Ingenious

by Barrie Farris

  Governor Lyre stood to speak. She wisely limited her speech to a brief thank you to the lottery committee and a reminder for owners to treat their concubines like honored wives. Her advice received raucous laughter. She lowered her eyes and left with William and Palmer.

  The other Mothers followed the governor, giving the men of Port Memphis complete freedom to carouse until dawn without receiving a fine for lewd conduct—provided the conduct was consensual.

  Before the food was brought out, waiters served a measure of blackberry gin in glass tumblers to relax nerves. Max knocked back a triple. The coiling warmth coaxed his claws back inside his fingertips. Relaxed and ready to engage in some mild petting like the other owners, Max turned to catch Quiggs licking a drop of gin from the corner of his plump mouth. The gin stained his mouth a lush dark rose as if he’d sucked cock for hours. Quiggs caught his heated stare and sent him a devilish smirk back. Shy baby cadet, my ass! His fingertips tingled again. Max gritted his teeth, placed his hands under the table. He’d never experienced this level of craving to stake possession.

  He heard a plaintive sigh from Quiggs, watching the other owners openly pawing their concubines, sliding hands under shirts, and toying with the ribbons of corsets.

  A waiter brought a platter of grilled sausage links with a spicy apple sauce. Quiggs’s face screwed up, hands on his lap.

  “What’s wrong?” Max asked, believing Quiggs was near tears by his cool reserve.

  “It’s this damn corset. I can breathe or I can eat.”

  Naturally, being Quiggs, it was about the food. “Pull up your shirt. Let me see.”

  Quiggs blushed as he bunched up his shirt, revealing the straining black laces from pits to hips.

  What a silly yet undeniably provocative tradition. Fuck. Might as well use his claws. He snipped the lacings with little pops at each eyelet. The corset parted, revealing raised pinkish marks. He pulled the contraption from around Quiggs’s waist and tossed it under the chair.

  “B-But tradition?” Quiggs protested.

  “Fuck tradition. Eat up.”

  “B-But Stefan warned me to shrink my belly.”

  “Military rations will take off the puppy fat. Eat up. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”

  Quiggs beamed at him, then packed away the food as if he’d never see this spread again. Which was true. Unless you were a Ruling Mother, this was the finest dining of your life.

  Forget fried larvae, eel patties, and stringy meat from old goats. Forget boiled tubers, greens, mush, and salted nuts. Tonight, they dined on spicy sausages, roast kid, baked pigeons, tiny peas in butter, fresh tomatoes, pickled squash, and whipped carrots. There were fluffy yeast rolls, tureens of sweet and savory gravies, caramel pies with tender crusts, and wedges of cheesecake with berry sauce. There was gin and wine punch and citrus waters.

  As the banquet progressed, a greenish-gray fog rolled over the ramparts and spilled over the plaza, carrying the bitter tang of the vines. Each evening, the vines shot a cloying mist rich in nutrients into the air to feed new tendrils reclaiming the ground the goats had grazed during the day. Strings of lanterns burnt away the fog in the plaza, and Quiggs’s young face glowed soft and golden in the light, his enjoyment of eating far more seductive than a corset.

  Owners encouraged their concubines to drink freely. Cadets sneaked ale into their barracks, but few ever drunk without limits. The concubines would wake up with throbbing heads and holes tomorrow.

  Max swapped Quiggs’s third wine punch for a glass of citrus water.

  “Awwww, Max.” Quiggs already sounded bleary.

  “I want you tipsy, not drunk.”

  Quiggs weaved in his seat. “Already drunk.” He rubbed his cheek on Max’s shoulder. “Drunk on happiness. So happy it’s you, my Miles, my Max, my hero. Wanted it to be with you.” A long belch spoiled the beautiful words. He giggled into Max’s sleeve.

  With the women gone, the annual challenge for horniest owner commenced. The owner first to leave with his concubine was publicly ridiculed for his impatience. The pubs posted his name on an easel, and during the hour before closing, patrons freely charged their drinks to him. The only way out was for the owner to leave his bed and race around the city to scrub his name off each easel before midnight. If an owner refused to honor his debt, every pub refused to serve him until he settled up.

  Max didn’t want to win this particular challenge. He waited… and waited… and waited for the first owner to leave so he could make a dignified exit with Quiggs.

  Meanwhile, another competition began. The couple voted as giving the audience the sexiest exhibition won free drinks in the city for a week. The concubines demonstrated their skills. They straddled, grinded, contorted. Groaned, gasped, panted. From the smell of pre-cum clouding the table, competition was fierce.

  One particular musk flared Max’s nostrils—Quiggs’s pre-cum, like salty melon. His baby cadet was aroused and leaking. Max breathed through his teeth, counseling himself to remain patient.

  Quiggs clutched his sleeve, urging him to join in the sex play. “Touch me, Max. Anywhere. I want sex before I die.” He spread his thighs in welcome.

  “Wait until we’re alone,” Max gritted out.

  Quiggs sucked in his breath. “Over there! Are they kissing on the mouth?”

  “Where?” Max looked down the table, keen to watch. Quiggs used the distraction to drag Max’s hand to his crotch and anchor it there with both of his. Max suddenly found himself palming a hard, sizeable bulge. Quiggs responded with a ragged groan, and Max’s control shattered. His claws displayed, and he barely pulled back in time to prevent digging into tender flesh. As it was, the tips tangled in cloth. While Max worked his hands up and down, back and forth, to disentangle his claws, Quiggs’s hips rode the friction.

  “Oh… oh… s’good… like that… Unhg… Unhg.” Quiggs coughed. His eyes screwed shut, and his hips jerked. Hot seed dampened Max’s palm. The scent of salty melon flooded his nostrils.

  “You didn’t? Oh, shit, you did.” Max snatched his hand away, hearing cloth shred. He stared in disbelief at the wet swatch of black cloth dangling from his claws. How could Quiggs be this inexperienced?

  Now Max understood the Beau incident.

  Quiggs slumped and slowly slid off his seat and under the table. Max grabbed at his shirt to haul him up, and his claws ripped the neckline open across the injured shoulder.

  Goddammit. It looked like Max had savaged him. Max shook him when Quiggs closed his eyes. “Wake up!”

  Quiggs cracked open an eye. “Heh, heh. Betcha didn’t see me-e-e-e coming.”

  Max chuckled. His claws sheathed as though by coming for him, his concubine gave them the absolute ownership they tingled for. Max stuffed the swatch in the pocket of his jacket and cleaned Quiggs off with a napkin. None of the owners had left yet. In fact, everyone had stopped grinding to watch him and Quiggs.

  Peterson, stripped to the waist, smirked at him. “We’re waiting for you to leave first. Especially your soldiers. How often do they get a chance to poke fun at their commander?”

  “Bastards,” Max muttered. Like it or not, he was racking up a bar tab. He suspected he’d won the sex exhibition also. He remained undefeated. He pulled Quiggs onto his lap, prepared to carry him out like a baby. Quiggs would puke if Max bounced his stuffed belly over his shoulder. He remembered to pull the corset out from under his chair.

  Quiggs stirred, staring bewildered at the gap in his pants. “Why’s my dick hanging out?”

  Max placed the corset over Quiggs’s lap. “Now it’s not. We’re leaving.” He scooted back his chair with one arm beneath Quiggs’s knees, the other under his arms to avoid hurting his shoulder.

  Quiggs tucked his face in the crook of Max’s neck. “I feel like a prized buck carried to the breeding pen.”

  “Prized doe,” Max corrected. Maybe no one would notice them leaving first.

  From the balcony, the strong voice of the territory’s premier her
ald rang out, roasting Max and his concubine.

  “Here’s to luck

  And a concubine to fuck

  No tits, just ass

  And a hard cock to suck.”

  Quiggs snickered with no clue the roast was aimed at him and Max.

  A chorus sounding like members of the Herders Guild sang out next:

  “Here’s to the night

  And to breaking his seal

  Shove his face in a pillow

  And muffle the squeal!”

  Quiggs stopped snickering. His head lifted. “Oh… they mean us. G-good one.” He laughed hysterically, kicking his heels.

  Max shifted his grip and walked faster. He leaped over the boundary rope without an effort. Waiting for him on the walkway were Sergeant Miller and the security team. They wouldn’t dare, would they?

  At a nod from Miller, the team bleated a rhyme like a herd of drunken goats.

  “Friggin’ is goooood

  Fuckin’ is behhhhht-ter.

  If his hole’s too tiiiiight

  Then lick to get wethhhhht-ter.”

  Quiggs didn’t laugh. Was he offended? Max glanced down and found his armful asleep, drooling on his jacket.

  Their fun over, the security team snapped to respectful attention as they surrounded Max and fell in step with him to his penthouse.

  On total alert, the escort split up at the apartment building with each guard assigned an entrance including the roof and hallway. Max instructed that only Cutty was allowed to approach the door during the three days.

  Sergeant Miller guarded the hall. “Want me to wake you before midnight to scrub your name off the easels?” he asked, straight-faced.

  “Piss off. I’ll pay the fucking bar tab. No one disturbs my claiming days.”

  Miller thumped his chest and grinned. “Enjoy, sir. I know I would.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  To smooth the transition into the bedroom, Cutty and Stefan waited inside the living room. The couple had anticipated Max carrying Quiggs through the door, both reeking of gin. They had not foreseen Quiggs’s ripped shirt or the corset hanging over his hips.

  Stefan stepped forward, his effusive congratulations shriveling. He picked up the corset draped over Quiggs’s hip. The torn crotch sent him staggering back to the sofa, too shocked to pull out his silver flask. “How could you lose control, Max? The poor baby was half in love with his Miles. Your claiming should have been perfect.” Stefan burst into sobs at the ruined romance.

  All Max had wanted since this morning was to get Quiggs alone in bed. Not run a gauntlet of thieving politicians, filthy rhymes, free drinks with odes to his impetuous cock, and now a sobbing Stefan. “Poor scared baby, my ass! He mauled me for it!”

  Cutty intervened. As his name suggested, he cut through the nonsense straight to the heart of the matter. “Claws misbehaving, sir?”

  “He put my hand on his cock. The claws sprang. He came. I was surprised. I doubt he’ll remember anything.” Max winced as he admitted, “We left first.”

  Stefan stopped sobbing. “Really? Oh, Cutty, we missed the rhymes! Had I known, but I didn’t. We stayed here to set up a romantic love nest. What do you think?” He spread his arms wide, the outrage forgiven.

  Stefan had decorated the apartment for seduction with lamps burning woodsy oils. Scattered pillows and fur throws invited comfortable sex play. Pushed against a wall was a padded bench with stirrups and folded linens for a recreational massage. A pedestal carved like a phallus held a tray of cleansing towels, nipple clamps, teasers, ticklers, blindfolds, textured gloves, and vials of flavored oils.

  Max approved. “Stefan, you raided a pleasure house. Nice.”

  “From my private collection for special clients.”

  “With extra fees attached?”

  “Naturally.” Stefan showed Max the bedroom, flitting about indicating oils for heat, flavor, healing, lubricating. A bottle of Max’s favorite brandy was on the vanity… with extra towels, a jar of numbing cream, and packets of oral pain powders.

  Max eased Quiggs down on a white fur coverlet and covered Quiggs’s crotch with one of the towels, pausing to admire the hairless balls. A bowl of scented water and a tall stack of towels were on an end table. How much seed did Stefan think Max and Quiggs would spend? Enough to fill a tub?

  “Shall I undress your concubine for bed?” Stefan asked.

  “No!” Max crouched in battle mode between Stefan and the bed.

  Cutty grasped Stefan’s arm. “Come on, love. Leave them alone. Remember how impatient you were the night you claimed me.”

  “Those filthy rhymes.” Stefan rolled his eyes.

  “Your fault you rushed me out first.”

  Stefan pinched his husband’s weathered cheek. “So angry you failed the military physical. How you pouted when you saw me.”

  Max cleared his throat for their attention. “Get out before I toss my dinner.”

  Alone with his concubine, Max shed his formal clothes, flinging them without a care for where they landed. He put on a short silky black robe he found draped over the painted screen hiding the bathing area. Max was tall enough to peer over it at the tub and all its wonders: a bowl of bath salts, oils, more towels, and anal bulbs which melted to slick when inserted.

  Until this morning, he’d worried how to introduce Quiggs to sex. He’d thought to approach the chore like an appointment in the sex clinic. But then he’d seen a young private and experienced a gut-deep yearning to explore tenderness with a lover. Just the once before he claimed his gawky, brilliant concubine.

  “Let’s get you comfortable,” he murmured.

  Quiggs softly snored as Max unlaced the platforms. He rubbed his hands up and down his concubine’s calves, skirting around the plasters. He admired the well-shaped lines, but Quiggs lacked definition. Max was accustomed to the ropey muscles of soldiers, along with their salty sweat, bitter musk, and rough whisker stubble.

  He made quick work of stripping Quiggs naked, then sat on the edge of the bed to explore his property. His, all his. Untouched, unspoiled, untrained. Perversely, Max could hardly wait to dirty up the milky sweetness. He liked the smooth balls. Would Quiggs enjoy Max sucking and rolling them around his tongue? Max might manage sweet silky balls dabbed with flavored oil in his mouth, but he doubted he could wrap his lips around a cock without his sensory hairs firing shocks of outrage.

  The red marks from the corset had faded. Quiggs’s belly hinted a cute jiggle might appear when he rode Max’s cock. His long lean neck led to a pair of wide shoulders that hadn’t filled out yet. His pectorals, however, showed natural definition. Military rations and daily workouts might tone him, but Quiggs would always be… Quiggs. Endearingly clumsy when his head was afloat with inventions. Stimulating when the fog cleared and he spoke his mind.

  Max rolled a shell-pink nipple between thumb and forefinger and watched it pebble. Good. Responsive even as he slept. His fingers traced the youthful curve of Quiggs’s jaw where the last pad of baby fat rounded his cheeks. The next year would see his body fill out. A chiseled, mature face would catch up with his remarkable mind. Max could hardly wait to meet the man his concubine would become. Because Quiggs utterly fascinated him now.

  The infamous braid smelled like leafy herbs and stretched below Quiggs’s knees. Stefan had woven five sections into a tight decorative braid knotted at intervals. Max slid the length through his thumb and forefinger. He imagined Quiggs with his loosed hair flying in the wind as he sailed his absurd hot air balloon. He imagined Quiggs beneath him with his hair spread across the pillow and his navy-rimmed green eyes rebuking Max for forcing him to continue growing it.

  “Sorry, my baby cadet. I know I promised, but I can’t share you with another man yet.”

  Max traced his concubine’s mouth. The deep rose hue belonged on a deb. Those lips looked warm, moist, soft. The pliant seam invited a tongue to open them wider, foreshadowing how Max would work his cock inside the tight pucker of Quiggs’s ass. He’d f
antasized about kissing male lips for years, even though public opinion called the act a perversion unless with a wife. While Quiggs slept was an ideal moment to steal a kiss. Max closed his eyes and parted his lips as he lowered his head, anticipating a shot of fire straight to his cock.

  The contact felt like pressing his lips on the cool dry skin of a corpse. Thoroughly underwhelmed, Max reared back and found he’d kissed the back of Quiggs’s hand. Defiant green eyes glittered above the hand.

  “No kissing.” Quiggs guarded his mouth with one hand as he eased up the headboard. He was awake, sobering fast, and striving to get his bearings. When he realized he was naked, he startled and covered his sex with his free hand while he closed his knees self-consciously.

  “Try it once.” Max slid a hand up and down Quiggs’s thigh, feeling an answering quiver.

  “I said I don’t do kissing ever.” Quiggs squeaked the last word as Max’s fingers found the seam of his balls.

  Max gripped him behind the knees and dragged him down the bed. He spread Quiggs’s thighs wide enough to accommodate his hips and knelt between them.

  Quiggs immediately stilled. His eyes rounded. “Are we having sex now?”

  “No. We are having a kiss now.”

  “We’re men!” He pushed his hands against Max’s chest, using the full strength of his arms to hold him off.

  Max lowered himself in slow increments. Using his full strength would snap Quiggs’s wrists like twigs. “Ah, Quiggs, been dreaming of kissing you all day.”

  “I’m not a wife!” He gave up pushing and covered his mouth with both hands when Max was inches away.

  “Don’t want a wife. Want you.”

  Max casually pinned Quiggs’s hands above his head. His concubine clearly regarded a kiss as emasculating as castration. His frantic twisting and bucking threatened to open the glued stitches.

  Max released Quiggs’s hands and sat back on his legs. “What if I offered you something worthwhile in exchange for a willing kiss?” The bucking stopped. He had Quiggs’s full attention.