That’s where he recognized him from. The memory came back like a fucking freight train. Hunger. Thirst. This man. Water. His strong body. Protector. Savior. In that moment, he’d been all of that and more. Dougie—reduced to a desperate, broken animal—had loved him.
From here on in, he had to be smart. This was his mind he was gambling with, and he couldn’t throw it away for some meaningless stand. Better to play along now—no matter how humiliating and horrible it was, no matter what—and keep his senses (no more dark rooms, God, please no more) so he’d be ready when the time to escape eventually came. He was halfway to a Ph.D. in clinical psychology; if he couldn’t outsmart this guy, he had no one to blame but himself.
And he couldn’t afford to fail. Mat was here, somewhere. He had to protect Mat.
“Wait,” he said, and then, kicking himself for slipping already, dropped to his knees and added, “Sir. Please. Wait.”
Nikolai folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. His posture screamed defensive, wary, amused, superior. But that was okay; Dougie could work with that.
“Please don’t lock me back up in the dark, sir. I’ll . . . I’m sorry, I won’t make trouble. I was just . . .” He shook his head, grimaced. He couldn’t overplay this or Nikolai wouldn’t buy it. “I was angry. Furious. I still . . . I still am. This is my life you’re stealing. That you’ve all so blithely claimed for your own. You bought me like some . . .” He shook his head again, let his fury, his disgust, his helplessness show on his face. “Like some appliance, some thing. I’m not a hole; I’m a human being!”
Silence. He waited to see if Nikolai would fill it, but the man stood unmoving, eyes fixed on Dougie.
“But if it’s really true that I can’t go back, that I can’t escape, that I’m stuck here forever and nothing will change that . . . And if it’s really true what you said, that I have choices, that it doesn’t have to hurt?” He risked meeting Nikolai’s eyes—expressionless, revealing nothing. “Then I choose not to suffer. I suffered enough for ten lifetimes in Madame’s hands. I’m done. So please, sir”—no contempt this time, none at all, though he felt it burning like fire through his veins—“tell me what I have to do. Tell me how not to suffer.”
Nikolai straightened, uncrossed his arms. A slow smile spread over his face. Pleased, then. Maybe Dougie’s ploy would work.
Just one problem with that, of course. Ploy or no ploy, Tell me how not to suffer felt like the most honest thing he’d said in his entire life.
The boy’s attempt was woefully transparent.
That was all right. Nikolai, too, could play along and act the part, and Douglas could go on thinking he was tricking him until suddenly he wasn’t anymore, until the act became his reality. It was only a matter of time, and Nikolai was a very patient man.
Time to test his new pet’s resolve.
He reached down, catching Douglas’s chin in his hand. A momentary flinch, followed by a limp acquiescence, almost doll-like. And he was, almost. Pale as a china doll, and as fragile. A delicate jaw, hidden underneath a distasteful week’s growth of thin beard, caught helpless in Nikolai’s hand.
“No,” he said, softly. “You’re not a hole. Not to me. Never. You are a person, just a person who desperately needs my guidance.”
He’d given the boy such a precious gift in that one speech alone, but Douglas wasn’t yet prepared to accept it. Where there should have been sweet, touched affection, there was only wariness, fear, even a pale shadow of his brother’s hate.
No matter. “The key is to obey,” Nikolai said. “Fully, unhesitatingly. Enthusiastically. Always. It is not enough to serve me. You must love to serve me.”
His new boy blinked up at him with eyes as big and blue and beautiful as a Disney prince’s, gaze full of consternation. “I don’t know how,” he said.
Nikolas stroked his thumb across Douglas’s full lips, rough and split from dehydration and the gag. A hint of pressure, and the boy—smart, this one, a quick learner—parted them to let Nikolai in. Flicked his tongue across Nikolai’s fingernail, the question—Is that right? Will you not hurt me now?—clear as ink across his face. “I will teach you. It will take time. It will not be easy.” The boy’s tongue curled, a wet, hot press around the pad of Nikolai’s thumb, and Nikolai had to restrain his gasp, the urge to replace thumb with cock. “Until then,” he said, “you fake it.”
Douglas nodded around Nikolai’s thumb and tried on a moan. It sounded more desperate than pleasured, but it would do for now. No doubt the boy thought he’d always be faking it, but that was all right. Many a pet just like him had been proven wrong before.
Nikolai popped his thumb free, stroked his hand through Douglas’s hair. “Undo my fly,” he said, and when Douglas moved too quickly, too eager to play at eagerness, Nikolai steadied his hand with his own and added, “Slowly. Sensually. This isn’t mechanics, it’s worship, do you understand?” The boy blinked, nodded slightly; he didn’t understand yet, not truly, but he would in time. For now it was enough to pretend. “Don’t watch your fingers—watch my face. Your betters may wish to look into your eyes when you service them. Or they may not, but you cannot know if you do not open yourself to them. Prostrate yourself. Offer them everything—not just your mouth, but your heart and mind as well.”
Anger and disgust in those big blue eyes now, quickly smothered. No, not smothered—buried. Hidden. But that was all right too. Every boy was like this at first.
Douglas gazed deep into Nikolai’s eyes as he slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks. The gaze was mostly shrouded—he was no born actor; his ruse could only carry him so far—but it would do for now. Was doing well enough, in fact, that Nikolai was fully hard beneath his briefs. He’d need to watch himself with this one; the urge to lose himself in pleasure would be strong.
“That’s good, pet,” he breathed. “If your better is holding your gaze, wait for his signal to touch him intimately. If he’s not, assume he’s ready unless he tells you otherwise.” Nikolai nodded ever so slightly. “Now. Reach into my briefs.” Warm dry fingers, trembling slightly, curled around his cock as if it were made of glass. “That’s it, gently. Slide my briefs down my hips, just enough to expose my sac.” The boy obeyed. “Good. Not too far. You mustn’t cause your better to get tangled in his clothes. You’ll be beaten if he trips because of you.”
Beaten. Now that word drew a reaction. A quiet gasp, an involuntary shiver, a quick downcasting of the eyes.
It passed, and Douglas exposed him perfectly. The cool room air and the boy’s soft fingers felt exquisite on his overheated balls and cock.
“I’m already hard, but the men you service may not always be. Lessons on excitation will have to wait, as will lessons on proper care and treatment of a foreskin. Many Americans don’t have them, or Jews or Muslims the world over, but most others will. I myself am a Jew; or my mother was, at least.” He touched a hand through the boy’s hair, resisting the urge to press that beautiful mouth to his groin by force. “You may find this a blessing; I am told I’m less sensitive during intercourse, and so it takes me longer to orgasm. But on the other hand, I am likely to be cleaner, even if I haven’t washed for some time.”
The face the boy made at that was precious. No doubt he’d had many a foul thing shoved in his mouth during his stay at Madame’s. Nikolai had seen her guards many times, and those brief glimpses inspired no envy for the boy. He really did deserve better. Nikolai would have to be the one to give it to him.
Still, Madame’s men had performed an essential service. They’d taught the boy pain so that, with luck, Nikolai wouldn’t have to. In Douglas’s eyes, he could be the kind master. The good guy. The rescuer he truly was.
“You can begin,” he said. Douglas nearly went cross-eyed trying to take in the looming length of cock that stood in front of him. “Sometimes the man you service will wish to come quickly. Sometimes not. You must learn to read their desires and service them accordingly.” Douglas’s
lips wrapped around the very tip of his cock, warmth and wetness followed by tentative suction. “What do you think I want now?”
A blink. An aborted shake of the head. I don’t know. Not How should I know? Just I don’t know. Maybe even, Help me?
“Not every man is as verbal as me. Some don’t know what they want until it’s over. I’m afraid I’d be doing you a disservice to tell you anything. So why don’t you try something? See how good your instincts are. If I seem bored or impatient, speed up. If I seem too eager, too close too soon, slow down.”
Douglas pulled off, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t. Sir. I . . . I can’t. I don’t know how. I’m not gay.” It was a strange sort of protest. Not insolence, not refusal. Frustration, more like. “Can’t you just . . .”
“Fuck your mouth like those animals at Madame’s no doubt did? No. Some men take their pleasure that way, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t teach you how to bear it, but let me reiterate, you are not merely a hole under this roof, never will be again, and if that’s all I teach you to be, then as a trainer I’ve failed. I’ll never force you—I mean that. But . . . Choices. Consequences. Remember?”
The boy looked a little shell-shocked. Confused. In that perfect headspace Nikolai needed to work his magic: torn between hatred and gratitude.
“You must be hungry,” Nikolai tried.
Douglas nodded. “Yes, sir. Thirsty too.”
“Pleasure me. Then I’ll feed and water you.”
Hatred and gratitude again, this time mixed with disgust and longing. The boy didn’t want to think of himself as a whore—even if the price of his favors was survival itself. But he did want to survive.
Nikolai took pity. “Wrap a hand around my shaft. Your dominant one.” The boy obeyed. “Tighter, it’s all right, I won’t break. Touch me how you like to touch yourself.” The grip firmed. One tentative stroke, a second, a little twist over the crown. “Ahhh, yes, that’s lovely. My cock is not so very large as some you might see—some might need two hands. Others—smaller ones—might call for only thumb and forefinger. Now then, lean in, mouth on the crown. Stroke and suck in rhythm. Vary speed and depth. If your techniques with your hand and lips and tongue are strong, you need not always swallow a man down your throat.” He paused for a moment to let the boy explore those techniques—halting, inexpert, too slow, too gentle. “But you will of course learn to do that too. Harder now, and a little faster. We’ll be here for hours at this rate.”
Douglas whimpered as if Nikolai had openly threatened him. So timid and fearful. But he did what he was told, squeezing Nikolai’s cock until it was just this side of painful, his dry palm chafing Nikolai’s shaft. Nikolai let it go on, though, as uninspired as it was. Even enjoyed it a little when Douglas had the presence of mind to toy the pointed tip of his tongue over Nikolai’s slit.
“Better,” he murmured, allowing the boy the privilege of hearing arousal in his voice. He set his hand on the back of Douglas’s head, not pushing, but it was enough to cause the boy to tense. “I’d like to take your throat now.”
A tear streaked down Douglas’s cheek, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if in attempt to prevent any more from following. He’d let go of his pride soon enough. Then the tears would fall unheeded, as they needed to, whenever and wherever they came. And not long after, they would cease again, to be replaced by joyous devotion. Douglas would open up, blossom, like a flower. He’d already given so much.
“It’s all right, Douglas. Not bad for your first time. We’ll practice every day until you’ve found your confidence. Now, relax your jaw and throat, and fold your lips over your teeth. Kneel to proper height—that’s it, up off your heels—and take a deep breath. You will feel like you’re choking. It’s all right to cry; it’s mere reflex. Fold your hands behind your back to resist the urge to grip my hips or push me away. There’s a good boy.” Nikolai took Douglas’s head in both hands, gently, not forcing. Slid the tip of his cock past the boy’s slack lips, along his velvet tongue. One inch. Two. Four. Douglas gagged, but held still.
“Yes,” Nikolai sighed. “Very good. Almost there now.” He pressed in the final three inches, nestled his balls against Douglas’s chin as the boy choked and flailed, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming from the corners. But he didn’t try to pull away. This was obviously not the first time he’d had his throat fucked.
Nikolai pulled back slightly, let the boy breathe, thrust forward again. “Soon, I’ll expect you to do this for me—take me deep while I lie perfectly still.” Another thrust, more gagging. The feel of that soft throat convulsing around his cock was simply beyond compare. “You may start being active by using your tongue as best you can, pressing up around the shaft as I thru—” He cut off on a gasp as Douglas did as instructed. “Yes, very good, very, very good. Now hum on my next thrust.” He buried himself balls to chin down Douglas’s throat again, and the boy did as ordered, more a moan than a hum but pleasing nonetheless. “The vibrations heighten my pleasure. Oh. Yes.” He shuddered. Held Douglas close, savoring one choking spasm after another. Pleasure stacked on top of pleasure. “You’ll learn so many things. So many, many things. We have so much to look forward to.” He didn’t let go. The choking was getting desperate now, turning into genuine struggle. He’d promised he’d never force, so though he was nearing desperation for release, he let go of Douglas’s head. “Consequences,” he reminded the boy, who pulled back just long enough to suck in two ragged breaths, then squeezed his eyes closed and dove back in.
“Good boy. Normally I’d prefer to come down your throat—you must always swallow your master’s cum as if it were nectar from the gods—but I’m not sure how well it would sit on an empty stomach, so you’ll take it on the face this time.” He thrust his hips—short, aborted little twitches, barely touching the boy’s gag reflex. “The instant I pull free,” he panted, “you will stroke me to completion. You will look me in the eyes the entire time. You will hold your mouth open, tongue out, like—” He had to stop for a moment, breathe deep, rein himself in. “Like a happy dog, if you’ll excuse the crassness. Don’t you dare let so much as a whisper of disgust show on your pretty face. Con-se-quences.”
He pulled free. Douglas’s hands, which up until now had been dutifully clenched behind his back, unfolded and reached for him. One around his cock, the other cradling his balls—Good boy, where did you learn that trick?—stroking firmly, with purpose. He held Nikolai’s gaze, his face carefully shuttered. No joy, but no disgust either. Nikolai twitched, gasped, thrust his hips forward. Douglas sped up, pointed Nikolai’s cock at his chin, opened his mouth, and thrust his tongue out.
Beautiful. Imperfect, rough around the edges, but so full of potential. So beautiful.
Nikolai absolutely soaked that face and tongue with his cum, despite having come not so long before. But then, he’d long trained for endurance and stamina, and was still young enough to orgasm five or six times in a day if the job demanded it of him. And to do anything other than coat this new boy completely would have been a tragedy. Douglas had done well. He deserved this. Nikolai deserved it too. He groaned, letting Douglas’s surprisingly skilled hands wring out one last shot of cum, which hit the bridge of his nose as the earlier jets dripped slowly down into his falsely eager mouth.
Still, the boy was faking it well enough, even if those rapidly blinking eyelids, trying to keep cum from getting into his eyes or sticking to his eyelashes, told of much training and discipline yet needed.
For now, though, he’d clean the boy’s face and have him fed, as promised. Follow-through mattered, regardless of whether that ultimately meant meting out punishment or reward. And Nikolai was nothing if not a thorough and consistent trainer. The brothers might hate him for that now, but Douglas, at least, would learn to be grateful soon enough.
Bookended
With Violetta Vane:
Mark of the Gladiator
Galway Bound
The Druid Stone
The War at the End of the W
orld
Hawaiian Gothic
“Salting the Earth,” a short story in the anthology Like It or Not
Cruce de Caminos
Harm Reduction
The Saturnalia Effect
Power Play: Resistance, with Cat Grant
Power Play: Awakening, with Cat Grant
Master Class (Master Class, #1)
Sublime: Collected Shorts (Master Class, #2)
Counterpoint (Song of the Fallen, #1)
Crescendo (Song of the Fallen, #2)
Anchored (Belonging, #1)
Where He Belongs (Belonging, #2)
Break and Enter, with Aleksandr Voinov
Heidi Belleau was born and raised in small town New Brunswick, Canada. She now lives in the rugged oil-patch frontier of Northern BC with her husband, an Irish ex-pat whose long work hours in the trades leave her plenty of quiet time to write. She has a degree in history from Simon Fraser University with a concentration in British and Irish studies; much of her work centred on popular culture, oral folklore, and sexuality, but she was known to perplex her professors with unironic papers on the historical roots of modern romance novel tropes. (Ask her about Highlanders!) When not writing, you might catch her trying to explain British television to her newborn daughter or standing in line at the local coffee shop, waiting on her caramel macchiato.
You can find her tweeting as @HeidiBelleau, email her at [email protected], or visit her blog: http://heidi-below-zero.blogspot.com.
Rachel is an M/M erotic romance author, a freelance writer and editor, and the Managing Editor of Riptide Publishing. She’s also a sadist with a pesky conscience, shamelessly silly, and quite proudly pervish. Fortunately, all those things make writing a lot more fun for her . . . if not so much for her characters.
When she’s not writing about hot guys getting it on (or just plain getting it; her characters rarely escape a story unscathed), she loves to read, hike, camp, sing, perform in community theater, and glue captions to cats. She also has a particular fondness for her very needy dog, her even needier cat, and shouting at kids to get off her lawn.
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