The Slave Harem: A Kingdom of Slaves Book

by Wendy Rathbone

  Maybe Master would be a part of this? Instruct them through the evening? Not leave? That would be better for Ren, less stressful. He wanted a master, not to be a master.

  “I want you to look at him, really look, now. Do not only go through the motions. Open and focus. Put all your attention on Zanti.”

  Zanti did not scowl or pout or give any indication he protested this command.

  At ease for the moment, Ren stood over the bed, his gaze traveling the entire length of Zanti’s body. It was compact, gorgeous, the natural tan of his skin making him gleam. He was paler on some parts of his body: the inner thigh, the underside of his wrists and elbows, the curve of skin just below the underarm. His cock lay uninterested between his legs, dusky pink, his balls a little darker beneath the thinnest dusting of shadow on the soft, wrinkled skin.

  Zanti would make any man’s mouth water. Swallowing reflexively, Ren noted Zanti’s aura was not yet blue, but still gray with black edges.

  He had to keep reminding himself what Master had said about Zanti being able to leave at any time. That Zanti was here meant he consented.

  “What do you see, Ren?” Master asked.

  Ren knew what Master asked. Did he see Zanti’s aura? Did he see the colors of pleasure making intricate maps across his flawless, firm skin?

  He took a deep breath. “His aura is gray outlined in black with occasional dots of white stars within it, maybe two or three at a time. Like flashes.”

  “Thank you for that.” Master’s breath hissed throughout the room. “Can you see more detailed lights on his body, anything at all? As you would on the others before you touch them?”

  Ren surveyed Zanti, tilting his head, letting his gaze intrude upon the man from all angles. The skin was slow to show him its secrets. Zanti’s secrets. He looked in places one would not ordinarily look. Beneath the eyes. Along the jaw. The line between his slightly curved pecs. At the edges of his hips and knees. On the tips of his fingers and toes.

  He thought he saw flutters of pale light, like little glowings in these places. And at the base of his cock. Not really on the cock itself, but in the fold of the top of the thigh and below the pelvis, where the cock formed from his body into a lovely shaft. The penis rested between the tops of the inner thighs, but the dip on either side of the base undulated with the palest of pink-gold light.

  It was nothing like the bright lights of other men that tended to stripe their bodies and their erogenous zones. Not yet.

  Ren concentrated.

  “Tell me what you see,” Master again commanded.

  Ren pointed to the eyes, the chest, the fingertips, toes and knees. “Here and here,” he said. He did not touch Zanti. “The palest of flickers. Maybe.”

  Zanti frowned a little, watching him with all the suspicion of a feral animal. A coolness lay in the back of his eyes. Blue emanated from the pupils themselves.

  “Pick an area and begin. Touch him,” Master ordered.

  Ren knew the order was coming. He’d already decided to start with the least intimate zone he could detect. He reached out and ran his nails very lightly over the side of Zanti’s left knee.

  Zanti jerked his knee up and the chain holding his ankle went taut. His eyebrows narrowed. His lips opened a fraction.

  Ren touched him there again, watching the pale amber light flicker across the bend in his leg.

  Master was quiet now, allowing Ren to find his own way. He didn’t like it, wanting commands to guide him, still uncomfortable with Zanti’s weird refusals of him even though he knew Zanti was here by choice, even though Zanti had broken his barriers last night and actually spoken to him. It was still as if Zanti was somehow trapped in a cage like a pet, a cage he had sauntered into it willingly.

  Ren could not help but hold himself rigid instead of flowing; he was hesitant. But a Palace slave did not hesitate. The punishment for holding back or refusing an order resulted in isolation, the worst thing you could do to a sex-addicted, willing pleasure slave.

  Ren saw Zanti begin to relax as he took his hand away. Under Zanti’s eyes, a flicker.

  No hesitation, he told himself. It’s a job.

  He moved alongside to the head of the bed and cupped Zanti’s face, not looking for his reaction, simply doing. Ren’s thumbs caressed the hollows beneath his lower lashes.

  Zanti’s face began to glow even as he squirmed. Around his lips a lavender light formed. Zanti could deny it all he wanted, but the truth was in the lights. Zanti wanted to be kissed.

  Do not hesitate!

  Ren leaned down and placed his mouth to Zanti’s, inhaling Zanti’s hot, rapid breaths. Their collars jangled together, meeting like two bells chiming the hour. This hour. One among many, yet oddly different for this moment Ren’s own heart began to beat like the wings of a trapped moth. In his chest, the sensation opened him up, the usual feeling of arousal, but also something more. A deep thrill washed over him beyond amazement. There was a sense of wonder like that of a treasure hunter finally sighting his goal.

  The kiss overtook him.

  When before, he had wanted to retreat, now he pressed forward, lips moving, opening, demanding. It was a sudden shock of desire from one second to the next. Zanti’s mouth fell open and he tilted his head back. Ren’s hands still held him, cupping jaw and cheeks, the skin and bone of him molding to his palms, silken, smooth, giving off the slight scent of vanilla and an edge of dust.

  The kiss became an entity unto itself with its own growing energy and fused form. It had its own atmosphere, and invaded their mouths and throats. Ren’s body became lighter, like ghost-flesh, on a journey into Zanti’s gray cloud which wasn’t truly gray after all, but silver suffused with powder-soft iridescence. Zanti looked filled with rainbow dust. What could have been a conflict in his aura, Ren now saw was purity itself.

  Ren gasped and Zanti hissed as they pulled apart for breath after the kiss’s eternal-seeming lifespan.

  Ren was harder than he ever remembered being, already on the cusp of orgasm. He stepped back and looked down at Zanti’s body to see the glow all over it now; he instantly forgot the man’s past cruelty toward him. He knew every step, now, everything he must—needed—to do. Unthinking, he climbed on top of the supine man to lie on him with his full weight, an embrace of the whole body.

  Zanti’s arms yanked at their chains. The bed shuddered with the strength of it. Ren reached up to undo one of the wrist bands thinking that was what Zanti wanted.

  Zanti yanked his hand away, head turning. It was clear this was a communication. No! Almost like the other night when he’d hissed Come!

  All right, then. Zanti wanted to be held down. He liked the struggle. Many did. So many at the Palace, Ren had learned. Masters, as well.

  Zanti had also liked it when Ren was bound. Come! That word the only one shared between them, reluctant, forced, then not-forced pleasure.

  Ren began to slide up and down Zanti’s body, his cock pushing into silken skin, Zanti’s cock answering with a wet drag across his belly. It was something urgent, desperate as loss. But also need, desire.

  Heat pulsed from all sides. Had Master raised the room’s temperature?

  Zanti’s body arched up, undulating, causing more friction on Ren’s cock which slid along hot, smooth skin, the tip wet, everything melted, it seemed, licking flame.

  The sensual beauty of Zanti, and the silver of him, his essence, rushed over Ren. Everything he’d learned in his short life in the harem, all he’d learned of Zanti brought a wave over him, an abyss-deep ache for past losses, the memory of childhood’s profound and giddy happiness. It rolled over him—longing, loss, desire—pushing him up and up to the crest of ecstasy. He lost control and came, still holding Zanti’s head, their lips pressed tight, everything turning to lavender rainbows in his head.

  Zanti’s release flooded upward and Ren felt it mix with his own, spreading from belly to chest. Zanti made a sound, a groan of agony and a sigh of pleasure, one and the same, as he kept arching his b
ody his arms tugging at the chains, making a ringing sound to join the jingle of their collars.

  Ren lay on top of him not moving, not caring if Zanti might be uncomfortable, not caring if they stuck together forever in this semblance of what—sex? Was that what it had been?

  Ren might have dozed. He didn’t remember, but suddenly he jerked to awareness remembering where he was and who was beneath him.

  Moaning, he rolled to the side. This was Zanti. Zanti! After all Zanti had done to spurn Ren.

  Ren slid off the bed and stood.

  Zanti watched him warily as Ren undid the wrist and ankle straps.

  Then Ren turned away. What had happened? They had had sex, but not. They had become entangled in pleasure, in something not-sex but like a weird, dark dream of pleasure.

  There was a wind in Ren’s chest. He felt like he’d been hit by a train as he walked into the bathroom.

  He took a damp cloth to his chest and wiped away all evidence, then froze in mid-stroke. He had the errant thought he wanted to keep that essence on him all night if he could. Save it. Bring it deeper into his skin. He did not know why a surge of tears accompanied the idea. Or why his mind began to swirl.

  With deep breaths, he composed himself. It wasn’t hard. Forcing himself to remember Zanti’s hard, cool eyes and childish smirks brought him to his senses.

  When he came out of the bathroom, Zanti was gone and Ren was alone. No groom waited for him.

  Out of the walls came the elegantly accented, slightly mechanical voice as Master began to speak without preamble. Without allowing Ren any questions.

  “I will tell you now so that you no longer need to speculate. I bought you for Zanti.”

  Ren took a deep breath. Master had not bought Ren for himself and that hurt.

  “Don’t take it personally, Ren. Of course you are lovely. I am already enjoying seeing you as a part of the harem. You are welcome and I find you engaging, attractive, and well-trained. You talent fascinates me. But I found you while looking for someone I thought might be a good match for Zanti.”

  “I find it hard to believe you’re a matchmaker.”

  “Yes, I understand that. It’s unusual, but Zanti is unusual.”

  Ren did not state the obvious and say the entire set up was unusual.

  Master’s voice reverberated with a laugh. “My plan is working, though. Do you not think so?”

  Swinging his hands in front of him, Ren looked down, then up. “You forced us together because I make him feel pleasure.”

  “Yes. But there is more. Compatibility. Chemistry. Maybe it’s new for you to put words to, but I see it. I made a good choice in you, Ren. You have not disappointed me. I knew it might be hard for you, but in your profile I saw your strength. Your will. It’s still early. You’ve lived here only a little over a week. And yet you are perfect. I knew you would be the right fit here. For Zanti and for the harem.”

  Perfect. Praise from a master to a slave was something Ren craved.

  “Do you feel you fit in? Are you coming to see what you can accomplish?”

  “Yes, Master.” It was true. He did see. He did feel it. The beginnings of belonging. And for Zanti, something stronger than pity now. Something that fluttered its wings in his heart. That brought a sting to his eyes.

  “Master,” said Ren, pushing away his shock at such sudden revelation and praise. “I still wish to see you.”

  “No. Never. That is our deal. But you may see me through Zanti. Do you understand?”

  Tears welled in Ren’s eyes, blurring his vision. “No. I don’t.”

  “You must learn to understand, then. There are some things you can have and some you cannot.”

  “Yes, Master.” He wanted to ask why. He kept silent. He’d already overstepped the line between master and slave by making a request Cam told him would never be granted. He was shaking now.

  “Go back to the harem. Spend the night. Rest, sleep, swim, eat. Tomorrow night you will return here. You will learn more. And I will take pleasure in watching.”

  Behind him, a door clicked open. He turned to see his groom beckon him into the hall.

  Reluctant, Ren followed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Night of Gifts

  Ren came out of the shower. He could no longer smell Zanti on his body, no longer feel the coolness of his drying release, or the fever of his lust. But he could still taste him, not the campfire taste but the breath of forests after rain, a freshness in the salt of Ren’s own uncalled-for tears.

  As he passed by the sleeping alcoves, he saw Zanti in his own bed, not sharing with Cam. He lay in shadow, a sheet over his hips, one leg off the bed, arms up and hugging a pillow to his chest.

  Zanti had chosen to stay here. In a harem of all places. Did it give him a sense of comfort? Of family? These were the things Ren himself had craved. It was a dream he could, at the very least, understand. Something he and Zanti might have in common.

  Ren hoped to feel that sort of comfort some day. He longed for that inclusive feeling, of being wanted, being loved. He was already wanted by many of the men, so there was success on that level. It would take time, of course, for the full sense of family to develop.

  But for Zanti who avoided them all, it was that much harder. Zanti might never get his wish to feel included if he couldn’t relate to the men on a somewhat sane level.

  Ren slept restlessly that night, his dreams filled with images of Zanti’s smirking, unconscious beauty.

  *

  The next evening, when Ren and Zanti entered the white room, Master’s low tones made the pronouncement. “Do as you wish, but you will not leave until you have both come twice.”

  What a command! Especially for a man who, as everyone in the harem knew, couldn’t come. Or didn’t. Not until Ren’s arrival. But Ren could do this. His heart began to beat faster.

  Zanti shrugged, one cheek plumping in a half-smile, and jumped on the bed. He reached for his own cock and wrapped his fingers around it.

  Master’s voice, lilting with what sounded like humor, said, “Coming by your own hand defeats the purpose and will not count.”

  A loose fist fell against the bedcovers. The muscles of Zanti’s face slackened. The smirk vanished. But Ren saw the lavender glow at the tip of his penis and knew Zanti was in the first stages of arousal.

  Stepping up to the side of the bed, Ren reached for the wrist cuffs chained to the headboard.

  Zanti watched him, then pulled his hand to his chest as Ren offered him the cuff.

  “No?” Ren said aloud. “All right. Move over, then. I’ll secure myself instead.”

  Ren sat on the edge of the bed, turning when he felt no give to the mattress. Zanti had not moved. He was staring up at him through half a hank of dark bangs. His body had a faint edge of pale luminescence all over it, like the barest of lavender light shining through a black, closed curtain. His eyes were abyss-deep, inscrutable, the lashes glossy in the reflected whiteness of the room.

  “Move over,” Ren repeated. He scooted back until the side of his hip brushed Zanti’s upper thigh. Warm skin on skin. Smooth. Firm. Zanti smelled of vanilla and spring this evening. Not a hint of fire which was almost disappointing until he remembered that Zanti’s fire was from pain, not pleasure. Therefore, Zanti must be feeling pleasure tonight.

  The places on Zanti’s body Ren liked touching: elbow, knee, three inches down from the underarm, the hollows under those beautiful eyes, began to show a faint iridescence.

  Did Zanti not want cuffs for either of them tonight? What did Master want? It was of great concern to Ren, and caused him more dreaded hesitation.

  Ren’s chest expanded with his deep breaths. His cock was already hard. Zanti was beautiful, there was no doubt. Ren couldn’t help himself; he was drawn to that body even when he had tried not to be. But it was more. A space deep within unfolded to a width and breadth of longing. Like a hunger, it wanted sustenance. To be filled. The pangs he felt were almost pain.

&n
bsp; He reached over Zanti’s abdomen and caught the other man’s hand, the one that had just touched his cock as if Zanti had wanted to make himself come to get this night over with sooner. Ren grasped the fingers, which were uncooperative and would not weave with his own. They were dry and hot, as if Zanti had a fever in his palms.

  Ren looked him up and down. The things he wanted to do to him might not be welcomed. But he still wanted.

  Zanti’s lips parted slightly as if he read Ren’s thoughts. Ren felt his own mouth tremble into the start of a smile when, without warning, Zanti gripped his hand and yanked, throwing Ren off-balance and bringing him on top of Zanti, their chests smacking together. Zanti reached up with the hand he had earlier curled against himself and placed it on the back of Ren’s neck, gripping his hair, and he pulled his face down hard until their lips met.

  Mouth already open, Zanti forced his kiss deep, tongue invading, taking over Ren’s mouth. Ren put his free hand up on the pillow until the fingers wove through strands of Zanti’s satiny hair. He could no longer see the colors on Zanti’s body, but he didn’t have to. The heat was all over him—all over them, and if it wasn’t steaming up the room, then it had to be a dream.

  Zanti pulled his hand from Ren’s and braced it against his lower back, turning them as their kiss fought to deepen. They wrestled on their sides, hands going everywhere, and then Zanti forced Ren onto his back. Ren almost fell off the bed. He nearly laughed as Zanti pulled him back to the center of the bed, their cocks meeting, rubbing.

  A force of desire swept through Ren making him gasp. It was so strong it stabbed at his groin, causing his back to arch for more friction, more sensation everywhere.

  They were sweating with exertion. Long minutes passed. Deep groans. Even Zanti, who rarely made a sound, let out small, undefined, low cries.

  Once started, they could not stop. Ren didn’t know why, but Zanti in his arms, even in this fierce way where they were almost fighting each other, where their kisses were pushy and severe and would surely leave their lips swollen and trembling after, made the empty space inside him excite with the ecstasy of being filled up.