Pulling off the cock, Malcolm said, “Scoot forward, laddie. Put your sweet arse against my mouth.”
It was on the tip of Brenin’s tongue to refuse. He couldn’t do that, could he? Malcolm hadn’t ceded control entirely, apparently, because he forced Brenin up. He parted the globes and stuck his tongue in where his finger so recently had been. The way he licked and teased Brenin’s hole, it opened for him without complaint. When Brenin thought he’d go mad from the pleasure, Malcolm sent him heavenward by stabbing the tip of his tongue inside.
“Oh God, I’m going to come!” he wailed, desperate for it and yet not wanting it to end so soon.
“Stay with me, bonnie lad.” Malcolm’s breath bathed Brenin’s wet hole, sending shivers through him.
When Malcolm urged him to slide down his torso again, Brenin fumbled to comply. Malcolm was there for him, using his strong hands to help him into position. Brenin understood what he wanted, felt ready to give it to him, and still Malcolm held him back. Instead of seating him on his once-more-erect cock, Malcolm milked it with his own hands. Pre-cum dribbled out to meet that which had already dried. Malcolm scooped it up and this time, it was he who used it as lube.
It was maddeningly slow, the way he inserted one coated finger then another to open Brenin. There was a burn with the wider insertion, but nothing like the pain he was used to. This was different. It held the promise of intense pleasure. Every pass of those fingers across his prostate sent his arousal higher. The ache in his balls became an incessant pressure.
“Malcolm, please.”
He didn’t wait for his lover’s consent. Brenin was in control. That was the deal and what he wanted right now—what he needed—was Malcolm’s cock inside him. He found the strength to push the man’s arm aside and position himself so that the tip of Malcolm’s dick was pressed against his loose, puckered hole.
“Brenin,” Malcolm breathed the warning.
It was too late and, the moment the cock breached the hole, there were no more warnings. No more words, only the joining of their bodies. Brenin sat all the way down and waited with his eyes closed and his lungs heaving as he adjusted to the way the cock stretched him wide.
“Brenin?”
“It’s all right. I’m bloody fine. Fuck me, for God’s sake, Malcolm.”
His lover gave him what he pleaded for. Grabbing Brenin by the hips, Malcolm fucked himself with Brenin’s willing body. It was perfect, the experienced man leading the novice, yet in a way that didn’t make him feel overwhelmed or trapped. All Brenin had to do was hang on for the ride.
And, oh, what a ride it was. He panted and curled his fingers against Malcolm’s chest. He scrunched up his face and his toes, as well, and clenched his hole around the hard length embedded in him. Now that he was loose, he perversely missed the burn. He tried to bring it back, even as he held his release in check. He wanted them to come together.
The dick inside him swelled. He knew what that meant. “Come now, Malcolm.”
“Are you with me, laddie?” the man gasped.
Brenin threw back his head. “Yes! No, wait!” Madness was upon him perhaps, but he needed more. If they were truly going to join, sex wasn’t all there was. He had to give this last, other bit of himself to his man or they would never be the ‘one’ that he wanted for them.
He collapsed against him, crooking his head to one side, exposing his neck. “Bite me.”
“No.”
“Do it!” He screamed in his frustration.
It worked. Malcolm sank his fangs into Brenin’s jugular. The pain was nothing compared to the intensity of the orgasm that claimed him a split-second later. He cried out and went limp. The tugging at his vein was joined by flooding inside his arse. Malcolm drawing in Brenin’s blood while filling him with his cum.
It was perfect. It was peace and it was love.
* * * *
“You sure you’re all right?” Malcolm tucked more of his kilt around Brenin as they sat by the fire he’d built after they’d made love.
Brenin leaned against his hard body. He felt so safe with all this strength at his beck and call. “You’ve got to stop asking me that or I’m going to feel as if I did it wrong.”
Malcolm chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “You did everything perfectly. It’s me I’m worried about.”
“Well, stop. I’ll remember this night forever and a day.”
“That’s all right, then.” Malcolm sighed. “I want to give you everything. I only wish I could show you the stars from up there. You can’t imagine how beautiful they are when you’re in space.”
“It could happen one day. You don’t know. Technology is changing so fast and we’ll live a lot more years. We may see a time when we can shoot up there for a holiday.”
“That’s true.” Malcolm played with a lock of Brenin’s hair. “Have you made up your mind, then, to take my blood?”
“Yes, I want that. I want to bear your sons, only not for a while yet. We have to get our guests settled and there’s no telling how long that will take. I don’t think I could handle pregnancy and a bunch of hurt boys.”
“You wouldn’t change that fast. It takes years, I believe. We’ll ask Harry, to be sure.”
“Oh, in that case, let’s get started sooner rather than later. I want to become stronger, more like Mackie.”
“So that you can feel safe?”
He turned so that he could face Malcolm. “No, you already make me feel that way. It’s only that after what happened in the tunnel, I don’t want you to have to put yourself in harm’s way for me again.”
Malcolm kissed the tip of his nose. “Sweet lad, the danger is over.”
“Is it? Petru is still out there—and others. It’s not truly over.”
“It is for us. Alex has promised.”
“But that’s not fair. They may need us again and I, for one, want to help whenever I can.”
“You put me to shame, Brenin. All I want is my Scotch, my salmon and you. Most of all, you.”
Placing a hand on Malcolm’s cheek, he kissed him. He tried to pour all of the feelings he had into that gesture. “I love you, no matter what.”
Malcolm stared into the fire, saying nothing for a long while. “I think,” he finally said, “the thing that bothered me the most was how easily eons of evolution got tossed aside in the span of a few hundred years. Our entire existence, our species, had been devoted to the one constant that the hive was everything.”
He brought his gaze back to Brenin. “Dracul and the others should never have entertained the idea of mutiny. They turned on their hive brothers, Brenin. I can’t tell you how utterly contrary that is to our nature.
“It scares me that they did it and I worry that if they could change so much, maybe I could, as well.”
Brenin scoffed. “That’s just silly. You could never be like them.”
“No? I led my dear friend, Fergus, into the battle at Culloden. His father wanted his one remaining son to stay with him, safe. But I was loyal to Alex and once I got a taste for it, I was spoiling for a fight whenever I could. Fergus wouldn’t leave my side.
“I got him killed when all was said and done,” he added with a sorrowful look that broke Brenin’s heart. “His father never forgave me, but he let me take his place and made me promise to look after his land and his people. I’ve been good to my word, so far.”
“And brilliant at it, too, if your people—Darling, Cook, Doc McPhee—are any judge. The fact that an entire village keeps your secret says a lot about their love and loyalty.”
Malcolm picked up Brenin’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “When I see myself through your eyes, it makes me think better of myself.” He pulled Brenin down on top of him. “I promise you that I will never turn my back on my hive. If Alex ever needs my help again, I’ll go—and willingly. So long as I have you by my side, I know I’ll never fail.”
Brenin threw his arms around his lover’s neck and hugged him tight. “I promise you’ll alwa
ys have that. Now, can I ask for another favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can we do it again?”
“It?” Malcolm’s eyes were guileless, except they’d already turned black and his cock had stiffened.
“Och, you do try a mun,” Brenin said in his best imitation of a highland burr, which wasn’t very good at all. “This time, I ride you all by myself.”
And he did.
Epilogue
Dracul held on to the bit of rock inside the catch with his bleeding fingertips eroding with each passing second. He ignored that loss of his flesh, as well as the pain. Fury made him strong. The thirst for vengeance had him drawing on a well of strength he’d not known he had. It wasn’t until the castle shook with an explosion that he finally lost his grip and plunged all the way down. The jagged stone shaft dug agonizing grooves along every part of his body.
He hit water and sank below. His lungs burned as he kicked his legs to bring him to the surface of the cistern. He gulped in a huge breath before sinking again. This time, he stayed longer, hiding from his enemies, in case they still searched for him.
More explosions reached his ears, telling him that they couldn’t possibly have remained, with the destruction they’d wreaked. He pushed up again and swam to the edge. He caught the scent of the ones who’d brought him down—both of them, the boy and the navigator. He grinned at the vision of tearing them limb from limb. It would happen. He needed only to regain his strength, then he’d go after them all, including Petru, the traitorous dog.
With the last of his strength, he pulled himself onto the stone floor. Darkness claimed him, and when next he opened his eyes, mismatched ones stared down at him.
Relieved by the sight, he forced words past his ravaged lips. “Hello, slut.”
The human smiled. “Master, I thought I’d lost you. I followed the other one and crept down here once they’d left.”
As tiresome as it was, he smiled up at the boy and praised him. “How very clever of you. I will have to come up with a suitable reward when I’m back to my full strength.”
The human’s strange eyes lit up. “You’re badly hurt, Master. I’ll help you.”
“Of course you will. Is there any danger of this collapsing on us?”
“I don’t think so, Master. They blew your arsenal and there are fires, but the stone is holding.”
“Good.” He tried to rise and grunted in anger and frustration when he fell back again. At least he landed on the slut’s lap and the boy was wearing one of Dracul’s robes, so it was worthy of cushioning his head.
“I need blood to regain my strength.”
“Master, please take mine.”
“That was the plan.” Dracul grinned. “I might drain you dry,” he warned as a test of how devoted his new slave was.
“I trust you,” the boy said, tilting his neck to expose his pale, slender neck.
“You shouldn’t.” With that warning issued, Dracul struck. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and yanked him in tightly at the same moment his fangs sank deep into the proffered flesh.
He tugged the healing blood in with deep pulls. It nourished his hurts and fanned the flames of revenge sparking inside his heart. He would kill every one of them…eventually. This time, he would be more patient. He would be patient as he’d never been before, scheme and wait for the perfect opportunities.
The only problem was deciding on the order. Such a delightful predicament to have. In the meantime, he would drink his fill, then he would fuck the boy raw. After that, he would have to access his stored wealth, find a new place to live and start all over again—damn it. Ah well, the best-laid plans and all that. He couldn’t let this get him down. He was better than that.
He was better than all of them.
Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!
Alien Slave Masters:
The Untamed Pet
Samantha Cayto
Excerpt
“Easy now. No need to be afraid.”
Stuart couldn’t help shying away from the touch of even gentle hands. This is what his short time with the other alien had done to him. Never a bold person, despite his wishes to the contrary, he had become a cowering, fearful creature that he despised almost as much as he did the Travians.
“Please don’t hurt me.” He cringed inwardly at his pathetic pleading, yet couldn’t help himself. “I won’t fight you. I promise. I’ll be good.” He was unable to control the tremors racking his body.
The alien loomed over him. Instead of the sneering, predatory look Stuart had come to fear, he saw kindness and concern—or maybe he only thought he did. He no longer trusted his own judgment in anything, not since he’d made the fatal decision to join Joel and the others in their harassment campaign. That fateful choice would be the death of him. He had no doubt of that now.
“Of course you’ll be good,” the alien all but crooned. “And I will be good to you in turn.” A large hand, pale as death, loomed in the periphery of Stuart’s vision. He shrank in on himself, trained already to expect a blow. None came. Instead, the alien threaded his fingers through Stuart’s thick, red hair. Once again, where Stuart expected pain, there was only gentleness. No tugging, merely stroking.
“Your hair is so pretty.” The alien moved that same hand down to cup Stuart’s chin then lifted it. Stuart didn’t dare look anywhere other than the floor. “All of you is so lovely, small and delicate.”
What was Stuart supposed to do with that observation? His former master had said much the same with a certain amount of sadistic glee, as if pleased with the ease in which he could brutalize his human pet. Stuart had always hated being short and thin compared to other boys. Travians, towering monsters that they were, hadn’t made him feel much worse about his stature, just more of the same. That is, until he’d been hauled into the quarters of the first officer to claim him. He’d never known such agony, and he assumed that no matter what this one said, things would be the same. God, why couldn’t the creature just get on with it?
His trembling increased and his breath came out in mounting pants. “Please,” he begged again, although not sure what he wanted, other than to go home—back to New World Colony Seven. As inhospitable as that world had been, he’d come to appreciate the opportunity it had afforded him to grow into his own. And it was home, for no other reason than because his parents lived there. Guilt stabbed at him. He’d left them—not by choice, but by dint of his foolish need to fit in with the other boys. His poor parents hadn’t known what he’d intended and they undoubtedly mourned his loss, thinking him dead. Better, maybe, that they thought that than know the truth.
“Hush. All will be well. This can go,” the alien said, lifting the hated collar off Stuart’s neck and tossing it aside. Not once had the Travian choked him with it, and that was something, he supposed. “What are you called, little one?”
Surprised by the question, Stuart blinked up at the creature for a second before lowering his gaze again. The other one hadn’t asked that question, had merely called him ‘pet’ when not calling him something worse. “Stuart McKay,” he managed to say through a throat clogged with fear.
“Stu-art-mac-kay.” The Travian said the two names as if they were one, accenting the wrong syllables, not that Stuart would correct him. “Hmm. It’s too strange on my tongue.” The alien puffed out a breath, a form of alien laughing Stuart had come to learn at his own expense. “I will call you Mac.” Another puff. “Yes, that is the perfect name for my pretty pet.”
The alien placed his hands on Stuart’s shoulders and turned him slowly around to face the bed. Stuart’s breath hitched at the sight. He hated this! As much as he’d longed for a boyfriend back on Seven—or even just some kind of sexual experience—he’d never get used to this casual using of his body. Never mind the searing pain… It was the degradation that got to him the most. In these aliens’ beds he became a thing—an object to be used—nothing more. It was far from the tender lo
vemaking he’d always envisioned with a tall, strong man who valued him. The ruination of his fantasy, more than anything, made him want to take a one-way trip out of an airlock.
“Up you go,” the alien said with a soft push. “Lie down on your stomach. We must rid you of Garen’s stench.” This last bit was said with a hard edge that made Stuart tremble even more, as he scrambled to comply. Was that his former tormentor’s name? He hadn’t known or even cared. Just like it didn’t matter to him what this one called himself. He only wanted to survive the night with as few injuries as possible. Maybe, just maybe, if he did as he was told, this time he wouldn’t be beaten.
He lay down and closed his eyes, unwilling to watch the Travian shed his uniform. He curled his hands into fists, clutching the bedding to keep himself from vibrating too much. Part of that reaction came from being cold, but that would stop soon. When the larger creature covered him, the heat would be like a furnace. Tears slipped past the corners of his eyes, despite his efforts to be calm. When the bed dipped with the weight of the alien, a small whimper escaped his tight lips.
“Hush,” the Travian admonished again, running his hand down Stuart’s back. He pressed a knee between Stuart’s legs, opening them.
Stuart made himself spread them wide, being the good boy he’d promised to be. He couldn’t stop the jump, though, when the alien clasped his ass cheeks and spread them. More murmurs filled his ears and a soothing massage of his flesh accompanied slick strokes against his hole. This was it, the tearing agony of being breached and filled beyond capacity. He willed his body to relax, knowing being tense would only make the experience worse—except the brutal invasion didn’t happen. Instead, there was teasing and stroking. Something much smaller than a Travian cock entered his ass, breaching it slowly, infusing him with something wet and slippery. The stroking of his channel continued, the speed and stretching increasing so gradually that when a dick finally replaced the fingers being used, it went in with surprising ease.
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