Lee chapter 23
Mar. 14th, 2008 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeI really wish I could find a free audio file of the song for this one.
Mona's chatter on the subject of Lord Taganov and their household was pleasant and interesting enough that Lee was extremely startled when, after what hadn't seemed like a particularly long time, their masters suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. But the men were both smiling, and as Lee slid, a little wobbly, to his knees on the floor, Mona jumped up and went to her master; he put his arms around her and hugged her close.
"Did you have a nice talk with Lee?" he asked her, and she beamed at him.
"Yes, master," she said cheerfully, as Lee's master came and held out his hands to Lee; Lee took them shyly, and his master raised him to his feet. "We aren't going home already, are we? Where's Mr. Harper?"
"He and Miss Trask are gone already," the lord explained. "Mr. Harper wants to get your interview transcribed and let me read it before we talk more. He'll come over to our house next time, if you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind," said Mona, "but can't we come back here sometime soon, too, master? I didn't even get to see Yves and Greta this time."
Taganov raised an eyebrow at her, and she grinned back at him, unabashed.
"We'll see," he said, his lips curving, and then turned to Holden and Lee. "But we really should be going now. Holden, a pleasure as always. Lee, it was lovely to see you again."
"My lord," Lee whispered; Mona winked broadly at him.
"I'll show you out," said Holden, and kissed Lee on the forehead before walking out behind the other two, shutting the door of Lee's bedroom behind him.
Left alone, Lee sat back down on the bed. He wasn't thinking so much as he was replaying certain things to himself; he had good recall, and it had been a very interesting morning.
After a little while, he pulled off his tunic, then looked down at his own skinny, pale body, at the dark, fine cloud of hair around his cock and balls, and at the cock itself, as if he'd never seen it before, which he hadn't, much. At least he hadn't looked at it. His master had never been particularly interested in Lee's cock, though he'd punished it sometimes, when he was very angry. Lee didn't want to think about that.
It wasn't hurt now; it looked small and faintly silly, soft as it was. Lee touched it, then twitched it back and forth, making it flop awkwardly. He kept watching it as he remembered the morning, and then the night before, and it grew before his eyes, still softish, but thicker now and more substantial; he cupped his hand around it and started, cautiously, to rub. It hurt, a little; the skin was tender, and Lee's hand chafed.
A thought struck him, and he looked up at the drawer of the little nightstand by his bed. He'd never opened it-- of course; nothing in this house was his to poke through, though Bran rummaged through dresser drawers casually enough to get Lee clothes, and had opened the nightstand drawer just last night to bring out--
Did Lee dare get out the lubricant for his own use? It didn't belong to him, but it was in his room, and the tunics that were also in his room were for his use. But the idea of taking lubricant for no reason but his own pleasure in himself was-- almost as unnerving as the idea of taking his own pleasure without permission. He did have permission, of course, but he hadn't done anything to earn it, and his master hadn't given it to him after finishing with him, like he was used to. What if his master walked in and found Lee stroking himself? What if the mistress walked in, or Yves or Jer? Or Bran?
Well, Bran might not be so bad. Lee's cock twitched in his hand, and he looked down at it with bemusement.
Using lubricant when he wasn't supposed to wasn't such an awful thing, was it? Even if it was against the rules-- Lee didn't know the rule. Would his master punish him for doing something he'd never been told not to do? Or would he just correct and warn him for next time? That seemed more like Holden.
A tiny part of Lee felt stupid for sitting here dithering like this. A much larger part of him was convinced that if he stirred to reach for the knob of the drawer, he'd get hurt. Badly. And it had been too long since he'd gotten hurt that badly. The thought of the punishments he could incur, the things in the training room that could be used on him, the black rising behind his eyes as his legs pulled against the chains that held his groin exposed to the heavy boots that slammed into him-- he couldn't. Not again. He couldn't reach for the drawer. He was scared.
Don't scare the kid. Bran will beat you up.
Bran wouldn't attack anyone, of course, but Bran-- took care of Lee. And if Bran could make Holden not touch him, maybe he could make Holden not hurt Lee, even if Holden did get angry. Maybe Holden would wait, and listen. Maybe he'd give Lee another chance.
Probably, even.
Before he could talk himself out of it again, Lee reached for the drawer, got out the little bottle, and let the oil pool softly in his palm. He looked at it for a second before he put the bottle back away, carefully, and wrapped his hand around his cock, starting to rub again.
It felt better this time. Lee tried to do what Bran had done; he closed his eyes, thinking of Bran's touch, but opened them again quickly, startled by the darkness behind them, and looked down at his own cock as he stroked steadily and it grew rapidly in his hand. He thought of Bran, and then of Taganov, of the hand that had traced down his back, teasing at his sensitive nerve endings and at his healing wounds. He hadn't seemed disgusted at how Lee's back felt, even though he'd known it would scar. Would he mind looking? Would he still touch if Lee were naked, his back with its flaking scabs exposed to the touch of those oh-so-careful fingers?
Would he kiss Lee again sometime? If he had Holden's permission-- Mona would like that. Lee would like that. He thought of the narrow lips on his, tasting of tea; he thought of Mona's smile, her chipped tooth. His cock felt good.
He stroked himself harder, faster, just thinking of Bran now, though Bran's mouth was a little confused with Taganov's. Bran had been so sure of himself last night, so kind, and he hadn't even gotten irritated with Lee for his inability to please; he'd seemed pleased anyway, by Lee's climax, even by Lee's useless mouth. He'd brought Lee off while he was still hard and unsatisfied, and then he'd been dragged off by their master, who had presumably satisfied him somehow-- maybe with his mouth, the way he had that one night, after Bran had taken Lee in his own mouth and sucked him--
Lee moaned very softly, watching the pearls of liquid forming at the tip of his hard cock before his tight grip smeared them away.
Holden sucked Bran. That meant masters sucked slaves. Highly favored slaves, good slaves, not slaves like Lee, but still, that meant Lord Taganov's mouth--
Lee pulled hard at himself and sobbed as he spouted hot white liquid over his own thighs, whimpering while he kept stroking himself for a few moments, until his sensitized flesh protested and he pulled his hand away as if he'd been caught at something. He sat very still, staring at the semen that was cooling on his legs, until a knock at the door scared him so badly his heart nearly stopped as Bran, not waiting for a "Come in," came in.
"Oops," he said, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Lee. "Sorry, didn't know you were, uh, busy."
"I'm not," said Lee, and cleared his throat. "I-- I think I need another bath."
Bran grinned at that. "I can clean you up if you want."
Lee nodded uncertainly, then drew back slightly, puzzled, when Bran knelt on the floor before him and leaned down to his thighs, licking helpfully at the semen that coated them.
"You don't have to--" he protested weakly. Licking up semen, whether his own or that of his master and his master's friends, had always been one of Lee's least favorite things-- at least, of things that didn't actually hurt. The fact that he gagged-- and sometimes vomited-- even when he was only cleaning the semen from the floor with his tongue, was what had convinced him once and for all that his mouth would never be worth anything, even if he were allowed to go slower. A sex slave might as well develop an antipathy to oxygen as semen.
Bran was a good slave, though, of course, and he actually appeared to be enjoying what he was doing; he was lapping and sucking lasciviously, and Lee whimpered involuntarily at the touch of the hot mouth on his sensitive inner thighs. He was already getting hard again.
"There," said Bran finally, wiping his mouth and smiling at Lee without getting up. He glanced at Lee's half-erect cock. "You want me to help out with that?"
Lee blushed and shook his head. "No, thank you. Um-- not right now. Bran?" he asked suddenly, as Bran got up and handed Lee his tunic, then sat down. Lee pulled the tunic over his head and smoothed it down before he went on, "Why did you ask the master not to touch you? In the hospital?"
Bran blinked at him, looking bewildered. "What? I mean-- how-- wait, did he tell you that?"
"No," said Lee, and then, "Sort of. It was something he said. I figured it out. Why would you do that? You love when he touches you."
Bran smiled a little, then sobered. "Why do you ask?"
Lee considered.
"I like the way you two are together," he said. "The way you-- touch each other." He'd wanted to say the way you love each other, but it wouldn't come out for some reason. "I just wondered if anything was wrong. I wouldn't-- I wouldn't want there to be anything wrong between you and him. Especially not because of me."
"There isn't," said Bran, smiling again. "We're fine, Lee."
"But was there? Were--" He hesitated for a moment, but the thought was a barely-open door through which Lee could almost glimpse the kind of relationship he'd never had-- the kind he was just beginning to comprehend could exist between a master and slave, the kind where even a slave had power-- and he had to give it a little push to see if it would swing wider. "Were you-- angry at him?"
"No, no." Bran reached out and put his hand over Lee's. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
Lee felt a flicker of indignation. It was one thing to be treated like a child by the master-- it was actually rather nice to be treated like a child by the master-- but just because Bran was older, and stronger, and braver, and their master's beloved, and just because Lee had been clinging to him like a limpet to a rock, didn't mean Lee was stupid.
"I'm not worried," he explained, a little stiffly. "I'm interested. But if you don't want to tell me--"
Bran sighed. "It's just-- it wasn't your fault, Lee, but I don't want you to-- feel like it was."
Lee waited. After a minute, Bran grimaced.
"Okay," he said. "I was just being stupid, is all. I thought that since he'd bought you, and since you needed him so much, maybe he wouldn't have any room for me. Any more. That maybe I'd have to be sold."
A queer shock went through Lee at the words. He stared at Bran.
"Sold?" he managed. "You?"
Bran nodded. "But I wasn't! I mean, he wouldn't. It was just-- I just thought, maybe he'd keep you instead. So. I couldn't stand to have him touch me, not in front of you, not-- thinking I was going to lose him. I would have-- broken down. I almost did, anyway."
"Keep me?" Lee repeated, bewildered. "Instead of you?"
Bran smiled at him. "It's not such a strange idea, is it? Masters get new slaves and sell their old ones all the time."
"Not him," said Lee with conviction. "Not you." Not for me, he didn't add.
"Well, see," said Bran, his smile widening, "you're smarter than I am."
Five minutes before, Lee would have strongly disputed that statement.
"But," he protested helplessly, still trying to understand, "you were so nice to me!"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Bran asked gently. "It wasn't your fault. I mean, it wouldn't have been. Would it? If he had decided to sell me because of you. It's not like it would have been your decision."
It had only been a day since it occurred to Lee that your mind is your own meant not only that Holden wasn't going to punish him for his desires or lack thereof, but maybe-- possibly-- that Lord Dunaev hadn't been particularly intelligent to do so. Now he was getting the same sensation, of something clicking, two pieces fitting together to make a larger piece: there was a difference, there was a difference, between a bad thing happening because of you and a bad thing being your fault. His old master hadn't distinguished; he'd punished Lee because Lee's behavior hadn't satisfied him, he'd punished Lee because of Lee, but maybe-- maybe it hadn't all been entirely Lee's fault.
Lee supposed he could have figured these things out at his old master's-- he'd had a mind there, too. He supposed he could have brought himself to climax in "his room" at Lord Dunaev's, too, where everything hurt, and the floor he'd have to clean afterwards with his tongue was cold and dirty, and he'd get beaten too badly to cry if he got caught.
"Anyway," said Bran. "All that doesn't matter now. I came up to tell you-- there are peaches in the kitchen, if you want them."
Lee nodded, and after a moment, he smiled.
"I do," he said. "Thanks."
Mona's chatter on the subject of Lord Taganov and their household was pleasant and interesting enough that Lee was extremely startled when, after what hadn't seemed like a particularly long time, their masters suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. But the men were both smiling, and as Lee slid, a little wobbly, to his knees on the floor, Mona jumped up and went to her master; he put his arms around her and hugged her close.
"Did you have a nice talk with Lee?" he asked her, and she beamed at him.
"Yes, master," she said cheerfully, as Lee's master came and held out his hands to Lee; Lee took them shyly, and his master raised him to his feet. "We aren't going home already, are we? Where's Mr. Harper?"
"He and Miss Trask are gone already," the lord explained. "Mr. Harper wants to get your interview transcribed and let me read it before we talk more. He'll come over to our house next time, if you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind," said Mona, "but can't we come back here sometime soon, too, master? I didn't even get to see Yves and Greta this time."
Taganov raised an eyebrow at her, and she grinned back at him, unabashed.
"We'll see," he said, his lips curving, and then turned to Holden and Lee. "But we really should be going now. Holden, a pleasure as always. Lee, it was lovely to see you again."
"My lord," Lee whispered; Mona winked broadly at him.
"I'll show you out," said Holden, and kissed Lee on the forehead before walking out behind the other two, shutting the door of Lee's bedroom behind him.
Left alone, Lee sat back down on the bed. He wasn't thinking so much as he was replaying certain things to himself; he had good recall, and it had been a very interesting morning.
After a little while, he pulled off his tunic, then looked down at his own skinny, pale body, at the dark, fine cloud of hair around his cock and balls, and at the cock itself, as if he'd never seen it before, which he hadn't, much. At least he hadn't looked at it. His master had never been particularly interested in Lee's cock, though he'd punished it sometimes, when he was very angry. Lee didn't want to think about that.
It wasn't hurt now; it looked small and faintly silly, soft as it was. Lee touched it, then twitched it back and forth, making it flop awkwardly. He kept watching it as he remembered the morning, and then the night before, and it grew before his eyes, still softish, but thicker now and more substantial; he cupped his hand around it and started, cautiously, to rub. It hurt, a little; the skin was tender, and Lee's hand chafed.
A thought struck him, and he looked up at the drawer of the little nightstand by his bed. He'd never opened it-- of course; nothing in this house was his to poke through, though Bran rummaged through dresser drawers casually enough to get Lee clothes, and had opened the nightstand drawer just last night to bring out--
Did Lee dare get out the lubricant for his own use? It didn't belong to him, but it was in his room, and the tunics that were also in his room were for his use. But the idea of taking lubricant for no reason but his own pleasure in himself was-- almost as unnerving as the idea of taking his own pleasure without permission. He did have permission, of course, but he hadn't done anything to earn it, and his master hadn't given it to him after finishing with him, like he was used to. What if his master walked in and found Lee stroking himself? What if the mistress walked in, or Yves or Jer? Or Bran?
Well, Bran might not be so bad. Lee's cock twitched in his hand, and he looked down at it with bemusement.
Using lubricant when he wasn't supposed to wasn't such an awful thing, was it? Even if it was against the rules-- Lee didn't know the rule. Would his master punish him for doing something he'd never been told not to do? Or would he just correct and warn him for next time? That seemed more like Holden.
A tiny part of Lee felt stupid for sitting here dithering like this. A much larger part of him was convinced that if he stirred to reach for the knob of the drawer, he'd get hurt. Badly. And it had been too long since he'd gotten hurt that badly. The thought of the punishments he could incur, the things in the training room that could be used on him, the black rising behind his eyes as his legs pulled against the chains that held his groin exposed to the heavy boots that slammed into him-- he couldn't. Not again. He couldn't reach for the drawer. He was scared.
Don't scare the kid. Bran will beat you up.
Bran wouldn't attack anyone, of course, but Bran-- took care of Lee. And if Bran could make Holden not touch him, maybe he could make Holden not hurt Lee, even if Holden did get angry. Maybe Holden would wait, and listen. Maybe he'd give Lee another chance.
Probably, even.
Before he could talk himself out of it again, Lee reached for the drawer, got out the little bottle, and let the oil pool softly in his palm. He looked at it for a second before he put the bottle back away, carefully, and wrapped his hand around his cock, starting to rub again.
It felt better this time. Lee tried to do what Bran had done; he closed his eyes, thinking of Bran's touch, but opened them again quickly, startled by the darkness behind them, and looked down at his own cock as he stroked steadily and it grew rapidly in his hand. He thought of Bran, and then of Taganov, of the hand that had traced down his back, teasing at his sensitive nerve endings and at his healing wounds. He hadn't seemed disgusted at how Lee's back felt, even though he'd known it would scar. Would he mind looking? Would he still touch if Lee were naked, his back with its flaking scabs exposed to the touch of those oh-so-careful fingers?
Would he kiss Lee again sometime? If he had Holden's permission-- Mona would like that. Lee would like that. He thought of the narrow lips on his, tasting of tea; he thought of Mona's smile, her chipped tooth. His cock felt good.
He stroked himself harder, faster, just thinking of Bran now, though Bran's mouth was a little confused with Taganov's. Bran had been so sure of himself last night, so kind, and he hadn't even gotten irritated with Lee for his inability to please; he'd seemed pleased anyway, by Lee's climax, even by Lee's useless mouth. He'd brought Lee off while he was still hard and unsatisfied, and then he'd been dragged off by their master, who had presumably satisfied him somehow-- maybe with his mouth, the way he had that one night, after Bran had taken Lee in his own mouth and sucked him--
Lee moaned very softly, watching the pearls of liquid forming at the tip of his hard cock before his tight grip smeared them away.
Holden sucked Bran. That meant masters sucked slaves. Highly favored slaves, good slaves, not slaves like Lee, but still, that meant Lord Taganov's mouth--
Lee pulled hard at himself and sobbed as he spouted hot white liquid over his own thighs, whimpering while he kept stroking himself for a few moments, until his sensitized flesh protested and he pulled his hand away as if he'd been caught at something. He sat very still, staring at the semen that was cooling on his legs, until a knock at the door scared him so badly his heart nearly stopped as Bran, not waiting for a "Come in," came in.
"Oops," he said, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of Lee. "Sorry, didn't know you were, uh, busy."
"I'm not," said Lee, and cleared his throat. "I-- I think I need another bath."
Bran grinned at that. "I can clean you up if you want."
Lee nodded uncertainly, then drew back slightly, puzzled, when Bran knelt on the floor before him and leaned down to his thighs, licking helpfully at the semen that coated them.
"You don't have to--" he protested weakly. Licking up semen, whether his own or that of his master and his master's friends, had always been one of Lee's least favorite things-- at least, of things that didn't actually hurt. The fact that he gagged-- and sometimes vomited-- even when he was only cleaning the semen from the floor with his tongue, was what had convinced him once and for all that his mouth would never be worth anything, even if he were allowed to go slower. A sex slave might as well develop an antipathy to oxygen as semen.
Bran was a good slave, though, of course, and he actually appeared to be enjoying what he was doing; he was lapping and sucking lasciviously, and Lee whimpered involuntarily at the touch of the hot mouth on his sensitive inner thighs. He was already getting hard again.
"There," said Bran finally, wiping his mouth and smiling at Lee without getting up. He glanced at Lee's half-erect cock. "You want me to help out with that?"
Lee blushed and shook his head. "No, thank you. Um-- not right now. Bran?" he asked suddenly, as Bran got up and handed Lee his tunic, then sat down. Lee pulled the tunic over his head and smoothed it down before he went on, "Why did you ask the master not to touch you? In the hospital?"
Bran blinked at him, looking bewildered. "What? I mean-- how-- wait, did he tell you that?"
"No," said Lee, and then, "Sort of. It was something he said. I figured it out. Why would you do that? You love when he touches you."
Bran smiled a little, then sobered. "Why do you ask?"
Lee considered.
"I like the way you two are together," he said. "The way you-- touch each other." He'd wanted to say the way you love each other, but it wouldn't come out for some reason. "I just wondered if anything was wrong. I wouldn't-- I wouldn't want there to be anything wrong between you and him. Especially not because of me."
"There isn't," said Bran, smiling again. "We're fine, Lee."
"But was there? Were--" He hesitated for a moment, but the thought was a barely-open door through which Lee could almost glimpse the kind of relationship he'd never had-- the kind he was just beginning to comprehend could exist between a master and slave, the kind where even a slave had power-- and he had to give it a little push to see if it would swing wider. "Were you-- angry at him?"
"No, no." Bran reached out and put his hand over Lee's. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
Lee felt a flicker of indignation. It was one thing to be treated like a child by the master-- it was actually rather nice to be treated like a child by the master-- but just because Bran was older, and stronger, and braver, and their master's beloved, and just because Lee had been clinging to him like a limpet to a rock, didn't mean Lee was stupid.
"I'm not worried," he explained, a little stiffly. "I'm interested. But if you don't want to tell me--"
Bran sighed. "It's just-- it wasn't your fault, Lee, but I don't want you to-- feel like it was."
Lee waited. After a minute, Bran grimaced.
"Okay," he said. "I was just being stupid, is all. I thought that since he'd bought you, and since you needed him so much, maybe he wouldn't have any room for me. Any more. That maybe I'd have to be sold."
A queer shock went through Lee at the words. He stared at Bran.
"Sold?" he managed. "You?"
Bran nodded. "But I wasn't! I mean, he wouldn't. It was just-- I just thought, maybe he'd keep you instead. So. I couldn't stand to have him touch me, not in front of you, not-- thinking I was going to lose him. I would have-- broken down. I almost did, anyway."
"Keep me?" Lee repeated, bewildered. "Instead of you?"
Bran smiled at him. "It's not such a strange idea, is it? Masters get new slaves and sell their old ones all the time."
"Not him," said Lee with conviction. "Not you." Not for me, he didn't add.
"Well, see," said Bran, his smile widening, "you're smarter than I am."
Five minutes before, Lee would have strongly disputed that statement.
"But," he protested helplessly, still trying to understand, "you were so nice to me!"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Bran asked gently. "It wasn't your fault. I mean, it wouldn't have been. Would it? If he had decided to sell me because of you. It's not like it would have been your decision."
It had only been a day since it occurred to Lee that your mind is your own meant not only that Holden wasn't going to punish him for his desires or lack thereof, but maybe-- possibly-- that Lord Dunaev hadn't been particularly intelligent to do so. Now he was getting the same sensation, of something clicking, two pieces fitting together to make a larger piece: there was a difference, there was a difference, between a bad thing happening because of you and a bad thing being your fault. His old master hadn't distinguished; he'd punished Lee because Lee's behavior hadn't satisfied him, he'd punished Lee because of Lee, but maybe-- maybe it hadn't all been entirely Lee's fault.
Lee supposed he could have figured these things out at his old master's-- he'd had a mind there, too. He supposed he could have brought himself to climax in "his room" at Lord Dunaev's, too, where everything hurt, and the floor he'd have to clean afterwards with his tongue was cold and dirty, and he'd get beaten too badly to cry if he got caught.
"Anyway," said Bran. "All that doesn't matter now. I came up to tell you-- there are peaches in the kitchen, if you want them."
Lee nodded, and after a moment, he smiled.
"I do," he said. "Thanks."
