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maculategiraffe) wrote2007-06-17 11:48 pm
maculategiraffe) wrote2007-06-17 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
The Slave Breakers, 4/15
Previous chapter
In eighteen years of life and three of sexual slavery, Bran's cock had never been in anyone's mouth, let alone anyone who sucked it with more enthusiasm and expertise than Bran could have mustered himself. The sounds he found himself making sounded almost like sobs, as he fought hard to catch his breath, his master's tongue doing things that a tiny part of Bran's brain insisted conscientiously that he should be noting for his own future use. This suggestion was largely ignored, though, in favor of the more pressing issues of what the fuck and oh dear sweet gods I'm going to come.
And come he did, into his master's mouth, a sensation so... well... sensational that Bran barely had brain cells left over to notice the practiced ease with which his master swallowed.
An eager tongue lapped at the tip of Bran's softening cock before his master pulled back again and examined Bran's face, wiping his mouth unselfconsciously with the back of his hand, with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.
"Yeah? Was that good?" he said as if Bran had spoken instead of merely lying there, lips parted, flushed and sated and bewildered. Before Bran could muster a response, his master lay down beside him and pulled Bran easily into his arms, kissing his face. Bran moved instinctively into the embrace, nuzzling confidingly into his master's neck.
"Mmm," said his master appreciatively, and then, "For fuck's sake. 'Unresponsive.' Did Dunaev ever actually touch you?"
"He sure as hell never sucked my cock," Bran blurted out, and his master's laughter shook his whole body.
"No, I suppose not," he said finally. "Someone should explain to him that it's difficult for a slave to be responsive without anything to respond to except terrorist tactics. I'll make it a point to do that, as soon as my wife lets me anywhere near the phone again."
Bran giggled, and his master pulled back slightly to look into his face with a smile of pure satisfaction.
"You're so lovely," he said softly. "You're not going to try to run away from me again, are you?"
"No, master," said Bran, very sincerely. His master kissed him quickly on the lips.
"Ask me one more question," he said. "Anything you want to know."
Bran took a deep breath.
"What's your name, master?" he asked quietly.
There was a pause, long enough for Bran to have panicked if his master hadn't still been cuddling him close, absently playing with the soft curled hairs at the nape of his neck.
"Holden," he said finally. "Holden Larssen."
Larssen? Bran considered this. It didn't sound like the surname of a noble, and his master hadn't appended "Lord," to the name. Bran supposed that made sense; his new owners were businesspeople-- professionals, like the doctor, who of course wouldn't be noble or have a noblewoman's name either. He wondered how they'd ever gotten into this strange business of theirs in the first place.
His master kissed him again.
"And my wife is Alix," he said. "Alix Jamesen. Jamesen and Larssen, Slave Training and Retraining, that's what it says on our card. Now let's get you downstairs and get some food into this collection of restrung bones you're calling a body."
The breakfast table was set for five, and three were already seated: Bran's mistress Alix, Yves, and a pretty, rather plump red-haired woman a little younger than Yves, who smiled at Bran. Already self-conscious in the loose green tunic his master had dropped perfunctorily over his head before bringing him downstairs, Bran glanced at his master for a clue as to whether he was supposed to sit at the table. Holden nodded towards a chair, and Bran sat down in it, feeling awkward; he had never sat at the same table as his owners before.
"Good morning, Bran," said Alix, sounding amused. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, mistress," said Bran respectfully. "Thank you."
"This is Greta," Alix added. "I don't think you've met. She's mine."
Bran glanced up at the red-haired woman, who smiled at him again. She was very pretty, her skin fair and freckled, her hair still very red despite the tell-tale age lines at her eyes, and she wore a green tunic identical in color and style to Yves' and Bran's. Bran wondered how old she was.
A plain-faced young woman in black with nondescript hair came in from the kitchen, carrying plates of food.
"Fox," said Alix, "our newest acquisition, Bran."
"Bran," said the young woman, nodding to him as she set plates in front of Alix and Holden.
"Fox comes in twice a day to cook for us," said Alix. "We can make shift for ourselves, but nothing like what Fox can do."
Fox smiled but said nothing as she continued to serve. Bran wondered what she thought of her employers. She probably wasn't pretty enough to have been up for sale when she was fifteen, even if her parents were poor enough to need to sell her. She looked like the kind of quiet, unobtrusive girl who said little but took in a great deal. Bran imagined her sitting, prim and practically unnoticed in a boisterous gathering, and listening with private amusement to stories of the horrors that went on inside the house where she worked.
She set a plate down in front of him, and Bran, suddenly realizing how hungry he was, glanced at his master again, who nodded briefly. Bran began to eat, still awkward at handling the flatware.
"I assume you're going to want to stay in with him today," Alix said to her husband.
"Think I'd better. First full day and all. You're going over to Taganov's, right?"
"This morning. Then I need to go check on Kit."
"Who?" said Holden.
"You know. Will's little sister. You met her. She's fifteen next month."
"Oh, right," said Holden. "With the father."
"Yes. I'm trying to check in over there once or twice a week, make sure he remembers it's in his best financial interest to keep his hands off the girl for another three weeks. Asshole."
"Just don't get us up on kidnapping charges again," said Holden wryly.
Alix made the same "chuh" sound that her husband had made when the doctor had brought up unlubricated sex. "Kidnapping! The kid shows up on our doorstep crying and bleeding, and it's kidnapping to let him in!"
"Well, you did knee the father in the balls when he showed up."
"That had nothing to do with kidnapping," said Alix indignantly. "Assault was a separate charge."
"Right," said Holden gravely. "My mistake."
Yves caught Bran's eye across the table and grinned. Bran choked on a mouthful of eggs and began coughing.
"You okay?" his master asked, patting him on the back. His eyes watering, Bran nodded.
"Do you want me to come with you, mistress?" Greta asked.
"If you want to. You could visit with Mona at Taganov's."
"I'd like that," said Greta. "I could do with getting out of the house."
"We'll leave the boys to it, then. And Yves, if you could get to the market sometime today, that would be great."
"Yes, mistress," said Yves readily.
Bran had already finished what was on his plate. Now Fox was at his elbow, removing his empty plate and replacing it with a full one. He looked up at her in surprise.
"Eat," said his master, catching the glance. "I'm serious about feeding you up. You heard the doctor say you were underweight."
Obediently, and not at all unwillingly, Bran attacked the second plate.
He enjoyed his breakfast, but when Holden led him back into the room with the padded table and the various implements, Bran swallowed, wishing he had eaten less.
"Don't freeze up on me again," said Holden, looking at him keenly. "I haven't hurt you yet, have I?"
Bran hesitated. Holden smiled slightly.
"Okay, so I might have hurt you a little when you tried to run. But you're not going to do that again, right?"
"No, master," said Bran quickly.
"This room scares you, I can tell," said Holden, sitting down on an ominous-looking bench and motioning to Bran to sit beside him. "Why is that?"
Bran sat gingerly down beside his master and considered the question.
"Because it looks like pretty much everything in here is designed to hurt, master," he said finally.
"But nothing in here can hurt you unless I make it," said Holden gently, "so it's really me you're afraid of, right?"
Bran nodded. "And of-- why you've brought me in here, master."
"What I did to you in here yesterday didn't hurt, did it?"
Bran smiled at the memory. "No, master."
"I can make pretty much anything in this room feel good to you, Bran," Holden said softly, and Bran shivered, looking up into his master's face. "And if I want to hurt you, I don't need one single one of these things to do it. So if you're afraid, what's the question you should ask yourself?"
"Do you want to hurt me?" Bran asked huskily.
His master smiled at him. "Good boy. We'll do fine."
Next chapter
In eighteen years of life and three of sexual slavery, Bran's cock had never been in anyone's mouth, let alone anyone who sucked it with more enthusiasm and expertise than Bran could have mustered himself. The sounds he found himself making sounded almost like sobs, as he fought hard to catch his breath, his master's tongue doing things that a tiny part of Bran's brain insisted conscientiously that he should be noting for his own future use. This suggestion was largely ignored, though, in favor of the more pressing issues of what the fuck and oh dear sweet gods I'm going to come.
And come he did, into his master's mouth, a sensation so... well... sensational that Bran barely had brain cells left over to notice the practiced ease with which his master swallowed.
An eager tongue lapped at the tip of Bran's softening cock before his master pulled back again and examined Bran's face, wiping his mouth unselfconsciously with the back of his hand, with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.
"Yeah? Was that good?" he said as if Bran had spoken instead of merely lying there, lips parted, flushed and sated and bewildered. Before Bran could muster a response, his master lay down beside him and pulled Bran easily into his arms, kissing his face. Bran moved instinctively into the embrace, nuzzling confidingly into his master's neck.
"Mmm," said his master appreciatively, and then, "For fuck's sake. 'Unresponsive.' Did Dunaev ever actually touch you?"
"He sure as hell never sucked my cock," Bran blurted out, and his master's laughter shook his whole body.
"No, I suppose not," he said finally. "Someone should explain to him that it's difficult for a slave to be responsive without anything to respond to except terrorist tactics. I'll make it a point to do that, as soon as my wife lets me anywhere near the phone again."
Bran giggled, and his master pulled back slightly to look into his face with a smile of pure satisfaction.
"You're so lovely," he said softly. "You're not going to try to run away from me again, are you?"
"No, master," said Bran, very sincerely. His master kissed him quickly on the lips.
"Ask me one more question," he said. "Anything you want to know."
Bran took a deep breath.
"What's your name, master?" he asked quietly.
There was a pause, long enough for Bran to have panicked if his master hadn't still been cuddling him close, absently playing with the soft curled hairs at the nape of his neck.
"Holden," he said finally. "Holden Larssen."
Larssen? Bran considered this. It didn't sound like the surname of a noble, and his master hadn't appended "Lord," to the name. Bran supposed that made sense; his new owners were businesspeople-- professionals, like the doctor, who of course wouldn't be noble or have a noblewoman's name either. He wondered how they'd ever gotten into this strange business of theirs in the first place.
His master kissed him again.
"And my wife is Alix," he said. "Alix Jamesen. Jamesen and Larssen, Slave Training and Retraining, that's what it says on our card. Now let's get you downstairs and get some food into this collection of restrung bones you're calling a body."
The breakfast table was set for five, and three were already seated: Bran's mistress Alix, Yves, and a pretty, rather plump red-haired woman a little younger than Yves, who smiled at Bran. Already self-conscious in the loose green tunic his master had dropped perfunctorily over his head before bringing him downstairs, Bran glanced at his master for a clue as to whether he was supposed to sit at the table. Holden nodded towards a chair, and Bran sat down in it, feeling awkward; he had never sat at the same table as his owners before.
"Good morning, Bran," said Alix, sounding amused. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, mistress," said Bran respectfully. "Thank you."
"This is Greta," Alix added. "I don't think you've met. She's mine."
Bran glanced up at the red-haired woman, who smiled at him again. She was very pretty, her skin fair and freckled, her hair still very red despite the tell-tale age lines at her eyes, and she wore a green tunic identical in color and style to Yves' and Bran's. Bran wondered how old she was.
A plain-faced young woman in black with nondescript hair came in from the kitchen, carrying plates of food.
"Fox," said Alix, "our newest acquisition, Bran."
"Bran," said the young woman, nodding to him as she set plates in front of Alix and Holden.
"Fox comes in twice a day to cook for us," said Alix. "We can make shift for ourselves, but nothing like what Fox can do."
Fox smiled but said nothing as she continued to serve. Bran wondered what she thought of her employers. She probably wasn't pretty enough to have been up for sale when she was fifteen, even if her parents were poor enough to need to sell her. She looked like the kind of quiet, unobtrusive girl who said little but took in a great deal. Bran imagined her sitting, prim and practically unnoticed in a boisterous gathering, and listening with private amusement to stories of the horrors that went on inside the house where she worked.
She set a plate down in front of him, and Bran, suddenly realizing how hungry he was, glanced at his master again, who nodded briefly. Bran began to eat, still awkward at handling the flatware.
"I assume you're going to want to stay in with him today," Alix said to her husband.
"Think I'd better. First full day and all. You're going over to Taganov's, right?"
"This morning. Then I need to go check on Kit."
"Who?" said Holden.
"You know. Will's little sister. You met her. She's fifteen next month."
"Oh, right," said Holden. "With the father."
"Yes. I'm trying to check in over there once or twice a week, make sure he remembers it's in his best financial interest to keep his hands off the girl for another three weeks. Asshole."
"Just don't get us up on kidnapping charges again," said Holden wryly.
Alix made the same "chuh" sound that her husband had made when the doctor had brought up unlubricated sex. "Kidnapping! The kid shows up on our doorstep crying and bleeding, and it's kidnapping to let him in!"
"Well, you did knee the father in the balls when he showed up."
"That had nothing to do with kidnapping," said Alix indignantly. "Assault was a separate charge."
"Right," said Holden gravely. "My mistake."
Yves caught Bran's eye across the table and grinned. Bran choked on a mouthful of eggs and began coughing.
"You okay?" his master asked, patting him on the back. His eyes watering, Bran nodded.
"Do you want me to come with you, mistress?" Greta asked.
"If you want to. You could visit with Mona at Taganov's."
"I'd like that," said Greta. "I could do with getting out of the house."
"We'll leave the boys to it, then. And Yves, if you could get to the market sometime today, that would be great."
"Yes, mistress," said Yves readily.
Bran had already finished what was on his plate. Now Fox was at his elbow, removing his empty plate and replacing it with a full one. He looked up at her in surprise.
"Eat," said his master, catching the glance. "I'm serious about feeding you up. You heard the doctor say you were underweight."
Obediently, and not at all unwillingly, Bran attacked the second plate.
He enjoyed his breakfast, but when Holden led him back into the room with the padded table and the various implements, Bran swallowed, wishing he had eaten less.
"Don't freeze up on me again," said Holden, looking at him keenly. "I haven't hurt you yet, have I?"
Bran hesitated. Holden smiled slightly.
"Okay, so I might have hurt you a little when you tried to run. But you're not going to do that again, right?"
"No, master," said Bran quickly.
"This room scares you, I can tell," said Holden, sitting down on an ominous-looking bench and motioning to Bran to sit beside him. "Why is that?"
Bran sat gingerly down beside his master and considered the question.
"Because it looks like pretty much everything in here is designed to hurt, master," he said finally.
"But nothing in here can hurt you unless I make it," said Holden gently, "so it's really me you're afraid of, right?"
Bran nodded. "And of-- why you've brought me in here, master."
"What I did to you in here yesterday didn't hurt, did it?"
Bran smiled at the memory. "No, master."
"I can make pretty much anything in this room feel good to you, Bran," Holden said softly, and Bran shivered, looking up into his master's face. "And if I want to hurt you, I don't need one single one of these things to do it. So if you're afraid, what's the question you should ask yourself?"
"Do you want to hurt me?" Bran asked huskily.
His master smiled at him. "Good boy. We'll do fine."
Next chapter