by A. C. Ellas
George sat down and quietly asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Is Master Devlin permitted to use me, master?” Yeri moved from his position against the wall to sit at George’s feet, facing the human. However, the Rovani’s face was an expressionless mask that stirred unease in George’s heart.
“I have not told him that he may,” George replied, frowning. “I don’t know that he’d even want to, given his views. Why? Do you want him?”
“He demanded oral service, master. I obeyed. If I was out of line, I beg your forgiveness.”
George blinked. He considered what he knew of Devlin as he studied Yeri. “Why did you agree?”
“He is a free man in your employ. He has the right to touch me and to command me. I thought it better to just obey than to risk punishment for refusing him.” Yeri glanced up, meeting his gaze steadily. “Please, master, I would like clarification on his rights over me.”
“I will have to think about it.” George changed the subject. “Did you finish the song you were working on?”
Yeri flinched and glanced down. “No, master. I lost it. It’s just gone from my mind.”
That had happened before, usually when the Rovani was overly stressed. “I see. Well, the muse can’t be forced. Give it some time.” George picked up his bouzouki, checked the tuning then plucked the melody of the piece Yeri had been playing when George had walked in.
Yeri smiled at him as he resumed playing. “I love you, monkey boy.”
“I love you, too, kitty cat.” George chuckled softly at their private joke labels for each other. They played for about twenty minutes before the curiosity got to be too much. “Did Devlin enjoy your oral service as much as I do?”
“He wasn’t interested in pleasure, master. He wanted to humiliate me instead. In his mind, I shamed myself by sucking him. He found more pleasure in watching me service him than in his climax.”
“I don’t want him to feel singled out as the only human in the house who can’t use you,” George said quietly. “So yes, he does have permission to use you. However, if he steps beyond the bounds of what you think is acceptable from a user, tell me.” George could tell that Yeri wasn’t pleased with his decision, but the Rovani didn’t utter a word of protest.
Yeri inclined his head and murmured, “Yes, master, thank you.”
“Good boy,” George said in approval of Yeri’s simple acceptance of his will. Yeri was his friend, his partner, and his lover, but above all else, Yeri was his property. He reached down and stroked the Rovani’s head, running his fingers through the long, soft, but slightly wild hair of the mane. Yeri leaned into his caress, eyes closing in unmistakable enjoyment at the physical contact.
He was too tired to use Yeri, but there were other ways to give the Rovani pleasure. He set his bouzouki on its stand and patted his lap. “Put that down and get up here.”
Yeri set his bouzouki beside George’s then climbed onto George’s lap. George plunged his hands into the plush fur, stroking and massaging the body underneath. Yeri’s purr, a deep, soothing vibration, soon rumbled through them both. George nuzzled Yeri behind the ear then swiped his tongue across the musk glands. It wasn’t an unpleasant flavor, and he’d grown to like it quite a bit over the years. Yeri gasped as a bolt of pleasure flashed through him.
George made a sound of enjoyment himself. These days, so long as they were near each other, he could feel everything his Rovani felt even when Yeri wasn’t scent-locked on him. But it was even more intense with the scent-lock, and Yeri was quick to start kissing and licking his bared chest. George licked behind Yeri’s ear again, causing more pleasure. Yeri was starting to squirm in his arms. George reached down, pulled the scrap of silk aside, and thrust a finger into Yeri’s hot, velvety hole.
“Aaahhh,” Yeri cried out, his back arched like a bow. He pushed himself against George’s hand. “More, master, please.”
He added another finger and worked them in and out of Yeri at a brisk pace. He continued to torment Yeri’s musk glands, alternating sides every few licks to keep the flavor fresh. Yeri worked himself on George’s fingers, panting with need, the glazed look of pleasure on his face all the reward George really needed. George added a third finger. The hot pleasure of it, shared so completely with him, was making him hard.
“Please fist me, master,” Yeri begged, grinding himself against George’s knuckles. “Please.”
“Get on the floor, hands and knees.”
Yeri pulled off his fingers with a groan then sank to the floor in the requested position, with his thighs parted and his tail lifted up and out of George’s way. George rolled up his shirtsleeve, positioned himself behind the slave, and thrust his hand into Yeri’s sopping wet hole. His fingers formed a point with his thumb tucked in, and his entry was both forceful and easy. Yeri’s body yielded to him, opened itself for him and accepted him with the same ease and grace as Yeri’s mind and soul did.
He pumped his fist, sinking it deeper into Yeri, past the wrist now and working on his forearm. Yeri was gasping and moaning nonstop, his body trembling in reaction to the intense sensations that coursed through him. George had trouble controlling himself, the pleasure was so intense, so direct, it was driving him nearly as wild as it was driving Yeri. He loved being able to give this gift to his friend, loved pleasuring Yeri just for the fun of it. And each time, it brought Yeri closer to him, bound his slave more deeply to him, enabled him to experience Yeri’s pleasure as fully as his own.
A strangled gasp caused him to look up. Devlin stood in the doorway, his saucer-like eyes riveted on the scene before him. George shrugged and turned his attention back to Yeri. He pumped his arm, now sheathed halfway up his forearm. Each inward thrust caused Yeri to gasp in pleasure, and George closed his eyes, focusing on Yeri’s enjoyment and his mounting tension. Climax was near. He bent forward and licked behind the Rovani’s ear again.
The additional stimulation was just enough to bring them to orgasm. Yeri cried out softly as the ecstasy consumed him, even George made a sound, the pleasure was so intense, so wonderful. As soon as the Rovani’s body relaxed enough, George carefully withdrew his hand. Wordlessly, Yeri turned to him, climbed into his lap and pressed against him, seeking comfort in his embrace. George sighed happily as he wrapped his arms around Yeri and just held him.
* * * *
At some point she couldn’t put a finger on, things had changed. At first, everything had been perfect, she loved George and Yeri, and they loved her. It bothered her now that Yeri slept in their bed with them, either at their feet or curled up on George’s other side. She wanted to protest, but she held her tongue because Yeri had been sleeping at George’s side for years and she didn’t want to find out who George would choose if he were forced to make a choice.
Lee had been both a blessing and a curse. Yeri was besotted with the baby... and she wasn’t. Every day, she wondered what was wrong with her, that she almost hated the demanding little beast that took up so much of her time and resources. Yeri was more attentive to Lee than she was, responding to the baby’s noises before she even woke. Lee now responded to Yeri more than he did to her as if the baby thought it was Yeri who was his mama. Part of her resented that, too.
Her relationship with Yeri had changed. It was strained now. She couldn’t help but view him as her competition. Why should George pay attention to her, make love to her, when he had Yeri—always at his side, always horny, always obedient. Yeri was more than her equal in every way that mattered. He was a better partner, better lover, and even a better caregiver for Lee.
She glanced out the bay window overlooking their inner courtyard. The music room was directly across the courtyard from the dining room, and she could see into it from where she stood. Yeri and George were cuddling. They probably just had sex.
She turned away from the window, resolutely ignoring what she couldn’t change. George had given her leave to decorate the house. He wasn’t an interior designer, and the
house had initially been furnished and decorated by someone who was. The result was elegant and formal, but it didn’t feel like a place where people lived. There were no personal touches. Well, that was changing. She had three high-quality photos of the band performing that had been blown up to a larger size and framed. She hefted the hammer as she considered where to place the first one.
Sometime later, Ellie stepped back and surveyed the wall with satisfaction. The pictures added color and a personal touch to the otherwise bare wall. The wall had been painted in split tones of brown, a strong coffee brown on the bottom with a light golden brown atop it. The hanging light fixtures were brass and dark oak, matching both the walls and the table. It was nice, just plain. But not any longer. The photos were bursting with color. As a result, they drew the eye to them.
Ellie turned to gather her things but hadn’t realized how close to the table she was. She bumped into it with her hip, wincing at the momentary pain then sighed as everything fell to the floor—nails, hammer, papers, all balanced on another set of pictures she planned to hang elsewhere. She knelt down and quickly picked everything back up. The sitting room needed attention next. She didn’t notice that she’d left a few nails behind where they’d fallen between the plush fibers of the off-white carpet.
Several days passed while Ellie continued to decorate the house, hanging pictures and artwork in strategic locations with an eye that would have done an interior decorator proud. The dining room was cleaned daily because Marra was a fastidious housekeeper, and she vacuumed in there every night after supper. She found two nails this way, but unbeknownst to her, a third nail still lurked, and the repeated suction of the machine had served to orient it vertically.
On a Saturday afternoon, Ellie walked into the study carrying her textbooks. She found Yeri already there, glasses on as he worked. They were both in graduate school now, she was continuing her studies in archeology, and he was continuing with both physics and music composition. How he was even able to work on both at the master’s level was beyond her, but he seemed to thrive on the stress of it all.
Yeri glanced up as she came in and nodded politely. He didn’t speak. That was the norm for him, she’d learned. He rarely initiated conversation but would respond to anything asked of him. She appreciated the silence and ignored him as she set her things down on the empty desk. Yeri had a workstation of his own at floor level, and that’s where he was working. He went back to it as she sat down and cracked her own books.
They studied in silence for over an hour. Ellie found herself wondering what Yeri was working on, but she didn’t ask. He was always polite to her, but she wasn’t his owner. Although George had assured her that she had full rights over Yeri, she didn’t feel that she had any rights where Yeri was concerned. She hadn’t made love to him or even permitted him to give her a massage since shortly after Lee had been born. She almost feared his touch now, something that had grown in her as she’d come to see him as her competition for George’s affections. Part of her wanted to see the proud Rovani humbled, and another part of her just wanted him out of the picture.
She knew he must sense her feelings; he’d grown far more distant and reserved toward her in the months since Lee’s birth. He trod as carefully around her as he did around Devlin. When she looked at the situation logically, she felt ashamed. Yeri had been with George for years before she’d met them. He wasn’t an interloper, he wasn’t an enemy. He had literally saved her life, and this was how she repaid him? Her emotions, however, weren’t interested in the facts. Every time George made love to Yeri instead of to her, it hurt her heart. It told her she wasn’t good enough, sexy enough, to keep George’s interest. The issue of Yeri’s sex drive didn’t even enter the picture for her.
Devlin walked into the office. “Good afternoon, madam. Do you mind if I take the Rovani?”
“Not at all,” Ellie replied, smiling at her old friend. “What do you need him for?”
“Master George has given me leave to indulge myself with him, and since my duties are done, for now, I thought I’d avail myself of the privilege.” Devlin gestured to Yeri. “Come, slave.”
Ellie glanced at Yeri. His face was utterly expressionless. He removed his glasses, set them on the desk, then stood and padded over to Devlin.
“Well, have fun, Devlin. You deserve it.” Privately, she was elated to learn that her old servant was being permitted to use Yeri. Devlin needed the release of tension nearly as much as Yeri needed to be humbled.
Chapter Three
Yeri lay at the feet of his humans, unable to sleep even though Lee was starting to sleep through the night now. He could hear the even breathing of the baby in the bassinet nearby. Usually that alone was enough to soothe him into sleep but not tonight. He was sore from the pounding Devlin had given him, but that was a side note compared to the complex emotions of his mistress. He wondered what had changed, where they had once been close, now they were distant. Her dislike for him was as obvious as Devlin’s hatred. Had the butler somehow influenced her? Or was there some other reason? Had he done something to displease her?
He wanted to change position but didn’t dare. George’s left foot was pressed against Yeri’s belly fur, but the man’s right foot was snuggled between Yeri’s thighs. Ellie’s feet were both on his chest, the toes curled into his fur. He resisted the urge to kiss and lick them; she would not relieve him should he become scent-locked on her. Devlin might, he thought, remembering the sensation of the butler’s cock thrusting into him hard, deep, and fast. The man had well taken him, surprisingly so, but Yeri’s pleasure had definitely not been a consideration for Devlin.
George’s right foot shifted, pressing firmly into Yeri’s package. The Rovani almost smiled. Even in his sleep, he reminds me of my place. Yeri reached down and gently stroked the man’s leg. He loved George so much he would rather die than be without the man. He blinked. Was that the issue? Was Ellie jealous of his love for George? Or of George’s love for him? That could be. That very well could be. She doesn’t like it when George uses me, that I know.
Ellie moved next. Unexpectedly, one of her feet flung out, nearly socking him in the jaw, and coming to rest on his face—across his lips and just under his nose. He inhaled her delicious human scent and nearly sobbed in despair as he sensed his rising tension and desire. His heart was pounding, his skin felt too tight, and all he wanted was to please Ellie. He kissed and licked her foot as sensuously, as submissively, as he knew how, desperate to taste her, to know her, for her to know him. She shifted again, murmuring in her sleep, “Stop tickling me.”
The foot was gone. Yeri took deep breaths of relatively clear air. He was in trouble now, and he knew it. His lust was surging in his blood, a pounding drive in sync with his heart. His cock was fully, achingly erect, his body primed to share its pleasure with its user—but there was no user. He carefully pulled away from the human feet, trying not to disturb his sleeping owners. He regretted it when George’s foot fell off his genitals to rest on the sheet instead. But he had no choice. The scent-lock was already souring as if it sensed that relief wouldn’t be forthcoming.
With a stifled groan, Yeri slid off the end of the bed and curled up on the floor. The tension in his groin ratcheted upward and upward until it was no longer need but agony—nauseating, throbbing agony deep in his gut and crotch. As a youth, in the crude environment of the gladiator pens, he had heard it compared to having had one’s balls kicked by a mule, something he devoutly prayed never to experience. The punishment of the soured scent-lock was more than enough for him. He balled up and clenched his gut with his hands and his teeth with his stubborn pride, refusing to cry out in his pain, refusing to disturb the slumbers of the humans, his superiors.
When at last the pain eased, the grey light that heralded the dawn was seeping through the windows. He finally slept, worn out and exhausted, right there on the floor. He didn’t sleep for long.
“Damnit, Yeri, get off the floor,” George gr
owled at him only an hour later. “You know I don’t like you sleeping there.”
“Forgive me, master,” Yeri replied, blinking the grit from his eyes. He hauled himself off the floor, turned toward George, knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor. He spoke before George could protest his position. “Please use me, master, I beg of you. My body craves your touch.”
Fortunately, George was usually horny when he first woke up, and their positions were conducive to certain commands. “Abase yourself.”
Yeri was delighted to comply. He covered George’s feet with kisses in the process of licking them as submissively as he knew how. He shuddered at the intensity of the scent-locking, it always seemed much stronger the next time after a souring. He kissed and licked and moaned his desire for much longer than usual. The one time he risked peeking upward, George was looking down at him, watching him. The man’s scent was of pleasure and interest, overlaid with lust and a strong dash of dominance.
“Enough of that. Get on the bed.”
Yeri quickly stood and positioned himself on the bed. He’d hardly settled when George entered him with a strong thrust. He gasped in pleasure, knowing George felt everything he felt, loving the feel of his master’s cock inside him. Ellie’s scent, mingled shock and dismay, reached his nostrils, and by that, he knew she was awake. George set a rhythm, thrusting with strong, steady strokes, holding Yeri lightly by the waist.
“Good morning, koukla,” George said in a cheerful tone of voice.
“Ge-orge,” Ellie replied, embarrassment and anger adding to her dismay and shock. “This is hardly something I want to see when I wake up!”
“You object to this?” George was astonished. “Why?”
Ellie sputtered but didn’t really answer.