Market Day
Tom shivered. He was naked and cold, and very, very alone. Around him men and women shuffled to and fro in the pen, the soft clink of chains reminding him at every moment of his new status. Or lack thereof.
A rough hand grabbed his shoulder. "This one?" he tried to shy away, but the hand tightened, and a second voice replied, "Yeah, him."
He was manhandled out of the pen, barely able to walk in the shackles binding his wrists and ankles to a chain at his waist. A pair of hands held him still for a moment, and something was wrapped around his throat. It closed unbearably tightly and he couldn't breath. After a moment it was slackened off, and an amused voice said, "He won't sell if he's that colour. Give him something to warm him up."
"Anything in particular?" The nearer voice, male, a light tenor, asked, a leer all but visible in his tones.
Tom could hear the other man's amusement. "Anything you want Dakro. . . But no damaging the merchandise. If he's pristine I want him to stay that way, or you're next on the block."
"Gotya." Then closer to Tom's ear, "I'd do this myself pretty-boy, but I'm busy right now. You just stand still and behave." There was a snort of laughter, echoed from outside the pen, as Tom was attached to a heavy metal link embedded in the fence. He was alone for a couple of minutes, his skin flushing miserably with every comment the passers by passed on his body. He kept his eyes down - he'd not been here long, before he'd learned that looking up pretty much guaranteed some kind of punishment. His back still ached from the beating.
Then a pair of hands drifted over his pectorals. He held still, not daring to move.
"That's a good boy," a woman's voice said. He'd speak to an obedient dog in much the same way.
The hands slid across him, he dared not look to see her face. Her dress was green, a heavily draped cloth that reached to just below her knees. Her feet wore bright green sandals of the exact same hue, her toe nails were painted gold. At her waist was a loose length of chain, with a number of items dangling from it. His eyes widened.
"Not for you silly boy. Well, not all of them," she said, correctly interpreting the tremor that ran through him. "Now does that please you or disappoint you?" she mused. "No matter."
A shout carried over the noise of the bazaar, Tom couldn't make out the words, but the woman hmphed. "Oh well. I guess it was too good to last." She rubbed him down briskly with a slick cloth, turning him impersonally to reach every part of his body. She took a couple of paces back. "It'll have to do. Besides, you're almost good enough to eat all by yourself."
He was unhooked from the fence and she tugged on the chain attached to his collar. "Come on."
He stumbled as he was guided up some steps, onto a stage. He took a quick peek out from under his eyelashes and saw a crowd leering back at him. <Oh god. What's happening? Surely this isn't supposed to. . .> He was pretty sure he knew what was happening. The next moment confirmed it.
"Ladies, gentlemen. Here we have a new product. Young, fresh - turn him round Dakro - docile. And quite amazingly good looking. If I didn't have young daughters to think of I'd be taking him home myself." Tom flushed miserably, turning a dark embarrassed hue in humiliation.
"If yer wife wouldn't kill yer, y'mean Werrun." A gale of laughter followed the heckler.
"Or maybe she'd thank yer!" called another wit. Tom could hear the slow intake of breath and the equally careful exhale of the merchant.
"So what am I bid? Opening at seventy Ghers."
"Eighty."
"One hundred."
"One fifty!"
The bidding went on and on. Finally there were only two voices left, calling each other down.
"Three thousand," the lighter voice said, coolly ignoring the gasps as he more than doubled the previous bid. There was a long, expectant silence.
Finally the merchant, Werrun, broke it. "I am bid three thousand. Three thousand gher for lot 7798. A princely sum for a princely prize. Going once. Going twice. . ."
"Ten thousand," another voice, one that Tom recognised, that Tom had heard earlier in the bidding, but which had dropped out long since. He shook again. Would this never end?
There was another silence. "Any advance on ten thousand Gher? Once? Twice? Sold."
He was hustled off the stage again, this time he was carefully guided down the steps. "Get rid of those bruises. And find me -- Sir! you are most welcome to my humble shop."
"Thank you."
"Please, have a seat. Some wine?"
"Thank you, I would prefer to get this done as quickly as possible."
"Of course, of course. If sir would just sign-- and the credit -- that will be quite acceptable. Can I offer you anything else sir?"
"Good day Werrun. Let us not meet again." A hand ran possessively over Tom's naked back. "And next time don't beat the merch. It brings the price down. Come, slave."
Tom stole a glance at his owner. <Owner!> He still didn't dare raise his eyes very high, and so could only see the man's legs, dressed in deep black silk breeches under a long midnight blue tunic. The leather booted feet moved, and Tom was obliged to follow by the impatient tug at his neck.
The ground was hard and sandy beneath his bare feet. As soon as they were out of the slavers' tent he was stopped. Tom tensed, shivering despite the heat of the desert day.
"Don't be afraid. You looked cold. Here." The voice was kind, and a pair of gentle hands wrapped a cloak around him, covering his body from the stares of passers by. Cautiously he looked up to meet the dark eyes of his master. "Better?" An almost smile curved the straight line of the wide mouth, and Tom dared a smile back. There was an abrupt tug on his leash. "Don't get familiar."
"What happens next?" he whispered when the pull eased, and they were standing in the cool atrium of a bright white building.
"Whatever I see fit. That was the agreement." It was an oblique reminder.
"Yes, but. . ." <I never expected this when I. . .!>
"But you are a slave. You'll get used to it." There was a warning tone in the voice.
"Yes." Tom said dispiritedly.
A hand held his chin and tilted his face up. "Nothing that will hurt you," came a soft whisper. "A promise." They held each other's eyes for a long moment, then he was released. There was a sharp double clap. Feet scurried close.
The foremost of these carried a small grey eyed woman, compact and wiry, greying hair dragged firmly back into a long braid. She was wearing a plain white dress cinched at the waist with a loose cord.
"Welcome back, lord," she said, bowing low to the man who had bought him.
<Lord?> Tom wondered with a almost imperceptible smile, but there was no time for that, she was lifting his chin to look at him appraisingly.
"Very nice my lord. He's to be a personal servant, I assume?"
'My lord' smiled in acknowledgement, and said, "he needs some food, and a bath to relax him. And some clothes."
"I will provide whatever is required."
"I can always rely on you Shazi."
"Thank you lord. Come along." She flicked a commanding look at Tom, who, after a reassuring nod from the other, followed.
<Sheesh, can't we just get on with it?> he thought half in annoyance. A voice followed him: "Patience is a virtue. All in good time, my dear."
They came to a large room, hazy with steam from one of the three small pools. The heavy shackles were removed, replaced by light bonds around his ankles - enough to slow him if he tried to run. He was shown the towels and robes and was left to get himself cleaned up.
The water was delicious. Hot, and with an odd earthy scent that reminded him of a wet spring day, rain falling on dry stones. He leaned back and drifted, idly sluicing the sand and dust from the short walk off of himself. A pair of impersonal hands almost dragged him out of his reverie when they began washing his hair, but as the fingers massaged his scalp he relaxed further, letting the tension float away with the grime and soap carried on some invisible current. His head lolled back against soft towels as the hands worked firmly down his neck and across the muscles tight from long hours hunched over working, and a hard day. The familiar voice swore under its breath, and gentle hands smoothed something into his bruised back, then worked it in in touches more like caresses than a massage. The aches caused earlier by the beating from the slavers eased, then vanished as if they had never been, and he sighed in relief, letting himself drift away.
He was surprised to wake up at another touch, this time on his shoulder. A figure clad in a brief tunic whispered, "Eat up," before leaving, eyes averted.
Uncomfortably Paris realised the man had been chained, long links of some light greenish blue metal chiming across the floor between his ankles. It reminded him unpleasantly of the bracelets around his own ankles. They were barely more than symbolic - the soft metal would snap with the least effort, but he was still chained. . . But he was very hungry - he grinned wryly thinking back over the hectic day <Topped by this!> when he had had no chance to eat, and the food looked delicious.
A dozen small dishes held meats and vegetables and fruit in various combinations. At first he thought he wouldn't be able to get through the half of it. Fifteen minutes later he was scooping out the last remnants with a finger, sipping at the third glass of the drink that had been provided in a jug. It was almost spicy, but creamy and dark at the same time, and utterly delicious. It wasn't until he tilted his head to follow the footsteps moving near his head that his head began to feel distinctly light, and he wondered - vaguely, as if it didn't really matter, if he had been drugged. It hadn't tasted alcoholic. . .
Shazi reappeared some indeterminate time after that, and had two slaves brusquely lift him from the bath. The cold air on his skin raised goosebumps that were quickly soothed as he was rubbed down with warm towels. He sighed softly, enjoying the touch on his body, moving unconsciously against each warm stroke.
"Well, you're a one aren't you?" again he recognised the voice and smiled sweetly up at it.
"Come along," another voice insisted, and he padded after Shazi, vaguely aware he was naked but utterly unconcerned by it.
A smaller room, warm, with brilliant sunlight pouring through high wide windows, softened by long drapes of sheer white cloth which drifted in the faint breeze. That same warm draught brushed over Tom's body and ran a sudden shudder through him. The light seemed to echo off the pale golden stone of the walls and floor, laying ever moving streaks across the glorious colours of the wall hangings and the soft fleece rugs.
"Stand still."
He stopped obediently, waiting for whatever came next.
Shazi sighed appreciatively, and said, "I'll do this one myself. You may leave."
When the room was emptied of all but Tom, herself, and one other, unseen watcher, she cracked her knuckles and walked around the man. The observer smiled at the sight. Eyes slightly dilated, half closed. Body relaxed and already showing the first signs of arousal. The skin was flushed from the warmth of the long soak, but a rosy streak across one cheek bone suggested that there was more to it. He was turned at a gesture from the silent observer, and now he could see that the man was half erect, the first slow swelling, probably unaware of it himself. The nipples stood out suddenly as a finger trailed down his back and a shudder ran through him. <Turned on? Or cold fingers?>
Shazi picked up a glass bottle and unstoppered it. A sweetly sharp odour spread through the room as she poured some of the scented oil onto her hands and rubbed them together. She stood up close against him, pressing her small breasts against his torso. He didn't move, he barely had enough volition to keep his eyes open. He gasped softly when her hands glided over his back, down his spine, working in well defined circles, always moving further down, paused at the base of his spine, then slipped her hands a little further yet, cupping his backside, separating and massaging his buttocks. His penis leapt to full attention when he finally caught sight of the man who had bought him at such an extortionate price leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, half hidden by the wall hangings, watching the two of them. He swallowed dryly, able only to reiterate, <Oh god, oh god. . .>
She slipped a hand between them and smiled faintly at his gasping moan. Her hand was slick with the warm lemony oil as she stroked his erection.
Just when he was sure he would come the hand left him and the body stepped away. The sudden chill was positively painful, and his eyes forced themselves open again. He instinctively reached for himself and felt something unfamiliar. Suddenly, more alert than he had been for some time, he looked down. A cock ring had been fitted snugly around the base of his shaft and he trembled and moaned again, aware of the eyes on him as he stood alone in the middle of the room. There was a faint 'clink' as something cool snapped around first one and then the other ankle. He couldn't bring himself to be concerned, and though some small voice was yelling frantically, it was far too much effort to work out what it was saying, or what to do about it. He felt so good.
He lifted his hands slowly and curiously stroked one down his chest, curving palm and fingers down in long sultry caresses. A tremor ran through him and he let the other hand do the same. His head fell back slightly, and he heard a moan. It took a moment before he realised that he had not been the author of that needy sound. But this was too good to stop.
He slid his hands over the opposite shoulders, down his arms. Where the elbow touched his body he brought his hands inwards, uncrossing them to bring the caress down and around, following the line of his waist, slipping off to drift over narrow hips. His back arched as he felt his hands pressing on his cheeks and he held it, savouring his own touch. He released the pose after a long pause and let his body slump forwards as his hands reached forwards and he cupped his balls, gently massaging them in his palm as his other hand trailed light caresses along the length of his cock.
"Ah, ah, ah." His wrists were grasped firmly and pulled away. His face looked faintly mischievous, then he relaxed as the grip was not relinquished until his face calmed into a repose that was only flawed by the rapid movement of his chest with each breath, the hectic colour across his pale skin. Finally he was released.
He waited patiently as she carefully gilded the skin around his tits, then dropped what might be described as a tunic over his head onto his shoulders. It was absolutely sheer, a rich blue, soft gauzy stuff, shot through with golden threads. It reached to mid thigh, floating loosely. The whole thing was gathered almost like a cloak from the shoulder and every single one of the deep gathers had a slit running from top to hem, so that the whole thing whispered open and closed on his skin, overlapping layers hiding and revealing as he breathed in and out. The sleeves fastened at elbow and wrist, and were slit straight along their length falling away from his upper arm to show off the muscular shoulders.
His wrists were chained, the odd coloured metal cold on his skin, and he was told to bend over. He staggered slightly, and was allowed to lean against the cool stone of the table, resting his heated forehead, holding on tight as he was told. A touch on his ass made him jump, and he was swatted for it. His cheeks were parted again and he was carefully stretched and lubricated. He bit his lip nervously, both turned on and scared.
There was a pause afterwards, and faint footsteps moved around him. Then he was brought upright again, and Shazi was there, nodding in satisfaction.
"Follow me," was all she said though.
As he walked he breathed deeply trying to keep control, not break down and beg. The material moved sensuously around him, dancing breathy touches onto hypersensitive skin, draping itself softly over his painfully erect cock. At each step he could feel his ass cheeks sliding slickly against each other, and moaned faintly at the sensation, distantly aware of what all this meant, and longing for it.
"Leave us." Another room, much like the previous one, but this time with his voice. The one who had bought him. Tom slowly raised his head and met the beautiful dark eyes of his master, who smiled at him, warm and aroused. He didn't notice the faint sound as Shazi left, and the door was pulled to, just smiling back, trying to communicate the complicated feelings swirling through him. Desire, fear, longing, anticipation. . .
"Oh my," was the only sound he heard. Then his owner stepped close and enfolded him in a gentle embrace. "Are you all right?"
Tom fogged out at the sensation of warm skin and soft silk touching his skin. A hint of concern appeared on the other's face, and he looked carefully into Tom's eyes, trying to discern some answer.
"I'm fine," he finally managed to get out
His reward was a soft kiss that quickly grew in strength and passion until it overwhelmed every other sense. The lips on his seemed to taste of spice and fire, eating him up, worshipping his mouth in tiny kisses dashed along his chin and lips, a tongue tasting him, leaving moist trails that caught the soft breaths fluttering along the side of his face and made them linger on his heated skin. He was barely aware of rolling his head back, allowing the mouth access to his neck. A warm heaviness on his shoulder, the dark head resting against him as the lips kissed and sucked, bringing blood to the surface, then tender kisses, lightly bestowed along the collarbone, then back again, teeth leaving tiny lines in their wake, bitemarks that throbbed and slowly left reddening crescents in the milky tones. He rested his face in the tempting curve of the neck stretched before him, and moaned into the cool golden skin.
His skin was burning up, every touch of the material teased unbearably, flirting across his hot flesh in soft movements. He groaned deep in his throat, helplessly responding to the incendiary caresses of light hands and fingers that grazed over his body. Then, as the mouth lifted away, he was pleading "Oh please, more, please. . ." begging shamelessly.
"I beg your pardon?" an eyebrow lifted in faint disdain.
"Please, my lord," he choked out. The displeased look relaxed into approval, and his master dragged his pelvis in close, grinding them together.
Tom could feel the powerful erection sprang up, poking at his belly, rubbing slickly in the sweat and oil, duelling with his own cock till he was gasping with need, desperate to come, but prevented from reaching the orgasm that was so close by the strip of leather wound tight around him, holding him back. He whimpered, begging the shorter man for release with eyes darkened by passion, till they were closed by butterfly kisses, and his mouth sealed with another mind melting kiss, an insistent hand on his neck.
Through the haze of arousal he luxuriated in the light touches, intimate and intense, surrounding him in the feel and taste and scent. He breathed in deeply, tasting the sweetness of his master's mouth, fresh and sweet, then around them the other flavours filling his nose. The air rose around them, brushing over his near naked body, musky and warm, citrus mingling in the hint of breeze moving around them, the smell bright and sharp against the dark heat of the scent of their arousal. A hand stroked down his back, settling momentarily in the small of his back, then moving, sifting through the strips of filmy cloth, dropping them in long streamers back onto the skin. Then fingers trailed down slowly, leaving a seared trail like stripes from a lash. He moved with it, pushing into the caress, begging with his body, the only language left to him for more, for. . . He lost track of everything as the hand kept on past the small of his back this time, slipping into his cleft, cupping one firm cheek.
He relaxed as best he could, and felt a flicker of satisfaction as he heard the moaned murmur of approval as the other found Tom had been prepared, and he slid a finger easily inside. Tom twisted helplessly, wanting, his chest and head dropping forwards, his hips shoving back, trying to take in more, then thrusting his frustrated cock forwards. He tried to wrap his arms around his lover, and was brought up short as the light chains, long forgotten, jerked on his wrists, tightening over his master's belly, preventing him from having more than a grip on his hips. He held them tightly, fingers digging into the soft silk of his deep black tunic, looking oddly pale against the rich shade, and tugged him closer, swallowing as the memory of what he was turned him hotter. A pressure on his anus told him of a second finger joining the first, opening him further, and he moaned, breathing in short jerky gulps. They moved deeper inside, one digit feeling carefully for the little gland, finding it. A bolt of exquisite pleasure lanced through him and his hips jerked mindlessly forwards into the clothed figure keeping him enfolded in warm, tormenting arms. The fingers were joined by a third, thrusting firmly into his ass, stoking his passion. Then all carefully withdrew from him, leaving him bereft. He pushed his bottom backwards trying to fill himself with them again, desperate not to lose the sensations roaring through his synapses.
"Tch tch," a faintly amused voice said into his mouth, confident but not quite as calm as its owner would have liked. "Just keep still and be good, and you'll get everything you deserve." He pulled his hands away from their grip on Tom's body, and his lips from the delicious mouth, and stepped away, resisting with difficulty the imploring wail the man gave.
He looked him carefully over. The eyes were watching him, roused, half open, dark with need. The high cheekbones were overlaid with a deep flush that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. The soft thin lips were parted, dragging air across the swollen moisture left by their kisses. He swallowed, wondering how he had managed to achieve this prize. A hand lifted slightly, the palm turning up towards him in silent invitation, the metal slowly swinging from his wrists and glinting in the fading afternoon light. Tom looked like he was holding himself still by sheer force of will, each shuddering breath left him trembling, his other hand clenching open and shut till the knuckles stood out sharply, surely leaving tiny crescents in his palms where his nails dug in. A shudder ran through his own body as he watched, and he whispered helplessly, "you are amazing. . . I love you." The blue eyes flashed and then held his drawing him into a relentless pool of colour and heat.
He shut his eyes, desperately reciting the most boring things he could think of, trying not to come there and then, just from the looks they were exchanging. Control regained, he walked towards Tom again, approving of the way the soft gauze rippled and parted at his passing. Swiftly he stripped the dark tunic, the confining breeches from himself, trying to hold in the grin he thought would split his face as he saw Tom realise he was wearing no underclothes.
He finished up standing behind him, and sighed, running his hands from shoulders to hips, sweeping back up again with the backs of his hands. A kiss on the nape of his neck, that quickly became a series of bites nibbling over the smooth fair skin. His hands slid lower again, onto Tom's butt, opening him up. The shoulder under his lips relaxed, leaning back at the longed for touch. His thumbs dipped in to caress the sensitive skin, and his breath shortened as he felt Tom flex then deliberately relax his sphincter under the gentle pressure. He held Tom open and positioned his cock, the rounded tip nudging at the entrance to his body.
Tom made an incoherent sound, wordlessly urgent and pushed back a little. Not quite enough to bring the intruder inside him, but nearly, so nearly that they were both panting, Tom letting out tiny whimpers and moans. He held Tom there, a firm grip on his hips keeping him immobile and unable to complete the connection they both needed, till Tom was moving helplessly, his hands over his tormentor's trying to pull them away, writhing wildly against him. He drew a deep breath and swiftly plunged deep inside.
Tom cried out, and then kept on, repeating "Oh yes, please. . .oh god. . . yes. . .fuck me. . .yes. . . deeper. . .ohhh, ohhhh . . ." as his ass was plundered. A hand touched his cock for a moment, and he yelled helplessly as the touch moved, stroking, rubbing. Lips brushed over his nape, and he tipped his head back, hoping to catch them. He could feel the pressure building unbearably, a coolness on his shaft would have told him that he was freed, if he had been able to think straight enough. Instead he was lost, feeling the man wrapped around him, buried in him, moving in long slow strokes that rocked his body, fried his brain.
The man behind him thrust harder, lodged as deeply as possible, and Tom breathed deeply, just to feel the changes in sensation with each tiny movement, shifting himself pleasurably back onto it, tightening his muscles around the hardness taking him. Pressure on his shoulders pushed him forward, bending him over, changing the angle of entry. He wriggled his ass, revelling in the firmer touch stimulating his prostate, impaling himself further on the rock hard intruder, unconsciously squeezing down and releasing it with his muscles.
There was a sharp sting on his thigh and he cried out at the unexpected blow.
"Stop that," a breathless voice said, and the penis slowly withdrew from him.
"Nooo," he groaned, hating the emptiness.
He was turned around and fell into his arms, jerking futilely at the chains preventing him from hugging back. He was walked towards the bed, and carefully lowered onto it, an arm tenderly under his back. He reached up and smoothed a hank of thick dark hair away from his master's eyes as he knelt over Tom, their cocks almost touching, bobbing gently with each move either made. Tom's hands were gathered together and a delicate finger played through the tiny hairs on the backs of them. Then they were lifted over Tom's head, sliding his grasp to the chain connecting the slender bony wrists, pulling the metal links further back and up slightly, until the loop of chain hooked neatly over a clip attached to the wall behind the bed. He slithered quickly down, keeping his body in contact over every inch of his journey, and freed Tom's ankles from each other, leaving the anklets in place, removing only the chain.
As he worked his way back up he rubbed his cheek against the warm legs, loving the feel of the fine skin, the sprinkled slightly coarse hair. He skirted around the groin, breathing kisses straight up the line of thigh to hip and stomach, petting and soothing with his hands. Tom's hardness was trapped under his body, aching with every advance up his body. Finally he was lying on top of Tom, and, fixing his dark brown eyes on the blue, reached back, hooked his hands under Tom's knees, pulling them up and apart, dropping between his legs, letting his cock nestle snugly along Tom's crotch. He sighed happily, then lifted his hips slightly, offering himself. There was a faint chuckle, and then his aching ass was occupied again by the hard fullness of Harry's cock, sliding smoothly into him, bringing him such exquisite pleasure that in moments he was lost in it, just living in the sensuous feeling of skin on skin, the sweat slicking between them, the mounting tension as his body was brought to the very edge. He was thrusting back against his hips, taking him in deeper, writhing, hands wound around the restraints, yanking frantically at them oblivious to the pain.
Tom screamed, arching his hips hard enough to lift them both off the bed, coming so hard flashes of light whited out his vision. The thrusts were pounding harder, then the shudders ran through them both, Tom's muscles convulsing around the hot flesh, and he felt the flood of semen spurting into his body. Finally, they both collapsed. After a long moment, Harry disengaged from his lover, and removed the cuffs from his wrists, kissing the raw marks where the edges had cut into him.
"I'm sor--"
"Don't," Tom whispered. "I loved it. I love you. Thank you." He held out his arms and Harry went happily into them. Snuggled up close together he could feel Harry's heart slowing from trip hammer to a gentler pace. He thought he'd fallen asleep, the breath on his cheek was so slow and regular, but then Harry lifted his head from where it was resting on Tom's chest.
"Happy birthday, love," he said with a smile.
Tom laughed happily up at him and hugged him closer. Harry's head dropped to rest on Tom again, exhausted, one ear buried in the ticklish hair on his chest, and he could barely hear his voice when he said reflectively, "I'm glad I only get one a year. . . I loved the present, but I think too many of these would finish me off." Tom was already asleep when Harry's eyes glinted and he murmured, "Well, there's always Christmas. . ."
Page last updated 18/09/2004.