by T. J. Hamel
Is sir… drunk? Again?
The bathroom door shuts a little too hard, and Carter hears something fall in the bathroom. He opens his eyes just enough to look at the door, seeing a sliver of light coming from the crack in the bottom. Carter takes a risk by sitting up in bed, hoping to be able to hear better.
Usually, when sir is in the bathroom at night, sir takes a shower. At least, that’s what Carter always assumed because the water always runs for a long time. But, sir isn’t showering tonight. He’s not using the sink either. There’s no water running. Nothing to drown out sir’s voice. He’s muffled, the door getting in the way and preventing Carter from hearing any actual words, but it’s clear he’s talking. From the sounds of it, he’s talking to someone on the phone.
Carter wonders if he talks on the phone to someone every night. He wonders if it’s the same person. He wonders what they mean to sir. He wonders if they’re special. Important. If sir maybe… loves them.
Not that Carter would care.
He wouldn’t.
Sure, Carter is still thankful it was sir who bought him, one night with Todd was enough to help him realize how much worse things could be, but sir being the less of two evils doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still evil. Even if they did manage to have a great day together yesterday, it was just a day of playing pretend. It has to be that way. Sir has to be the villain.
It doesn’t matter if sir loves someone.
It’s not like Carter loves him.
He doesn’t.
Carter hates him.
Carter has to hate him.
He just… has to.
Realizing the talking has stopped, Carter hurries to lay back down and close his eyes. He definitely doesn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, especially after the way sir had reacted this morning when he had assumed Carter was doing just that.
The bathroom door creaks open. Carter tries to keep his breathing slow and even. Sir is quieter now. Less clumsy. From the sound of things, he’s stripping, his clothes hitting the floor with soft thuds. Then the bed dips, and the blankets move. Carter accidentally tenses when the corner of the blanket slides across his ass, but he acts like he stirs in his sleep and sighs before relaxing again, hoping sir will believe that he’s still asleep.
“You awake?” sir asks softly. Carter takes a slow, even breath in. Then he blows it out. Sir moves on the bed again, the rest of the blanket coming up. It’s tucked gently around Carter’s body.
“There you go, sweetheart,” sir whispers softly once the blanket is where he wants it to be. He brushes Carter’s hair off his forehead, then strokes along his temple. A soft sound comes from somewhere in sir’s throat. Then his breath is fanning over Carter’s face, the smell of scotch overwhelming his senses. Lips brush the corner of Carter’s jaw before sir seems to deflate, pressing his forehead against Carter’s shoulder without putting any actual weight on him. He must be trying not to wake Carter up. “God, Carter, I wish I could save you from this.”
Carter tries his best to keep his breathing normal. He hopes sir can’t hear his heartbeat because it must be erratic.
“I wish I could save you from me.” Sir pulls away, laying back on his side of the bed. He releases a slow, soft sigh, then whispers something Carter can’t even begin to understand. “You’d be so much better off with Travis. He’d be good to you. He’d know how to love you better…”
Sir goes quiet after that, eventually falling asleep. Carter stays awake for a long time. He must lay there for hours, wondering if sir meant what he had said. If he was really sorry. If he really wishes he could save Carter.
Wondering who the hell Travis is. Wondering if Travis really would be better. Wondering why there’s an ache in Carter’s chest at the mere thought of being with anyone but sir.
Wondering what sir meant by Travis loving him better, as if sir loves him too, just not as well as Travis would.
Carter finally drifts off at some point, damn near drowning in confusion.
◆◆◆
Carter breaks one of his new rules within seconds of being awake the morning of the party.
Sir is shaking him, saying something about waking up, and Carter makes the mistake of blinking his eyes open to look directly at the man. He gets just a glimpse of messy hair and dangerous eyes before a hand is smacking against his cheek. It’s more of a surprise than it is painful, but Carter still gasps.
“Rules haven’t changed, pet,” sir says in a cold voice. “It’s going to be a hell of a night for you if you fuck up, remember?”
A question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do better.”
Carter bites his tongue to keep from promising he will. It wasn’t a question or an order. It feels too strange to say nothing, though. He settles for a subtle nod of his head. Sir doesn’t acknowledge it.
“What are you, pet?”
“A – a slave, sir?”
“Exactly. Eyes.” Sir grabs his chin and forces his face into the Show position. Carter flicks his gaze upward, shivering when he sees the anger in sir’s expression. “I’ve spoiled you. I’ve let you pretend. But every second you’ve been mine, you’ve been a slave. Correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else I allow you to pretend to be is just that – pretending. A roleplay. You are nothing, do you understand me?”
Carter swallows hard, trying not to cry. His voice is pathetically shaky when he responds. “I understand, sir.”
“What are you?”
“A slave, sir.”
“And?”
“Nothing,” Carter whispers. His chest feels impossibly tight. “Nothing else, sir. Just a slave. A – a set of holes.”
A hole is a hole, right?
Sir had said differently, he had said Carter was special, but that was roleplay. Carter was so silly for not understanding that.
“Good.” Sir wraps his hand around Carter’s bicep and tugs him off the bed, not giving him a chance to gain his balance before dragging him to the bathroom. “Don’t fucking forget your place today. Your reminder will be something you won’t even want to survive.”
Carter won’t forget it.
He won’t ever let himself forget it.
What he does make himself forget? The whispered apology and kind touches when sir had thought he was asleep. How special he felt when sir would hold him close and kiss him like he’s something precious. The teasing snap of teeth as sir called him little red. The bubbling laughter as sir argued about Harry Potter.
He makes himself forget it all. Every kind moment. Every gentle touch. They make him weak. They make him misunderstand things.
All that’s real is this.
Carter is a slave.
Carter is nothing but a set of holes.
Carter is an object for sir to use and show off.
Carter doesn’t even exist anymore.
All that’s left is the slave. Sir’s pet.
He promises himself he won’t ever let himself forget that again.
◆◆◆
The day blurs once Carter has sunk into his reality as a slave. He pays attention to sir’s voice, listening for orders and questions, but shuts everything else out. He’s placed in the bathroom and told to use the toilet, wash up, and brush his teeth. Then he’s ordered into the Present position, sir putting a plug in him.
Sir’s cock is placed in his mouth with the order to only keep it warm. There’s food pressed against his lips that he keeps on his tongue until sir instructs him to chew and swallow. The food is sweet. After only a few pieces, sir sighs angrily and stops feeding him. He’s not given sir’s cock either. He’s a good boy and pays close attention, waiting for the next direction.
He thinks he’s brought to sir’s office for a while.
At some point, he’s definitely given a bath. Sir says something about hair growing back and the auction before giving him orders to move this way and that. Carter obeys, a distant voice in his mind explaining to him that
he’s being shaved clean. He thinks the bath oil smells like honey, but he’s not positive, and it’s not important enough for him to try to figure it out.
He’s told to get out of the bath, sir holding his hand to steady him. He’s told to spread his legs as sir towels him off. He’s told to turn around when sir rubs lotion into his skin. He’s told to kneel in his Rest position at the foot of the bed.
Carter’s not positive, but he thinks he’s left there for a long time.
The spicy scent of sir’s cologne fills his senses as a warning, preparing him just seconds before sir is finally giving him another order. “Show.”
Carter tilts his chin, keeping his eyes low. Certain details register in his mind without his permission. Sir is wearing black dress pants and black shoes, a simple white gold watch on his wrist flashing in the bedroom lighting. A comb is brought through Carter’s hair, each stroke slow and deliberate. Sir dips his fingers in a tub of something that smells fruity before running them through Carter’s hair to tame it.
Just as Carter is trying to pull his mind back into focus, remembering that details don’t matter, sir does something that terrifies him.
He removes Carter’s collar.
Carter chokes on a gasp, fingers scrabbling at his neck in a frantic attempt to fix the situation. He needs his collar. He’s nothing but a slave – he has to be nothing but a slave – and slaves need collars. He feels raw without it. Wary. Vulnerable. He doesn’t like it one bit.
Tears burn Carter’s eyes as he tries to decide which is better behavior – to beg sir for his collar back, or to stay silent and obedient.
Sir makes the decision for him.
A white gold collar that matches sir’s watch is brought up to his neck as a replacement collar. It’s thin and intricately engraved with flowers and vines. It’s almost… pretty.
A sudden sharp, breathtaking pain lights up Carter’s right nipple without warning, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looks down just as sir moves on to his left. He’s clamping Carter’s nipples, the clamps the same design as the collar. There’s a thin string of chain looped through the front ring of his collar, twisting elegantly before falling down to where each clamp is. His wrists are next, the cuffs sir places on him the same white gold engraved metal, but thicker and sturdier. By the time sir is done, Carter looks decorated.
It makes him unbelievably pleased.
“Present.”
Carter moves his body down and forward, swallowing a cry of pain when the chain swings with the movement, tugging at his nipples.
Sir is cold and clinical as he stretches Carter with two lubed fingers before inserting a plug that's slightly too big, making his hole stretch and burn.
"Rest."
When Carter returns to his Rest position, something soft brushes along his temple. He flinches but settles when sir gently hushes him. It’s just sir’s thumb. A gentle stroke. Nothing more.
Yet… it feels like everything.
The air seems to shift in the room. A long, tense silence stretches between them. Then sir grabs the sides of Carter’s head and leans down, pressing their foreheads together, so Carter has no choice but to look into his eyes. Sir’s inhale is shaky and labored when their gazes meet. His lips twitch into an incredulously relieved smile. “There you are, sweetheart. I thought I lost you.”
Carter swears his heart catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say.
He knows what he wants to say, though. He wants to remind sir that he did lose him. The Carter sir knew is gone. Sir might be trying to confuse him by switching back and forth, but Carter is in this now. He’s a slave. It’s been decided. There’s no going back. He doesn’t want to go back.
Sir presses a kiss to his lips. It’s soft. Chaste. A promise of… something. When he pulls back enough to meet Carter’s eye again, he looks unbearably sad. “Be good for me tonight. You have to be good. Please.”
Not sure if he can speak, Carter just presses his forehead back against sir’s and makes a soft noise in his throat. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do.
Sir seems to sag in defeat before he pulls away completely and stands again.
The moment is gone.
◆◆◆
Carter looks stunning, which fucking kills Nathan. His brown hair is brushed and gelled. His body is shaved and covered in a lotion that subtly glitters in the party lights. His lips are pretty pink, his blue eyes bright. The 14k white gold collar Nathan bought him wraps around his throat elegantly, lightweight and intricately carved, with the matching chain draped over his chest to connect with the clamps on his nipples. His ass is stuffed with a blown-glass anal plug that’s laced with swirls of black.
He’s the picture-perfect slave, and everyone is enjoying the view. Every weapon Nathan has on his body feels heavy and urgent against him. He wants to shoot and stab and strangle with his bare fucking hands until every fucker who looks at Carter is dead.
Instead, he sips his fucking champagne from his fancy ass champagne flute and keeps his expression bored.
“Nathan!” Nathan turns, raising an eyebrow until he sees it’s the host’s wife. Then he paints on his best charming smile and takes the hand she offers him, kissing her knuckles and shooting her a wink when she blushes. “It’s such a pleasure to see you! We’re so happy you could make it.”
“Excellent to see you as well, Jamie. The party is beautiful. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Which is partly true. Nathan wouldn’t miss it. Two very important things need to happen tonight; Todd Henley needs to convince Miller that he’s on Miller’s side and willing to go after Nathan, and Nathan has to find a way to subtly plant seeds of doubt with one of Miller’s allies before extending a casual invite to his birthday celebration next month.
So much hinges on tonight. If something gets fucked up, Nathan won’t get a chance to see the ally again for another 4 months. Not unless he requests a meeting, which would be far too suspicious of a move. Even sending an invite to Nathan’s birthday party would be out of place if he doesn’t have a conversation like the one he’s planning to have tonight to support such an action. He would tip his hand, ruining everything.
“Oh good, you found your way to the champagne already,” Jamie exclaims, oblivious to Nathan’s plotting to take her and everyone she knows down.
“Did you doubt me?” Nathan asks, giving his tone a flirty lilt. It’s harmless fun. Jamie and her husband are the types of people who enjoy playing and teasing and having a good time, but at the end of the day, they’re hopelessly devoted to each other. So devoted, in fact, that Jamie helps her husband when he buys his slaves to torture them to death.
Jamie and Charles Kensington are in Nathan’s top 10 on his list of people he can’t wait to destroy when the operation is over.
If he has his way, their destruction will be particularly slow and brutal.
They banter for another minute before Jamie loops her arm through his and escorts him, Benny, and Carter over to their designated table. It’s the second table as far as status goes, the first being just to the left where Jamie, Charles, and their four closest friends will sit. “Here we are! Can I get you anything, Nathan?”
“I believe we’re good for now. Thank you.”
Her eyes flick to Carter, a mischievous twitch showing in her lips. “Anything for your slave?”
Nathan flicks his hand dismissively. He wants her to leave. Now. “The slave is just fine. Go on and greet your guests. I’ll come find you and Charles later.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
She winks at him before flitting off to speak to someone else. Nathan eyes the table until he finds his place card, then guides Carter over to the black silk pillow beside his designated chair. “Kneel here. Rest position.”
The boy moves effortlessly. It hurts Nathan to watch. The true Carter is clumsy and goofy, always getting flustered and doubting himself. The confidence would be nice if it meant Carter felt secure in himself,
but that’s not it. This confidence is the one of a slave who knows all he has to do is follow orders and obey. It’s a confidence that comes from mindlessness.
Stomach turning, Nathan turns away from the boy and tries to forget he’s there. Benny takes the opportunity to sidle up to Nathan, their shoulders brushing as they survey the crowd. Nathan puts the rim of his glass to his lips to hide his mouth from anyone who might be trying to read his words. “Eyes on Miller?”
Benny tilts his chin towards him. “Not yet.”
“We don’t take a shot tonight.” Nathan takes a drink before shifting his body in another direction. He watches as someone sets their slave up on the stage. It’s a young woman. Somewhere around 18, if he had to guess. By the way her head is lolling to the side, she’s either drugged out of her mind, or struggling with a head injury. Nathan slides a fascinated expression on his face to mask his disgust. “Make sure our men fucking understand. No blood. This is a recon.”
“I’ll make sure the idiots behave themselves, don’t worry.”
“Have you seen Henley?”
Benny smirks. “No. But I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Kissing an ass or two.”
“Hopefully he’s wherever the hell Miller is.”
“It sounds like he was damn happy the other night.” Nathan looks over, eyebrows pulling together as he tries to figure out what Benny means. Benny’s eyes flicker toward Carter for half a second before returning to the stage. Nathan forces his gaze to do the same. The woman is being flogged now. A gag in her mouth keeps her from disrupting the party.
“What are you trying to say?” Nathan asks, carefully maintaining his casually amused expression as he pretends to enjoy the show.
“I spoke to him this morning, just to check in before the party. He went on for quite a while about how… satisfied he was.”
“Mmm.”
Benny scoffs. “Mmm?”
