A shudder ran through Diego. That would be tough to take. He didn’t try to beg, though. He could be strong for his master.
“I bet your uncle has a tricked-out punishment room, too, with everything you need.”
“No.” The master sounded very sad. “No punishment room. We’ll do this upstairs in the bedroom. And, no whip. A belt will be sufficient.”
Diego almost sagged with relief. A belt was better than a whip any day.
“Ten, not twenty.”
Diego closed his eyes and silently thanked his master for being a decent man, even if some would say he was being soft.
“Jason, you put your heart and soul into that painting, not to mention all the hours. It may have been your best work ever.”
Oh, how this fucker made Diego furious. He wanted to strike out at the man, almost believing that any punishment, including the possible death sentence that hitting a free person came with, would be worth teaching this man not to screw with the master. Only his determination to remain by his master’s side to hopefully protect him in the future stayed the impulse.
“No.” The master’s tone was firm. “It’s my painting, my slave, and my decision.”
The master took Diego’s arm and hauling him to his feet, liberated him from the other man’s hold. He marched Diego into the house and up to the bedroom. Even knowing what was coming, Diego felt safer in his master’s hands. When the master pushed him more gently that anyone could expect toward one of the bed’s posts, Diego complied instantly to the silent command. He placed his hands on a spot on the carved wood and spread his legs. At least none of the other slaves would have to see this. It would be over quick, ten of anything not taking long, and he’d be quiet. He didn’t want to cause his master any more anguish by crying and sniveling through a punishment.
He blocked out the sounds of the master rummaging around the room. Ignored the hateful gaze of Mr. Kurt that made his skin twitch even though he couldn’t even see the man. Rather, he focused on a point on the wall above the bed and concentrated on breathing steadily. He jerked despite himself when the master placed a cool hand on the small of his back.
“Ready?” The question was asked in a hushed tone, solemn.
Diego nodded and shut his eyes as the first stroke whistled through the air, then landed on his ass.
Jason wasn’t sure who reacted more strongly, he or Diego, as he brought the folded belt down on the boy’s taut ass. God, the sound was so loud in the otherwise quiet room. Kurt, thank God, had finally given up trying to convince him to mete out a worse punishment. No one said anything while the crack of leather against skin reverberated around. Not even Diego let out a peep, no cry, no whimper, no begging. Nothing. Not even an explanation of why he’d stoop to do something so obviously bad. What had gotten into the boy? Had Jason somehow treated him badly making him pose for hours? Had he treated him too well, leaving the slave to believe he could do whatever he wanted without consequences? Jason had to also wonder if this was the first time Diego had acted out against Jason’s art. Remembering the night weeks ago when Diego had knocked water onto the sketch pad, he had to reassess whether that had been truly an accident. Maybe it had even been a subconscious act of rebellion.
Jason didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Kurt was right that he couldn’t allow Diego to get away with such a thing. Pulling his arm back, he let fly the next stroke, and felt the shock wave all the way up his arm. Good Christ, he hated this. Diego’s skin had already turned a bright pink, and that would only get worse with eight more strokes. Shit, Kurt had wanted a whip and twenty lashes? What was wrong with the guy? Jason didn’t care what the boy had done, the idea of marring Diego’s beautiful body with bloody grooves made him sick.
He laid in strokes three and four, picking up speed simply to get it done and over with. He hated this. Hated. This. He put power into the strikes only because he wanted Diego to learn a lesson. Jason didn’t want to have to do this ever again. Having no experience with beating someone, his aim went off a couple of times, hitting Diego below the swell of his pert ass and landing on the upper thighs. That dragged, finally, a muted cry from his slave. Jason felt so badly, he wanted to immediately stop and hug the boy, tell him he was sorry. Hardening his resolve, he finished the beating and stepped back.
He panted as if he had been the one to be punished and swiped at an annoying tear that had leaked out of one eye. “Okay, all done.” His voice shook a little. He really was a crappy master.
Diego stood away from the bed post, looking far steadier than Jason felt. The boy turned in a graceful move and knelt at Jason’s feet. “Thank you, Master, for the correction.”
The slave sounded sincere, contrite, not bitter or mad. In his place, Jason would be furious, but he supposed no slave had the luxury of that reaction.
Putting his hand on the top of the boy’s head, he said, “It’s done now. Get up and go to your room in the slaves’ quarters.”
For the first time since entering the room, he saw a flicker of fear cross the slave’s face. Yet, the boy said nothing, merely stood and slowly walked to the door.
“Diego? No dinner, that’s part of the punishment.” It seemed like the right thing to do, although Jason hated keeping food from the skinny kid.
“Yes, Master.” Diego opened the door.
Jason stopped him again. “Oh, and take some ibuprofen.” No sense in spending the night in terrible pain. The lesson had been learned. “With milk,” he tacked on because the pain-reliever could be harsh on an empty stomach.
Diego nodded and murmured another “yes, Master” before shutting the door quietly behind him.
Kurt tugged on Jason’s arm, startling him. He’d been so focused on the slave that he’d almost forgotten about his boyfriend.
“What are you doing, babe? Why are you sending him away?”
“As opposed to what?”
Kurt’s eyelids drooped. “Fucking him. Don’t tell me you weren’t turned on by beating him.”
Jason looked down and saw the outline of Kurt’s cock pressing against his shorts. “Seriously? That made you hard?” When Kurt shrugged, Jason sputtered. “I just beat that poor boy.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Come on, ten licks of your belt. My old man beat me worse than that when I was a kid and for lesser offenses.”
Jason folded his arms across his chest. “Did he fuck you afterward?”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
“Ditto, babe.” Jason paced away, irritated and mad at himself more than anyone else. “I should have listened to him when he said he didn’t like being painted.”
“Oh, come on, babe.” Kurt made a grab for him, but Jason brushed him off. His lover huffed. “He’s a slave for Christ’s sake. His likes or wants don’t matter.”
Jason whirled around and glared. “I know that’s supposed to be how the world works. I simply can’t think that way. Diego’s a sweet guy, and his feelings should count for something.” Throwing himself on the bed, he yelled in frustration. “Fuck it, I don’t know what to think. All I do know is that I don’t feel good about this, and the last thing I want to do is fuck someone after I’ve hurt them.”
“Fine, then fuck me instead.”
Before Jason could work up a response, Kurt grabbed him and tossed him face down on the bed. Jason landed on a whoosh of air and bounced a few times. Before he could even think of reacting, Kurt wrenched Jason’s pants off. Then kneed his legs open and settled himself between them. Jason knew what was coming and could have fought his lover off. He didn’t. Instead, he relaxed, closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Fingers pried his bare ass cheeks open. A throaty spit sent a warm glob against his hole. It wouldn’t be enough. This would hurt, and Jason welcomed the pain. As Kurt rammed his dick into Jason’s unprepared body, Jason hissed and gritted his teeth. He clawed at the bedding, but he didn’t fight the invasion. It was his penance. He’d hurt Diego, and it didn’t matter if the law and everyone else tho
ught it had been the right thing to do. Guilt still ate at him. The stinging of his ass, the screaming protest of his inner walls as they were forced to accommodate Kurt’s relentless pounding, was what he deserved.
“Faster. Harder,” he demanded.
His lover gave it to him, drilling him into the mattress with long thrusts at a brutal speed. It didn’t matter, either, that Jason’s own dick swelled under the assault, strangely happy to be taken so harshly. He wouldn’t touch it, threatened it inside his mind with castration if it dared to get off. This, too, was part of his punishment. If Diego had been a bad slave for what he’d done, then Jason had been a bad master for not ensuring that his slave behaved.
They’d suffer together, and afterward, hopefully, they’d heal together and forgive. Together.
****
Diego lay prone on his narrow bed in the room he nominally shared with Bing. He sniffled back the tears that still leaked out. It wasn’t the sting of his ass, which was nothing compared to other punishments. What really hurt was that the master had sent Diego away after the beating. He’d been so mad at his slave that he hadn’t wanted to keep him around, giving Diego no chance to make amends. What if the master was considering right now selling Diego? It might be too late to salvage the situation. The master loved his art, as someone so talented should. Believing that Diego had ruined that picture might be unforgivable to the master, so much so that he would rid himself immediately of his awful slave. The thought of belonging to someone else was unbearable. No other master would ever be half so wonderful and kind.
This was all the fault of Mr. Kurt, of course. That conniving and ungrateful fucker had neatly boxed Diego in. No matter what Diego said now about the free man, the master would assume Diego did it out of spite. Unless Diego thought of something, things would only get worse for both him and the master. Such a wonderful man deserved a far better boyfriend, someone as devoted to the master as Diego had become. Someone to love the man and be faithful to him. The master was too trusting, and Diego needed to think of a way to expose the viper in the master’s bed.
Bing entered the room, and Diego ignored him. He liked the guy well-enough, but he didn’t like the looks of pity the other slaves had given him once they’d realized what had happened. So, he kept his gaze on the floor, where it usually belonged.
“Hey, Diego, I brought you a sandwich. It’s just peanut butter and jelly, but it’s something.”
Diego wiped his nose. “Master said no dinner.” He’d also ordered Diego to take some pain meds, and yet Diego had ignored that. He wanted to feel the pain. He deserved it because he’d been too slow and stupid to avoid the trouble he’d gotten into.
Bing put the plate on the table between their beds. “He won’t know.”
Diego shook his head. “Not going to do anything to upset him.”
“You mean make him mad enough to beat you again.”
Diego shrugged. He’d meant what he’d said. Let the slave think what he would.
Eventually, Bing took him at his word and ate the sandwich himself. As he was about to shut off the lights for the night, the door opened on a bang. Both slaves jumped, and Diego’s heart skipped a beat when he saw who entered.
“Get out.” Mr. Kurt threw the order at Bing, who scrambled to comply.
As soon as the boy had left, the free man slammed the door shut again. He shot Diego a cruel smile. “Sit up, slut.”
Diego did as told and hissed when his fiery ass hit the bedding. He’d made the sound deliberately, knowing the free man wanted to hear it. Anything to keep the guy happy until Diego could figure out a way to put a stop to him. He was careful not to show any emotion on his face, though. He needed to make the man believe that he’d totally won, and that Diego was completely cowed.
“Don’t worry, cunt. I’m not here to fuck you. Your master already served that purpose.” He rubbed at his crotch obscenely.
Diego didn’t think he could hate the man more, or be any madder. Yet, knowing that somehow this man had taken advantage of the master in place of Diego sent his fury to a whole new level. He trembled with the effort to hold it inside.
The free man chuckled, undoubtedly thinking it was fear that made Diego shake. “The dope actually felt guilty, I think, about punishing you.”
Really? It had been clear that his master hadn’t enjoyed administering the punishment. Could it truly be that he’d sent Diego away out of guilt and not anger or disgust? Could any free person be that empathetic? Of course, his master could. He’d been nothing but kind to Diego and all of the slaves since his arrival. His affection for the master grew, and his hatred for the man sitting opposite him grew, as well.
“So, this is how it’s going to be from now on, cunt. You’re going to forget anything you think you heard by that pool, and you’re going to do exactly what I tell you and when. If you don’t, I’m going to turn my boy, Jason, completely against you. I can do that, you understand now how easily it will be for me.”
Diego swallowed hard and forced the answer past his lips. “Yes. Master.” He dared to look coyly through his lashes at the man.
That one word, a show of submission, had done the trick. With another low chuckle, the man stood up and ruffled Diego’s head in a sick parody of the master’s usual show of affection. “Good boy. You’ll make the perfect fuck toy.”
With that, he left. Diego sat for long seconds, staring at the floor, reining in his temper. He had to be smart and patient. Eventually, Kurt the Fucker, would make a mistake, or Diego would find a way to force him to. Then, Diego would make his move. He’d protect the master because no one, not even himself, was more important than the man who despite the stinging of Diego’s ass, had started to claim Diego’s not-so-jaded heart.
Chapter Eight
“All done.” The body modifying woman snapped her gloves off and moved away from the chair.
Diego stayed put a moment more, moving his mouth, undoubtedly getting used to the new piercing. He didn’t look particularly comfortable, and Jason mentally rehashed the decision to have a metal bar forced through his slave’s tongue. Diego had insisted that he wanted to go through with it, but Jason wasn’t so sure Diego could be trusted these days to tell the truth. Since the beating, the slave had been even more compliant than usual, which was saying something. The morning after, the boy had seemed pathetically grateful to be called into the dining room to eat breakfast with Jason and Kurt in the usual way. He’d taken his seat with demure movements, and if his ass still hurt from the beating, he didn’t give so much as a hint that it was so.
No resentment over the punishment showed, either. Hardly surprising. Jason assumed part of slave training included hiding emotions, especially negative ones toward a free person. Jason had to assume also, though, that Diego held some bad feelings toward Jason, just as Jason nursed a grudge about the ruined painting. It really bothered Jason that Diego would hurt him in that way, and it confused him. It seemed crazy for the slave to deliberately destroy Jason’s art no matter what emotional provocation he’d felt. Simple self-preservation dictated that a slave would push down personal desires. Yet, Kurt had seen the act, and Diego hadn’t denied doing it. What did Jason really know about the boy anyway? He’d owned the slave for such a short period of time. Maybe Diego had a mean streak or even a crazy one. Slaves were people, and people were hard to know sometimes.
If Diego were free, Jason would have sat him down and discussed the whole thing. Grievances would have been aired, feelings would have been discussed, and hopefully the whole thing would have blown over. Things didn’t work that way with a slave. Even Jason, naïve as he could be about the world sometimes, knew that. Diego hadn’t been raised to “work things out”. You did something wrong, you got punished, and you learned your lesson. That was the way of things with slaves. And, it seemed that it worked. Since the morning after the beating, Diego had stuck like glue to Jason’s side, always ready to do Jason’s bidding, attentive to the nth degree, as devoted as an adopt
ed rescue dog. He’d been extra pleasing in bed, as well, to both Jason and Kurt. When Kurt had once more broached the subject of a tongue piercing to make blowjobs that much better, Diego had essentially begged Jason to do it.
So, here they were, adding a spike of metal to Diego’s tongue so that he could give even more pleasurable BJs. Christ. Jason held his hand out to help his boy up.
“How does it feel?” He scrutinized Diego’s face to make sure he read the truth there.
“It’s fine, Master.” Always articulate and softly spoken, the slave sounded a bit marble-mouthed.
“You sure? It can come out again right now.”
Diego smiled. “I’m sure, Master.”
Kurt slung his arm around Jason. “God, babe, stop worrying. He’s fine. And,” he added with a lick of Jason’s ear. “Think of how that stud is going to feel on your dick tonight.”
Jason shivered at the thought and the feel of the puff of air on his ear. Kurt had been very attentive, too, since the painting incident. He’d even apologized for the hard fucking, although Jason didn’t need that and had said so. It had been no more than Jason had deserved. He couldn’t shake feelings of guilt, over the beating and over the possibility that as Diego’s master, Jason, himself, had failed in some way. Besides, ultimately he’d liked the way Kurt dominated him, even if he could be a little high-handed at times.
“Okay. I know when I’m out voted. Let’s go talk to Stan.” He’d set up a meeting with the lawyer to close on the sale of the company stock and to discuss the rest of the estate.
The three of them trooped out of the tattoo parlor and into the ridiculous sports car Kurt had talked Jason into buying. The sad truth was that the thing was way more powerful than Jason felt comfortable driving. But, Kurt loved it, and Jason was more than happy to let his boyfriend get behind the wheel. Being a two-seater, though, it meant that Diego had to sit on Jason’s lap. Jason really liked that part of the ride. The slave’s pert ass rested on Jason’s dick, making him hard in seconds. Given the blush on the boy’s cheeks, he could feel it. Jason made him snuggle up tightly against Jason’s chest. Jason said it was for safety. In a world in which a slave’s life meant less than nothing, seatbelt laws didn’t apply. Really, he liked the excuse to cuddle.
Heir to a Slave Page 12
