The Slave Breakers, 9/15

[maculategiraffe]

Previous chapter

After Valor had eaten, quickly and somehow impatiently, she turned back to Greta. "Mom, we've hardly talked since I got here. I've got so much to-- can we--?"

"Of course, my love," said Greta, smiling. "Do you want to go out? We could go shopping, eat lunch somewhere--"

"Sounds nice,” said Valor, smiling back at her mother, then looked somewhat reluctantly to Holden. "Dad? Can we--"

"Sure, you're seventeen, you're immortal, you don't need sleep. Go on."

When mother and daughter, arms affectionately around each other's waists, had left the room, Holden sighed deeply and leaned his chin in his hands.

"I love the little brat," he said, "but gods, she can get on my nerves."

"I remember when I was seventeen," said Yves meditatively. "It's a hard age. Awkward. Trying to figure out where you fit. Miss Valor's not doing so badly, considering."

"When I was seventeen, I still belonged to Pavel," said Holden, "which would probably make me even more sheltered and spoiled than Val is now. Still."

Bran glanced automatically at Alix, but she didn't offer a corresponding reminiscence. Instead she said, "Holden, we should let Nikol know Val's in town. I'm sure he'll want to see her, and so will Laura. We could have them over for dinner."

"Oh," said Holden without enthusiasm. "Yes, sure."

"It won't be so bad," said Alix. "You know Val will dominate the conversation. And we can ask them to bring Jer."

"Yeah," said Holden. "Write them.”



“Lord Argounov,” said Valor happily, running to put her arms around the older man, who hugged her back with every appearance of pleasure.

Lady Argounova, who looked about her husband’s age, with fairly obviously dyed auburn hair, bowed gravely to Valor, who nodded rather awkwardly in return. “My lady.”

"Hey, good-looking," said Holden softly to the tall, quiet man in a white slave tunic who smiled at him from slightly behind Nikol. That must be the mysterious Jer, Bran thought, looking at him with interest; he was old, even older than Yves, perhaps as old as Holden, and there were gray hairs among the nondescript straight brown that framed his face in a round cut, but his smile at Holden was strangely boyish.

“Welcome,” said Alix. “Please, sit down, everyone. Dinner will be served in about half an hour. May I offer anyone a cocktail?”

“Sherry,” said Lady Argounova, seating herself on an upright chair as her husband sank comfortably into an armchair. Like Yves, Bran stood back against the wall at proper attention, noting out of the corner of his eye that Jer was doing the same, instead of sitting down at his master or mistress’ feet as a visiting slave might be expected to do. Greta, he supposed because of her position as Valor’s mother, was seated by her mistress, her eyes demurely downcast.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” said Nikol. “Oh, there’s your pretty lad– Bran, isn’t it? I was telling you about him, Laura.”

“Very pretty,” said Lady Argounova, with a cool, appraising glance at Bran.

“Laura and I thought perhaps you might offer him to our Valor, once he’s fully rehabilitated,” Nikol said cheerfully. “He’s rather your type, isn’t he, lamb?”

“He’s adorable,” said Valor, “but I haven’t even been allowed to touch him. Dad’s so protective.”

“Your father is very good at his job,” said Argounov, smiling at Holden, who nodded in acknowledgment, unsmiling. “No doubt the boy’s still transitioning, but once he’s ready to go back on the market, who knows? What would you think of belonging to Miss Valor, Bran?”

Startled and frightened at the sudden direct address, Bran blinked for a moment, and everyone in the room laughed. Even Valor grinned reluctantly.

“Oh, come on,” she said, as Bran stood blushing under everyone’s amused regard. “I’m not that bad. He’s just really nervy still.”

“Come here, Bran,” said Holden, and Bran went to him gratefully, kneeling at his master’s feet and accepting his affectionate caress.

“See?” said Valor. “Protective, like I said. Anyway, I’ve got to graduate with top grades before Dad will even think about giving me anyone, so I’ve been studying my head off.”

“Good,” said Nikol heartily. “Good girl. That’s what we like to hear. Tell us about what you’re studying.”

Valor needed little encouragement to chatter the time away until Fox arrived to announce dinner.

As it was a formal occasion, Bran, Yves and Jer ate separately in the kitchen, with Fox scampering past them periodically, laden with dishes and trays.

“How are you?” Yves asked Jer.

Jer smiled at him. “Fine. I’m fine. How are you? Not feeling neglected, are you?”

The two older men turned simultaneously to look at Bran.

“No,” said Yves. “I mean, yes, the master’s quite taken with him lately. But he doesn’t neglect me. Some kids tire him out, you know, but Bran’s all sweetness and humility and sensibility, aren’t you Bran?”

Bran hesitated, and Jer chuckled.

“I thought he hated that kind,” he said. “You know. The good manipulators.”

Yves smiled. “Maybe it’s not manipulation with Bran.”

“We’re slaves,” said Jer cynically. “Everything we do is manipulation.”

“Not when we’re eighteen,” said Yves.

“Gods.” Jer sighed. “Eighteen. No wonder he’s so beautiful. I was beautiful, too, when I was eighteen.”

“You’re still beautiful,” said Yves gently.

“I’m decrepit,” said Jer. “I was past my prime when this kid was born. But I’m better at everything I do than any of your lithe teenage whippersnappers, and my master’s old enough himself to value that, so I don’t worry too much. Develop a real skill set, pretty boy,” he said to Bran. “It will serve you well when your looks are gone and you don’t blush as easily.”

Bran looked down. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t upset the kid,” said Yves. “You’ll age him early, and that really would be a shame.”

“Sorry," said Jer. "Let's talk about something else. That daughter of your master's is a little firecracker, huh? Must be fun to have her home again."

Yves laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."


Bran was sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up, thinking about Yves and Jer's half-comfortable chatter, the after-dinner farewells and Jer and Holden’s awkward parting kiss– a lingering yet nervous affair where they both looked as if they were expecting to get caught-- when Valor came in without knocking. He jumped nervously to his feet, eyeing her with some trepidation.

“Don’t freak out,” she said, flopping down on his bed. “I'm not going to rape you. I just want to talk to somebody my own age, okay?”

Bran sat warily down on the edge of his chair.

“You are my age, aren’t you?” Valor continued, looking him up and down with frank interest.

"I'm eighteen, Miss Valor," Bran answered respectfully.

Valor reached out and ran a hand through his hair. "How do you like it here?"

The gesture wasn't unlike Holden's habitual caress, which Bran loved, but Valor's touch made him somehow uneasy. Perhaps it was the memory of his dream about her. He held still with an effort.

“Very much, miss,” he said softly.

She withdrew her hand, looking away.

“It’s a madhouse," she said. "But you just think it's normal when you're growing up, you know? I mean, when you were living with whatever asshole messed you up, you probably just kind of thought that was normal, right?"

"I suppose so, Miss Valor," said Bran.

"Sure.” Valor lay back on the bed, examining the ceiling. “And when I was a kid I thought it was normal for your dad's wife to legally own your mom. Of course, that was before I found out he wasn't even my biological dad, and things haven't really gotten less weird since then. You know about all that?"

"Yes, Miss Valor," said Bran. "Your mother told me."

"Yeah. But I mean, he is my dad, though. I don't know who my biological dad is-- my mom told me he never even knew she was pregnant. And Holden's the one on my birth certificate, and all. Did you know, it's actually illegal for a master to adopt a slave's child-- because it would encourage black-market slave breeding. 'Accidents' where, oops, the slaves weren't properly sterilized after all, and, well, I'll just 'raise' this kid as my own, and suddenly discover a pressing need to sell him off when he's fifteen. That kind of thing. So he had to claim to be the real dad, to keep me."

She rolled over on her side and dimpled at Bran. "I decided I'm going to be a lawyer myself, when I get through school. I've had enough practice just trying to figure out what the hell I am. All these laws are utterly obscure, you have to dig through mountains of ancient books to find them, because slaves aren't supposed to get pregnant, and if one does, of course the master either gets her an abortion as quickly as possible, or if he doesn't think it's his or doesn't want to bother, sells her to Alix and my dad, for-- what's it-- um, unlawful fornication."

"What do the master and mistress do about it?" Bran asked.

"Oh, you know," said Valor. "Explain nicely to the girl how ill-advised it is to sleep with someone besides her master-- or get raped by someone besides her master, which half the time is what happened."

"But what do they do about the pregnancy?" Bran asked.

"Abortion,” said Valor. “I mean, you're pretty much useless as a pleasure slave after giving birth. Scars and stretch marks and-- that's one reason they sterilize you; it's not just because of the ban on breeding. It's one thing for my mom, because keeping me in the first place was Alix's idea so she can't exactly complain, and anyway she's not trying to sell my mom-- but nobody much is going to buy a woman who's had a baby."

“What if it’s too late to abort?” Bran asked. “Has that ever happened?”

"I dunno," said Valor, squinting at him, and Bran quickly dropped his gaze to his lap. "They don’t tell me everything. So, it was weird tonight, huh?"

"Yes, Miss Valor," said Bran, his eyes still lowered to hide his slight irritation at her change of subject. He supposed there was only one answer to his question. The woman’s death would be painless, no doubt, and as kind as possible, but there was only one way to deal with a slave who could not be put back on the market under any circumstances. He had understood that from the beginning, when Holden told him not to worry about what would happen if he couldn’t be rehabilitated. It would be a hard decision for Holden and Alix to make, no doubt, but they had a business to run. And he could easily believe they didn’t have to make it very often.

"And I mean, especially with Jer and all. You know about them? I mean who he is and all? How long they’ve known each other?"

Bran shook his head, distracted.

Valor rolled over on her back and drew up her knees. "God, then you don’t even know how weird it is when they all get together like this.”

“Is it?” Bran asked vaguely.

“It really is,” said Valor. “Lord Argounov, he’s one of those really rich people who kept– I think six or seven pleasure slaves at a time, back in his heyday. All just lying around waiting for his attentions. Which was just the problem– to hear Alix tell it– because Lady Argounova kind of also wanted his attentions, and it was all getting a bit much for him. I mean, a man only has so much to give, you know? And complicating this was that he really loved her, I mean, in love, not just like I love Yves but like my dad loves Yves, real oh-never-leave-me kind of love. And his wife didn't like that one bit."

"Wait," said Bran, who had only been half listening. "He really loved whom?"

Valor turned to look at him solemnly. "Alix. Alix was his slave back then. You didn’t know? And he was wildly in love with her."

"What?" said Bran.

Valor chuckled, delighted at his surprise. "Yes! So Lady Argounova gave Lord Argounov an ultimatum. She said either Alix went, or she went. And Lord Argounov picked his wife, because, well, she was his wife. But he couldn't bring himself to sell Alix. So he freed her instead. Not only freed her, but bought her a house-- this house-- and set her up with a nice little bank account, and, and, offered her a gift, so she wouldn't get too lonely all by herself in this big old house. A well-trained pleasure slave from his own personal collection."

She paused for effect. Bran blinked at her.

"My dad," said Valor, nodding.

"Wait,” said Bran again. “They both belonged to Lord Argounov?"

"Yep. It was one of those setups-- if someone has that many slaves they have to sort of rank them, you know? Set up these little hierarchies, just to keep everything from going to hell, because the master can't watch everyone at once. Alix was right at the top of the pecking order, because of the whole thing where her master was in love with her, and I think she'd sort of made my dad her bitch, in a romantic way."

Bran laughed. Valor grinned at him.

"I mean, it had to be at least a little romantic," she said, "because then there was the whole fairy tale ending where she freed him and married him and they lived happily ever after. Anyhow, Jer belonged to Lord Argounov back then too, and they-- he and my dad, I mean-- were really close. They fit together well-- Jer's so quiet and my dad talks a mile a minute– like me– and Jer just sort of quietly adored my dad, and my dad was all protective of him-- I dunno. And Lord Argounov didn't exactly consult either of them before he gave my dad to Alix, and they weren't very happy to leave each other. My dad even tried to buy Jer once he had the money, but Lord Argounov won't sell."

"That's terrible," said Bran indignantly.

Valor shrugged. "Yeah. I think they all used to be madder at each other, before I was born. But when my mom got pregnant, my dad wanted me to have every advantage I could, considering the insane circumstances, so he bit down and asked Lord Argounov to be the godfather. And the Argounovs have been absolutely wonderful to me. They're paying for my school, and they'll give me a real coming-out when I turn eighteen. I think Lady Argounova kind of hates me, but she puts up with me because helping me makes Lord Argounov feel less guilty about the whole thing."

"You're right, Miss Valor," said Bran fervently. "I had no idea how weird it was."

Valor grinned at him. “Don't I know it. You're really cute, Bran."

Bran looked down. "Thank you, Miss Valor."

“You wouldn’t really mind belonging to me, would you?" she asked, sounding almost shy. "I’m pretty nice once you get to know me. And I’d be good to you. I really would.”

Bran sat frozen, staring at his knees.

“Bran?” Valor asked softly.

“I– however my master chooses to dispose of me will be...” said Bran vaguely, trailing off.

“You completely hate the idea, don’t you?” Valor said wistfully. “Is it me? I mean, am I awful? You can tell me. Or do you just– not like girls? Or something?”

Before Bran could think of a reply, the door opened again and Holden came in. His eyebrows went up at the sight of his daughter sprawled on Bran’s bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked Valor, who sat up quickly.

“Just talking,” she said.

“I don’t know why you don’t get laryngitis with all the talking you do,” said Holden. “Your mother’s looking for you.”

Valor hopped up and was gone without a backward glance at Bran. Holden glanced Bran over somewhat absently, as if checking for damages, and was turning to go as well when Bran said quickly, “Master, may I ask you something?”

“Certainly you may,” said Holden, turning back at the door frame, his eyes friendly and attentive.

Bran took a deep breath. “I was just wondering why– why you haven’t, uh, fucked me yet.”

He had Holden’s full attention, now; his master looked surprised and amused, and– pleased? “No special reason. You haven’t been healed for that long. Why, do you want me to?”

Bran looked down. “I want– I want whatever you want, master. I just– wondered.”

He waited nervously while his master said nothing for an eternal few moments.

"All right,” Holden said finally, in a businesslike tone. “Get yourself cleaned up and ready-- you know how to do that, right?"

Bran nodded, red-faced.

"And come back here. I'll be waiting."

And he was waiting, sitting naked on the edge of the bed, when Bran came in, naked himself, still flushed with nervousness and– he admitted to himself– excitement.

“Come here,” said Holden lazily, putting out a hand. “Have you ever enjoyed being fucked?”

"I-- not really, master," said Bran honestly.

"I sort of thought not. You had some luck with masters, kid." Holden drew Bran down onto the bed beside him, running a hand down his back; Bran arched slightly into the touch. “But I’m glad you asked me. It shows you trust me. Don’t you?”

“Yes, master.”

"Good boy. I need you trusting me for this, because if you're tense, it will hurt, and if it hurts, you're going to tense up more, and it's going to hurt more, right?"

Bran nodded, biting his lip as Holden turned him so that he was lying on his side, facing away from his master. Holden's hands were still on him, touching and kneading his shoulders, sliding gently down his body to his hip bone.

"And it shouldn't hurt, Bran. If I do it right, it should feel really good. I still enjoy it myself, from time to time. Being fucked."

Surprised, Bran turned to look at his master. Smiling, Holden gently turned him back, repositioning him.

"It's not as rare as you might think," he said, one hand on Bran's shoulder as the other stroked down his thighs, playing with the crease where one leg lay on top of the other. "Masters liking to be topped. It's one of the specialized tastes we train for, if the buyer likes. Pavel liked to be topped. So I've been doing this for a while. If that helps."

Bran couldn't begin to think how to answer, especially since his master was playing with his perineum, hardening his cock at the same time it increased his trepidation. After a pause, Holden went on, "Anyway. The point is, it's supposed to feel good. So if it hurts, say ‘ow’ and I'll change what I'm doing. Understand? Don't get all stoic on me. I don’t want you getting damaged or spooked again."

Bran nodded. "I understand, master. Thank you."

Holden cupped his buttocks and let one finger stray slightly between them. Bran fought not to clench up.

"Have you ever been with a woman, Bran?" Holden asked, his touch disappearing briefly-- Bran didn't turn around to look this time, though he wanted to.

"No, master," he said.

The fingers returned, slippery with lubrication, easing between Bran's cheeks. "Would you like to?"

Bran breathed deeply. "I... guess I'd sort of be curious..."

One finger touched the puckered rim of Bran's anus. "Have you ever fucked a man?"

Bran's gasp came out as half laugh. "No, master..."

"Never?" said Holden softly, his finger slipping past Bran's first tension; Bran's mouth opened slightly and he moved instinctively, pushing himself backwards a little, so that Holden's finger sank in deeper. "Oh, you like that?"

Bran whimpered slightly as a second finger slipped in next to the first.

"So you've never fucked a man, never fucked a woman, and didn't you tell me you'd never had your cock sucked?" Holden went on, his fingers pressing deep into Bran, and Bran felt a flicker of something, something whose edge Holden was just grazing, indefinite and frustrating. "Damn shame, a fine strapping young man like you, with his cock just withering away from lack of use. You like this?”

"Yes," said Bran, his voice lower and huskier than he expected.

Holden's fingers withdrew, and Bran tensed up again. The fingers felt good, but Holden's cock, while not as large as Dunaev's, was still considerably larger than two fingers. Whatever Holden said about not hurting... but no hands moved him into position for fucking, and it was the same two fingers that paused at the ring of tight muscle and slipped themselves back in. Two fingers. Then a third.

"Oh gods," Bran breathed before he could stop himself.

"That's right," said Holden softly, and the hand not half inside Bran reached over his jutting hip and closed, warm and slicked, around his hard cock. "You do like it."

His fingers rippled down Bran's cock, and Bran jerked his hips again, impaling himself on the three fingers with a groan.

"That's right," said Holden again. "You want more, don't you? You want my cock in you."

"Yes," Bran gasped, and he meant it, though it was only by focusing very hard on the hand that stroked his cock that he managed to keep from clenching up as the fingers slid out of him. He started to move to his hands and knees, then waited, telling himself he didn't know Holden's preferred position, but really hoping for his master's gentle, firm hands moving him, placing him, keeping him in this moment, safe and easy with those flickers of pleasure at the edges of his consciousness.

"Good boy," said Holden, and the head of his cock, slick and feeling larger than it did in Bran’s mouth, was pushing between Bran's cheeks. Bran startled and Holden stopped, pulling back slightly.

"You okay there, beautiful?" he asked, and Bran flashed on their first meeting when Bran, chained and shaking, had stumbled after his new master up the stairs of their home. The hands on him, the warmth, the sweet anticipation, suddenly overwhelmed him. He licked his lips.

"I-- yes, master, I'm fine. I just thought you'd put me on my-- face or my back or--"

"Next time maybe," said Holden. "This is good. Just need a little..." He squeezed Bran's cock again, wrenching a moan from his throat and making Bran squirm so that Holden's cock was pressed between his cheeks. "...mmm, yes... cooperation."

Bran obediently thrust back against his master's cock, and Holden chuckled softly.

"Didn't think it would be a problem with you," he said. "Still nice and relaxed? That's my boy." He pulled at Bran's cock in long, slow, firm strokes, and with every one Bran gasped and pushed back against him. "Ready for me?"

Bran moaned acquiescently, a sound that deepened to a groan as the head of Holden's cock nudged inside him. He pushed himself, slowly and carefully, back onto it, gasping and whimpering a little as it opened him up bit by bit.

"Good?" said Holden in his ear, as Bran, his own cock tortured with the slow stroking, jerked impatiently, his hips rocking in an effort to get Holden to go faster. Holden obliged, and they found a rhythm, Bran pushing back as Holden thrust into him, the pleasure from Holden's hand on his erection enhanced by the pleasure he had only felt twinges of before, the spot inside him stroked over and over with a hot sweet agonizing pressure. He moved automatically, used to that kind of response, listening to his master's heavy breathing behind him, building helplessly between the pressure inside him and the rough, accelerating strokes to his cock, until he caught his breath and came into Holden's hand, breaking his rhythm and suddenly frightened. He had never come while being fucked before. Was he supposed to? What was he supposed to do?

"Don't stop," said Holden urgently, "don't--" and Bran obediently continued rocking back onto his master's cock until with a hard pulse and a soft moan Holden came inside him, pushing deeper for a moment or two afterwards before carefully, slowly pulling out. Bran lay still, trembling, until Holden reached out and rolled Bran over to face him, smiling.

"See?" he said.

Bran smiled back at him, still panting.

"That was good, right?" said Holden, looking closely at him. "You look a little shellshocked."

"It was good, master," Bran managed. "I didn't-- I didn't know if I was supposed to come before you."

"I would have told you if you weren't, sweet boy. I loved how it felt when you came. Did you like having me inside you?”

“Yes, master,” said Bran, rather enjoying the novel sensation of answering that particular question both affirmatively and truthfully.

“Good.” Holden kissed him softly. “I liked it too. I’m glad you brought it up.”

Everything we do is manipulation, Bran thought, hazily and perhaps irrelevantly, as he opened his mouth to another kiss.

Next chapter