by T. J. Hamel
“What would you like to eat this morning, Master Roarke?” a house slave asks.
“Something quick. Easy. I won’t be here long.” Nathan glances at the slave, hoping his rage shows in his expression. He’s pissed, and though he’s not pissed at Carter, no one here needs to know that. They just need to see that he’s really fucking pissed. It’ll make things more believable. Especially since Nathan’s grip has already loosened, his fingers rubbing Carter’s scalp soothingly.
The first sound Carter makes is a choking cough, followed by a gag as he rears back. Nathan is getting too big for the boy to take all of him. Surprisingly – or maybe not surprisingly, since Nathan knows how badly Carter wants to be good – the boy doesn’t give up or try to fight it. He just takes a breath and dives back down, trying his best to take all of Nathan even as Nathan continues to grow.
Nathan has to bite his tongue to keep from praising him.
A bowl of yogurt with fruit and granola is placed in front of Nathan, along with a glass of water and a mug of coffee. He does his best to ignore Carter’s struggles as he quickly scoops the food into his mouth. Nathan forces his mind to wander, replaying the previous night to keep from losing his shit. It only takes a few minutes before he finally feels himself nearing the edge.
Shoving his chair back, Nathan grips the back of Carter’s neck and heaves the boy straight up on his knees as he stands. The pulling of his hair forces Carter’s head at an angle that brings their gazes to meet. Tears are falling down Carter’s cheeks. Nathan pretends they’re tears from the deepthroating. The lie helps him stay hard as he strips his cock with his fist.
“Tongue out,” he growls, his body trembling with a chaotic mixture of rage and need.
Carter obeys immediately. His eyes are wide. Afraid.
“God, he cries pretty, doesn’t he?” one of the men comments.
Another adds, “Pretty face full of tears.”
“Gonna be prettier covered in cum,” a third teases.
Nathan closes his eyes. He pictures Carter in his lap again, hands on his shoulders, Nathan gripping his slim waist. He recalls the way the boy had smiled when he finally got the hang of his movements, looking adorably proud. He recalls the way the boy had shivered beneath his touch, not out of disgust but out of arousal. The way the boy had gasped so pretty when Nathan toyed with his sensitive nipples. The way he had tossed his head back, moaning as Nathan fondled his cock and balls.
He was so fucking hard, his balls tight, his cock dripping over Nathan’s fingers. Nathan had been amazed. Enamored. Proud.
Nathan’s orgasm slams into him, his eyes snapping open as he paints Carter’s face with his cum. The boy flinches when the first wave hits, his eyes squeezing shut and his body shuddering. Each glob of cum seems to physically hurt him. Nathan feels the echoes of the pain in his own chest.
“C-” Nathan pauses, clearing his throat. He hopes anyone paying attention assumes he’s struggling to speak because of the intensity of his orgasm. “Clean it.”
Since Nathan had managed to avoid hitting the boy’s eyes, Carter is able to open them to find Nathan’s cock. He quickly wraps his mouth around it and sucks it clean, licking a few extra stripes along it before allowing it to fall from his mouth again.
Nathan should yell at him. He should say that Carter doesn’t get to decide when his cock leaves his mouth. He should say that Carter should suck him for as long as Nathan orders him to.
But Nathan manages to keep his hands at his sides instead of cupping the boy’s face to comfort him, and he manages to swallow all of the praise he had bubbling along his tongue, so he decides to forgive himself for not scolding Carter. You win some, you lose some, right?
Then Nathan looks up and finds himself face to face with Benny, the man staring at him like he doesn’t recognize him, and Nathan realizes maybe he’s not winning anything at all.
Nathan tears his gaze away, forcing himself to focus. He grabs Carter’s biceps and tugs him to his feet at the same time that he crouches down, the boy easily falling over his shoulder like before. He leaves the dining area behind without a glance, ignoring all the cheers and comments from his men. Carter doesn’t seem to have the same ability. By the way he begins to tremble again, small whimpers falling from his lips, Nathan thinks the boy hears every bit of it all.
There’s only one of his men in the dungeon, in the midst of fucking a slave that’s strapped down to a spanking bench when Nathan walks in.
“Out!” Nathan barks, tossing Carter onto the bondage bed in the center of the room. The boy bounces, nearly falling off, before managing to stabilize himself.
“S-sir?” Carter whimpers, the boy trembling violently.
Nathan closes his eyes. He won’t be able to do this if the boy keeps talking to him. “Shut up.”
“But-”
“Shut. Up.” Nathan glares at Carter, narrowing his eyes until the boy cowers and looks away. He watches as the boy curls in on himself. Watches as the boy accepts defeat. It’s like a train wreck, painful to watch, yet impossible to look away from.
By the time Nathan turns to grab a paddle and a cane, the man and his slave from before have disappeared. He turns back to Carter and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Are you going to be able to take your punishment like a good boy, or do I need to tie your disobedient little ass up?”
Carter shudders. “G-gonna take it, sir.”
“Mmm.” Nathan reaches out to yank Carter closer to the edge of the mattress by his ankle, using the momentum to flip the boy to his stomach at the same time. “We’ll see. You’re getting the cane 4 times because you broke rule number 4. I can give you a cold caning without any warm-up. It’ll be over much sooner, but hurt like fucking hell. Or, I can warm your ass up, take a bit longer, and the cane won’t hurt as much. Your choice.”
“I – um…” Carter looks over his shoulder in desperation, eyes pleading with Nathan. “I don’t know sir. I – just – I don’t know.”
Nathan’s chest goes tight. He glances around, checking that they’re still alone. Then, “Let me warm you up, sweetheart. Rub your cock on the sheets if you need to. It’ll help ease the pain. But don’t fucking come. Things will get much worse if you come.”
“O-okay, sir. But I-”
“No buts. Just shut up and take your punishment. Once-” Nathan chokes on the reassuring words he had planned on giving the boy about how once the punishment is over, he’ll be forgiven, his head whipping around at the sound of the dungeon door opening. His stomach drops as he watches his men start to file in. They’re loud and boisterous and clapping already, clearly excited to watch the show.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Nathan hurries to turn back to Carter, squeezing his eyes shut. He focuses on the feel of his expensive suit wrapped around his body. The weight of the jacket. The silky material of his dress shirt. The cinch of his tie. The fabric that cups his ass. The buttery soft leather shoes that are perfectly molded to his feet. The cool metal of his watch.
His suit.
His armor.
His costume.
Travis isn’t here right now. Travis no longer exists. It’s just Nathan Roarke. Ruthless. Evil. Monster.
Nathan pictures taking Carter by the hand and leading him away behind the curtain, handing him off to Travis. No, not a curtain. A door. A heavy metal door, with industrial locks. He pictures himself sliding each lock into place, the metal soundproof, the occupants behind it already forgotten. He pictures himself turning to face a replica of the boy, one that he doesn’t care about, one that is meant to be hurt and used. A slave without a name. Nathan’s slave. Nathan’s disobedient slave.
He opens his eyes.
A disobedient slave is in front of him.
“Ass in the air,” he orders, his voice entirely Nathan Roarke’s and no one else’s. “Present yourself for punishment, slave.”
The slave squirms, his face twisting in pain. “Sir, I have to-”
&nbs
p; “Shut!” Nathan swings the heavy wooden paddle, catching both ass cheeks at once. “Up!” He hits the spot again.
The slave starts crying.
He hits the slave again.
The slave’s eyes flutter closed in resignation before he presses his face against the bed and raises his ass higher for further abuse. Nathan swings the paddle again. The sounds that fall from the slave’s lips are bordering on sobs.
Nathan’s men laugh.
Nathan’s chest vibrates as he swings the paddle again.
He’s laughing, too.
He hadn’t noticed.
He hits the slave again and again, the intensity rising in layers as Nathan works him over. He covers the slave in red blotches from his thighs to his ass until he’s sobbing and writhing and screaming, he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, please, he’s so so sorry!
“Are you sorry?” Nathan asks conversationally. His men snort and laugh. They tell Nathan they don’t think the slave is sorry at all. Nathan agrees. “I feel like you’re not sorry. Not yet.”
The slave is humping the sheets.
Nathan sneers. “Look at this fucking slut.” He steps forward, grabbing the slave’s hips and forcing him to grind even harder against the silky sheets. His men laugh. He laughs.
The slave sobs.
“Sir, please!” the slave begs, squirming and fighting Nathan’s hold. “Too much. I have to – I have to go-”
“Christ,” Nathan growls, smacking both his hands against the boy’s abused ass before stepping away to grab the paddle again. “Shut the hell up before this gets worse for you, slave!”
Nathan catches the eye of Benny, his second-hand man. He grins at Benny. His best friend looks away from him, disgust twisting his expression, his eyebrows pulling in. Something pings in the back of Nathan’s mind. A voice that feels strangely familiar. Words that make him ache. You’re mine now. All mine. And I’m going to take care of you, I promise.
The voice is coming from the door in his mind. Nathan conjures a version of Benny in his mind and slams him into the metal door until he crumples to the floor, knocked out cold.
The voice stops.
Nathan doesn’t lift his gaze from the slave, wanting to avoid seeing any other version of Benny that may be lurking nearby.
“I’m sorry, sir! Please!” The slave thrashes his head in a panic as Nathan hits him harder. “Please, please, please!”
“Tell me the rule you broke,” Nathan orders in a low voice as he trades his paddle for the cane.
“Don’t l – leave bed with – without permission,” the slave gasps. Then, “Sir!”
“What rule was that? What number?”
“F-four, sir?”
“Are you asking?” Nathan asks, tapping the cane like a threat against the boy’s bright red ass. “Or are you telling?”
The slave sniffles. “T-telling, sir.”
“Good. You’re correct.” Nathan adjusts his grip on the cane. “So, you’ll take this cane 4 times. After each hit, you will tell me the rule you broke, and you will apologize. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the slave whispers, his shoulders hunching.
Nathan acknowledges the words with a flick of his wrist, the cane hitting the slave right below the cups of his ass cheeks. Panic slams into the slave, sending him scrambling away from Nathan. He grabs the slave by his ankle just as the slave wraps his arms around the bedpost. His men step forward to help, but Nathan shakes his head. He will handle this disobedient little brat himself.
“Let go,” he orders. “Let go now.”
The slave gasps and shudders, but he obeys. He lets go.
Just let go, sweetheart. Let everything go. Give it all to me.
Nathan blinks. When did he say that?
Who… who did he say that too?
“Hit him again, boss!”
Nathan blinks. There is a boy on the bed in front of him. A boy he recognizes. Carter.
This is a boy named Carter.
Oh, Carter…
“Boss!”
“He has to apologize first,” Benny says from the left. “Apologize, slave.”
“I – I fo – forgot – no, I broke – broke rule – the bed rule. Four.”
Carter.
This is Carter.
Nathan knows him.
Nathan… very much likes him…
His wrist flicks the cane on its own, most likely out of self-preservation.
Carter sobs out an apology.
Nathan bites his tongue until it bleeds. Iron soaks his taste buds; It tastes a lot like guilt and grief.
Nathan hits Carter a third time. The boy’s body gives out, deflating against the mattress. A sound rips its way out of him. Something anguished and awful. Then piss is soaking the sheets, running between his legs in rivulets, pooling in the dip of his thighs. Carter clings to the sheets with trembling hands and says his apology in a single breath, his voice growing more distant and cold the longer he speaks. “Broke rule four, got’ow bed ‘n I’m so – so sorry, sir. I’m really, really sorry, sir. Please. I’m sorry.”
“Did he just fucking piss?” Jason asks.
“He fucking did.”
“What the fuck, slave, that’s our property you just pissed all over!”
“We should fucking make you suck the sheets clean you filthy slut.”
“We should make you sleep in a fucking dog cage with these sheets since you can’t be bothered to enjoy your master’s bed.”
“We should-”
“We,” Nathan says quietly, his voice dangerous, his eyes narrowing. The room falls silent. “Are not who owns this slave. I am. And I think you’ve all gotten to see enough. Goodbye.”
The men all look at each other. It’s Jason who has the courage to ask, “Can’t we watch the ending, sir? It’s just one more hit.”
“Do you want to be hit?” Nathan asks, tilting his head in curiosity. “Because that could be a show as well, Jason.”
Jason blanches. A few of Nathan’s men step back. “Sir, I didn’t mean to offend or overstep.”
“Then leave before you do it again.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason ducks his head, backing away. “Sorry, sir.”
He hurries out with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. The others follow suit. Benny is the only one who stays.
“Go,” Nathan says quietly, his eyes never leaving Carter’s abused body where it lies lifeless in a puddle of urine. “Please.”
“Nate, let me h-”
“Go.” Nathan meets his best friend’s eyes, knowing his own are filling with tears. “Just fucking leave me alone.”
Benny swallows hard, his eyes darting to Carter. Then he nods and steps away. Nathan hears the metal door’s industrial locks sliding into place.
Then it’s just Nathan and Carter.
“Last one,” Nathan whispers to the boy. He forces himself to breathe. To relax. He forces his hand to stop shaking. One hit at the wrong angle could hurt Carter much worse than he’d like. Much worse than the boy deserves. It was bad enough that Nathan escaped into his head and wasn’t careful earlier. He refuses to allow any further mistreatment. Hell, if Carter hadn’t turned his head to watch all of the men walk out, proving he’s still coherent, Nathan would have skipped the fourth hit and pretended he had administered it.
Maybe it’s a good thing Carter is still with him mentally, though.
Maybe it means he’s not broken.
The hit can barely be considered a hit. The cane taps against the skin, still enough to draw a gasp from the boy considering the state of his ass, but not enough to make him scream or sob.
“Come on,” Nathan encourages, dropping the cane and walking forward to rest his hands on Carter’s hips. Carter jolts at the touch before pushing back against it, desperate for comfort, for praise. “Just say your apology, sweetheart.”
The pet name causes Carter to cry harder, but he still manages to spill out his final apology, the words running together, an
added sorry for pissing himself as if it’s his fault and not Nathan’s that he wasn’t allowed to piss this morning. The boy had tried to fucking warn him.
Nathan breaks. “You did so well, sweetheart. Such a good fucking boy. You took that so well. That made sir very happy.”
All the tension seems to seep out of Carter’s body at the words, his hands relaxing where they had been clinging to the sheets. His face is covered in tears, and snot, and dried cum. His body is soaked in piss and sweat.
He’s beautiful, and so very strong.
It physically hurts Nathan to look at him.
He can’t look away.
“I need to plug you,” Nathan realizes out loud, noticing the empty space between the reddened cheeks on display before him. There are two universal rules when it comes to a slave’s preparation in this world, the rest of the rules being left up to the owners. A slave should always be collared, and a slave should always be plugged.
Carter says nothing. Nathan supposes that makes sense. What is there to say? Nathan is going to do whatever he wants regardless.
He has to borrow a plug from the dungeon. None of them are as small as the plug Carter always wears, and the disinfectant available is a harsh one. His poor hole is going to probably be irritated, if not in pain.
At least there’s decent lube.
Nathan preps Carter carefully. Quickly. Clinically. He focuses on stretching the rim, not bothering to fuck into him or mess with his prostate. The scent of bodily fluids is thick in the air. Nathan is nearly gagging on it. He uses a liberal amount of lube when he presses the plug into the boy’s hole. Carter whimpers before going limp once again.
“Come here.” Nathan gently pulls Carter closer, turning him over. The boy hisses when his ass rubs against the soaked sheets, but he doesn’t fight Nathan. In fact, he doesn’t look like he could if he even wanted to. He’s too deflated. Almost… empty.
Oh god, please don’t be empty.
“Why would you do this?” Nathan asks, unable to stop how helpless he sounds. How hurt he sounds. “After last night, why would you do this?”