The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1)

by Wendy Rathbone

  He closed his eyes but the voice in the film became more and more explicit, and Wulf’s imagination conjured images as if he were watching the film. It did not make a difference.

  He cracked an eyelid when the voice described how the peak of pleasure rose to culminate in orgasm.

  He saw the stiff penis in the mouth of the beautiful model, as well as the other model’s body taut and arched, his muscles standing out in relief beneath toned skin—like a sculpture. Like art.

  The voice continued to describe, explain. The model began to cry out.

  The mouth suckled and pulled away just in time for the throbbing ejaculation to be shown. Strips of white shot from the tip of the penis, semen arching, a mini-fountain on display.

  Wulf wanted to whimper. Shout. Destroy something.

  The denial of sexual gratification was like a barrier inside him, built inside him over time brick by brick, with fences and more fences in front of it. Overgrown. Blocked. A jungle of barricades. An army force of obstacles armed and dangerous.

  He had caught himself thinking this was art. But he couldn’t partake. He would not!

  Now he heard himself mumbling. “Don’t make me watch your pornography. I won’t! This filth. This sin. I won’t.” He kept repeating his words again and again, louder. Until he finally demanded from the unseen cameras, “Use the collar! Use it! I don’t care! I don’t care!”

  He shut his eyes and rose from the bed. He was afraid to leave the alcove for fear of the collar, but he paced, bumping hard into the counter.

  He realized only minutes later the TV had shut off and gentle hands were helping him to stop pacing, stop banging onto the furniture.

  He opened his eyes.

  Locke stood by the bedside. The air had changed. No longer as sweet, but within it was the masculine scent of Locke, leafy and fresh and electric, like a lingering storm.

  Wulf’s mouth was so tight his teeth clenched. “Don’t!” His voice sounded far away, almost a whine. “Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me!”

  But Locke’s voice kept up a kind of easy rhythm, repetitive, with sentences that mesmerized, spell-bound. “You are safe. You are protected. You are away from any strife or violence. You are safe. Steady. Easy. We will take a break now.”

  Chapter Eleven - Locke

  Many slaves went through periods of denial and torment. But Wulf was different.

  Locke watched him on the cameras and saw the splendor of him, as if he were some noble prince from a fairytale. He saw how the man inside that glorious body diminished himself, shrank away from the film on the TV, and broke himself to keep from succumbing to what he called a “sin.”

  Wulf pushed his own arousal down. He trapped himself. He abused himself by clamping his erection between his thighs, even pounding on it with his fisted hand.

  But oh the brilliance of that body. The suppleness against rigid muscle and prominent bone, the slenderness of his physique despite the strength of sinew and brawn, all cultivating him, carving his physical form into exquisite proportions of strength and health and youth. The virility, the vital essence of maleness—all that had attracted Locke from the very beginning, longed to emerge from Wulf.

  But it was all nothing—nothing so much as the look in those lost-blue eyes, the desperate anger, the danger of what a man such as Wulf fully roused in mind and body might exhibit.

  A thrill went through Locke at the mere thought.

  But this man was still so much a child, too. As if he had been held back in school. In life. Missing everything around him. As if he’d been bred a tool and only a tool and believed it for his culture, his country.

  Wulf had lived and trained in a sheltered environment. For all of Locke’s acceptance and tolerance of others, their beliefs and predilections, their addictions and preferences, he did not accept Wulf’s ways, and truly believed his culture had done him no favors.

  Locke was not a political expert, nor did he have such interests beyond a general knowledge, but he could not argue that Wulf’s country of Rille was backward in and of itself, preaching intolerance and denying its citizens the most basic of pleasures, rewards, or even flat-out needs.

  He watched from another room the misery of Wulf, the despair. That drew his attention even more. For what a prize Wulf was. And how accomplished it would feel to some day make Wulf see that for himself, within himself.

  That bronzed skin of his prize was covered in sweat, though, and he shut his eyes into thin dark lines over and over, as if he were in pain. His hair grew damp at the temples and forehead, darkening. His body held a slight tremor.

  What a lovely arousal, and horrible at the same time. For Wulf looked on the verge of a fight, a temper, or even tears. His toes curled. His muscles strained in his legs and arms and along his shoulders. His stomach rose and fell, matching the strain of his ribs trembling with each breath.

  When Wulf began to murmur, and the murmurs grow to shouts, demanding the collar, demanding to be hurt instead of continue the lesson, Locke stopped the training session. He cut the video stream. He lowered the lights in the alcove.

  Wulf did not stop his shouts.

  Locke ran from the office adjacent to the training room and entered the alcove within seconds. A slave was in crisis. Peril. Locke’s own training as Eminent Master took over.

  First he spoke the easy calming words that worked on everyone during moments of breaking exasperation.

  “You are safe. You are protected. You are away from any strife or violence. You are safe. Steady. Easy. We will take a break now.”

  He kept up the intonation, repeating himself.

  He knew Wulf did not want to be touched, but he touched him anyway. This was medicinal. He helped him balance and regain some control of mind and body combined.

  How hot that skin was. As if Wulf suffered a fever. Well, indeed he did. Unwanted arousal. The programs within all fighting for control to hold down something thought by him as the worst transgression. Sexual arousal.

  The skin was like damp silk sliding against Locke’s fingertips. The powerhouse of the man before him was a raging hearth of heat. Soft and hard at the same time. Raw-edged and hot. Raging and withdrawn.

  Locke could not be more attracted to him than he was at this moment. His own training took over. He held himself in check.

  Wulf let himself be pulled forward. His legs seemed to struggle to keep him standing beside the bed. He struggled as if he’d forgotten, for a moment, where he was.

  Locke saw clearly that Wulf had lost touch with reality. Something inside him had shut down. Sex had been the catalyst.

  This would not do. Not the shutting down part, and furthermore, not the fact that sex and/or sexual arousal had been the trigger. Time for Locke to remember his deeper training techniques. He could not rely on ordinary means for Wulf.

  When Wulf’s gaze cleared and those blue eyes brightened, Locke said, “Ah, you’re back. Do I have your attention now?”

  Wulf blinked. One hand reached up as if on instinct to touch his collar as he nodded.

  Locke sighed at Wulf’s perceived fear.

  “It was your first lesson,” Locke said. “I’m not going to use the collar on you for not completing your first lesson. Or even your tenth or twentieth. We are going to take this one day at a time. Your collar is there to protect you from yourself, and to protect others simply because of your short temper, your tendency toward violence… as you were taught. Not your fault. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very,” Wulf said. His voice came out hoarse. “I am a dangerous person.”

  “Is that what you got out of my little speech?” Locke smiled to show he didn’t care. It was expected. This was only Wulf’s second day.

  “Can you stand on your own?” Locke asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s leave here right away.”

  “Leave?” Wulf’s pretty gaze tightened in confusion.

  “Yes. We’ll find a more comfortable area for you to be in. Plu
s, we haven’t quite finished the tour of the Palace.”

  Wulf rocked slightly, but Locke pretended not to notice. He took up the leash, leaving a lot of slack so as not to make Wulf more nervous than he already was, and together they walked into the middle area of the long, vast room.

  More slaves graced the stage at this point, naked and beautiful. Learning to comport themselves in ways to frame their physical beauty, and accent their talents.

  Two males, shoulders back, heads held high, were learning to walk to accentuate their attributes. One had a plump, firm ass and he used it well as he rocked his hips, moving back and forth. The other had a large cock, and moved to show it off with pride and not shyness. He wanted to be looked at and admired for it, but he also had a lovely face, and that smile, which his master complimented, flashed white and alluring.

  Two females, gorgeous as well, were a few paces away, also learning to walk with pride.

  Locke loved seeing the slaves of the Palace embrace their full abilities mentally and physically to attract and keep, until old age, any owner that might be a good fit. The Palace prided itself on matching owner to slaves, on making that fit as excellent as could be. They examined everything from the tastes of all involved, to even body chemistry and the science of pheromones.

  Wulf kept his gaze straight ahead.

  Locke leaned into him and said, “You cannot deny their beauty. Like the statues in the garden. I know you liked those. Would you like to try it out one day? Playing statue? Not just performing art, but being art?”

  Wulf glared at him and glanced down again.

  Locke decided he would like to see Wulf on one of those pedestals in the garden or the front lawn one day. One day.

  Locke led Wulf on a grand tour for a couple of hours. They saw the rooms for all sorts of classes, and the mall where there were stores—everything from kinky sex toys to necessities. Even clothes, which the slaves were not allowed to wear in the Palace but could wear in public outside Palace grounds. They were taught fashion to help pick out clothing for their masters’ tastes. A slave learned how to shop for their master.

  They stopped for a break at the mall, and a cold beverage, and a light lunch.

  Naked slaves were everywhere, waiting on masters, learning trades and public behaviors. Locke had no doubt Wulf would become used to it quite quickly. It might take some time, but not too much. After a while, a new normal would set in for him. Psychologists said after three days of doing something new over and over again, humans tended to accept the new thing as their norm.

  Locke thought about his bet with Malik. Malik had given him ten days to “tame” Wulf. But Locke had never thought of Wulf as untamed. Confused, maybe. Afraid. Angry, for sure.

  Malik had meant, no doubt, that Locke would not be able to make a willing pleasure slave out of Wulf in ten days. Someone who might perform at will, with pride and high self-esteem. Someone who might bring the Palace a very high price.

  A part of Locke had already known from the very beginning that wasn’t why he’d bought Wulf. He had never been looking to make him into a pleasure slave to sell. He wanted to keep him. For pleasure, yes, but also because the man fascinated him. Had quickened him in his jaded boredom

  For that reason alone, Locke had bought Wulf. Bet or no bet, Locke had already won. He owned this man. He wanted him. Ten days or ten years, it didn’t matter. All in good time. He was keeping Wulf.

  After lunch they went to the bathing room. Locke secured a pool for the two of them, no other intruders, and stripped down.

  Wulf’s eyes got very large when Locke took off all his clothes, folded them, and put them aside.

  Locke had a great body. No shame there. Lean, with fine hard muscles, and sun-toasted skin, for he spent his summers at the outdoor pools at least an hour a day swimming and reading.

  He jutted his hips forward to see if Wulf might notice.

  Nothing.

  Locke kept his grin to himself. His cock was nice. But he couldn’t expect it to interest everybody. But with time, he hoped for just that where Wulf was concerned. Interest. Curiosity. Attraction. More? He dared to hope. But not because he was the best at what he did. Not because he was a master. This was different. This was something he wanted, someone he desired all on his own. For himself.

  He could have sex with any slave he wanted, any time he wanted. All Palace slaves were open to him in that way. He was an Eminent Master. He could take over any slave’s training at any time without question. But it was Wulf he wanted.

  That had never happened to him before.

  This new feeling was like a poet falling in love with a poem. Or something similar. He couldn’t figure it out, but he didn’t need to. It was what it was. Not about a bet. Not about an altruistic rescue of some hopeless soul.

  Droplets of warm water hit his legs, interrupting his thoughts.

  Wulf slid into the pool. The bubbles swirled about his chest, the water giving his skin a glow. The wake of his weight in the pool sent a spray up toward Locke.

  Locke stepped onto the top shelf of the pool. As he bent to take his seat in the roiling liquid, Wulf ignored him. Locke watched him let himself slide slowly under the water. He came up seconds later, shaking his wet hair back.

  If Locke hadn’t known better, he would have thought the man was putting on a show for him. Seducing him with the action of lifting his muscular arms and pushing his hair flat on his head.

  But Wulf was in his own world, unconscious of his affect on anyone or anything around him. The water slid down his bronze arms in rainy lines, glistening. It dripped in little falls from clumps of his hair until there were only quivering droplets left to tease the ends.

  Wulf’s eyes closed, but not too tight like before in the alcove in front of the TV. This time the muscles of his face relaxed. His lashes barely dusted the tops of his cheeks.

  Locke watched as Wulf leaned back against the ledge, lowering his arms and trailing his hands across the pool’s surface. He was clearly enjoying this part of his training: learning how to relax. Locke made sure the fact that this, too, was a lesson remained a secret, or Wulf would not have understood. He would have tensed. He would have endured, not enjoyed. Now, watching Wulf let go for a few moments was nice.

  Some green ferns in pots draped alongside the pool, giving Wulf and Locke a little more privacy here than they would ordinarily have. They gave off a fresh, healthy scent. The water itself had a slight chlorine smell, but not overwhelming.

  Locke turned to Wulf, who was still glistening, blinking the water from his eyelashes. “Do you like to swim?”

  “It’s fine,” came the low response.

  Locke said, “Good. We can make swimming part of our daily routine, then finish off here in the hot pools.”

  “Whatever.”

  But Locke could tell by Wulf’s tone and the way his muscles relaxed in his shoulders that Wulf would enjoy the swimming routine. That it was something he could wrap his mind around instead of lessons in such dreaded things as pleasure, manners and how to be a good slave.

  Together, they sat in silence, letting the bubbles do their work.

  The liquid warmth caressed Locke’s body until he almost fell asleep. He had been working hard the last couple of years and rarely took time for himself other than short breaks for exercise and swimming. These next ten days were for him and him alone. He had taken the time off from his Palace job to attend to his slave, and to take on Malik’s challenge.

  This bit about relaxing, he realized, was a lesson not only for Wulf. Locke needed it. He really should be taking better care of himself now that he was no longer a twenty-something upstart.

  He spent far too much time at a desk doing paperwork. He went to the auctions with Malik to get out, but it hadn’t been enough. Until Wulf appeared. Until Wulf turned his world upside-down during a simple fall off an auction stage, and a brief touch when Locke had caught his hard, beautiful form in his arms.

  Locke pretended to mind his own busi
ness and allow Wulf time to soak, but in truth he kept a peripheral eye on him the whole time they were in the pool.

  Finally, when Locke’s fingers began to wrinkle, and he began to feel a little too warm, he stood.

  “All right.” Locke kept his voice low. “Time to dry off. I’m taking you through the sculpture gardens next.”

  Wulf did not react.

  Locke ignored the lack of response and stepped naked out of the pool. A helpful young, naked slave ran toward him, bringing a stack of clean towels and bowing deeply.

  Slowly, Locke dried himself off, first his legs, then his back and chest. Lastly, he ruffled the towel over his hair.

  His clothing lay in a neatly folded pile on a bench nearby. With a slight turn of his head, he observed Wulf, who was finally moving forward in the water, little wavelets streaming alongside his hips as he float-walked to the pool’s shallow steps.

  Locke went to the bench, hearing the water shift and churn as Wulf’s large body left the pool. He grabbed his pants and stepped into them, pulling them up quickly and fastening them. He grabbed his shirt and turned.

  Wulf was standing naked and wet by the tiled edge. His hair made pretty, shining clumps about his handsome face. His muscles gleamed, sleek beneath damp skin. His buttocks were tightly drawn inward, and there was a lovely concave sculptured look to the side of his upper thigh where it met the hip bone.

  Wulf should be in paintings. Wulf, he thought, should be a sculpture in the garden—nothing short of the main, central attraction, for all other slaves paled in comparison to this man’s natural, innocent but strong beauty.

  Chapter Twelve – Wulf

  Wulf had not wanted to leave the hot spring—or pool, or whatever it was called. It had been the best part of his day so far. He had been able to relax for the first time since being captured by the enemy. Even his sleep had been fraught with tensions.

  The pool provided a strange, meditative release. It soothed like nothing else had in his life so far.