"Nobody can hear you, you know."
The most frightening thing about that voice was its complete lack of threat. It was calm, assured, implying that threats were gauche, unnecessary. And youíve got to admit, when youíre chained to a wall in a dank, filthy cell somewhere underground, you know that youíre not about to be treated like a returning hero or even like a human being. Still Iíve been on my own for most of my life. I look after me, nobody else needs to; as if anyone cared enough. Must think, must find a way out of here. I surreptitiously test the chains securing my arms above my head. Not so much as a rattle - theyíre taut and extremely unrusty.
"Nobody is looking for you either. Youíre not sworn to any leader at the moment. Youíre on your own, foot loose and fancy free. Even told your friends that you were thinking about signing on for an extended sea voyage to visit new places. It could be a year or more before anybody even thinks about looking for you." This time, thereís a distinct undercurrent of amusement at my bafflement.
I gape, open-mouthed. Last thing I remember was falling into bed a little drunk last night. Alone, I think. I didnít have plans to go anywhere. Did I ? Fuzzily, I think back. No, a distinct lack of sea trips. What the fuck is going on here ?
I tire of the strong, silent act, trying to hide the growing fear behind bravado. "Where am I? Who are you?" I peer into the shadows, hoping to spy the man Iím addressing.
My owner. A little too blunt, I consider. Couldnít he just have wandered round the subject and broken it to me gently. Thereís a lot to be said for euphemisms in situations like this. I stifle the laughter that threatens to erupt, knowing to be based in hysteria. My owner. Now is not the time to be outraged or mouth off. Calm. Stay calm.
"I really doubt that, Iphicles. I really do."
He steps out of the concealing shadows, animal grace in every move he makes. Dark hair, beautifully muscled body and eyes that see straight through you. I certainly donít know him: a face like that would be hard to forget.
Could it be related to the last merc contract Iíd completed? Or maybe slavers. It must have taken at least a couple of men to get me here. I may be young for my chosen profession but Iím no lightweight. The last few years since I left home have added a fair amount of muscle to my frame, enough to make most people think twice before messing with me. Still, he knew my name. Thatís not something most slavers bother to find out about their merchandise.
A sudden blow across the face returns my attention to the man in from of me. Subtle, that. I lick the blood which trickles from my cut lip, tensing for the next blow. It never comes.
He comes closer, close enough for me to spit in his face should I be suicidally inclined. Eye to eye he stares hard as if seeking something, some sign. I can feel his breath on my cheek. Smiling, he grabs me by the throat, half throttling me in the process, then delicately sucks the blood from my still bleeding lower lip. Oh great. Of all the maniacs in this world I have to end up with one who likes the taste of blood. Fucking marvellous.
The flow of blood stops eventually but he continues to suck. It makes me nervous having another man this close, particularly when I canít do a damn thing to stop him ripping my throat out if thatís what tickles his fancy. Yet thereís something sensuous, exciting even, in the way all his attention is focused on my mouth. Iím a typical teenager I guess - arouse me slightly and all the blood flows from the brain to my cock. I suppose Iíll grow out of it if I live that long. Commonsense screams that heís probably one of these sick fucks who like to confuse their victims before they settle down to serious torture. Lust whispers that a guy who can get me this excited by sucking my lip must know some pretty wild things.
Lust wins. Of course.
He thrust his tongue into my mouth, withdraws and thrusts in again. His beard prickles against the tender skin. I canít escape that hand at my throat holding my head still as he fucks his tongue in and out of my mouth. Oh gods, I just know once I start responding heíll switch to pain. I should bite him while I still have the chance to do some damage. Almost as if he knows what Iím thinking, he pulls back suddenly with one last lick at my swollen lip. Uh oh - here comes that pain.
Gotta distract him. "So, owner, what comes next?"
He backhands me casually and leers." Whatever I say."
I can feel my lip start bleeding again even as my arms take the opportunity to protest the abuse theyíve suffered. Let it bleed. Iíll bleed all over his dungeon floor if thatís all the revenge I can have.
Heís staring at me again. Not just my face this time but my whole body. Makes me feel like a side of goat hung up at the butcherís, ready to be prodded and assessed by the customers. He slides one warm callused hand up the length of my arm, testing muscle tone as I tense against the sensation and pull futilely against the manacles that bind me to this cold stone wall. Sliding back down he encounters the coarsely woven linen of my shirt and rips it away from me in one clean motion. I shiver.
Itís just the coldness of the wall making me shiver. Not his eyes on me, his hands on my chest. Those warm, strong hands caressing me, stroking me. They linger at my erect nipples, kneading, massaged. His arms slip around my exposed chest as he steps forward to mould his body to mine.
Through the thin leather of his pants, I can feel the heat of his cock as it strains against my thigh. I gasp for air, breathless with desire. This kind of reaction has never happened to me before, Iím not usually into this sort of thing. Sure Iíve fooled around with a few of the guys my own age in the merc troop, even got lucky with a couple of the village girls but this mixture of pain and desire ? Itís like comparing a training duel to a full on battle between Athens and Sparta. No comparison.
I raise my eyes to look at my captor. Itís the sign heís been waiting for. He takes possession of my mouth again, his tongue thrusting hard past my injured lip, arms tightening around me, his groin rocking slowly against my hard cock. Iíd grab him, throw him to the floor and fuck him senseless given half a chance but the damn chains still hold me to the wall. All I can do is wholeheartedly return the kiss and enjoy the feeling of his body against mine.
His hands dig into my back, hard enough to bruise. Harder and harder he rubs himself against me, his black eyes half closed as he concentrates on the sensation. I close my eyes. So close.
He whispers in my ear. "What do you want?"
"Let me go?" Even as I say it, I know I donít mean it. I mean let me go later. Gods, I am so sad.
He bites my ear, not gently but not hard enough to draw blood either. Fuck, thatís incredible. I whimper at the eroticism of the action. Who knew pain could feel so good?
"Maybe." He sounds amused, lascivious.
Huh ? Oh yeah, I asked him to let me go. His cock grinds against mine and I lose track of the conversation again.
"Tell me who owns you." His hands have dropped to cup my ass, to press me harder against the hot flesh separated by warm leather. Easy question, that, with his cock throbbing against me and his breath hot in my ear.
"Who do you belong to?" His voice is harsher, he must be as close as I am.
He snarls, ramming his hips against mine with bruising force as he comes hard. His mouth devours mine, biting my abused bottom lip and I shudder in the throes of my own orgasm, jerking against the chains which still bind me to the wall.
He moves back a pace or two, regards me silently for an eternity as I stand there panting, semen trickling slowly down my leg. Then he steps back into the shadows he came from. I slump against the wall.
His voice drifts back to me. "Weíll meet again some day. When youíre ready."
The chains, cell, even the filthy straw on the floor disappear and I am left standing alone in a darkened courtyard, moon blazing down.
Will I see him again?
Iím afraid I will.
Iím afraid I wonít.