Master of the Game

by Jane Kindred

  Gaspard dug his hand into Vasily’s thigh beneath the table. “Please, for the love of Heaven, no.” Vasily worked him expertly, and the merchant grabbed his brandy snifter and held it to his lips, moaning into it helplessly as Vasily’s efforts paid off, but a loud cheer from the wingcasting tables drowned him out.

  As Gaspard sank back against the cushioned bench with a sigh of relief, Kezef’s voice carried from across the den. “You keep playing like this, Belphagor, and I’ll have your boy before the night is out.”

  The older boys had taken the others out for the evening to practice their “thieving” skills in the Demon Market. Apparently, this was something Belphagor had been teaching them. The flat was empty for the next few hours except for Phaleg and Silk.

  Silk wasted no time. “I’ve been working on some knotting techniques,” he said casually when the boys had gone, taking a length of rope from a secretary drawer. “Take off your clothes so I can truss you.”

  Phaleg’s heart pounded as he disrobed, exposing his erection to the demon. Silk wore a long dressing gown in Vilonese fabric to match his name, large red peonies blooming across a cream drape. Next to his casual, almost regal elegance, Phaleg felt doubly exposed. It was impossible to be elegant or regal or even decorous while standing in the middle of a sitting parlor completely in the buff, sporting a massive erection. Perhaps “massive” was a bit self-aggrandizing, Phaleg thought to himself with a slight smile.

  Silk frowned and paused in fussing with his ropes. “Something funny, angelwhore?”

  Phaleg’s cock twitched visibly. “No, sir. Nothing funny.”

  Silk continued to frown for a moment before turning him about and wrapping the rope around and between his wrists in a figure eight. “Spread your legs.”

  Phaleg quickly obeyed, and then gasped as Silk passed both ends of the length of rope through his thighs, each end held taut in the crevices between his thighs and his scrotum by the resistance of his bound wrists at his back.

  “Uncomfortable?” asked Silk.

  “A bit,” Phaleg admitted.

  Silk shrugged and crossed the rope behind his scrotum, bringing the ends to the front and crossing them again, then making another pair of crisscrossed bindings around the base of his cock. Silk held the rope at waist level and tugged lightly on it, and Phaleg made a noise between a yelp and a groan. The sensation was intense, and he couldn’t decide whether it was pleasurable or horrible. Silk continued his methodical weaving as if Phaleg’s responses were merely an interesting scientific observation. He made a slipknot in the front, below Phaleg’s navel, then another more serviceable knot at his waist, and brought the two ends around to his back, pulled them tight with a jerk that made Phaleg’s knees buckle, and back around to the front.

  Building a series of elaborate knots as a kind of anchor on either side, he crossed them again and drew them up over Phaleg’s sternum. This time he made a thick knot that looked like a rose from Phaleg’s vantage point looking down, running the ends of the rope under his arms and up the back over his shoulders, then through the knot and under his arms again. The final lengths of rope Silk brought from behind and passed through the loose sections at his sternum, looping them through each strand and pulling the whole thing tight once more as he brought them behind Phaleg’s back, wrapped it through the bonds at his wrists and yanked up, tying Phaleg’s arms in place with elbows out.

  Phaleg was breathing shallowly, rather frightened at this point, and highly aroused. The fibers of the rope were chafing his balls and his cock, which seemed to make him harder. Silk stepped back to admire his work, letting his robe fall open to reveal his own erect cock in its anchor of dark curls. Phaleg inhaled sharply, and instantly regretted it, as everything seemed to tighten at once.

  The corner of Silk’s mouth turned up, and he stroked himself idly. “Kneel, angelwhore.”

  Phaleg obeyed, groaning as the motion tugged at the bonds around his genitals.

  “If that’s too tight,” said Silk, “you’re to tell me. You remember the word we agreed on?”

  Phaleg nodded.

  “Say it, so I know you remember.”

  “Arkhangel’sk,” Phaleg managed.

  “But you’re not saying it because the rope is too tight.”

  “No, sir.”

  Silk pondered him for a moment. “I like your servility, angelwhore, but it’s awfully militaristic. I’ve decided you will call me ‘milord’.”

  “Yes, milord.” The words came out so swiftly, Phaleg was shocked at himself. Calling a demon “sir” was bad enough, but implying a demon was worthy of the address of nobility was utter perversion. Phaleg looked down at his cock, bound in knots and standing at attention. He was so far beyond utter perversion it was almost laughable that mere words could unnerve him. The realization made him gasp as more blood surged into his constricted cock, and he looked up into Silk’s beautiful gray eyes. “Yes, milord,” he said again, almost breathless. “Do what you want to me, milord.”

  Silk bit his lip and blinked rapidly, slipping out of character for a moment as if the words had touched him. He stepped in and put his hand on Phaleg’s head, holding his cock in the other. “Swallow me, angelwhore.”

  Phaleg eagerly complied, and discovering his bindings made it difficult to bob his head with his usual enthusiasm, he surrendered himself to Silk’s mercy and held still while the demon fucked his mouth, twisting his soft fingers in Phaleg’s hair for leverage.

  Far too soon, Silk pulled out, and Phaleg grasped for him with his mouth, like an infant deprived of a teat.

  “I don’t want to come yet,” Silk explained. “I want to do more to you. We have until at least midnight before the boys return.” He picked up Phaleg’s clothes from the floor and headed for his bedroom, leaving Phaleg on his knees in the center of the parlor. “And you won’t be needing these until tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. Phaleg shivered with delight, savoring the ache and tug of rough rope against his flesh. All night, Silk had promised. He really meant it.

  Silk returned after a moment with a chain on a short lead, stretched the loop of chain to drop it over Phaleg’s head, and then pulled it tight around his neck. Without giving him direction, Silk walked toward the bedroom still holding the lead, and Phaleg scrambled to his feet and followed the demon before the collar choked him, mesmerized by the way the dressing gown caressed the pert ass.

  “Kneel,” Silk ordered again when they’d reached the room. Phaleg dropped to his knees. “Open your mouth.” Phaleg complied, a bit startled when Silk placed the end of the lead between his teeth. “You will hold the leash while you’re at rest.” Phaleg bit down on it. He’d seen angels training their dogs similarly. He supposed he ought to feel humiliated and ashamed. But he’d begun to imagine Silk fucking him at last, bent over the end of the bed, and he didn’t care what debasement preceded it. He would be used by a demon. Silk owned him. He was an angel who had voluntarily given himself over to a demon to be defiled in every possible way, and he’d never been so happy in his entire life.

  Silk reclined against a pile of cushions on the bed, letting his dressing gown fall open at his sides. The décor of the room was like Silk himself, all smooth lines and soft, draped fabrics, and slightly exotic. The demon looked like a painting by one of the angelic masters. Phaleg longed to touch his skin.

  Silk played with himself, making Phaleg’s mouth water. “You may have noticed the more aroused you are, the tighter the knots become around your balls. The knots are designed, in fact, to keep you erect.” He patted the bed, smoothing his hand in a circle over the velvety purple coverlet. “On the bed, angelwhore. Kneel here beside me so I can play with you.”

  Phaleg struggled to his feet and came around the side of the bed, climbing onto it carefully. Being without the use of his arms was more challenging than he’d expected. He knelt where Silk had directed, the lead still in his mouth, his ass resting on his heels.

  “What would your men think if they saw you now?
” Silk stroked his finger up the length of Phaleg’s cock. Phaleg could only moan helplessly around the leather strap. “Do you think they’d all want to have you in turns once they knew what you were?”

  Phaleg gasped sharply, the intake of breath pulling every knot so tight it made him shudder.

  Silk’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, you do think of it, don’t you? Trussed up and passed about, unable to fight it, unable to speak because they’ve put a gag in your mouth, taking it out only to fill it with cock. No safe word for you, then, eh, angelwhore? You think about that when you pleasure yourself, don’t you?” Silk watched his reaction, and Phaleg tried to still his trembling and his pounding heart. Silk had found him out. The demon rolled over onto his stomach, propped on his elbows. “Spread your legs.”

  Phaleg moved his thighs apart, tightening the rope about his scrotum. He was almost in an altered state now, as if he’d taken some drug. His body hardly felt like his own, and his cock was so engorged he thought he might come without being touched. But he desperately wanted to be touched.

  He closed his eyes, breathing the way Belphagor had taught him as a means of enduring pain or endless teasing. His eyes flew open when he felt Silk’s mouth on his balls. Silk smiled up at him, sucking them in one at a time, circling them with his tongue. Phaleg groaned and swayed, sucking on the strap in his mouth.

  “I’d love to take you out on that lead,” murmured Silk against his sensitive skin. “Make you follow me with it in your mouth like that so everyone knows I don’t even need to hold the leash to control you.”

  He moved his mouth to Phaleg’s cock, sliding his lips down the length of it as he took him in. Phaleg moaned around the strap, fully at Silk’s mercy while he went down on him for several agonizing, wonderful minutes. Silk pulled away when Phaleg was close to coming, and Phaleg groaned in frustration.

  “Aw, poor dirty angelwhore.” Silk rose on his knees and pressed his groin into Phaleg’s, letting their hardness rub together. He moved his hands over Phaleg’s skin, stroking his shoulders and arms, caressing his abs between the knots, running his hands around his hips and down to his ass. “You can’t come yet. You’re my toy. I want to play with you.” He climbed off the bed and went to his wardrobe. “Bend over with your forehead on the bed and your ass in the air. Let’s see what I have in here.”

  Phaleg got into position, his pulse quickening as he wondered what Silk might do to him.

  “We can make a bit of noise after all,” said Silk, coming back to the bed. “Since the boys aren’t home.” Without warning, he struck both Phaleg’s cheeks in one blow with something thin and stinging. The cane. Silk struck him again, and Phaleg cried out around the strap, his cock throbbing in its bonds. “Spit that out. I’d like you to count the strokes.” He tapped the cane against the inflamed stripes he’d just made while Phaleg dropped the leash. “When I strike you, you will count the stroke, followed by ‘Thank you, milord. I deserve this, milord’.” The cane moved away from his skin, and Phaleg braced for the blow as he heard it hiss through the air.

  “One!” he cried. “Thank you, milord. I deserve this, milord.”

  Silk smoothed his palm across Phaleg’s throbbing ass. “That’s actually three, angelwhore. I thought they taught you how to count in your fancy schools.” The cane struck again.

  “Four!” Phaleg gasped. “Thank you, milord! I deserve this, milord!”

  “That’s better.” Silk continued, while Phaleg soldiered on with his counting. By the time they’d reached ten, Phaleg was groaning out his thanks between hitched breaths.

  “Your ass looks absolutely marvelous, angelwhore.” Silk stood back to admire it. “You’re going to bruise so beautifully.” He touched Phaleg’s hands, stroking his fingers. “No numbness, I hope?”

  “No, milord,” Phaleg panted.

  Silk climbed onto the bed behind him, and Phaleg’s heart beat faster at the thought of how Silk’s cock would feel inside him while the stripes of the cane throbbed on his ass. He pictured his men watching while Silk pumped in and out of him, and shivered with the thrill and horror of the idea.

  But Silk rolled him over and wrapped his arms around him, rocking them onto their sides. He bucked lightly into him, making the rope twist and tug. “I could torture you for hours and then fuck your mouth until I come and make you get back down on the floor with your leash in your mouth without allowing you satisfaction. Make you stay there all night while I sleep, and use you again in the morning.” Phaleg groaned softly. Part of him wished Silk would do it. “Couldn’t I, angelwhore?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “And you’d love it, wouldn’t you, you filthy little pervert?”

  “Yes, milord,” Phaleg moaned.

  Silk squeezed Phaleg tight against him, bringing their mouths together, and kissed him as he had the last time they’d been together. Phaleg was slightly alarmed at how good this felt—how soft and sweet Silk’s lips were, how his tongue tasted of Phaleg’s own cock, and how Phaleg didn’t want to let go of it. It was one thing to derive pleasure from his debasement, but this—it filled him with need and desire and longing that an angel shouldn’t have for a demon. Couldn’t have. It made his heart ache.

  Silk let go of his mouth and whispered at his ear, “What do you want, angelwhore?”

  “Milord?”

  “Tell me what you want, my dirty angelwhore. I want to give you pleasure.”

  Phaleg closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Silk’s shoulder. “Please, milord,” he murmured, almost ashamed of what he wanted now that he had to say it aloud. It was different when he was being used without being asked. Admitting his desire made him feel more naked than he did in disrobing, more vulnerable than being immobilized in a garment of rope. “Please…I want you to fuck me.” His body prickled with anticipation. Now Silk would take him the way he longed to be taken.

  But Silk had gone still. And quiet. Too quiet. Phaleg was afraid to open his eyes. Had he gone too far after all? Did Silk not want him that way?

  Silk withdrew his arms and rolled onto his back, and Phaleg groaned inwardly. Dammit. That wasn’t what Silk had meant. He’d been expecting Phaleg to ask to be beaten or forced to suck him off.

  When Silk spoke at last, it threw him completely. “Did Belphagor tell you to ask for that?”

  Phaleg opened his eyes, baffled. “Belphagor?” Silk’s gray eyes were regarding him with cool mistrust. “Why would Belphagor tell me anything?”

  “Do you think I don’t know you’re using me for your own pleasure?” Silk jumped up from the bed and paced away from him. “You come to dip your prick in the filthy waters of Raqia and get your rocks off like all the rest of the angel rabble. It’s not a fucking amusement park.”

  Phaleg struggled to sit up, baffled at this sudden change of mood. He’d obviously asked for the wrong thing, but Silk’s response made no sense. “Silk…what did I do?”

  “Don’t you mean ‘milord, what did I do’?” Silk uttered the words in a mocking nasal that made Phaleg’s face burn with ugly heat.

  “Stop it. Untie me.”

  “What’s the matter, whore? You only like it when the humiliation suits your fetish? So long as the demons are really the dirty whores?”

  Phaleg jerked at the ropes, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he began to panic. And then he remembered. “Arkhangel’sk.”

  Silk’s face went pale, and he froze for a moment. The ugly look had gone out of his eyes, and he looked as frightened and ashamed as Phaleg felt. The demon wrapped his dressing robe around himself and tied the sash as he came to Phaleg’s side, and without a word, he began to work the knots loose. It took far longer to undo his handiwork than it had to create it. Or maybe it only seemed longer with the sick lump churning in Phaleg’s stomach.

  The rope work around his cock and balls had to come last since Silk had done it up first, which had the unfortunate effect of keeping him hard, just as Silk had said, even though he was no longer mentally aroused.

/>   Silk freed him at last and handed him his clothes. “It’s probably best you don’t come back,” he said quietly. The words were devastating, despite the fact that Phaleg had made up his mind he was done with Silk once and for all. There was something in Silk’s demeanor that didn’t fit his sudden burst of unerotic cruelty.

  Phaleg pulled on his pants, grateful he hadn’t worn his dress leathers, which would have taken time to work himself into. “Are you going to tell me what I did?” He needed to know, even if they were through. This was too unsettling.

  “You didn’t do anything, Phaleg.” His name sounded strange on Silk’s tongue. The demon only ever called him “angelwhore”. “I just… I obviously can’t do this.”

  An unexpected surge of anger took hold of him. “‘This’ what? Caning me? Or fucking me?”

  Silk’s eyes flashed a warning, and he drew in a hissing breath through his teeth.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m good enough to be your pathetic clown, but not good enough to fuck.” He’d never spoken like this to anyone before. It was alarming, and freeing.

  Silk looked shaken. “Shut up.”

  “I’ll shut up as soon as you admit it—that in your twisted conception of Host and Fallen, you think you’re superior to me because you weren’t born to privilege. That because I was, I deserve nothing of what I have. You think of me what you think of all angels—that I’m pampered and simple and weak. The idea of actual physical intimacy with me fills you with scorn and revulsion.”

  “Phaleg—” Silk had taken a step back from him, arms stiff and hands clenched at his sides. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Go back to your safe, sterile world.”

  Without thinking, Phaleg advanced, as if Silk were an opponent in a fencing match. “Not until you tell me why you won’t fuck me. Just tell me to my face you think you’re too good for me.”

  “Too good?” Silk had backed into the bureau, and he gripped the edges of it behind him. “What the hell are you talking about? What is good about that?” He was shouting suddenly, only he didn’t seem angry as much as he seemed afraid, as though Phaleg had cornered him.