Slave Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  The look on Jase’s face as he chewed was the happiest Emil had seen to date, not that he was familiar with the human at all. Still, he was gratified by the reaction, even more so when, uninvited, the boy took another bite. Then another, until there was only a small piece left in Emil’s hand. With his gaze fixed on that mouth, Emil slowly fed it to him. He let his finger brush against the boy’s lips and dared to swipe a crumb away with the tip of his thumb.

  A slight shiver ran through Jase. Emil would have missed it if he hadn’t been concentrating so hard on everything about the human. His body responded with renewed interest, his cock not only twitching but swelling within the confines of his pants. His nostrils flared in an involuntary effort to take the boy’s scent in deeply. There was a heady mixture of sweetness with a hint of nervousness that might be part of arousal, yet more likely was simply fear.

  Emil forced himself to take a step back. At the same time, Jase removed the whites Emil had dressed him in. He silently held the jacket out. Emil took it without saying anything. He didn’t trust himself to speak. What was there to say? Don’t go. Stay with me. I’ll take care of you. He pressed his lips together to keep all those words inside. He had no business uttering anything of the kind. Who was he to interfere with a relationship that, while he didn’t understand it, was something Jase had appeared to seek? Besides, nothing had changed in the last thousand years that made it any easier or more sensible for Emil to get involved with a human.

  Jase picked up the tray. “Thank you, sir…for everything,” he added and shot a quick smile in Emil’s direction.

  When the boy had left his line of sight, Emil brought the jacket to his nose and inhaled deeply. His balls nearly erupted at the hit of scent. He held himself in check with an effort that hurt. If he was going to function at all for the rest of the day, he needed to take care of his sudden and unwanted arousal. Usually, he waited until night, in his own bed, to satisfy this most basic of needs. He often felt a kind of Puritan embarrassment about it, testament to how he’d spent too long on this planet. No one on his home world would have thought twice about it, although back there, an endless supply of willing men ensured no one had to be alone.

  Still clutching the jacket, he raced to his small office in the back of the kitchen. No one ever entered without knocking, yet he locked the door anyway. He also kept a small fridge with a homemade lock that ensured no one could ever see what he kept there. It wasn’t merely sexual release that he craved. A terrible thirst suddenly plagued him, a reminder that it had been a while since he’d last fed. He pulled out a bag and, after popping its seal, began sucking down its contents as is. He was too on edge to bother with warming it in his small microwave.

  The first slug went straight to his cock. Nothing goosed his arousal like the taste of the one thing that his species and humans shared in particular. They both needed this stuff coursing through their body to survive. Humans might not drink it in as obvious a fashion as his people did, yet they indulged in lots of ways, from rare steaks to blood pudding. Yeah, there was nothing better, not even bread.

  He flopped into his worn leather chair and shoved his whites up with his free hand before unzipping his pants. His dick poked out of his boxers, happy to be free of its confines. Shoving away the thin material that still covered his shaft, he palmed it then sighed through his nose. He sucked and jerked in a synchronized rhythm. This was familiar territory. He had self-gratification mastered to a quick and brutal science. He knew right down to the number of strokes and sucks how long it would take for him to empty both the blood bag and his balls. No one knew his body or his needs better.

  And if he pictured a pretty human boy with white-blond hair and a wan smile as he groaned his way through his orgasm, so what? Whom did it hurt? He could imagine how it might feel to press his dick into a tight and welcoming hole. Soft, silky wetness would envelope his shaft in undulating waves, gripping him with a fierceness that would prove he was welcome, not feared. He’d drape his big frame over the smaller one, covering it completely, taking it within his embrace and holding it close. They would shudder and gasp together, he and the boy, finding their release in each other’s hold so that their sweat and scents mingled. He would hold the human so tightly and claim him so completely that no one and nothing would ever get between them.

  Emil’s eyes slammed shut as his seed spilled over his fist and the last of the blood slid down his throat. He bucked his hips into his curled fingers and wished there were something else, someone else. His hands went slack as the tension drained out of him. The blood bag dropped to the floor, and his cock flopped against his abdomen. He sat sprawled with his head back and his chest heaving. Some part of his brain urged him to get up, clean up and go back to work.

  At the moment, he couldn’t muster the energy and vaguely worried that he’d never be able to do so again.

  * * * *

  “It took you long enough, stupid slut.”

  “I’m sorry, Master.” Jase didn’t bother to defend himself. Master didn’t care about reality, only about his own needs and perceptions. How much time had actually passed didn’t matter. The drugs the man took warped his sense of it, anyway.

  “Coffee first,” Master said with a wave of his hand, as if Jase were going to do anything other than race over to where he lay on a couch.

  Jase knelt by his head and placed the tray carefully on the side table. Then he picked up the coffee, held in a beautiful porcelain cup and saucer, and handed it over with as much care as he could. That didn’t matter, either. Master grabbed the cup and left the saucer. He slurped noisily while he idly stroked his dick. Despite having gotten off a few times throughout the night, he was still hard. That was drugs, too. All those warnings about erections lasting longer than four hours didn’t seem to faze Master at all.

  “I’ll have to beat you extra hard later for your slowness,” Master said between swallows.

  “Yes, Master.” Jase wondered why the man thought he was holding back. The horrible aches and pains currently plaguing his body laid waste to any claim that he’d gone easy on him so far.

  And yet, Jase felt better than usual because his stomach was comfortably full. That was the big cook’s doing. The man was scary as hell, but also kind. The duality of it confused Jase. In his experience, no one was nice without wanting something in return. And there was usually a strong correlation between a man’s size and his level of brutality. The bigger a man was, the more vicious. Why then had the man fed him so sweetly from his hand, and why did Jase feel safe when he was with him? Both were true, so much so that even back in the cruel orbit of Master, a warm sense of comfort blanketed him.

  Master pushed to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. He grabbed the fork and started eating. “Don’t just sit there like an idiot,” he said as he chewed. “Put that mouth of yours to good use. You have to earn your breakfast, or are you still so stupid that you’ve forgotten that?”

  “Yes, Master.” Any other day in the last few years, Jase would have approached a morning blow job with both hope and revulsion. Not this one, though. Cum wasn’t going to be the first thing to hit his stomach today, and that was a minor miracle.

  Inching forward on his knees, he placed himself between Master’s legs and bent over to take the stiff dick bobbing between them into his mouth. The first taste was sour, naturally, having been inside Jase’s ass recently and no shower in between. He suppressed his revulsion from long practice and worked his tongue around the shaft to clean it off. Then he got to sucking in earnest, taking it deeper into his mouth and eventually down his throat. He cupped the heavy balls with one hand and massaged the base of the dick with his other.

  He’d become adept at taking himself somewhere far away from his horrid life where he serviced men in debasing ways. Usually he had nothing but fantasies based on what little TV he watched and books he was allowed to read. This time, however, he had a real place to travel inside his mind. He imagined being back in the
kitchen, snuggled warm within the over-large chef’s jacket. The yeasty smell of freshly baked bread invaded his nostrils, not the funk of a man’s crotch. He could imagine being in a safe, lovely space where nobody hurt him while he filled his stomach. The thought sustained him as he worked Master’s cock to completion.

  It didn’t take long for Master to come, his groans muted by a mouthful of food. Jase swallowed the cock all the way down so that the taste of cum never hit his tongue. He consumed every spurt before pulling back, careful to lick the dick clean before letting it go completely. He coughed as quietly as he could and, sitting back on his heels, dared to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Master chuckled and tossed the fork on the plate. “I hope you liked the meal I just gave you because it’s the only one you’re getting for a while. Next time, tell that hulking ogre who runs the kitchen to be more generous with my meals.” He gulped at his coffee. “With the dues I’m paying, they damn well should give me more.”

  “Yes, Master.” Jase silently hoped that Master would order him to go back to the kitchen. The man who ran it was big, but he had his own kind of beauty. All that black hair, messily sticking up around his head, strong facial features and muscles that made Master look like a stringy boy… They should have revolted Jase. Somehow, they didn’t. The odd coolness of his skin, the little Jase had felt, was in strange contrast to the utter warmth of his gaze. Yes, it would be lovely to bask in those eyes some more.

  But Master didn’t send him back. He finished his coffee, stood and dragged Jase by his collar to the St. Andrew’s cross. After securing Jase in painfully tight bindings, he took another hit of what had to be cocaine. Seeing it sent fear coursing through Jase. The drugs made everything worse, and since joining the club, in only a few days, Master’s use of it had escalated. As Master approached with a rubber flogger swinging from his hand, Jase wondered how much longer he could take this punishment.

  Chapter Five

  Jase hugged the wall for support. He’d never been in such intense pain before. He didn’t think anything was truly damaged, yet he wasn’t able to shake off the play session as easily as he usually did. Every step was agony and not a bit of his skin seemed to be unmarred. A deep ache inside his ass told him that he was close to the breaking point and there was even a trace of blood on his thighs, not that anyone could see anything. With Master passed out cold, Jase had grabbed one of the terry-cloth robes in the playroom. At least now no one in the club would see as much of him. He just wanted a shower somewhere away from Master’s prying eyes and ears.

  He’d heard there was a shower in the go-go boys’ dressing room. He was hoping no one would be there, or, if so, that they wouldn’t mind his using the facilities. Using the back staircase to avoid patrons, he went to the lower level and snuck along the hallway. Although he didn’t run into anyone along his journey, luck wasn’t entirely with him. He could hear voices as he approached what he thought was the right place. He shuffled in on quiet feet to find Mackie and another boy sitting around chatting. They stopped as soon as they saw him.

  Mackie smiled. “Hi, Jase. Come on in.”

  He tried to return the look and knew he failed. “Thanks. I hope you don’t mind. I was hoping to use your shower. I didn’t want to wake my master.”

  “Of course, sweetie. Shawn was about to head out to dance and I’m being lazy. No problem at all.”

  “Thanks,” Jase said again and made his way past them to the bathroom area. He was relieved to see that no one else was around and that the showers were private. He preferred to relieve what he could of his misery without concerned eyes taking stock of his condition and awkward questions being asked about it. He was aware that by the standards of the average BDSM relationship, Master used him to an extreme that most would find disturbing. He was pretty sure Mackie would, based on the questions he’d already asked.

  After turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature, he quickly stripped out of the robe and stepped under the spray. For once, he wasn’t wearing even his jockstrap and plug. Every inch of his body was free to be washed, but the sting of the warm water then the soap, had him biting back grunts and moans. The pain was nothing, however, in the larger scheme of things, and getting clean overrode all other considerations at the moment.

  Although it was tempting to stand under there in both pleasure and pain, he feared Master waking before he returned. The man’s habits and schedule had become very erratic since he’d joined the club. With the drug use added in, Jase was having a hard time predicting his actions and his moods. Jase would be in trouble for leaving to shower without permission, as it was. There was no need to add to Master’s ire.

  Jase washed quickly so as not to be a nuisance, either, for the boys who depended on this bathroom. Although the club wasn’t all that busy from what he’d seen earlier in the night, they must work up a sweat dancing, regardless. And with the club members constantly pawing at them at a minimum, he could imagine they were almost as desperate to wash as he was, not that he’d ever seen any of them other than with a smile on his face. They seemed happy in their work. Then again, Jase put up a good front, too. He’d learned never to show how unhappy he was. Honesty and sincerity only got him more punishment. Perhaps the boys here were as trapped and miserable as he was.

  With his shower done, he dried off with a nearby towel and slipped the robe back on. All he had to do was rush back to the playroom without attracting any more attention. His luck still didn’t hold, however. Mackie remained sitting in the outer room, although the other boy had left. The redheaded boy looked at him with too-knowing eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Jase tried to give an upbeat tone but feared he failed.

  “Huh.” Mackie stood, his gaze roaming up and down Jase. “Are you sure? Seems to me you and your master have been playing pretty much nonstop for, like, a day now. You look kind of beat-up.”

  Jase grimaced before the expression morphed into a too-bright smile. “That’s the idea, right?”

  “Not necessarily.” Mackie took a step closer. “There are limits. It’s supposed to be fun for both of you.” His gaze pierced Jase. “You are into this, right? You understand what you’ve agreed to and how this is supposed to work, using a safeword and everything?”

  What’s a safeword? Jase actually did know what that meant, although he’d never been allowed to use one. His stray thought had been a snarky one. It had already been asked and answered years ago. Safewords are for poseurs, boy. You’re a real slave. That particular lesson had been delivered along with a vicious beating and fucking that had left Jase incapacitated for days. Jase had never dared raise the issue again.

  He tried to act nonchalant. “Yeah, sure. I know the drill.”

  Mackie looked skeptical. “Do you? How long have you and Washburn been together? I mean, you must be new to the scene.”

  Jase huffed, chafing at the amount of time the pointless conversation was wasting and worried that the delay was going to be taken out literally on his hide. “Not really. I’ve been Master’s slave for years.” He knew the moment the words were out of his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing. Exhaustion and pain had loosened his tongue. Mackie’s eyes were wide as he stared at him.

  ‘Never tell people any detail about us, boy. That’s up to me. You keep your pretty, slutty mouth shut. Understand?’ he’d said.

  Swallowing hard, he struggled for a way to backpedal. “I mean, we’ve been together for a few months. It kind of seems longer, you know? Because it’s so awesome, I’ve kind of lost track of time. And I’ve been away from home for years, though. Same old story… No one wants a gay kid polluting the family.”

  The lie came easily because it was so often true, just not in his case. He backed away as he spoke. “Thanks again for the use of the shower. I’ll see you around.”

  He turned and fled, fear making his pain a distant second in his mind.

  * * * *

  Emil sat with his
head lying on the back of Alex’s office couch and stared at the ceiling, not that there was anything remotely interesting about the white expanse above him. It was just that there were only so many times he could listen in on the endless speculation about what Dracul was up to and the best way to find his latest rabid dog set on the city of Boston.

  “The FBI, Homeland Security and even the AT-fucking-F is involved,” Duncan was saying.

  Emil had to give it to the guy. He was running back and forth between his job and keeping the family abreast of the progress of the investigation. He was looking more and more like the walking dead and had waved aside the food Emil had brought in favor of a healthy glassful of Scotch.

  “They’re analyzing the composition of the explosives. It doesn’t seem to be anything run-of-the-mill.”

  “Marius is very inventive,” Emil chimed in, not bothering to move his head.

  “He was the first to figure out a way to produce gunpowder using refined saltpeter,” Val added from where Emil knew he still stood by Alex’s desk, never far away from his captain.

  “I thought that was the French,” Duncan remarked. “Damn, is there nothing you guys haven’t had your fingers in since you arrived?”

  Emil lifted his head and stared at the cop. “Very little, I’m afraid, despite the best efforts of those of us in this room. At least all Marius’ tinkering eventually cost him his arm for his troubles, along with a few other less-noticeable parts.”

  “You don’t mean…” The human waved in the general direction of his lap.

  “I do.” At the look of horror on the man’s face, Emil chuckled. “No more than he deserved. He has also lost part of an ear and a fingertip or two. Maybe other stuff. Marius doesn’t care. He’s that weird by any species’ standards.”