not always go as planned.
Trey smiles all the time and that truly gets on Blake's nerves. Nonetheless, intrigued with the rent boy's seemingly happy countenance, he wants Trey and no one else.
When Trey teaches him he could smile again, Blake is faced with a tough decision. Should he let go and walk forward, in a stranger's shoes, or should he understand who he really is and what he truly wants?
Karl Thorne's life is comfortably dull. Secretly in love with his straight boss, he prefers working as Dick Chamberlain's personal assistant, despite his otherwise impressive educational background. What he doesn't expect is his life being turned upside down by Dick's brother, Gordon, who walks one day into the air conditioned office, and causes the temperature in the room to rise above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Karl realizes that he is the one getting hot under the collar, and even his unrequited, yet enduring love for his boss is wavering under the man's sexy scrutiny.
Much to his surprise, Dick decides to lend Karl and his PA skills to his brother for one month. Devastated by his boss's decision to send him away with no regrets whatsoever, Karl sees Gordon as just another straight guy meant to give him wet dreams and nothing more. What he doesn't expect is for Gordon to be so direct in telling Karl to his face about what he thinks of the assistant's sexual orientation and secret love for his boss.
Bewildered, Karl tries to reason with Gordon, but he finds himself caught in a web of sensuality, family secrets, and games in which he feels as nothing more but a pawn. Is Gordon's interest in him genuine? What will happen if he gives his heart away? And most of all, should he forget about the game rule that says that whoever walks away first, wins?
Born under a Blue Moon
Ay'len and Ma'ki have been in love since they were children, but, as they grow up, they realize that their love can never be. Ay'len, although a boy, was raised together with his sisters, to learn women's ways, far away from all the dangers boys to become men had to face. Destined to become the tribe's next healer, his gentle soul is also destined to protect the village. Being born under a blue moon, he is considered lucky, but his luck and happiness are not his, as he must belong to the entire tribe. He needs to remain pure, away from temptations of the flesh, so he must quash the love he feels for Ma'ki and dedicate himself to a selfless existence.
Ma'ki is a hunter and the tribe chieftain's first born. His purpose is to carry his bloodline, by marrying and fathering children. Yet, as years go by, his love for Ay'len grows stronger. To his family's distress, he refuses to take a wife, despite knowing that Ay'len could never be his.
But not all tribesmen see Ay'len with good eyes and danger has a way of finding him. His androgynous appearance provokes confusion and lust, and a moment arrives when a man decides to challenge the tribe's rules and make Ay'len his wife. Without protection, the healer is left to be devoured by a beast of a man and his lewd desires. When Ma'ki discovers that his one true love is bound to another, he realizes his entire life has been a lie.
When rules are broken, and gods are scorned, will true love survive?
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