CatNap

by Shelley Munro

  Rohan ignored his sister. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “Tomorrow is opening day,” Kiran said. “Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Ooh, good change of subject. Yeah. I can’t wait to meet the locals.” Ambar set her glass down and tipped back her head to enjoy the last of the day’s sun. “Are we sure we should close at six every day?”

  “I still think it’s a good idea,” Rohan said. “The move to Middlemarch is a lifestyle change more than anything. Neither of us wants to work the hours our parents did.”

  “You just want to have a life,” Ambar teased, winking at Kiran. “I can see I’m going to have to make friends fast. I can’t help having good hearing, you know. You guys will have to remember that.”

  “You’re not going to guilt us out of this relationship, Ambar.”

  Kiran glanced from brother to sister again and thanked the stars they’d found him, that they’d cared enough to save him when he’d fallen into human clutches. The people he knew weren’t like that— He broke the thought off when he realized he’d seized a memory but it slipped away like a dust mote. Sighing, he tuned back into the conversation. He’d think about that snippet later when he was alone.

  Ambar’s smooth brow puckered with her frown. “I’m not trying to do that. Rohan, really. I’m teasing. I’m glad you’ve found someone you like and felt you could tell me the truth. I don’t mind that you’re gay. It explains so many things.”

  Rohan turned to Kiran. “Remind me to give Ambar my headphones so she can listen to music instead of us.”

  Ambar winked at Kiran. “You’d better download some noisy music for me. Something that thunders rather than rocks.”

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” a feminine voice called.

  “That sounds like Emily Mitchell,” Ambar whispered. “I met her earlier at the café. She’s lovely. Out here!” she called, standing to greet their first visitor.

  Emily Mitchell appeared around the corner of their house. “Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said. “I wanted to know if you’d like to come for dinner tomorrow night. I thought we’d have a barbeque, something fairly informal. Some of the family will be there and a few of our friends.”

  “We’d love to,” Ambar said, speaking for them all. “Emily, this is my brother Rohan and our friend Kiran.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Emily said with a smile. The last of the sun picked up the golden highlights in her hair.

  Kiran found himself smiling back, liking the brown-haired woman instinctively. Somehow, he didn’t think it was a normal reaction for him, but something about Emily’s open smile and the warmth in her brown eyes told him she meant it. She really was pleased to meet them.

  “Should we bring anything?” Rohan asked. “And would you like to have a glass of wine with us?”

  “Thanks, maybe another time. I’m on my way home and Saber worries if I’m late.” She paused to grin, her face lit up with love. “I’m fine in the food department. Why don’t you bring a bottle of wine or whatever you’d like to drink?” A cell phone rang and she pulled a rueful face. “Excuse me. I bet that’s Saber. He’s such a worrywart lately.”

  Kiran let his eyes close and savored the peace, the scents again. He heard movement and seconds later someone squeezed his hand. He opened his eyes and smiled at Rohan, committing the feelings, the moment to his memory. He might not remember his past, but he could make new memories.

  “Saber,” Emily said. “I’m fine. No, I’m with Rohan and Ambar Patel. I just stopped by to invite them to dinner tomorrow.” She paused to laugh and Kiran heard a masculine voice but not the words. “Really. I’m fine. Just running a little late. I’m on my way home now.” She hung up and with a grin at the phone, replaced it in her pocket. “I’d better go. I know tomorrow is your opening day, but come as soon as you close.” After giving them directions, she hurried away.

  “I like her,” Ambar said. “I met her sisters-in-law today at the café as well. They both seem nice.”

  They lingered over their drinks before having a quick meal and heading back to the store to do some last-minute shelf stacking and preparation for the following morning.

  Two hours later they returned to their new home. Kiran said good night to Ambar before turning to Rohan. He wished they could share a room, although he was enjoying the slow getting to know each other, the languid make-out sessions that made him so hot he wanted to pounce on Rohan. He knew the touches, the kisses made Rohan just as hot and desperate as he felt. Several times during the day he’d sensed someone watching him and glanced up to meet Rohan’s heated stare. It was a courtship, he thought, testing the word for size. Yeah, an old-fashioned courtship, and despite his impatience, he was enjoying every moment of it.

  “Good night,” he said.

  Rohan moved closer. “It’s getting harder and harder not to grab you and drag you into my bed.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “You still don’t know where you come from, who you are.”

  “I could have done something terrible.” Kiran shuddered and stepped right into Rohan’s arms, hiding his face against the other man’s shoulder. He didn’t want to know. The past scared him. Every time he drifted to sleep, he had nightmares. They were becoming worse, more graphic, and he’d discovered he dreamed in color. Bright red swathes of blood decorated most of his dreams. He’d wake trembling, his body covered with clammy sweat, his heart racing. So far he’d kept the nightmares concealed from Rohan and Ambar but, with their graphic nature, he worried it was only a matter of time before he woke screaming. The idea of going to sleep worried him because he had no control. The dreams weren’t even the same. They varied from night to night.

  “Earth to Kiran.”

  “Huh?” He lifted his head and pushed back to arm’s length.

  Rohan laughed, his eyes sparkling with happiness. Kiran loved that look, would remember it to his dying day. He hoped he never did anything to drive the joy from Rohan’s face.

  “I said you looked tired.”

  “New place,” Kiran said, shoving aside the anxiety even though the other man’s concern made him warm inside. “Kiss me goodnight.”

  “With pleasure.” Rohan drew him closer and their lips met.

  As always, the kiss claimed Kiran’s attention and drove away the blackness hovering out of reach. Their lips met, parted and met again. Rohan’s familiar taste burst over him. His cock filled, but he ignored the bittersweet pain and concentrated on the kiss instead, the intimate twirl of tongues and the blooming pleasure. He sank into the kiss and wrung every emotion he could from the contact with Rohan. When they finally parted, they were both breathing hard.

  For a long moment they stared at each other.

  “Good night,” Rohan said.

  “Yeah.” Kiran dragged a hand through his hair and forced a smile. “See you in the morning.”

  Kiran entered his small bedroom and prepared for bed. After brushing his teeth, he stripped off his clothes and crawled between the sheets naked, praying for a night of dreamless sleep.

  It didn’t happen.

  Like a vicious storm, the dreams rained down on him. Kiran drifted above the scene, feeling like a ghost because, weirdly, he was also in the scene, chained to the foot of the large four-poster.

  Naked, he wore a thick black leather collar around his neck, affixed to a chain. Every time he moved, the chain rattled. The heat from his back, hot stripes from the whip, radiated outward from his shoulder, a badge of his master’s favor. The bloody things ached and itched like crazy, but not enough to take his mind off chaos created by the drugs in his system. His shaft strained upward, painfully hard. His muscles tensed at the vicious throb while his balls were one relentless ache. The need to stroke his cock, to relieve the discomfort pulsed through him. He knew better. His master would beat him if he walked into the room and found him with a flaccid cock. A bead of pre-cum formed on the tip. He shifted position, trying to ignore the sensual pain in
his body. But like a nagging tooth, his erection throbbed and taunted him.

  One quick stroke.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  He shifted his weight again to find a comfortable spot. For a few seconds his mind battled between the pain in his muscles and the ache in his groin.

  His dick won.

  With a quick glance at the door, he stroked his cock, groaning softly at the acute pleasure. Impatient with human frailties, his master had laced his water or food with tablets again to make sure his cock remained full. Ready. Kiran couldn’t resist another furtive stroke. The chains holding him captive rattled and he froze.

  The door sprang open and his master strode into the chamber. Two young men and a woman followed him, their heads lowered in respect, their naked bodies gleaming with fragrant oils.

  Kiran almost felt sorry for them. Almost. They were the latest of the disposable servants the master collected from all parts of the world for his decadent games. If they failed to please him, they disappeared. Kiran didn’t ask where they went—he didn’t allow himself to care. It was better that way.

  All he knew was at the master’s palatial house only the fittest survived.

  “I saw you pleasuring yourself, slave.” The master referred to them all as “slave”. “Don’t deny it because I saw you on the cameras.”

  Kiran swallowed, knowing in the master’s eyes he’d earned a punishment. It didn’t matter that the drugs in his system were causing him pain, that he was so desperate he thought he might fuck anything to gain some relief. He hung his head, knowing better than to meet the master’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “You might be sorry, but the problem remains. You disobeyed an order.” The master’s uncompromising tone brought a slash of fear. His stomach twisted into a painful knot while he waited to hear what his punishment would be. “Stand!”

  Kiran pushed to his feet, biting his bottom lip to stem the cry of pain bubbling deep in his throat. Pins and needles attacked his lower limbs and he stumbled, the chains binding him rattling with a musical sound.

  “Help him.” The words were like a lash, the three silent slaves springing to action. They helped him stand and returned to their position behind the master. “Choose one,” the master said, his tone bored and disinterested.

  Kiran knew better because he’d seen the flash of excitement in the master’s dark eyes. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the three and picked the nearest male. He didn’t choose him for a particular reason. Kiran chose because the master had ordered it so.

  “Step forward.” Another lash-like order.

  The slave stepped to the indicated position with alacrity, his head remaining dipped in quiet respect.

  The master drew a gun from beneath his embroidered tunic and shot the slave. The man fell to the ground, instantly dead. Blood poured from his chest and pooled beneath him. It happened so quickly Kiran scarcely had time to blink.

  A squeak of terror escaped the woman. Kiran wanted to warn her not to make a sound or draw attention to herself but couldn’t. The master didn’t tolerate speech. As degrading as this position was, he didn’t want to die. He dreamed of the day he could escape, make his own choices. He dreamed of freedom and running through a forest, swimming in a lake, the wind on his face.

  The thought of freedom…it was the only thing that kept him alive.

  That and the fact the master had taken a liking to him. Kiran had no idea why. It was true his looks were pleasing and attracted attention, but he came from a poor family. His education was patchy until he’d arrived at the master’s house. He’d attended classes with the other children and continued to read and watch television to extend his knowledge. Sometimes the master talked instead of playing games. He liked his slaves to have an opinion at these times. At other times they were to remain silent and fuck…

  The master retrieved a key from under his tunic and unlocked the padlock holding his collar in place. Kiran had wondered how to gain possession of the key. So far he hadn’t thought of a way to take it without the master’s knowledge.

  “Turn so I can see your body from behind. Good. Turn back to the front.” He tapped the head of Kiran’s cock with a forefinger. It hurt in a good way. Another bead of pre-cum welled from his slit. “Very good, slave. Get some lube.” He ignored the body lying on the floor, stepping over it casually. “Call the guards to remove the body.”

  The praise was rare and confused him. Kiran opened a sandalwood drawer, the fragrant scent of the wood starting his stomach churning. The master liked to wear the scent and Kiran loathed it because it meant the man had prepared for sex. He didn’t think he’d ever manage to smell sandalwood without wanting to vomit. Taking one of the bottles of lube from the drawer, he set it by the bed. Cool air from a partially open window brushed over his skin. A shiver racked his body at the delicate caress, awareness pulsing at his groin until he felt as if he’d burst. He couldn’t last much longer.

  “On your hands and knees.” The master gestured to the bed with its billowing white silk curtains and luxurious covers in vibrant red and white. A large bed made by skilled local tradesmen to sleep six, it bore a carved headboard depicting the gods and goddesses in sexual positions from the Kama Sutra.

  Kiran walked to the bed, the sway of his cock making his heart pound with contrasting pain and pleasure.

  “You. Prepare him. I want him clean and ready to receive me.” He paused and Kiran caught him spearing a speculative glance at the woman. “Slave. You.” He indicated the woman. “I will fuck you too. Get on the bed.”

  The master strolled over to a small table and took a seat, pouring himself some tea into a delicate china cup. He stared out at the garden, ignoring his slaves and the guards who removed the body and swiftly mopped the puddle of blood.

  The woman’s limbs trembled noticeably, her tear-filled eyes widening in fear. Kiran wanted to tell her to hurry, that the master was capable of shooting them all. He tried to tell her with his eyes, tried to reassure and coax her to speed with one telling look. Luckily, she seemed to understand and slipped on the bed beside him. Using careful stealth, Kiran eased his hand over the covers until his finger touched her hand. The contact seemed to calm her. Her breasts heaved when she inhaled.

  “Lie on your back,” the master ordered the woman. “Slave, I want my cock to slide into her cunt. When I pull out, I want to see her juices coating my cock. Make her ready for me first while I take tea. Then I will fuck him. Place a plug in him to keep him stretched. He is always a good fuck.”

  The slave prepared the woman, a combination of strokes and delicate licks of her labia and clit preparing her for sex. The woman remained so tense Kiran feared for her, her juices failing to flow. When the male slave shot him a helpless look, he jerked his head toward the lube. The male took his meaning and retrieved the bottle. Soon, the female prepared, he moved behind Kiran.

  Kiran huffed an ironic sigh. Arousal wasn’t a problem for him, even if his head wasn’t with the program. For him the problem would be holding back.

  The male slave’s fingers fluttered over his hole, tentative and teasing. Kiran let out a harsh exhalation, gritting his teeth and fighting the need to move into the stroke. “Shove the plug in me,” Kiran muttered with a cautious gaze at the master.

  The slave chose a plug from the drawer and pushed it into him. With the plug fully seated, the burning sting in his channel grabbed his focus instead of the gnawing ache in his balls. He hung his head, attempting to breathe through the pain and waited, trying to reach the place inside his head where nothing mattered. The empty place where he hid from the truth of what his life had become.

  He was a rich man’s slave, a prisoner whose life depended on his sexual skills. He was a whore.

  The master slurped the last of his tea and set his china cup on its matching saucer with a clink. He stood, his muscular body moving with grace as he disrobed. He handed the jacket and trousers of his designer suit to the male slave who hung them to preve
nt creasing. The rest of his clothes went into the laundry hamper, his gleaming black shoes placed at the foot of the bed.

  He strode to the bed and walked around from one side to the other, studying them like animals in a zoo. “Very good,” he pronounced. “Spread your legs. Both of you. Ah yes. I have changed my mind. You, woman, may go. Keep your body ready. I may desire you later. Take her to the slave quarters. Let the guards help her.”

  Kiran swallowed and strove to keep his face passive. Once the guards got their hands on a slave, they were one step away from death. It was a game to the master.

  The two slaves left, leaving Kiran alone with the master.

  “Ah, how I have needed you. It has been torture staying away when all I wanted was to bathe my cock in your heat.” He grasped the plug and pulled it out. Kiran’s entire body shuddered when the twist of the plug grazed his gland. His muscles tensed and he scarcely breathed with the effort it took to hold back.

  The master slid beneath him and took his cock into his mouth. It was both relief and torture. The smooth lap of the master’s tongue made him groan. He bit his bottom lip, attempting to stem further noise.

  “You may react,” the master said, his voice gentle. Caring even.

  Kiran stilled in confusion until the master sucked on the sensitive head of his cock. A pained and urgent groan escaped him this time and he didn’t bother trying to cover his reaction. The tendons of his neck strained, his hips thrusting forward and driving his cock deeper into the master’s mouth. The master didn’t rebuke him, merely sucked harder.

  Encouragement?

  The master confused him. He seemed to take genuine pleasure from the sexual act, giving as well as receiving gratification.

  Then Kiran ceased to think about the complexities of the master. He could no longer hold back. Orgasm crashed over him in painful waves, the contractions going on for long minutes. Finally the spasms ceased, but the relief was fleeting, his shaft still hard and erect because of the drugs.