by Lynn Lorenz
“Anything else?”
He turned in a circle, scouring the small shop for something else. A robe, sandals, what else? A display of collars caught his gaze.
Following Stoltz’s gaze, the clerk suggested, “A collar, perhaps?”
“Sure. Nothing fancy.”
“Of course.” The clerk held up a plain rope collar. Stoltz tried to picture it against Ashland’s throat. No, it wasn’t right.
“No.” He ran his hand over the ones on display. “This one.” He held up a black leather collar, about a half-inch wide, with suede on the inside for comfort. The buckle was burnished silver.
“Very nice choice. He must be a favorite.” The clerk smiled as if he knew something about their relationship.
“No. It’s not like that.” Stoltz’s cock had softened, but he wondered if the man had noticed it before and jumped to conclusions.
The clerk smiled. “Of course. It never is.”
“No, you don’t understand. He’s my first werewolf. I’m going to spar him.”
The light went on. “Well, congratulations! Oh yes, the first slave is always special.” He led Stoltz over to the counter to pay for the items. As he bagged them, he said, “Good luck with your…sparring.”
Stoltz nodded and took the bag. “Thanks.”
He couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to Ashland to show him the purchases. Oddly, happiness swelled in his chest.
Only because he was starting his long-dreamed-of business.
Not because he was going to see Ashland and give him these presents.
No, not presents. Necessary items.
He swallowed and clutched the bag to his chest as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for Quarters—2.
Stoltz knew he’d lied to himself. No fucking way did Ashland need a collar.
No fucking way.
He’d return it tomorrow. It was a foolish spur-of-the-moment purchase. It would just stay in the bag. The robe and sandals were more than enough for a master to give to his new slave.
But that collar would have looked so fucking fine around Ashland’s neck.
Chapter Five
Ash lay stretched out on the couch, his feet propped up on the arm, his head supported by a pillow. A real pillow. Soft yet firm. From his real bed. Not just a thin mattress on the floor, but the kind of bed owners, free men, slept in. Thick. Raised off the ground, and with nice linens, warm and soft to the touch.
Maybe having Stoltz make demands on him wouldn’t be so bad, if he could live like this. To a slave like him, it was more than he’d ever dreamed of having. More than you deserve, Durio’s voice whispered to him.
He closed his eyes, and Durio’s face loomed, just like in most of his nightmares. Cruel, thin lips, heavily lidded dark eyes, and that mess of a beard combined to make Durio a horror, at least to Ash.
Ash had known the minute he’d first seen the man that he was in trouble.
Durio had leered at him, stroked Ash’s cock as Ash stood chained, naked, and powerless in front of him. That was when the demands began. Threats first, if he hesitated too long to submit, and the chains if his expression showed any disdain for his master.
And the fucking. Durio would drink, then come to Ash’s room, curse at him for being worthless and stupid, and order Ash to his hands and knees to be used without any care for Ash’s body—and certainly not his pleasure. Even though Ash was twice the size of his owner, he knew any resistance or fighting back would earn him a beating from not only Durio, but also the security forces.
Because an owner could do that. Order the guards to inflict a beating, use their stun rifles, even offer a slave up to their pleasure, and all of it was legal. No one would speak up for a slave, despite werewolves being at the high end of all slaves.
A misbehaving slave still had to be punished.
Ash shivered, rubbed his wrists, and eyed the bed. It was the middle of the afternoon. He should be working out, but nothing in the room fit the bill. He sighed. Tomorrow Stoltz would return and bring him something to use.
But he could do some push-ups, a few squats, and sit-ups.
Ash got to his feet and pushed the couch against the wall, hoping his new owner didn’t mind if he moved things about. After he’d made space, he got down onto the floor, rough carpet under his bare ass, and stretched out. He started with crunches.
After five reps of fifty crunches, he got to his feet and did five sets of ten squats. A fine mist of sweat covered his body, but it felt so good. As if he was alive again. As if he had a purpose. He’d tried to do the same when he was with Durio, but the man had kept him so weak he could barely do a dozen of anything.
He dropped into the stance for push-ups and counted them off as he rose up and down, the muscles in his arms and legs straining as he passed fifty. By a hundred, he knew he’d better stop or pay the price tomorrow.
Being unable to move might anger Stoltz. Better if he felt his way carefully with his new owner. Humans were tricky and sly. They deceived slaves, using their superior position and knowledge to keep the upper hand.
How many times had Durio told Ash he was stupid? Dumb. Brainless.
Ash took it, knowing deep inside he was just as smart as Durio. Smarter even. He’d have figured out some way to pay the back taxes and keep his slave, if he’d been in the same situation. He would have used a slave like Ash the way he’d been trained.
As a fighter. Easy money.
But Durio was a drunk, among other things. Not uncommon among humans. Werewolves didn’t drink alcohol, as it didn’t metabolize in their systems, just passed right through. They didn’t get drunk.
Ash got up and went to the bathroom. The water for the quarters would be on until ten each night, when, along with the lights and heat, facilities would shut it all off, plunging every slave in the complex into cold darkness.
He turned on the shower and stuck his hand in to test the water’s temperature. It took a minute or two, but it heated up. He stepped into the stall, closed the curtain behind him, and even found a fresh bar of soap waiting on a shelf.
His throat tightened as he stared at the bar in his hand. Durio had given him the bits and pieces of his own soap to use and never bought a fresh bar. Ash would use them until they were tiny slivers before Durio would replace them with more pieces.
Stoltz was a different sort of human. With each discovery, Ash’s feelings for the man grew. It wasn’t just his sexual feelings, because Luna knew the man turned him on. It was this strange warmth in his chest that puzzled him.
Ash scratched his chest, burrowing his fingers in the fine mat of red-brown hair covering his pecs and trailing down to his cock. He ran the soap everywhere, even into the crack in his ass, making sure it was clean, just in case his master desired him.
He’d never done that for Durio. With him, the scrubbing happened after the fucking, as Ash tried to cleanse Durio’s touch and semen from his body, inside and out.
Now he only wished to be clean and fresh smelling to please Stoltz. If he made his new master happy, maybe he wouldn’t beat him, abuse him, or use the goddess-damned chains.
Ash stroked lower, grabbed his lengthening cock, and pulled on it. He groaned as pleasure shot through him. Only alone had he reached physical pleasure. Durio had used him, pleased himself, and then denied Ash a release on penalty of more pain.
And that had been fine with Ash. He’d never wanted to give Durio the satisfaction of bringing him to release, of letting the man see him succumb and shoot his load, to think he, Durio, had given his slave any pleasure.
So Ash had gone inside his head and fought off coming each time they were together. Only alone, later at night, would he let his fantasies rise in the darkness to seek his completion and ease his aching balls.
Because, damn him, he’d responded to being fucked. It was in a werewolf’s nature to fuck and for a slave to be fucked. Combine both and he knew it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted it; his body had just done what
came naturally.
But Ash could never be sure. Maybe he had enjoyed being used like that. Maybe being fucked was what he was meant for, as Durio had told him. “You’re a toy, slave. My toy. Good for fucking and not much else.”
Ash pushed Durio out again. Damn the man. He was gone. Never to return. The sale was final. Fair and done and over with.
He belonged to Dan Stoltz now.
Dan. Ash moaned the man’s name as he started stroking himself again. He cupped his balls, gave them a pull, and hissed. That felt so good. If he imagined it, he could pretend his hands were Dan’s and Dan was in the shower with Ash. Pleasuring him.
Ash barked out a harsh laugh. An owner giving a slave pleasure?
Ash had never dreamed of being free. He’d dreamed only of a new, kinder, owner.
It was Ash’s favorite fantasy. Now instead of a nameless, faceless body, Dan took the owner’s place in the dream.
Dan stroked him as he stood behind Ash. He covered Ash’s back with wet, smooth skin as he reached around and jerked Ash off with one hand and tugged on his balls with the other.
Ash groaned and leaned back into the wall of the shower. Goddess, yes! So good. His balls slipped through his soapy fingers over and over as he slid his other hand up and down the length of his dick.
He picked up the pace, feeling the tingling beginning in the depths of his core, somewhere near the base of his cock. He let go of his balls and used both hands to jerk off, one hand flying in a blur over the head of his cock, the other twisting around the base.
It built, pressure and fire and an icy chill, until he was flying out over a chasm. He cried out and shot his load onto the shower floor, ropes of cum jetting, until he was empty and breathless.
He let the water run over his head, neck, and back, then finished his bathing. Shutting off the water, he grabbed one of two thick towels and dried off. He wrapped it around his waist like a long skirt and stepped out of the bathroom.
Food. His belly rumbled as he entered the kitchen. He opened the small fridge, bending down to look at his selection. Meat twice a day. He’d died and gone to slave heaven.
A container marked CHILI sat on a shelf. Sounded good, so he pulled it out. He fooled around with the stove and a pan until the meat and bean chili bubbled. He dished it out into a bowl he found in one of the upper cabinets. One of each, bowl, plate, and mug, along with a fork, spoon, and knife. Durio had never let him have a knife, but then he’d never given him anything to eat he’d had to cut.
He went back to the fridge and took out a container of protein milk. Now this was a dinner. Ash brought it all to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat.
With all the time in the world, Ash ate his dinner, never rushing but enjoying each mouthful. Okay, he could live like this. Good food, a warm bed, and a job to do.
And don’t forget Dan Stoltz.
»»•««
Ash finished washing the last dish in the sink when the doorbell to the quarters chimed. He froze. Okay, someone for him. Only owners or security were allowed to enter the slave quarters. Ash couldn’t even unlock the door from his side, and he certainly couldn’t keep anyone out.
Fear slid an icy finger down his back as he wiped his hands on the dish towel. He strode to the door, head held high, bracing himself for what might be on the other side.
He’d done nothing wrong.
Just as he reached the door, the terrible thought came over him—Durio had found him, had somehow reclaimed him, and was there to take him back. His knees trembled, and he supported his weight with one hand on the wall the last few steps to the door.
Someone pounded on the door, and Ash jumped back.
“It’s me, Stoltz. I’m coming in.”
Ash rubbed his wrist and waited, not quite sure he recognized who called to him. Durio would have just opened the door, no warning. How many times had he woken up to find Durio standing over him as he lay on the floor mat?
The door opened, and Stoltz stepped inside, closing it behind him. “I came by to drop off these things I bought for you.” He carried a large plastic bag in his hand and held it up for Ash to see.
“You bought something for me, Master?” Ash tried to keep the tremble from his voice.
“Sure. Figured you needed this stuff.” Stoltz shrugged and went to the couch. He sat and placed the bag on the floor next to him. “Sit down, and I’ll show you.”
Ash went to the couch and sat, angling his body toward Stoltz. He still wore the towel wrapped around his waist from the bath. It spilt open at his thigh, and he dragged it closed again.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned forward as Stoltz reached into the bag.
“These should be your size.” He held up a pair of sandals. “You’ll need them to travel in.”
Ash nodded. “I’m sure they’ll fit, Master.” He took them and placed them on the floor, then stepped into them. They did fit. He’d never complain, but now he didn’t have to lie about it. He looked up and grinned.
Stoltz grinned back. “Good. Now you can wear this in the complex, and I thought you could wear it here in your quarters.” He pulled out a large white piece of material.
“What is it?” Ash touched it. Soft, and made of the same stuff as the towels.
“It’s a robe. I didn’t know if you preferred being naked or clothed, and since you didn’t have much with you, I got it anyway. If you don’t want to use it, I’ll return it.”
Ash took it from his master and held it up. “I want it, Master.” He couldn’t get anything else out through the constriction in his throat. He stood, snatched his towel off, and put on the robe, wrapping it tightly around him. He ran his hand over it, from chest to hip.
“Master, no one has ever given me…” He looked up into a gaze so sure and steady he couldn’t fight his urge.
Ash fell to his knees and bent down to touch his forehead to the floor with his hands on Stoltz’s boots. “Thank you, Master. I don’t deserve this gift.” He didn’t ask what he could do to repay Stoltz; he wanted the man to suggest something. Something like his fantasy in the shower.
“Get up, Ashland.” His master’s voice was hard, and Ash trembled. He’d upset his master. Ash scrambled to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Master. What have I done wrong?” He assumed the sub pose.
“Nothing. I just don’t want you groveling. You’re not suited to it. You’re a werewolf and a fighter. Never do that again, not to me and not to any man.” Stoltz got to his feet, the bag still in his hand.
“Yes, Master.” Ash didn’t want to raise his head to see what burned in Stoltz’s gaze for fear he’d come undone and fall down again seeking forgiveness.
A moment of silence dragged out between them, and then Stoltz gave a harsh sigh and a quiet curse.
“I have something else for you.” He dug in the bag and pulled out a black strap of leather.
Ash fought the urge to wince. If he were going to be strapped, he’d take it like a werewolf, without fear of pain.
“I saw it and, well, knew it belonged on you.” Stoltz stepped up to Ash. “Lift your chin, Ashland,” he ordered.
Ash did.
Stoltz stepped around him. “Hold up your hair.”
Ash gathered his hair and held it off his neck. Stoltz slipped the leather around his throat and the softness of the suede brushed against his skin. Ash shivered. Stoltz made a comforting sound, as if settling an animal, and buckled the collar around Ash’s neck. Not tight, but not so loose it hung.
“Perfect.” Stoltz stepped back around to face Ash.
Ash touched the leather with his fingers, learning the weight and thickness of the collar. Only the most treasured slaves wore these, and Ashland was far from that to Stoltz.
“A collar?”
“Yes. You’re mine, Ashland.” Stoltz crossed his arms over his chest. “It looks right on you, just as I knew it would.”
“I am yours, Master.” Ash meant that in every way possible.
Stoltz turned around and headed for the door. “I’ll be around tomorrow with some equipment.”
As he fingered the collar, Ash watched Stoltz leave.
He swore he’d never take it off.
Chapter Six
Stoltz closed the door and leaned against the wall, unsure if the werewolf had noticed Stoltz’s arousal as he fastened the leather strap. The man’s scent had hit him full on, and wham! Stoltz’s dick had filled. Damn, he hadn’t planned to collar Ashland, but once there with Ash in front of him, something inside him demanded it.
His cock ached for it, to be touched and tasted by Ashland.
And that was wrong.
Knowing what little he did about Ashland’s former master only confirmed what he believed—as a master, he wouldn’t take advantage of his power. Even if Murphy hadn’t drummed it into him, he’d never believed in forcing submission.
Submitting to someone willingly, sure. But with a slave/master situation, how could he ever be sure it was completely willing?
He’d seen Ashland’s reaction to the robe and the sandals, and he had to admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, despite acting as if it irritated him. And it had, but it had also turned him on. How fucked up was that?
By providing the clothing, he’d given Ashland something he’d never had before, and it made Stoltz…proud. Strange and unsettling, his feelings for the big werewolf had been taking precedence over his common sense.
Watching Ashland’s expression of wonder and amazement had warmed a place in Stoltz’s heart he’d never let anyone into, especially a slave. Now was not the time to start, no matter how attractive he found the man.
He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and headed home to his small apartment a short distance from the arena complex. Many of the owners and trainers lived in this area of the vast city, but others, the rich owners who had several werewolves in their stables, lived in large mansions near the domed park. An address Stoltz would never live at, even if he made it big training sparring partners. It just wasn’t him.
He came up out of the building, and the dreary sunlight met him. He slipped on his sunglasses, turned up the collar of his jacket against the hot, dry winds blowing between the building-lined streets, and hailed a cab.
