“Look at me, slave,” Master said tenderly.
The boy blinked open his bloodshot eyes, the rims red and sore.
“The one thing that makes a slave good, Phoebus, no matter what disloyal, evil and sinful thoughts may lie in his heart, and whether or not he has become submissive in his heart, is simple obedience.”
The old man leaned forward and combed back the little slave’s wet hair with his fingers for a few seconds before tightening his grip around a handful and wringing it between his fingers it until the boy’s scalp screamed out in pain, though only the slightest whimper escaped the slave’s lips. That is until the judge jerked his head back and Phoebus let out a wail and began to cry.
“No, Master!” the little slave begged. “Please don’t!”
Master slapped him and the boy stifled his cries into sobbing whimpers.
“Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,” Master said. His expression was pitiless and without a trace of sympathy. The little slave didn’t understand what this meant but he knew what was to follow—what always followed whenever Master said it.
“Now be a good little slave, Phoebus O’Malley—” the old man let out a groan of exertion as he stood up and let the towel drop to the floor “—and suck.”
THE END
The Good Slave Page 7