The Slave Harem: A Kingdom of Slaves Book

by Wendy Rathbone

  As they finished, Ren saw Zanti look up at him. Before Ren could look away, Zanti met his eyes. His gaze was still, not jumpy as was usual for him, and his aura began to turn from the gray it had been most of the night to a pale blue.

  A pang hit Ren deep inside, deeper than he’d ever felt. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or tear his hair out or yell or run. He only felt the wash of it, like deep loneliness from a distant place further than even the stars.

  Suddenly, he tasted sparks and fire, but also sweet longing.

  Pushing back his chair, Ren got up. “I’m tired,” he said.

  Zanti got up, pushing his chair back, too. Their eyes met.

  Cam grabbed his tablet and stood as well. “So is everything good between you two? I can report that for the night?”

  Ren said, “Fine. It’s fine. No more fighting from me. I can say that much.”

  Zanti ducked his head and moved away.

  Ren followed him across the large space, past the TV area, the couches, down toward more lounging areas by the pool, past the waterfall and into the bathroom. Zanti was there. They did not look at each other.

  Ren took his time. He brushed his teeth. He saw Zanti step into a shower and heard the water come on. There was nothing to wash off, but maybe it soothed. Ren found showers comforting sometimes.

  He looked into the mirror and saw the scratches, three red lines evenly spaced down the upper part of his chest. He touched them but they didn’t hurt. He rubbed lotion on them to soften their indentations and soothe the raised skin.

  As he stared into the mirror he saw a young man with bright eyes and a pretty face. Stunning, even, but not nearly as extreme in his beauty as Zanti, nor as delicate. He could never see his own aura. He had no idea what it might contain. Would his colors be brilliant or muted? Or maybe gray to black like Zanti? He came from grief, but he wasn’t that broken.

  On impulse, he raised his hands and began to undo his braids. There were dozens. Slowly they unraveled, leaving his brown hair rippled. Shining. Almost as wild as Zanti’s. Why did he keep comparing himself to that man?

  Ren left the silver rings that had decorated his braids in a pile in his private drawer beneath the bathroom counter. One was big enough to fit half-way down to the second knuckle of his fourth finger. He put it on, stared at it, then left it there.

  The shower turned off. Zanti stepped out as steam rose around him.

  Ren’s heart skipped again. Like a magnificent myth, Zanti was. Something from another world. His eyes stung to see him.

  Zanti looked his way, canted a hip and crossed his arms over his chest. If giving pleasure hurt that man, then Ren would refuse. But if Master ordered him? The conflict of that sent a rush of pain through his stomach. He would protest, then. Even if it meant being taken to Niko’s house and punished.

  For longer than felt comfortable, their eyes locked and half a dozen feelings assaulted Ren. How many times had he told himself the annoying man deserved nothing from him, that Ren did not care? But each and every time he’d had that thought, he’d been lying to himself. For he did care. Zanti had hurt Ren, but Ren was beginning to understand why, and he was coming to learn the dynamics of Zanti were a lot more complicated than words like “brat” and “spoiled” and “feral fiend.”

  Master had put them together tonight for a reason. And this was only the beginning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Second Night

  Late in the afternoon, Master’s voice rang out.

  “Zanti. Ren.”

  Ren’s heart stopped for a beat. Started up again. He realized he was waiting for an attack that never came.

  He did not look to see where Zanti was in the atrium. He already knew. Ren had been half-heartedly keeping an eye on him all day.

  Right now Cam and Zanti were glued to their tablets, sharing a loveseat by the pool.

  Ren moved past them and into the bathroom where he showered quickly. Now all the curl from the braids would be gone from his hair. But he would dry it until it shone. In the shower he cleaned himself inside and out. He used sandalwood soap. He wanted to look perfect. It was all for Master. Not for himself. And surely not for Zanti.

  But apprehension coiled within. He did not want to be with Zanti if it hurt the man. Would he be forced?

  When he came out of the shower, Zanti and Cam were entering another stall together. Li Po met Ren. “I’ll help with your hair. Do you want make up?”

  Ren let Li Po do whatever he wanted. In the end, he had some painted shadow about his eyes and his brown hair fell like liquid about his shoulders and chest. Li Po had trimmed and smoothed his eyebrows as well.

  “You’re a star,” Li Po said.

  “I don’t want to go,” Ren whispered.

  “I know.” Li Po did not say more. Earlier in the day he’d asked Ren about the night before. Ren had not been able to tell him anything. It was all too complicated. Li Po had stopped pushing. He was a good friend.

  There’d been no more fooling around for Ren all day. Master had not ordered it and Ren was not in the mood. But he had loved playing with Li Po and Calder and Jaxon and hoped to repeat it soon.

  Ren was first at the door and had been waiting some minutes with Li Po at his side when Zanti and Cam walked up. As soon they showed up, within seconds the door opened. Two of the grooms from the previous day stood there dressed in their usual white shorts and shirts. One motioned with his hand as the other said, “Zanti and Ren only.”

  Cam and Li Po stepped back.

  Both Zanti and Ren stood still.

  “Well?” the groom said.

  Zanti made a sort of hissing sound, shrugged one shoulder and sauntered forward, hips swaying.

  Ren followed, his heart rate speeding. He should not be nervous, he told himself. He’d been Palace trained. But it took every ounce of discipline and energy he had to follow Zanti into the anteroom that led to the staircase.

  Up the stairs they went. Again, no masks. They did not stop until they walked all the way down the long hall and were at the door to the white room.

  All four entered the room, one guard in front of Zanti, one behind Ren.

  There was a small hum as the speakers came on.

  “Zanti. Ren. Welcome.” Master’s voice filled the room with its rich, mechanized tones. “You both look stunning tonight. Thank you for coming.”

  Ren replied, “My pleasure, Master.”

  Zanti, of course, said nothing.

  “Ren, I would like you to lie down on the bed and allow yourself to be cuffed to it.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Ren’s heart now wanted to slam out of his chest. He focused on breathing. Slow. In. Out. And let the lavender spread encase his back and ass, and allowed the pillows to support his shoulders and head. He put his arms straight out to his sides to make it easy for the groom to put the cuffs on his wrists and ankles.

  The groom was gentle. The cuffs were soft. Ren might have liked this set up if it had been with Li Po or Calder.

  Zanti stood in the center of the room, face averted, his gaze toward the curtained window. In profile he stood straight and tall, of exquisite pedigree if one were only looking at physical form and composition. Like all slaves were looked at and assessed. At the Slave Palace, Ren surpassed many, but if Zanti had been there he would have surpassed all. At least in appearance, stance and the man most likely to be labeled fairy prince.

  Like Li Po in his shades of tan-brown glamour, Zanti was Ren’s type. Despite everything that had happened between them, including Zanti’s attack of him, he could not prevent the slow roll of longing that swept through him. He was too nervous to see Zanti’s aura yet, but he’d seen it enough. The black. The white. The strange new bluish tint that had happened last night when he’d uncuffed him. Under normal circumstances, blue meant love. But Zanti was not normal.

  At any other time, in any circumstance, Ren could have given Master a great performance, something Master might request again and again. But
with Zanti? Even if his gut trembled with strange desires, his lungs felt frozen. He knew Zanti didn’t want him.

  “Zanti.” Master’s voice came into the room in liquid tones. “You are in charge. Do as you wish. But first, I would like to command that you be someone other than Zanti. A man who is a master, perhaps. A man who keeps a harem of beautiful young men. A man whose favorite is Ren.”

  This suggested command could change things. Ren lifted his head to see how Zanti responded.

  For a moment, Zanti did not move. That blue aura came over him, so rare to see. Then, without warning Zanti threw his arms up straight over his head, fingers curled into fists. If this were a ball game or music festival, one might think he was reacting to a home run or a hit song. Instead, he seemed to hit at nothing. His body bent forward at the waist and he stomped the floor. He then stomped toward the farthest corner of the room and sat with his knees bent to his chest, his back against the juncture of the two walls. He wrapped his arms about his legs and rested his cheek on his knees. His hair fell against his shins.

  Huddled like that, the answer communicated itself clearly. No.

  “Would you prefer that I give Ren another name?” Master asked.

  Of course Zanti did not respond.

  Master continued, as though used to this sort of behavior from Zanti. “It is your decision. All your doing. I am hungry to be pleased but the final move is yours.”

  What a strange way to state it, Ren thought. I am hungry to be pleased.

  But it was that way when lust, eroticism and sex were involved. Like a heavy hunger coming up from an uncharted depth. If Master was hungry, their job was to feed him. Simple as that. Except for Zanti. With Zanti it was not simple. Now Zanti got to make the final call. Like Master himself.

  As Ren heard the speakers go off, and the faint static abate, he leaned back on the pillows. Another long night approached. Maybe he could get in another nap.

  For awhile, he stared at the closed door the grooms had exited through. He listened to the silence. He ran his heels along the lavender spread, thick and soft against the bottoms of his feet.

  To the room, he said, “You should be happy. You get what you want. You have a choice. Just like I did last night. But I thought you might like Master’s suggestion.” It was actually a brilliant plan.

  Zanti did not move, not even to look up. The presence of him in the corner, even huddled, was palpable. The guy filled the room just by being. It had been like that when Ren had first come to the harem. Cam had greeted him, but Zanti who shadowed Cam and stood behind him had been the very first thing to hook Ren’s attention. He had brushed it off then as due to the strange behavior of the man. But it had been more. Zanti fed emptiness with his beauty, his very being. It was probably why he was taken in the first place. If he’d had that sort of magnetism as a teen, something that could not be helped, and he crossed any predator’s line of vision, or played fast and dangerous in the rougher sections of wherever he came from, he’d not last.

  In a way, Zanti’s life was probably an imprecise mirror to the story Master had told the first night when Ren wore the mask and Zanti had hate-fucked him. For a boy who abhorred touch, he was perfectly capable of responding, of using his wiles in weird plots for revenge even if it was just a story, a fantasy of Master’s playing out upstairs.

  The situation left Ren, though helpless, contemplative. He wasn’t afraid. If Zanti tried to hurt him the grooms would come in. Ren had no doubt. But the rough Zanti—that one was the character Master would allow to come out and play, if that was what Zanti wanted. That character was the Zanti who might be a Master himself in some far-off fantasy in a parallel existence.

  Ren turned his head to look at that pervasive dark presence.

  Zanti sat in the corner like a forlorn child, aura black. He looked up as if he sensed Ren’s gaze. One corner of his mouth curved up. A half-smile. But it was not friendly.

  Zanti sat forward, stretching his legs straight out in front of him. He arched his back, stretching his alluring body, then bent his knees and pushed himself against the wall, sliding up it slowly until he stood. His aura wavered black to blue.

  Ren watched him walk a zigzag path to the side of the bed. His cock was not interested in anything Ren presented, but it was pert and cute as it hung in the shadow of his groin. A deep ache pushed through Ren’s chest, a weird tremble though he was not at all apprehensive. He’d already determined he would deal with anything Zanti might do.

  Zanti walked all the way around the bed, then back, eyes shifting, taking in all of Ren toe to head. When he came back to where he’d started he reached out fast, his fingers on Ren’s wrist cuff. He jerked it once. Seemingly unsatisfied, he used both hands to tighten it.

  With Zanti leaning over him, Ren breathed in the scent of amber, the burning sweet of it. The dark boy within, and the darker man without, both Zanti through and through, pushed their blackened gaze and ashen aura into Ren. Zanti was two men in one, Ren decided. Young. Old. Caged. Uncaged. Victim. Predator. The mix was nearly impenetrable.

  Zanti trailed his fingers along the bedspread, following the line of Ren’s body but not touching it, his fingernails making a dim scratching sound against the material. He adjusted both cuffs on Ren’s ankles, then the cuff on his other wrist.

  Ren might have been thrilled. Might have smiled. But not for this tiger stalking him.

  Zanti bent down and vanished for a moment. When he came up, he had a drawer filled with sex toys in his hands. It had to have come from under the bed. He put the box on the bed beside Ren. Within, Ren could see everything from dildos to sounds. Ren expected him to choose from the contents the most sadistic of toys. A whip, maybe. A cock ring with spikes. A dildo big as a fist.

  Zanti choose a thin, short-ish dildo and a vial of clear lube. He opened the cap on the lube and poured it over the toy. Setting the lube aside, he poked the thing between Ren’s legs with no preamble and pushed it inside him. Fast.

  Was this to mock him for the night he’d taken him so fast? It was clear Zanti did not care if it burned. If it hurt.

  Ren bent his knees and lifted up so the dildo slid easily, without pain, where Zanti wanted it.

  Now Zanti stared at Ren’s groin. There was no action there. Nothing down below was interested. Ren could have controlled that better, made himself hard with a thought. Instead, he decided to wait and see what more Zanti might do.

  Zanti brought forth from the box a tiny red belt. In a most clinical fashion, he nudged Ren’s cock aside and fastened the little belt about Ren’s balls, tightening it so they pressed up, firm, round and reddish pink where the skin stretched.

  This caused Ren’s cock to stir, though he pretended he did not notice and kept his face emotionless as he watched Zanti make of him what he wanted, handle him, mold him.

  Do as you wish, Ren thought. I am beginning to think it’s why Master bought me.

  Strangely, the voice in his head trying to reason it all out, the notion of it all, clarified a few things. Master wanted to see this. Master wanted him to comply. That level of obedience woke within him an ardor that intensified when he reminded himself Master watched them. Watched it all.

  This revelation made it a lot easier. It was why Ren had wanted to be a pleasure slave in the first place. For the moment of pure obedience. For the moment when he did not have to make decisions. Did not have to lead.

  Master, if he was smart, comprehended all of this. And Master was intelligent, obviously, or such designs like his elaborate compound or the stories he made his slaves perform would not be so artfully accomplished.

  Ren still did not trust Zanti, but many things combined to bring him to a point where arousal became easy. Obedience to Master. The soft bonds and the soft bed. The idea that Master had a larger plan in mind than just this scene. The tragic-tormentor who was beautiful beyond reason. And the fact that Ren had not had an orgasm in two days. His libido usually demanded much more.

  More than anything,
obeying another was what Ren craved. Even if he was at the mercy of Zanti.

  Zanti took a cat o’nine tails in hand. It was black with a silver tipped handle. The main short leather straps undulated as he moved. The tails were not tipped, thankfully.

  Ren liked the idea of being helpless. His cock began to fill. He did not want to be hurt, though. The conflict ruled his mind only for a few seconds until he reminded himself Master was watching all. Master was really in charge and he was obeying what Master wanted.

  Zanti gazed at Ren’s hardening cock and one eyebrow rose. That raised eyebrow—knowing Zanti was looking at him intimately—caused another ache deep inside. For something. What? Acknowledgment. Impossible connection through pity, perhaps, or hate, or maybe something more. Beauty corrupted. Touch wanted/unwanted.

  If he gave himself over completely to Zanti, what would Zanti make of that? After that first night of the play, Ren fought down his own anger and resentment. He’d worn the mask, and he’d suffered. But Cam said everyone who wore the mask and cock cage had a hard time. At first Ren avoided Zanti, rejected him, defied him. He had felt justified. He’d been well taken care of afterward by grooms and one doctor. Master’s orders. He’d received comfort and affection from Li Po, Calder and Jaxon. And empathy even from Cam as Cam tried to explain Zanti’s odd nature and terror-filled history, to explain Zanti’s erratic character.

  Giving myself to Zanti. That’s what Master wants? Ren mulled that thought over.

  “All right,” Ren said aloud. “Do as you wish.” He deliberately repeated Master’s words and it was easier to accept when he did that. The ache inside him folded itself outward, like a snake uncoiling to a line. Then it was many snakes.

  Ren’s cock bobbed up from his thigh as beautiful Zanti stood there with his weapon of choice, the cat o’nine tails, and the weapon not of his choosing: his beauty.