by T. J. Hamel
“How would you know?” the slave beside Carter asks.
“Because I was a year away from graduating medical school, assholes. I’m not saying the dude isn’t a sick fuck, because he totally is, but that one is a stretch.”
The female arches an eyebrow. “You haven’t had anything done to your body that you previously thought was impossible? Because I fucking have. This world doesn’t follow the rules of physics.”
The ex-medical student looks away then, his eyes glazing. His words are quiet when he admits, “Yeah, you’re right…”
“How did you even hear about that?” Carter asks, not liking how dark the conversation just got. “Did Master Mica tell you?”
They all laugh then. The female slave explains, “We pay attention. Eavesdrop. The kind of information we can overhear in our positions is fucking big. Especially you. The things you probably hear…”
“Not the time,” the slave next to Carter hisses. “So not the fucking time.”
“What does that mean? Not the time for what?” Carter asks.
They all look at him. Their eyes flash with rebellion.
It feels like Carter’s been injected with a brand-new life, his body singing with energy and hope. They aren’t broken. None of them are broken. They’re all just better than him at pretending.
No. Not all of them. There’s something different about the slave sir is using tonight as Carter studies him harder. He seems to be experiencing a sort of dry amusement, almost like he’s the adult silently judging the children for having silly fantasies. There’s no rebellion or hope in his expression.
Before Carter can dwell on the difference, the female changes the topic to something safer. “So, is Master Roarke nice in private or what?”
“I-” Carter pauses, looking at each of them in confusion, “Wait, none of you have been with sir – I mean, Master Roarke – in private?”
“Nope. He doesn’t do that. Slaves are too beneath him. None of them are allowed in his personal wing or his office,” the slave sir is currently using explains. He sneers at Carter. “That is, before you. Seems he’s broken his own rules for you.”
“Is he gentle?” the slave beside Carter asks.
“Of course he is,” the slave sir is using – a slave Carter is starting to realize is very jealous – growls. “I always have such a hard time warming him. He makes me so sleepy.”
“Ugh. The hair petting thing,” the slave beside Carter says in agreement, sighing wistfully. “It feels sooo good.”
The slave Mica is using tonight speaks next, his expression dreamy. “How are we not talking about the fact that he lets us come? Like – he doesn’t even fuck us, just makes us suck his cock, and he lets us come while we do it. Hot damn. He’s a godsend.”
Carter’s throat goes tight.
He really isn’t special to sir. Not at all.
The female slave tosses her hair over her shoulder and teasingly flips them off. “Fuck you all. The straight guys here suck ass.” Then she’s off with a sway of her naked hips, leaving Carter with all the slaves his sir has enjoyed the use of.
He can’t look at any of them.
There’s a heavy silence as the jealous slave finishes making sir’s drink. When he turns to go, the other slave by his side now, he pauses to look at Carter. His gaze travels from head to toe, then back again, his expression twisting into disgust. “You’re not special. He’ll get tired of you once the whole Maison’s brother thing wears off. Then you’ll probably be tossed into the basement like the rest of us to be communal. You should appreciate what you have before it’s gone. I mean, he’s already getting bored if he’s letting that asshole do what he’s been doing to you. Which, by the way, he’s barely hurting you. Stop crying. You’re not even bleeding.”
With a final nasty look, the jealous slave walks away, leaving Carter alone with the slave that originally rescued him from Todd. The slave stays quiet for a moment before sighing. He hands Carter a bottle of scotch and an empty glass. “This is what your master for tonight has been drinking. He wanted 2 fingers last time. Safe bet to do that again.”
Carter takes the items from him with shaking hands. “Thanks.”
“He’s right, you know. Not about the stuff he just said, but the stuff earlier, about listening. It’s not just to get information for-” he pauses, looking around, then lowers his voice to continue. “-getting out of here. It’s also for stuff like this. A house slave came in and got drinks for everyone when the meal first started. Your temporary master had given his order. You were right there when it happened. It’s important you soak up all the information you can. These men don’t like to give any leeway. They’ll use whatever excuse they can find to punish you. Don’t make it easy for them.”
“I’ll try,” Carter whispers. He hasn’t poured the drink yet. His hands still haven’t calmed. “I thought it’d be easier to just… pretend like I’m not here.”
“It’s easier in the short term, but you have to play the long-game here. It’ll get easier to stay in the present. It’ll get easier to keep your mind active, but separate your emotions. Soon it’ll be like – well, I don’t know how to explain it really. It’s probably different for everyone. But for me, it feels like I go to work. You don’t deal with your personal shit at work, right? You don’t have mental breakdowns or outbursts, unless you want to be fired. You deal with that stuff at home. It’s the same for me. When I’m up here, being used, I look at it like a job. It took me a long time to get like that, though. A lot of practice.” He shrugs, looking away as his eyebrows pull in. “Maybe I’m just desensitized now…”
Carter puts two cubes of ice in the scotch glass, remembering the distinct sound of Todd making them clack together as he had swirled his drink. “Thanks for the advice.”
“No problem.” The slave shrugs. “And don’t take what that asshole said to you personally. He’s been in love with Master Roarke for at least a year now. He’s just jealous of you.”
“In love?” Carter asks with a scoff. He ignores the tiny part of him that burns with jealousy at the thought of someone loving sir. In fact, he pretends the part doesn’t even exist. “How could someone love a monster like that?”
The slave shrugs, a sad expression twisting his features. “I don’t know. 3 is different. Or maybe it’s me that’s different. I don’t know. Everyone copes in their own ways, I guess. And some just sort of… break mentally, ya know? I think that’s what happened with 3. I don’t really know his story, he doesn’t talk a lot, but I think he’s seen some serious shit. He’s sort of empty. Not that he’s the only one. 11 doesn’t even talk anymore, hasn’t in months, and 9 has been losing chunks of time. He said it’s like he wakes up to find himself in the middle of something, and has no memory of how he got there or what has happened to him. I’m one of the lucky ones. I haven’t lost it. At least… not yet.”
Carter has to take a moment to process all the information. One thing sticks out. “3? 9? 11?”
“Yeah. We get numbers.” The slave tugs at his collar where Carter sees a shiny silver 7 dangling off the front ring. He had noticed numbers before on the slaves, but he’d never allowed himself to dwell on the detail. “It’s easier to just go by numbers. We don’t really use names anymore, even when we’re alone. When a master grabs you and asks if you’ve seen 7, you better fucking know who 7 is, ya know?”
“And that’s you.”
“Yup. Lucky number 7.” The slave scoffs. Carter can’t blame him. Nothing about their lives is lucky. “You don’t have a number, I see. Not that it matters. Everyone knows your name.”
Carter shakes his head. “Everyone seems to know everything.”
“It’s not your fault. I mean, I get that they’re all jealous, hell I’m a little jealous too. Master Roarke is very gentle, and he never asks for anything truly bad. And he’s breaking his personal rules for you, which makes you seem more special or whatever, but you’ve gotta be fucking lonely man.”
Carter ac
hes with the truth of the statement, his eyes pricking with tears. “You aren’t?”
“Not really. Not like you, anyway.” The slave’s smile is sad. “We all have each other. If we’re not being used at night, we sleep in the basement together. Sure, we get locked in, and it’s cramped and dark and everyone gets on each other’s fucking nerves, but we all get to talk like this. We get to remember that we’re human. I don’t know how you do it all by yourself. Does he at least talk to you? Like this, I mean? Openly? Does he let you talk to him?”
Focusing on the alcohol he’s pouring, Carter goes with a half-truth. “Not really. He talks to me sometimes, but it’s usually just like… him musing out loud. You guys are right, though. He is gentle in private. Most of the time, at least… If I’m good.”
“Is it true that he-”
“7,” a deep voice says from their left. Then, “Pet. What are the two of you doing?”
7 whips around, Carter following. The boy goes directly to his knees and presses his forehead to the floor, muttering an apology. When Carter begins to do the same, a large hand wraps around his bicep and keeps him on his feet. That’s when Carter’s mind slows enough to realize who just caught them speaking.
Sir.
The man keeps his eyes narrowed on Carter as he growls at 7, “Get back to your master before I decide to let him flog you for tonight’s post-dinner entertainment.”
“Yes, Master Roarke!” 7 squeaks, scrambling to his feet. “Thank you, Master Roarke!”
Sir releases Carter’s arm before quickly taking it back in his hands so he can gently rub the red marks his bruising grip left behind. The man looks torn. Upset. When his eyes take in the front of Carter’s body, all the way to his cock and balls, the torn expression twists into something devastated. Sir tears his gaze away long enough to check their surroundings. Then he lurches forward without warning, grabbing Carter’s head in a strong grip, holding him still as he crashes their mouths together.
Carter startles for just a moment before completely melting. The kiss is violent and desperate and reflects exactly how Carter has been feeling all night. He feels sir’s erection press against him and moans, hating himself for the thrill it sends through him. Maybe he isn’t special, but sir still wants him. This is proof.
Sir shoves Carter back until he’s pinned to the wall, growling as his hands make quick work of his belt and zipper. He yanks his cock out at the same time as he removes Carter’s plug, then spits on himself. Carter barely has enough time to comprehend what’s happening before sir is lifting him up by the back of his thighs like Carter weighs nothing and slamming his cock into him.
The sudden intrusion blurs Carter’s vision, stealing his breath, but sir works his magic and chases the pain away with his lips on Carter’s ear and his hard cock angling right at Carter’s prostate. Carter cries out as his cock starts to harden between them, too thankful for sir’s attention to be mad at his cock for the betrayal. When sir notices the erection, he pulls his head back to look into Carter’s eyes. Something intense passes between them. Something Carter isn’t sure there’s a name for. Then the man is pressing his forehead against Carter’s and growling, “Mine. You’re fucking mine.”
“Yours,” Carter promises, his body trembling with emotion and need. “All yours, sir.”
Sir gives him another searing kiss before pulling back. “Touch yourself. Come for me.”
Carter bites back a sob of relief and nods, wrapping his hand around his cock and quickly tugging. Despite all the abuse it endeared tonight, the thing is fully on board with what sir is doing right now. It’s as relieved as Carter is to be feeling pleasure for a moment during a night so riddled with pain.
It can’t be more than a minute before Carter’s free hand is clawing at sir’s shoulder, his cock spurting stripes of white cum all over the powerful man’s suit jacket.
“Fuck, Car-” sir groans, cutting himself off by biting down on Carter’s shoulder. Carter has a fleeting thought that sir was about to use his name for the first time, but then sir is pumping him full of hot cum and whispering praise in his ear, and Carter forgets.
Sir rests his forehead against Carter’s for a few seconds as he catches his breath, their eyes locked.
“I hate his hands on you,” sir admits, his voice raw.
Before Carter can tell him how much he hates it too, how much he hates sir’s hands on another slave, how much he wants this night to be over so they can be together again, sir is pulling out of Carter and setting him back on his feet. “Turn around, hands on the wall, ass out.”
Carter does as told, biting his lip to stave off the sudden overwhelming urge to cry. He whimpers when sir presses his plug back into his hole, but he doesn’t complain. Not then, and certainly not when sir scoops up the drops of cum that had spilled out, pressing his fingers to Carter’s lips in a silent order to clean his mess. Carter sucks and licks the fingers like he can somehow convey everything he wanted to say by doing this simple task perfectly.
“Good boy,” sir finally says, stepping back. Despite sir only being inches away, Carter suddenly feels very alone. “Face me again.”
Carter follows the order, swaying slightly on his feet. He winces when he sees the mess he made of sir’s jacket. “I’m sorry, sir…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sir squeezes his eyes shut before taking a deep breath and looking at Carter again. “Get back to Todd. We’ll discuss the little chat you were having with 7 later.”
“Sir, I didn’t-”
“Sweetheart,” sir says quietly, giving Carter a pained look that steals his breath. “Don’t make our night worse. Please. Go back to Todd.”
Tears prick the corners of Carter’s eyes, but he grabs the drink he had poured earlier and skirts around sir without a word. He finds himself hoping that sir will stop him, chase him, but he doesn’t. He lets Carter go.
Todd is thankfully busy talking when Carter returns, not bothering to acknowledge Carter or his drink. Carter crawls under the table to retake his place, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. 7 is sitting back, his master’s pants zipped up. He gives Carter a worried look. Carter tries to smile at him in a way that conveys everything is okay. He has no idea if it works. He’s a little rusty on non-verbal slave communication.
When Carter looks in the other direction, he finds the jealous slave glaring at him. Carter can't help but puff up a little. He knows it must be obvious sir just fucked him. He assumes that's why Henley didn't mention how long it took him. The slave is clearly pissed about the turn of events.
After a minute or two, sir returns. He apologizes as he takes his seat, undoing the button of a suit jacket that looks almost identical to the one Carter came all over just a few minutes ago. He keeps his pants closed like all of the other men, meaning the dinner is probably coming to an end. But, to Carter's devastation and to jealous slave's joy, sir still guides jealous slave's head to rest on his thigh as he returns to petting the boy's head. The jealous slave grins at Carter like he knows exactly how much watching the scene hurts him.
Carter is fucking relieved when the meal is officially declared over.
Except, sir invites Todd into his office for a private chat, and he mentions something about Todd enjoying his gift more thoroughly, and Carter suddenly realizes that his evening isn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Todd half-leads, half-drags Carter across the floor, not giving him time to get into a proper crawling position. He’s out of breath and trembling violently by the time they enter sir’s office. The click of the door shutting feels like an executioner’s song.
Sir sits at his desk. Todd sits across from him in one of the leather chairs. Carter kneels at Todd’s feet. It feels wrong. He should be kneeling for sir.
At least jealous slave wasn’t brought in here too. Carter’s not sure he would have survived watching sir interact with him any more than simple cock warming at the table.
Todd catches Carter by surprise, picking him up and hau
ling him into his lap. “May I?” he asks sir.
Sir doesn’t say anything, but he must nod because a moment later Carter is being laid out on sir’s desk in a sick mockery of the position he was in when sir fucked him on it before. It feels so much different this time. Cold. Lonely. When Carter realizes his eyes are pointed up at sir’s face, he quickly squeezes them shut. Just the momentary flash of sir looking at him in boredom was enough to bring all of the pain and emotions rushing back. A tear slips down his cheek. Carter freezes when it’s licked away. He doesn’t want to know who did it.
Carter isn't special - that's what the jealous slave said.
But isn't he?
Sir treats him like he is.
Or maybe he doesn't…
How is Carter supposed to know?
Todd grabs Carter's soft cock and squeezes it so hard Carter’s eyes fly open as he gasps for air. A haze of pain and nausea washes over Carter, thankfully making it impossible to focus on sir’s face above him.
Carter jerks when something non-human touches his sensitive skin down there. He lifts his head in a panic only for sir to grab him by the hair and pull him back down, holding him in place as the thing closes around the base of his cock and balls. Carter jerks when he hears the thing snap into place, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s just uncomfortable.
Then his cock is being pushed into something cold and metallic. The thing is sharp, Carter hissing as it drags against his skin. He gasps in pain and tries to buck his hips. All that happens is the men both laugh. Then, “Hold still, pet. Just let us cage your pretty cock. It won’t hurt if you hold still.”
Carter whines in protest and fear, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face to the side. His cheeks nearly throb with how quickly blood rushes to fill them. He feels hot all the way down his chest with humiliation and shame.
What sir said was true, it didn’t hurt anymore once he held still, but he’s still humiliated, and his abused member is aching something awful.
The plug in Carter’s ass is removed. He feels sir’s cum gush out of him. He hears Todd groan. He thinks he might hyperventilate.
