"So glad you could make it, Leannan,” the General lied. “You look very well, and your boys are quite impressive."
"Thank you, General. I'm quite proud of them. Please, do me the honor of giving them a closer look."
Clearly apprehensive, but drawn to the beautiful slaves, the General stepped out from behind his men. Still, five feet of space separated him from Leannan, and seven from Rin, who had the poison. Leannan tugged the leashes, bringing Leaf and Rinko to stand beside him.
"Sit,” he said, and both “slaves” crouched down, dropping their eyes.
"Very well trained,” the General complimented. “Are their bodies still supple? Tight?” He inched nearer, like a stray dog to a piece of meat, fearful of being beaten, but so very hungry.
"Of course!” Leannan said. “Nobody uses them but me."
"You must sell one of them to me,” the General said in a commanding tone. “The markets have been so empty for the last few months. I'll compensate you fairly. Today is my birthday, and it would be very bad manners for you to refuse."
"Certainly,” Leannan said, tipping his shining head. Out of the corner of his eye, Leaf noticed the corner of his Master's mouth bow just a bit, an expression so subtle only a lover would catch it. “Gold, stand up. Take this one. He's timid and obedient and his ass is top of the line. We can decide upon a fair price later. Enjoy yourself on your birthday, sir. And many happy returns."
The General sent one of his men to take the leash Leannan offered, but at the last second he changed his mind. “The other one, the red-head, is much more to my liking. I'll pay you anything you ask, but I must insist you give him to me."
He'll say no, Leaf assured himself to allay the growing panic. Rin has the poison. Master loves me. The soldiers are afraid—
"If you insist. Stand up, Leaf."
"Leaf?” the General smirked. “I don't name my slaves. From now on you will answer to ‘boy.’”
"No!” Rin screamed, flinging herself at Leaf, hugging him. “Master you can't! Master, please don't split us up! I love Leaf! Don't sell him!” As she wailed and sobbed, her tiny hand slipped into the back of Leaf's loincloth, wedging the miniscule vial of poison between his cheeks. He clenched them to hold it in place. Before Leannan dragged her off by her short hair, she whispered “Leaf, you must do it. You're everything now."
As he would be expected to do, Leannan smacked Rin hard with the back of his hand, sending her to her side on the floor. She shielded her head with her arms and curled into a ball as he unfurled the bull whip. No man with any self-respect would let a slave talk back to him, especially in public. He'd be expected to whip her raw, and he put on a good show of it, lacerating her exposed arms and thighs.
"Ugh,” the General said to the soldier holding Leaf's leash. “I'm glad I didn't accept that one. It's so tiresome to have to break them. This one seems nice and docile. Look at his eyes. Terrified of his own shadow, just the way I like them."
"Yes, sir,” the soldier agreed, inspecting Leaf with his bulging, trout-like eyes. “He's beautiful. A real conversation piece."
"Listen Calder, do you think it would be rude for me to step out for a few minutes? Try out my new toy?"
"No, sir, General Waltman. I'm sure your guests would understand.” The man leaned close, handing the leash to the General, and shielding his mouth with his hand, whispering, “Try not to destroy this one right away, sir."
As Waltman dragged Leaf away from the party, the crack of Master's whip and Rin's moans faded until he couldn't hear them at all. There was no one to protect him. He was alone.
* * * *
"This is where you will live,” Waltman said to Leaf, pointing to a closet-sized, iron cage that sat in the corner of the General's bedroom. “Sit. There's something you should know."
The older man unzipped his trousers and took out his flaccid penis, waving it in Leaf's face. A diamond-shaped scar marred the head, and a chunk of flesh was missing close to the base. “My wife bit me. The bitch ruined me. I can't use this worthless thing at all any more. But I still like to watch. I like to watch people suffer. I'll like to watch you suffer. And cry. Your time with me is certain to be painful and brief."
He crouched down, his useless cock still hanging out, and spoke so close that Leaf could see his yellowed teeth and smell his rancid breath. “Normally I'd bend you over a table, strap you down, and let twelve or fifteen of my men fuck you until your legs gave out. But since we're alone, I'll have to use this.” He went to a box near the cage and brandished a piece of wood as thick as his arm, and only vaguely shaped like a human member.
"I can't use my dick, boy, but my arms don't get tired. Take off that ridiculous costume and bend over. Hold on to the bars of the cage."
Hands trembling, stomach threatening to expel his lunch, Leaf unbuckled his chain mail sleeve. It jingled musically as he brushed it off. He grasped the waistband of his loincloth, squeezing his cheeks together around the poison. In a weird way it comforted him; his Master, his true and only Master, had made it. But as soon as he bent over and spread his legs it would fall. He had to get a hold of it before then. He had to kill this vile man. If he didn't, he'd never get to travel to the limestone mansion in the beautiful park. If the assassination failed, he'd become the property of General Waltman. He'd never touch Leannan again.
His hand wriggled, as Rin's had, inside the material, and his palm closed around the sweat-slick little bottle. Holding it tight with his thumb and pinky, he disrobed down to his gloves and went to stand in front of the cage.
"Turn around and spread,” the General said. “If you behave yourself I might use lube next time."
Leaf's trembling fingers tried to unscrew the lid as he turned around. But it was tight, to prevent it from leaking inside Rin's shirt, and he couldn't loosen it with one hand.
"Scream all you want, pretty one."
Whirling around, Leaf said, “Don't call me that. My Master calls me that, and I don't belong to you.” Something snapped inside him. He refused to be violated by this man. Instead of being sickened by the thought of taking the General's life, Leaf craved it. So many people had suffered because of this man. His sister had been taken, likely killed. Abandoning subterfuge, Leaf began opening the poison. Waltman was so shocked and angry he didn't notice.
A fist hit Leaf's left eye, knocking him on his ass. He held tight to the little bottle, couldn't lose it. All the time the General battered his head with the wooden dildo and kicked him in the ribs, he clutched it in his palm. When the blows stopped, Leaf attempted to push himself up on his hands and knees to crawl away. All he needed to do was buy a few seconds to open the bottle.
The General hauled Leaf up by his hair and punched him in the diaphragm, winding him. Gasping for air, Leaf heard the tiny chime of the bottle falling from his hand to the floor. It rolled until the leg of the General's narrow, spartan bed stopped it.
It didn't matter. He'd kill Waltman without the poison. With his bare hands, if he had to. They'd planned for it to look like the old man had a heart attack while exerting himself with his pretty new slave boy, Gold. It wasn't supposed to look like a murder. But the newly erupted wellspring of violence within Leaf couldn't be corked. He picked up a glass lamp and swung for the General's head.
Whatever else he might have been, Waltman was a soldier. He dodged Leaf, laughing. Leaf swung again, and when he missed, threw the fixture at the General. It shattered against the wall behind him.
"I'm going to tear you in half,” he spat.
"No you won't,” Leaf answered. “You'll never touch me. I belong only to Leannan.” He dove toward the bed, where the poison had landed. Waltman swung, swelling Leaf's ear, but his fingers closed around the bottle.
"What's in your hand?” the General asked before Leaf could get back to his feet. His heavy boot crashed down, shattering Leaf's fingers and the glass container. A toxic pool oozed out, scorching the stone floor. With another kick to the ribs, Waltman flipped Leaf from his hands and
knees to his back. Poison dripped from the red-head's ensorcelled glove, but the old soldier's foot pressed down on his windpipe. He couldn't reach Waltman's hands or face.
Choking, fighting for consciousness, Leaf reached for the only bit of exposed flesh he could: the withered stalk dangling from the General's fly.
* * * *
Outside was chaos. Soldiers had broken rank and poured into the building, shoving civilians aside, trampling them. They yelled to one another, “Find Blackwell!” or, “The old fool had a heart attack! Too much rough sex with young guys!"
"Out of the way!"
"Blackwell will lead us."
It was terrible. Smoke rose from something burning in town. People screamed, just as they had on the night Leaf and his sister had tried to escape the city-state of Alexandria.
"Master?” Leaf called, trying to push his way through a crowd of people much larger than himself. “Rinko?"
"Leaf?” Even Leannan looked disheveled. His jacket had torn and his hair hung matted in his face. Some one fired a gun, and Leaf jumped, screaming. “You're safe,” Master crooned, taking his boy in his arms. “You did it. All by yourself. I was so worried. And I'm so proud."
"Master my hand is broken. A few ribs, too, I think."
Just as he had on their first meeting, Leannan picked Leaf up and carried him in his arms. The crowd parted to allow him passage. “I'll fix you,” he said gently. “But now we must leave Alexandria. There'll be civil war. It'll be brief. Blackwell's men outnumber Calder's faction, but there are always casualties. Rinko is waiting to guide us through the Wasteland. She has transport. Will you be all right?"
"Yes, Master. I'm back where I belong."
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Epilogue
Leaf hadn't thought there were so many trees left in the entire world. Their trunks were as wide as entire room, and their branches, heavy with autumn foliage to rival the sunset hues of his hair, shaded the house where he and Leannan would be living. Raising a bandaged hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Leaf looked out across the sapphire lake, toward the rocks and expanses of grass on the far shore. A soft breeze rippled the water and rustled the leaves. A few triangular yellow ones drifted in front of Leaf's amazed face. Looking down, he saw chrysanthemums in earthenware pots. All manner and color of flowers bloomed, their perfume scenting the air the way pollution had tainted the atmosphere of Alexandria.
"This is heaven,” he gasped.
"Wait until you see Tir Na Nog,” Leannan replied. “But it will do for now."
"Save me a room, for when I return,” Rinko said. “I believe you own sixty-four of them now."
"What,” Leannan joked, “so you can come back here and corrupt my slave boy again?"
"Slave boy?” she said, her voice rising, feigning confusion. “Surely you know that the Baron has outlawed slave trading. Leaf can see spirits, and he'll make a good swordsman soon. I'm afraid you can't prevent him from going off on his own."
Looking from Rin's mischievous smile to his Master's disguised discomfort, Leaf saw strands and strands of meaning and purpose, twisting together, disappearing underneath one another and looping back around like the knots decorating Leannan's favorite jewelry. Perhaps he'd never be able to see the complete design as his immortal companions did. The overthrow of the Alexandrian government had been, at least in part, a game between his sidhe lover and the half-divine Highwayman.
"Will you go?” Leannan asked, tracing the edge of Leaf's ear. The trepidation in his voice surprised the red-head. “I don't own you now."
"That doesn't mean I'm not yours.” He hugged his Master, cringing at the grating of his fractured ribs. “I belong only to you."
"But sometimes I can borrow?” Rin giggled, draping her armored arms over their shoulders.
"Only if you bring me whiskey,” Leannan jested.
"And pearls,” Leaf said.
"I will,” she promised, waving to them as she walked away, a black slash under the flaming canopy of leaves. “I love you both!"
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Sam, the Man by Jude Mason
[Back to Table of Contents]
Also by Jude Mason
An Acquired Taste
Pink Ribbon
Scorpio Tattoo
Stage Fright
Jesse's Homecoming
"Of Death and Desire” from
413 Remembrance Lane
Amber's Toy
Cat's Claw
Yes Ma'am (print collection)
"Flaming Rescue” from
Coming Together Under Fire
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Chapter One
Pulling the car door closed, Sammy leaned back in the seat and sighed. Friday, finally. It'd been a long week and an even longer day. A client who'd needed babying took more than two hours longer than they'd scheduled for him, and a late dinner grabbed between meetings left both him and Cynthia short tempered. He needed to unwind.
Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight and pulled his suit jacket off. He thought of Cyn's face the first time she'd seen him in his purple. It'd been so hard to keep her mouth from gaping open; she'd told him that later, and they'd both laughed. Since then, he kept her on her toes, fashion wise. He loved to dress outrageously, and their clientele seemed to like it, too. He tossed the jacket in the backseat of the little Accord, and turned on the ignition. It purred to life, and he pulled out into the surprisingly light Friday rush-hour traffic.
Heading home, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He loved his job, but sometimes the pressure got to him. Being Cynthia Lyon's assistant was no picnic and after her husband died, she'd been a mess. He'd taken care of the business for a few months, but now that she had a new man in her life, she was much happier, and the office was running like it had a year ago. What with her needing extra help, and the new man, things were never dull.
He thought of his empty house, and decided to change his evening plans. Checking over his shoulder, he switched lanes and headed for Greg's. His thoughts turned to sex, and he smiled.
He'd met Greg at his night job. Three evenings a week, he helped out at the hospice foundation, where he'd first met Greg's wife, Jean. Riddled with cancer, the doctors had given her a year. She'd dragged it out almost twice that long before going into hospice care. Sammy was given her case.
The first night he sat with her, the lovely blonde woman who peered up at him had the dead eyes of someone who knew the end wasn't far off. She was terribly weak and the meds had cut in, so they didn't talk a lot, just shared time while she floated in her drug induced nirvana. She was more asleep than awake, and at her stage of the disease, he thought that was probably for the best.
He'd just finished checking her vitals, when in walked the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. Six feet tall if he was an inch, Greg Jackson had those bad boy looks that drove both men and women to distraction. Long, shaggy, dark hair hung to his collar, a dimple in his chin and a couple of day's growth of beard that begged a caress. His eyes reminded Sammy of the old, ‘blue as the sea’ thing he'd read in romance books when he was younger. White t-shirt, tight blue jeans and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots finished the picture of the perfect man, or so Sammy thought. He had muscles where Sammy was sure he didn't even have places, and it took all his effort not to reach out and stroke.
With a handful of roses held out in front, Greg looked as if he was trying to shield himself from the horror of what was coming.
Sammy rose from the only chair in the room and extended his hand, a little limp wristed, but that didn't seem to bother the newcomer one iota. He reached out and took hold. “Hi, I'm Greg Jackson.” He shook hands carefully; as if afraid he'd break the delicate bones if he squeezed too tightly with his much larger, more masculine, fist. “Jean is my wife.” He dropped his hand, and went to the bed. He perched on the edge, careful not to disturb any of the tubes running from her to the myriad of machines.
He leaned down an
d kissed her on the lips, and then the forehead. He stroked her face, and then turned to face Sammy. “How is she? I can only get here late in the evenings, so I don't see the doctors as often as I'd like."
"She's about the same.” Sammy ran his hand through his short blond hair and for the hundredth time, wondered if what he said made any difference at all. Gently, he said, “She knows she doesn't have long. She's worried about you."
"Me!” Greg looked up into Sammy's eyes. Tears brightened them, threatening to flow with the slightest provocation. “She's the one dying, and she worries about me. Crazy."
"Yeah, but that's how it happens. Once she got over all the blame, disbelief and anger, that's all she cared about. She loves you."
"I know, and I love her,” Greg said, and that's all it took. The tears flowed. He didn't try to hide them or turn away, he simply let them trickle down his face.
"I gave her morphine, she's comfortable now.” Sammy walked to the door, aware that his bottom jiggled a little more than it needed to. A flirt even at the worst of times, he thought. Just before he left, he said, “I'll be in the break room. If you want to talk, or want me to come and sit with you both—anything, just come and get me."
That's how it began. An hour later, Greg entered the small coffee room looking completely lost. Peering around, he spotted Sammy and approached him. “Can we talk?"
"Most definitely,” he replied, and asked, “Coffee? Tea? Something?"
"What I'd really like is a beer.” He slumped into one of the hard wooden chairs. “Sammy, it's Sammy, right?"
"Yes, Sammy Nicholson.” He checked his watch and asked, “Was she sleeping when you left?"
"Yeah, she fell asleep pretty fast. I didn't get to talk to her much.” He looked up. His eyes didn't seem to want to focus. He kept shaking his head and peering up at him again.
"It's almost ten, why don't we get out of here."
"Can you? I mean..."
Sammy took him by the arm, and lifted. Greg got to his feet, allowing himself to be maneuvered out of the room, down the hall and then out of the building. “I'm officially off at ten, which is about seven minutes from now. It'll be our little secret.” He looked up into Greg's eyes and fought back the growing desire to reach up and pull that beautiful face down for a kiss. The poor man seemed so lost; all he wanted to do was comfort him. “My place, or would you rather go to a bar or club?"
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 15