Wulf remembered signing papers to join the military in his home country. The documents were long and complicated. He had been eager to sign.
He was eager now but not for the same reasons. This needed to be done. What little control he had left of his life he wanted to keep. If he could convince Locke not to sell him—
“You can read it through if you like,” Locke said. “Take your time.”
Wulf ignored him and began signing and initialing at the highlight areas of each page. His eyes weren’t working right anyway. The words were all blurred. With every signature, he felt stripped more naked than he had ever been. Invisible prison bars came down one by one disappearing into his flesh.
When he was finished, he pressed his thumb to the digital files. The solicitor gave his thumbprint, too, as legal counsel.
Locke gathered up the hardcopies and paper-clipped them, putting them neatly away in a red folder.
Wulf sat back in the chair. For a moment he did not know where to put his hands. He rested his palms on his bare thighs and looked up.
“Now can we go to the training room?”
Chapter Seventeen – Locke
The silvery light of the training room made Wulf’s hair into a mix of platinums with variegated veins of amber.
Back straight, and deeply tanned from just one day at the outdoor pool, Wulf strode alongside Locke. The muscles along his spine all the way down to the curve of his firm ass rippled as he walked. He looked every inch a perfectly trained slave. His form was naturally beautiful, unforced.
Locke’s throat tightened just to look at him. To hope.
But he could still feel it in his blood. Something was wrong. Despite all that Wulf had been through before coming to Avilan, something had happened to Wulf the night of his collar malfunction. Wulf wasn’t talking. And Locke seemed to be the last person he wanted to talk to about it.
He had to think. Think about what he must order his slave to do. He had many choices. None of them right. But he had to start. Wulf wanted this. Wulf had given consent.
The training room was busy today. While the Palace did not adhere much to outside world daily schedules, Saturdays, Locke noted, were always like this. Maybe the crowds of slaves and the busy classes and bodies everywhere lounging, fucking, and being groomed would put Wulf at ease. But he thought not. For most slaves, he hoped the environment might become a painting they could blend into. It was Locke’s experience that one did not feel so naked when everyone around them was naked as well. But Wulf was very different.
As they entered through the big double doors, Wulf’s step skipped as if he almost tripped. As if the shock of the room’s activities had physically pushed him off balance.
Locke did as he would with any slave; he leaned toward Wulf and said into his ear, “One step at a time. One thing at a time.”
But Wulf, never one to obey, was glancing around the room, taking it all in at once. It was indeed a spectacle, a feast for the senses. Or an assault for those not used to it, for it was a lot to take in all at once.
Nearly every alcove was occupied with two to four people at a time. The stage rocked with slaves prancing up and down the walkway, or sitting on the sides grooming, braiding hair, caressing pert breasts or erect penises.
Large screens overhead depicted close up videos of sexual acts between all genders.
Dark-clad masters peppered the room, overseeing the naked slaves and their acts. Some masters remained fully dressed—as Locke preferred for the simple reminder of the power play between master and slave—while others were shirtless. The masters who chose to be as naked as their trainees could be identified by the busy-belts they still wore about their waists.
In the first alcove, only a few feet away from them, a male master was instructing a male slave in the art of anal intercourse.
“But I’m a virgin; it will hurt,” the slave insisted with beautifully down-turned eyes.
The master replied, “Not after I’m done thoroughly preparing you.”
The slave lay on his back on the bed amidst the reds and lavenders of luxurious spreads and pillows, naked and aroused as his master standing over him gave him a massage with copious amounts of oil and continued to instruct him on how relaxed his muscles would become, and how addicting the milking of the prostate gland could be. By the time his erect cock penetrated him, the master promised the slave would experience utter bliss.
Wulf’s face darkened at the overheard conversation but he gave no other indication of his discomfort.
The room buzzed. Voices echoed off the high ceilings and wide walls. As they moved forward, other snippets of conversations could be heard. A teary slave: “But I came too fast.” And another, excited: “Can we try it again?”
Scents wafted by of various mixtures of fruits from the scented lubes the Palace provided, as well as powders, paints and hair gels used by slaves and masters alike to decorate their bodies more erotically. The adjoining bath area was also busy as slaves came and went from the more than a dozen shower stalls within. Hygiene was encouraged. On the weekends, the showers almost constantly ran.
It had been a week since the new batch of slaves Wulf had come in with had arrived. There had been no new batches since. So today the room was bright, the mood up. There was evidence of very little cowering or shyness as the newest and oldest mixed, all having had time to acclimate themselves to their new lives.
Wulf had not been among them. While the newest slaves were always required to attend training room sessions at least twice a day, Wulf had only been to this part of the Palace once. That meant even the greenest of the newbies here today had twelve to fourteen times more experience with this room than Wulf.
They needed it, too, in order to understand what would be required of them when they were finally sold.
However, Wulf did not need this if he didn’t really want it. Not anymore. Not since Locke had reevaluated his reasons for buying the man and wanted to keep him. Technically, Wulf was not being groomed for any of the futures these slaves faced. All Wulf needed to do was please Locke, and his existence already did that.
Locke had tried to be clear on this with Wulf. During the signing of the consent forms, he’d told Wulf, “You don’t have to do this. You are my slave. I bought you. You belong to me, not the Palace. I will force you into nothing.”
But Wulf did not seem to hear him.
It seemed Wulf did not hear a lot of what Locke said to him. And Locke had to remind himself that Wulf’s will needed training more than anything else. He didn’t want to break the man, but he did need him to behave if for no other reason than the comfort of Wulf himself. He needed to understand what was expected of him so he would not be surprised by so much, so his rage did not take over and make life miserable for himself and all around him.
Yes, Wulf did indeed need to learn how to behave. And to trust.
The training room was excellent for dealing with trust issues. It wasn’t all about technique and fucking. The art of love-making was also part of the weave, intrinsic to many human souls. That included emotions—whether you wanted them to be part of it or not, but in Locke’s experience they still must be dealt with.
Some slaves were in the training room as workers today. They rushed around cleaning alcoves, changing bed linens, mopping the bathrooms.
Small green lights above the alcove entrances indicated the alcove was empty and fully cleaned.
Locke spotted one, picked up Wulf’s leash which had been dangling limp at his side, and led him to it.
Wulf’s embarrassment turned to fear for a moment as all the pink drained from his face.
“Do you not want to go to an alcove?” Locke asked.
But Wulf was staring at the leash.
“Ah.” He tilted his head, trying to get Wulf to look at him. “The leash is on the lowest setting. I promise. I’ve triple-checked. I even had the controller replaced. After what you went through, I would use another method of restraint, but the rules of the Pala
ce are strict about collars. They must be worn by slaves at all times.”
Wulf nodded, then said in a dead tone, “I do not object to the alcove.”
The din from the training room receded with three walls enclosing them. There was no ceiling to the alcove, but the noisy surroundings diminished.
Locke would have preferred a private room. Perhaps even his own. A public training room was a society of sorts and not for everyone, though most slaves enjoyed it once they got past their inhibitions.
“I have to ask you again, Wulf,” Locke said. “Why did you insist on coming here when I have not ordered you to?”
“Because I want to learn and learn fast.”
“So suddenly?”
Wulf gave only a nod in response.
Both wary and slightly endeared, Locke said, “All right. What would you like to learn first?”
“I—I—figure you have a plan with all your slaves.”
“I have not done hands-on training in a while. Perhaps I forgot to say that in our conversations. Also, every slave is different in their files from life experience to gender orientation to wide ranges of personality. I told you I had made a mistake in bringing you here your first day.”
“It was not your mistake, it was mine.” Wulf appeared to be struggling a bit with his words. “I was unable to express to you what I was and was not—ready for.”
“All right. The video I wanted to show you was merely educational. But it was too fast. And I think you do not need it at this point. That is my assessment on this day. That may change.”
Wulf nodded. His eyes were unsteady, but he kept his head up.
“So with someone such as you, who is untried, I often start with a massage.”
Wulf took a breath but said nothing.
Locke continued. “Normally I would call upon my best slave masseuses in the Palace and observe the action on the slave.”
Wulf shook his head. “You mean a massage for me? I thought you meant I should massage you.”
“I meant a massage for you.”
“But I should be learning to pleasure you. I should be giving you the massage.”
“As your master, I say no.”
“But--?”
“No,” Locke cut him off.
Wulf’s gaze flickered toward the bed. “I don’t under—“
Locke interrupted him again. “You do not have to understand. On the bed.” Locke held the leash out. “I will give you this to hold if you obey me.”
Wulf reached out and took his own leash. Slowly, he backed onto the bed and sat. One by one, he lifted his long, gorgeous legs onto the mattress, his hands behind him, palms flat on the spread to hold himself up. His shy cock hid between his legs, still impressive even flaccid because of its length.
The body sprawled out before Locke was too beautiful for words. It was his. But it was not his.
“On your stomach,” Locke said.
A hesitation.
“This will not work if you do not want to do this.”
“It will,” Wulf insisted. “But I want to learn to please.” The pleading look in the pale blue eyes appeared honest. Open. It was the first time Locke had seen that look on Wulf.
“You learn first by obeying your master’s orders.”
“Yes, but—“
“On your stomach.”
Wulf arranged himself as ordered, his arms trembling along his sides. One leg bent slightly, as if to ease a silent stress in his lower back.
Locke did not make him straighten the leg. The massage would either calm him or rouse him or both.
Locke rolled up his sleeves, talking as he did so. This would be the first time he would be touching Wulf beyond steadying him, or helping him stand after falling.
“What happened with your collar has stiffened your muscles. This will be a treatment in addition to a part of your training to loosen up, and it will allow faster healing.”
“And the training part?” Wulf asked.
“To test to see if you can allow my touch.”
“I will allow it,” Wulf said, turning his cheek into the pillow.
“You say that with your mind. Will your body make the same statement?”
“Body and mind are connected.”
“Sometimes,” Locke replied, reaching for the oil.
“I want you to train me.”
The desperation Locke heard in that voice bordered on fear. The malfunction of the collar had traumatized Wulf, certainly, but there was more.
Locke squirted oil on the broad back, prepared to learn more.
Wulf’s skin twitched as the oil hit him. It was cooler than body temperature and probably felt cold as it sprayed him.
Locke placed his hands flat on Wulf’s upper back, pushing against the firm muscle over the shoulder blades and onto the shoulders. Then he moved them back down, spreading the oil, watching as it glistened up between his fingers.
He looked down toward Wulf’s buttocks, their perfect curves, the firm, bronze skin. His breath caught in brimming desire.
He let his hands sink into the silken skin, his mind flooded with images of Wulf sitting up in his bed, his body convulsing, falling, his mouth open in agony. He should have been there. He should have better protected his slave.
His hands trailed down Wulf’s spine. His slave sighed.
“Wulf.”
“Hmm.”
He pressed into the spine, gentle but firm, running his fingertips over each disk.
“I want to know about that night.”
The body beneath him tensed. “What night?”
“The night your collar malfunctioned.”
“I don’t remember much. Just pain. And being very tired.”
“There is more.”
Wulf did not answer.
“Did anyone come into your room?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Relax and let your thoughts go. Try for me, all right?”
The body beneath him went taut, then relaxed. The word “Yes” came out as a breath more than a tone.
Locke continued the massage in silence. Only the outside din of the training room could be heard, a slightly muffled roar of human voices talking all at once, some laughter, some groans and moans, a few shouts of ecstasy.
For the first time in his life, Locke felt greedy. He did not want to be here among others. He did not want to share Wulf in such a public venue. He wanted all their times from now on, now that Wulf had signed the consent papers, to be private.
But how could he say that with Wulf now begging to be trained? He did not want to wreck this fragile new change of Wulf suddenly wanting to fit in and do well. To change.
It all seemed too good to be true.
“Are you remembering anything?” Locke asked.
The muscles under his hands tensed again.
“No,” came the strained voice.
Locke sighed.
Chapter Eighteen – Wulf
“Are you remembering anything?” Locke asked.
Wulf had never had a massage before. The hands on his body, so warm, so amazing—like nothing he’d ever felt—had put his mind at ease for a few minutes. That one question jerked white light through his brain. A shock.
For a second, he did not understand the words even though he knew he should have been thinking about them. Per his master’s orders.
“No.”
It was the wrong answer. He knew that. He was lying. He remembered Malik threatening him that he would be sold no matter what. And that matters would only be worse if he told Locke about what Malik had said.
The warmth against his back increased. The tempo of Locke’s stroking hands went faster. Locke leaned into his work, obviously knowing what he was doing.
It felt so good!
He did not want to think about Malik. Only Locke. Only Locke’s hands. They did not feel like sin. Locke had only been kind to him. When he thought of Locke, and when he was with him, he felt safe. But that was an illusion.
>
The hands, the pressure moving over him, the fingertips finding those places where he didn’t even realize he’d been hurting or tense, made his body buzz with an internal longing he’d felt only in his deepest, most secret fantasies.
Something in his body was connecting to those hands. And his mind wanted to allow it. Wanted more.
He breathed deep. The pillow smelled of soap. The oil on his back was woodsy, like sandalwood or cedar. A comforting fragrance reminding him of more innocent times, when he was a child and his father was distant and he could play freely. Before he knew of war and humiliation, fighting and the sins of the body.
Locke’s voice came as if from far away. “Did a sound wake you first? For you were sitting up before the collar malfunctioned.”
“No.”
Locke’s hands moved further down, almost touching his buttocks. A part of Wulf wanted Locke to touch him there, stroke gently at first, then harder. His body went liquid and warm at the thought. A surge of heat went through his abdomen, leaving behind churning warmth.
But Locke avoided that part of him, moving onto the backs of his thighs, which was nice, too, and made him relax.
“Did you smell anything on the air? Smoke, maybe?”
Now Wulf tensed. For Malik had been smoking. How could Locke know?
“No,” he lied.
Abruptly, Locke seemed to change the subject. “You may be please to know, I’m an expert at giving massages. I learned long ago, when I was still very young.”
Wulf shut his eyes tight and breathed in the comforting pillow scent.
“The body telegraphs signals all the time, did you know?”
Wulf gave a grunt. But he was actually loving this. The hands, the tone of Locke’s deep voice. The way his world seemed to be floating as he forgot, for this moment in time, his inhibitions, and his sense of injustice and rage at life, the universe and everything.
“Electrical impulses. Fluctuations in temperature and muscle. If you map it with your hands and you are expert at reading the signals, you can tell many things. Like when someone is lying, for example.”
The floating world vanished. Wulf felt this toes flex. His calves wanted to cramp.
The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1) Page 15