Excerpt 1:  

Biton turned his gaze back to Antonio. “This was a set up, wasn’t it?” He let his smile soften the accusation.

Antonio shrugged. “Caught.” He reached out his hand and rested it on Biton’s shoulder. “Since you were at the club,  I knew you were beginning to look again. I just wanted to make it easier.”

“So was that’s my selection?”

Antonio laughed, his hand squeezing Biton’s shoulder before he released it. “No, there’s one more. Couldn’t offer you a blond and a brunette without throwing in a redhead! Cavan’s a little shy though.”

Biton turned to follow his friend’s line of sight. A rather forlorn looking redhead sat with his legs curled up under him in a corner of the room.

As he walked toward the young man, Biton could see the muscle tone through the open shirt. His eyes down, Cavan obviously didn’t notice Biton’s approach until he was looming over him.

“I’m sorry, Ma--,” the young man’s voice cut of sharply as he rose from the small sofa. “May I serve you?” He was taller than he appeared while seated. Maybe it was the way he made himself smaller, curled in a tight ball.

“Relax, Cavan. I just want to talk.” Biton sat down and motioned Cavan to do the same.

The young man complied but Biton could see the reluctance in his bearing. Tense and uncomfortable, Cavan sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture stiff. His knuckles were white as he held onto the leather collar.

“Is that your collar?”

“Yes, M...”

Once again, Cavan bit back the word. It wasn’t proper to call someone Master without permission. Usually the privilege wasn’t granted until an understanding was reached. But maybe he would relax a little...

“If it makes you comfortable, Cavan, you may call me Master or Sir but it is not a contract.”

“Thank you, Master.” Pale green eyes darted up and the tension hardened muscles in his back softened a little. “Contract, Master?”

“A contract... Between a Master and a slave. Didn’t your old Master have a contract with you?”

“No, Sir.”

“An agreement, then. One about your responsibilities and his.”

“My responsibility was to obey my Master in all things.”

The words sounded rote.

“What about his responsibility to care for you, see to your needs?”

“My only need was to serve my Master.”

“Do you have a job?”

Cavan’s eyes flicked between Biton and the wide leather collar, still held in a white knuckled grip. “I do now. I serve--I work in M--Mr. Casala’s house. I’m a house servant.”

Biton heard the difficulty Cavan had saying Antonio’s name without adding the title of Master. “But you didn’t before? With your old Master?”

“No, Sir. My job was to serve him.” A shudder swept down his back.

Biton glanced up to see Antonio edging closer to where he and Cavan were seated. Some questions needing asking but getting answers out of Cavan was like pulling teeth.

“Cavan, I need another drink. Scotch, straight up.”

The young man sprang like a tightly wound coil released. “Yes, Master.” Relief flooded the two words as if he were desperate to serve in any capacity.

As the young man fled on his errand, Biton crooked a finger at the hovering Antonio.

“What’s his story?” Biton asked as Antonio took Cavan’s seat.

“His last, and only, Master was Maxwell Wainwright.”

“Wainwright... the name’s familiar.”

“You probably got the emails about the incident from the Society but it was only a week or so after Erik’s death. I’m sure you weren’t paying attention. Cavan showed up at the emergency room badly beaten. His back was a bloody mess, broken arm, two fractured ribs and rectal lacerations from some kind of foreign object. He refused to press charges against his attacker. Lia called me because she recognized the name of the man paying the bills.”

He nodded as he remembered Lia was an emergency room nurse.

“Well, the Society warned Wainwright, threatened to exclude him and issue warnings to potential subs. A week later, right after he was released from the hospital, Cavan returned to the emergency room with a broken jaw and bloody nose. Wainwright had tossed him in the street with nothing but a pair of jeans, his collar and his new injuries. Lia stepped in and asked permission to bring him home.”

Biton’s teeth clenched in anger. No one had the right to abuse a slave. The scene was not about pain for pain’s sake. The redhead couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. “How long was he with Wainwright?”

“Since he was eighteen, nine years.”

So he was twenty-seven. “Was it all like that? The abuse?” Biton watched as the young man hurried toward them, drink in hand.

“I think so. Getting him to talk is difficult. I would guess Wainwright threatened him. And he’s so well trained I doubt he’d ever break his confidence.” Antonio rose as Cavan drew near. “I’ll talk to you later.” Antonio nodded to Cavan as he walked past to mingle with his other guests.

Cavan knelt to present the drink to Biton as if he were carrying something precious and rare.

Biton took the drink with one hand and patted the cushion beside him with the other. “Thank you. Sit here. You don’t have to kneel.”

“Yes, Master.” The young man moved with grace to comply but his fingers once again clutched his collar.

Biton sipped his drink silently. Cavan interested him but he was so wounded, so lost. On the other hand, maybe that’s why the young man caught his interest. Biton felt the same way without Erik.

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Excerpt 2:

Biton reached between them and slipped open the button on Cavan’s jeans. Sliding the zipper free, his hand sought the younger man’s erection only to find flaccid flesh. Cupping the loose balls, his hand encountered a cock ring, so tight as to be dangerous. The blood flow to his penis and balls would be too constricted.

If he had permanent damage, Cavan was effectively a eunuch.

Biton’s fingers fumbled for the release but couldn’t find one. “Cavan, I want this off. How does it come off?”

The body against Biton tensed. “My Master said I couldn’t take it off. Only to shave.”

Biton pulled his hand free of Cavan’s jeans. Using both hands to cup the pale freckled face, Biton forced Cavan to look him in the eyes.

A hasty decision but one made, nonetheless. “Cavan, listen to me carefully. He is not your Master anymore. This afternoon, I’ll draw up a contract between you and me outlining your responsibilities and mine.” Seeing his eyes flare with hope and joy, it nearly killed Biton to put a damper on it. “It will be a temporary one. Thirty days. During this time, you are mine. You will obey me, you will follow my rules not your old Master and you will behave as I see fit. If you don’t, you will be punished. I, on the other hand, am responsible for your safety, your health and your living conditions.” Squeezing Cavan’s face gently, Biton continued, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Master.” Tears filled Cavan’s eyes.

“Okay, the first thing I’m ordering you to do is remove the cock ring. You will only wear one if and when I say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Cavan said, breathless as he pulled away from Biton. Dropping his pants without hesitation or the slightest embarrassment, Cavan fumbled with the tight strap around his penis and balls. It turned out to be stretchable, like a large rubber band.

Biton shuddered at the thought. He had read once where rams were castrated using a similar method. “Take off your shoes and finish removing your jeans. I want to examine you.”

Cavan quickly complied and stood in front of Biton in only his shirt and socks.

It would look silly if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Biton caressed the flaccid circumcised penis, pale like the rest of Cavan’s skin. Pulling the limp flesh gently first to one side and then the other, he examined the darker skin where the ring had been. Curiously, Cavan didn’t react. Looking up, Biton saw the tension in Cavan’s shoulders and neck. “Does my touching you hurt?”

“No, Master.”

“Does it excite you at all?”

“I’m not supposed to be excited. My Master said...”

Biton slid one hand around to Cavan’s ass and swatted one cheek. Excitement flowed through Biton and straight to his still hard cock. “I’m your Master now. Remember. You do as I say.” Another swat for good measure sent fire through Biton.

“Yes, Master. What should I do? How can I serve?”

Holding the still limp flesh of his new slave’s penis, Biton suckled gently on the tip. He could feel the shudder race through Cavan. Smiling as he pulled away, “I want you hard, aching and begging for my touch.”

Slowly, the soft flesh began to stiffen.

Biton licked the head, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue. Another hard swat brought a moan from above and further evidence Cavan’s cock didn’t have permanent damage.

Biton licked and nipped around the swelling crown. His fingers found the silky shaven texture of Cavan’s balls irresistible. Rolling the slowly tightening sacs, Biton swallowed the rising cock, enjoying the feel of the erection hardening in his mouth.

“Master...” The word came out as a whimper, the first audible sign of Cavan’s enjoyment.

Biton pulled away long enough to speak. “What, Cavan? What do you want?”

“To serve you,” he moaned.

After one last taste of the hard flesh, Biton stood up. Pulling Cavan close, he kissed him hard, teeth clashing and tongue driving deep into his mouth.

The sudden move unbalanced the younger man. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around Biton to keep from falling. Their bodies met with brute force, hard cocks pressed tight between them.

Not wanting to relinquish Cavan’s mouth, Biton moved them slowly toward the playroom. As he pushed the door open and manhandled Cavan through it, Biton’s passion faltered briefly. Since Erik died, Biton rarely came in here. The memories were too painful.

The desperate hands clutching the back of his shirt quickly brought his mind back to the present.

Aching for relief, Biton moved Cavan to the nearest piece of equipment, a large leather sling. Pushing Cavan into it, still dressed in only his shirt and socks, Biton quickly secured his wrists and ankles in the shackles.

Bending over his now captive slave, Biton kissed him hard as his fingers tore at the buttons of Cavan’s shirt. Fumbling in his desire, he straightened up, grabbed both sides of the shirt and yanked. Buttons flew exposing the pale freckled chest.

Rapid breath and clenched fists were the only signs, beyond the rigid cock, of Cavan’s arousal. No moans, no pleas, no sounds. Wainwright must have required silence. Biton did not.

“Talk to me, Cavan. Tell me what you’re feeling.” Biton pinched a tiny nipple, a gentle nip. “Does this feel good?”

“Yes, Master.”

A small moan escaped with the words and made Biton smile.

“Listen to me carefully, Cavan. I am your new Master. With the exception of obedience, all the rules Wainwright had are gone. You will learn my ways. Understand?” Biton tweaked the hardening nipple again, this time with a little more pressure.

“Yes, Master.”

“One of my rules, unless I tell you to be silent, I want to hear you when we play. I want to hear your moans, your cries. How can I know what I’m doing is good for you if you don’t tell me?”

“Yes, Master.” This time the moan exhaled was louder.

Taking Cavan’s swollen, leaking cock in his hand and stroking slowly, Biton leaned over until his lips almost touched Cavan’s ear. “I want you to feel pleasure in the pain,” he whispered.

“Yes... Master...”

Reaching with his other hand, Biton pinched a now tight nipple hard. “Tell me what you feel.”

“G--good--Master. Good...”

The stammered word made Biton smile. He already decided to stick with pinches and openhanded blows. Until Cavan was retrained, anything rougher could be dangerous. Cavan might not tell him to stop if things went too far.

With a final twisting stroke to the leaking cock, Biton walked over to the toy chest. Small implements of pain, clamps, floggers and the like, were stored in the drawers of a tall dresser. Condoms and various lubes were stashed there as well. Grabbing lube and a condom, Biton eyed some of the nipple clamps. A pair of loose ones maybe? The kind he used as warm up for tighter ones. Snagging the clamps, he turned back to Cavan.

Tear filled pale green eyes watched him.

“What’s wrong, Cavan?” Biton strode quickly back to the sling bound slave. Depositing his goodies on the leather beside Cavan, Biton stroked the bright red hair. “Talk to me.”

“My--my cock, Master. Hurts.”

Kissing the tears mixed with sweat sliding down Cavan’s face, Biton whispered, “When was the last time you were allowed to come?”

“Not allowed...”

“You are now.” A flare of anger engulfed Biton. Sometimes Biton had denied Erik but only to draw out the pleasure. Not allowing him to come at all was unthinkable. How could Wainwright deny his slave something so basic? The scene wasn’t about torture for the sake of torture. It was about pain for pleasure in like-minded people, the pleasure of inflicting it and the pleasure of receiving. Biton wondered if Cavan really enjoyed pain or if he was just conditioned to it.

Grabbing the lube, Biton moved around the sling and between Cavan’s legs. After lubing the fingers of his left hand, Biton reached for the swollen cock with his right. “You’ll come for me.” Bending his face to the angry red flesh, Biton suckled the tip as his lubed finger sought Cavan’s puckered hole. “Come for me now, Cavan. I want to taste you.”

Working his finger in the tight passage as his mouth sucked the head of the hot cock, Biton tasted a gush of pre-come. His thumb pressed against the perineum as his finger searched for Cavan’s prostate. Biton’s other hand held the base of his cock, his fingers massaging the tight balls. His mouth releasing the hot flesh, Biton whispered. “Now, Cavan. Let me taste you.”

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