by CJ Roberts
Felipe is serious. “Do I still disgust you, Celia? I’m no different than they are.”
Celia sighs wistfully. She takes two steps down to her master and wraps her arms about his neck. “Please don’t say such things. They hurt me.”
“I will ask the same of you.” Felipe speaks tenderly.
“Yes, master.” She kisses her lover’s strong, firm, and domineering lips—so different from the boy’s. She is a slave to these lips.
They walk the rest of the way to Celia’s room in companionable silence, fingers interlaced.
19. Kid
Fear is a constant emotion in the wake of Kid’s capture. Released from the dungeon and dragged upstairs into a lavish mansion complete with chandeliers and Persian rugs, Kid has no illusions about an end to his torture. Every moment is tense. Every touch, nefarious.
He isn’t allowed to wash himself; Celia scrubs him down and shaves him from nose to balls while Felipe watches menacingly. The older man smirks when Celia demands Kid spread his ass cheeks for her to remove the sparse blond hair around his asshole. Kid doesn’t dare to breathe as he complies. He fights back tears as Felipe compliments his ‘shy, pink hole’ and ‘virgin pussy’.
Kid is tempted to grab Celia and hold her under water until Felipe agrees to let him go, but he knows he’d never get away, and truthfully…Celia is kind of nice—still a perverted cunt—but genuinely concerned with Kid’s well-being. She’s very gentle with him, careful not to nick or cut, always sure to show him what she’s going to do next. She cleans his scrapes, kisses his bruises, and offers reassuring words in a language Kid only ambiguously understands.
Afterward, he is wrapped in a black silk robe that smells faintly of cologne and fed a familiar meal of seasoned steak—precut—rice, and beans. Kid chews slowly, the way Felipe asks, because he doesn’t want stomach cramps. He’s rewarded with more praise and three Vicodin. He even manages a mumbled ‘thank you’ to his gracious captor.
Washed, fed, and medicated, Kid is in no condition to refuse an invitation to lie in a frilly and enormous bed. He can hear Felipe speaking to him—Kid’s body is made for pleasure—he must obey—continue to be a good boy and show off his pretty parts—he belongs to Felipe and Celia—obey—obey—or suffer. Kid allows his mind to descend into his nightmares, more comforted by them than his reality.
***
Celia speaks. Felipe translates: “Put him on his knees and lock his wrists to his ankles.” There’s applause.
Kid digs his heels into the floor. He’s blindfolded, gagged, and surrounded by strangers. He panics, struggles against the men forcing him to submit, incensed by the laughter of his sadistic audience. A low warning is whispered into his ear, “The master said to remind you what can happen if you’re not a good boy.”
Hesitant knees find their mark and Kid allows himself to be bound. Whatever’s going to play out in the next few minutes, Kid would rather believe it can’t be as horrible as the alternative. Please, God, don’t let them pass me around like a party favor. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.
Delicate fingers tuck his hair behind his ears. The faint scent of apples enters the intimate space between their two bodies. “Shh, pobrecito. I’m good to you.” Kid barely has time to digest the situation before Celia fists his overgrown hair and snaps his head back.
“Fuck!” Kid lets out a muffled bark. He wasn’t expecting pain, not from Celia. His shock makes him realize how naïve he truly is and he chides himself. No one here is his friend.
“Does it hurt, slave?” she mocks. Soft laughter ripples through the room.
Kid is silent. Behind his back, his fists clench and his arms strain against his restraints. Celia pulls harder, wrenching his head back in such a way to completely expose his throat. “Yes…Celia,” he manages around the gag. All at once, he wants to die, he wants to murder everyone in the room, and he wants to weep in Celia’s arms. The only thing Kid can hear is his own heartbeat and frightened breathing. He can’t see Celia, but he can feel her in the empty space between his vulnerable body and her comforting softness. He’s desperate to close the gap and escape their avid spectators.
“Very good, slave.” Felipe’s voice is scarcely above a whisper when he translates Celia’s words. She releases Kid’s hair and he audibly sighs in relief. She strokes his gold strands for a few seconds before she unbuckles Kid’s gag. Her audience sighs approvingly as they listen to Kid pull in ragged, humid breaths. Celia wipes away the drool on his lips.
Kid feels unhurried, seductive fingers caress his face, neck, and shoulders. Her touch is quickly becoming familiar. He appreciates the way she coaxes him toward genuine desire; he feels less violated when he wants it at least a little. His pride stings, but he prefers this method of torture to the others. Celia’s scent blooms over a wave of aroused heat Kid swears he can feel against his naked chest. He inhales swiftly before he can prevent himself. An image of her tight, raspberry-colored nipples perched on small breasts invades his pitch black sight. If he leans closer, he can take one in his mouth. She pulls away. He narrowly avoids falling on his face leaning after.
Kid is distressed without Celia to keep him engaged. He listens intently to every sound. There are whispers and stifled giggles. He startles when the room erupts in laughter. “Damn it, Felipe,” says a man in a thick Texas drawl. “You are a lucky bastard. Go on, honey—you teach that boy a lesson.”
Kid licks sweat off his upper lip. He whispers his plea just as he feels her presence. “Celia…” Help me. Her hand briefly cups his cheek and he is immediately distressed by the combination of her gentle touch and harsh tone.
He hears Felipe translate: “Put your face on the ground and lift your ass in the air.” Kid doesn’t move to obey. He’s paralyzed. The crowd hisses in disapproval.
“No?” inquires Celia.
“Please,” Kid says. He hardly recognizes the sound of his suddenly prepubescent voice. If he ever thought he was a badass, it was a fantasy. If he is anything, it’s cursed. “I’ve had enough. No more.”
“Enough? I’ve barely started,” simpers Celia. “And of course…” Kid waits with bated breath. “You forgot to say: Please, Celia.” Kid feels a blow across his chest before Felipe can finish translating. It stings like fire! He groans and bites hard into his lip as he attempts to rub his chest against his knees by doubling over.
Kid is struck across the back before he can pull himself back up. His only warning before the next blow is the keen swish that signals Celia’s arm coming down. He lowers himself. He braces. His groan is loud and open-mouthed. “Will you obey me?” she asks insistently.
“Yes, Celia,” Kid spits through gritted teeth. The crowd applauds.
“Prove it,” Celia purrs. “Lift your ass.”
Kid would swear he has ice in his lungs. It was one thing to fall apart in the basement, another to offer up his body to Celia and her twisted boyfriend, who would gut him if he said no…but this? One of his buttocks is prodded pointedly and he teeters on his knees before finally achieving the position Celia demands. Kid lacks the will or presence of mind to disobey. Since his parents’ death, he’s been follower, a relaxed, agreeable person. He has relied upon his malleable nature to gain friendship, love, and companionship. He relies upon it now to gain his next breath.
Celia drags long leather strands across the bare expanse of Kid’s flesh. Naked and tightly bound, he has no choice but to accept what is about to happen to him. His breathing hastens, sounds ragged, and each breath moves his entire body. The tips of the flogger kiss his balls. He hisses, writhing against the carpet. “Do you like that, slave?”
“No, Celia.”
Another tap. “That’s not polite. Shall I hit you harder? Like a man?” Hushed squeals of delight and muted chuckles erupt around them.
“No! No, Celia. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Kid pleads. He sobs into the carpet after a series of fierce blows strike him across his ass. He counts them, unexpectedly convinced they are his penance.
One: I’m sorry I didn’t try to save you, Uncle Tiny.
Two: I was scared and
Three: I don’t want to die.
Four: Please help me.
Five: I’m sorry.
“How was that, slave? Hard enough?
“Yes, Celia,” he mumbles brokenly. He wipes his face on the carpet, slowly and repeatedly. The gesture is less to remove tears, spit, and snot from his face, and more to appease some baser need. A distressed sound bubbles out of him when gentle fingers drift along his reddened skin.
“You’re doing so well, slave. Just a little more and I’ll reward you,” Celia croons.
“Th—thank you, Celia.” Kid can hardly breathe, let alone speak, but he struggles to get the words out anyway. His humiliation is momentarily usurped by his keen need to keep Celia happy, if for no other reason than his distaste for pain. Though, the strange desire to return to Celia’s room and her bed also exists. He wants to be held again. He keeps the thought close once his penance resumes.
Six: This is my life now.
Seven: It’s just as well.
Eight: I wasn’t ever gonna—
Nine: do much of anything.
Ten: Dad knew it.
Eleven: Tiny knew it.
Twelve: Maybe Mama knew it too.
DON’T EVER THINK LIKE THAT!
Thirteen?
Fourteen?
Abruptly, Celia stops.
Kid is jostled into a different position. As blood rushes away from his head, he feels his consciousness fade in and out until he has to be held in place by heavy hands. Celia’s breath tickles his ear before she speaks. “Open for me.” Leather brushes the inside of one thigh and then the other, and Kid parts his knees as wide as he can with his wrists and ankles shackled behind him. He doesn’t have the opportunity to think on his obedience before he is distracted by the serpentine quality of Celia’s voice as she whispers hungrily into the shell of his ear.
“Can you feel him watching us? So jealous of your youth…and yet willing to let me taste you.” Celia trails the flogger leisurely across Kid’s bare cock and balls in long, slippery strokes. Little by little, Kid’s cock begins to fill, growing hard despite the resurgence of his shame. Despite an audience. Despite his fear. He doesn’t understand Celia’s words so much as his body responds to their evident intent.
Possessive fingers take up residence between Kid’s thighs. The first sensation he can process is a ripple of relaxation as his mind signals his body to focus on a caress along the freshly-shaved skin of his sac; he had been anticipating an attack. His hips loosen and the muscled globes of his ass return to their resting position. His balls descend from their hiding place; his shoulders drop as well. He draws in hiccupped breaths and shivers as he exhales. “Ohhh,” he groans, in agony, in acute ecstasy. The second sensation is uninhibited pleasure. His body throbs and he rolls his hips to be that much closer to Celia as she envelops him. “Yeah,” he sighs into the skin above her breasts. “Right here…stay right here…please, Celia,” he whimpers, trying to move even closer. His body innately sways, part exhaustion, part comfort mechanism; he hums; he murmurs. “I’m so sorry…”
“Good boy,” Celia says lowly. The words are meant only for Kid and they affect him all the more for it. He groans deep and low—a debauched and wanton plea. At last, he registers his yearning.
Desire rips through him voraciously. Celia smells decadent, like syrupy fruit and musky arousal. His tongue darts out experimentally and savors a hint of salt that only whets his appetite. Visions of his lips latched onto one of her little nipples as he fingers her pussy lash him with want! He rattles his restraints. “Please,” he growls. His cosseted body thrusts in time to a litany of accented, lyrical praise: Beautiful boy…so good…all for me. There is something depraved happening; his cock is engorged in equal proportion to his childlike elation at Celia’s words. Kid marvels at the way his pain simmers as his pleasure mounts. Sensations, both painful and forcefully pleasurable, radiate outward through his body. Celia’s gentle hands and tenderly spoken whispers are his entire world, a world where his mind is both separate from his body and completely attuned to its needs. He wants to stay forever. Forward and back, his hips work to keep his rigid flesh in Celia’s hands.
“Greedy slave,” Celia whispers into his ear. She brushes her nipples against Kid’s chest. “Would you like to suck me?”
Kid nods. Yes! Anythinganythinganything. “Yes, Celia.” Celia removes her hands from his cock to tease his mouth with a pebbled nipple and a cruelly spoken order to suck. Kid opens his mouth. He moans, loud and unabashed. His cock jerks in midair. His pain forgotten, he latches on and suckles Celia in long, ravenous pulls that have her gasping and pulling his mouth closer.
“Yes!” Celia cries, “Suck harder.”
Kid obliges, drunk on sensations he can’t name. He only pulls his mouth away to breathe or switch breasts. There is a loud pop as Celia pulls away. “No…wait.” Kid stumbles and is caught and steadied on his knees by Felipe’s surreptitious henchmen.
Celia returns before he descends into panic and places a hand on Kid’s head to hold him steady. “Now, suck this.”
Something not Celia nudges Kid’s lips and taps his teeth. He rears back like a spooked horse, shaking his head in the universal sign for ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ and ‘Stop it’. Celia doesn’t bother to take his body language into account. She raises the flogger and strikes him across the chest with so much force there is a collective wince in the room.
“Suck it!” Celia repeats. Kid opens his mouth on a frustrated sob. There are entire years he has forgotten and there are days he knows he’ll never forget; half of them have occurred in the last few days. The second he acknowledges he is on his knees in front of a room full of people, sucking a huge rubber cock, sporting a diamond-hard erection, and making little noises that sound somewhere between ‘Please fuck my mouth harder’ and ‘Please, God, no more’—Kid’s cock throbs and leaks a generous surge of slick.
“Yes,” she chuckles, “you are good boy.” Her small hand cups the back of his bowed head, and with the other, she hooks her thumb into his mouth beneath her cock. She strokes his tongue and pulls him closer.
Kid can’t help but imagine what everyone else can see—a weeping boy with genderless features sucking a cock attached to a girl half his size. There is laughter every time he gags and Kid sobs around the cock in his mouth, but he is almost sure he’s weeping for the wrong reasons. He’s enjoying this—taking pleasure in his own suffering. How did it happen? Why is he fucking loving it, and hating it, and needing it?
By the time Celia gives the order to set him loose so he can fuck her, Kid doesn’t give two goddamns about doing it on the carpet in front of a room full of strangers. Blindly, he reaches for her and tosses her to the ground with brutish force. He revels in her abandoned cries, in the way she spreads her legs and opens her arms to invite him close. She makes no attempts at all to stop or guide him. She gives him everything. Everything! And she’s right—Kid is greedy. His hips tilt back, gauging. He thrusts forward into Celia’s pussy. They both whimper as he pistons in and out of her slippery heat. He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts until his balls feel heavy and tight.
“Ah…ah…fuck…oh…mmm…gonna come…yeah, oh yeah…God!” He comes hard and long with his face buried in Celia’s neck and his body holding her immobile in his desperation to fill her with his seed. Celia offers him words of encouragement that set his soul on fire. “Yeah,” he pants wetly. “Immagoodboy…mmmgood…I’m…feel high.”
Celia kisses his damp head and shields him as adequately possible.
20. Felipe
“You did very well tonight, boy.” Felipe’s thick fingers brush along Kid’s lips. The boy snatches his head away and Felipe chuckles. “You don’t like that, do you? I imagine such a pretty mouth has many admirers?”
“Fuck you,” Kid replies hastily. The boy is blindfolded and shackled spread-eagle
against the cold tile of Felipe’s black playroom shower; his pale skin is stark in contrast.
Felipe wants this boy in every way imaginable. He finds himself charmed by his childlike petulance; he reminds him of Celia—without the cunning. “Language,” Felipe tuts silkily, “such filth shouldn’t come out of such a pretty mouth.” Again, his fingers cannot resist skimming over the tremulous pout of Kid’s sinful mouth. The boy sniffles and turns his face away. “Still don’t like it, I see,” Felipe rumbles. “Celia is correct; you reek of corruptible innocence. It is…tempting.” He leans closer to Kid’s shackled body, presses his nose into the soft flesh at the center of Kid’s ribcage, and inhales slowly. “Or perhaps I only smell my Celia on you. If I go lower, I suspect I’ll smell her womanly juices on your little boy cock.” He revels in the mingled scent of feminine arousal and the boy’s own acrid semen scent. His mouth is watering.
Kid’s muscles tremble beneath Felipe. The boy whimpers and presses himself against the wall at his back as though it might give way. He has to recognize the futility of his attempts at modesty, but Felipe appreciates his new lover’s beguiling efforts. A predator prefers his prey to run. Felipe’s tongue darts out to gather a taste of skin. He groans low and fierce. Ambrosia.
“F-F-Felipe?” His beautiful boy pleads, “Please…stop. I don’t want this.”
Felipe’s tone is pure amusement. “You don’t want this?” He stands with his hands on the younger man’s hips. Kid is an inch or two taller; he can likely feel Felipe’s breath just under his chin. “You agreed to belong to me.”
“To Celia,” Kid whispers. Felipe’s fingers dig into his hips.
“And to whom does she belong?” There is a thinly veiled threat in the words. He presses bruises into the tender skin over the bones of Kid’s youthful pelvis. It doesn’t take Felipe long to hear the answer he is looking for and he relents. “That’s right, you ungrateful boy, she belongs to me, and so do you—if—I desire it.” And oh! He does. “Or, if you prefer, I can always return you to Caleb; his girl isn’t much use at the moment.”
