"Sin! Sinclair! Where the hell is that boy at?"
The Master's younger son stood in the doorway with a scowl twisting his handsome face as he looked for the slave, but the beautiful young man wasn't among the servants and slaves hard at work in the kitchen. Stepping into the room, he cut a path straight to the head cook, ignoring the scurrying men and women darting around him as they went about the frantic preparations for the evening meal—as lower servants and slaves, they were beneath his notice.
"Remy!" he bellowed, and the massive man dressed in stained apron and hat turned with a scowl—the scowl melting away at the sight of the Master's son.
"Lord Julian! How may I be of service?" he asked, wiping his hands on the edge of his apron, forcing a smile. Julian's expression darkened.
"Where is that boy?" he demanded, and the cook's eyes darted away.
"Which boy might you be inquiring about, my lord?" he asked. Sweat stood out on his forehead. The young lord's eye narrowed, and he took a step closer to the cook.
"You know who I'm talking about. Sinclair. Where is he? He's not in the gardens, nor at the woodpile, and the stable hands haven't seen him all day. That leaves the kitchen. And yet I don't see him here either. So I want to know—where is he?" Julian asked, leaning forward till he was almost nose-to-nose with the other man.
Remy's eyes darted from one side to the other, avoiding the young master's gaze, and he licked his lips nervously.
"M-my lord, the boy—well, he spilled the cauldron. It made a fine mess..." he trailed off when the younger man's eyes narrowed further.
"Where. Is. He? I won't ask you again," he said softly, a dangerous edge to his voice. The cook gulped and pointed a shaking finger at the door leading to the cold room, where meats and butter and milk were stored.
"I put him in there, my lord. He's been in there for the past three hours."
"You punished him yourself, Remy?" Julian asked quietly, and the man only hesitated for a brief second before nodding, his double chins wagging.
"I see. I will tell my father of this, and I'm sure he'll want to have a little discussion with you on the subject," the lord snapped, and whirled on one booted heel to stalk across the tiled floor to the cold room door.
He yanked the heavy portal open, and frigid air spilled into the overheated kitchen. He didn't notice the cold, dressed as he was in warm hose and fur-lined tunic—winters in this part of the country were always damnably cold—but the naked young man bound to a meat hook certainly did.
His pale skin looked almost waxy in the dim light spilling into the room through the partially opened doorway, his lips tinted blue. He wasn't shivering, having gone far past that point nearly an hour ago. Julian shook his head at the pitiful sight and strolled forward, circling the slave.
His back was crisscrossed with purple-blue wheals, stretching from shoulder almost to the knee, concentrated across the muscular globes of his ass. Julian stretched out one hand and prodded a particularly nasty welt, and the young man groaned, flinching away from his touch. A smile curved the Lordling's mouth, his dark eyes taking on a cruel light as he strolled back around the slave.
"Did he use you as well?" he asked. Sin glowered at him, and his questioner sighed—then cracked him across the face with the back of his hand. "I asked you a question, boy, and I expect an answer," he growled. The slave's eyes narrowed—poison green irises framed by thick, silky lashes longer than a girl's—and he nodded once, that finely shaped mouth pressing into a flat line.
"Just Remy?" Julian asked. The slave paused before nodding again, and the lord slapped him once more, grabbing a fistful of silky black curls, yanking Sin's head back. "Don't lie to me," he hissed, jerking his head back further.
"No, not just Remy," he answered, his voice low and hoarse. Julian released his hair and stepped back, eyeing him thoughtfully.
"I see. Well then, Father will discover who's been naughty, and they'll be punished appropriately. Right now I've need for you—when I'm finished you may return to the kitchen and help with the meal," he finally said. Sin's eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut—and Julian was pleased. The gorgeous young man had a rapier tongue on him, and they've yet to beat it out of him. Maybe a few hours in the cold room had actually done him some good.
Briefly he debated—should he leave him hanging and take him, or did he want him on the floor or bent over the worktable? He sighed. Better take him down—the slave was three inches taller than his own 5'10" height, and standing on a box or crate to reach that firm little ass would be extremely undignified.
Pulling a knife from the belt at his waist, he reached up and began sawing through the thick rope holding Sin's wrists to the hook, bracing himself as the rope parted and the slave's body fell against him. While he was shorter, Julian outweighed the other man by a good thirty pounds, and was able to hold him easily until he could stand unassisted. And when the slave straightened, Julian was very pleased to note that those long green eyes were downcast, as a proper slave's gaze should be in front of his master.
"Lean over the table and don't move. I don't want to hear a sound from those pretty lips—or I'll gag you for a week. Do you understand me?" Julian demanded, and Sin nodded, turning and laying his chest on the aforementioned table, stretching his arms out to either side to hold onto the edges.
Julian fumbled at the tapes fastening his hose to his tunic, freeing himself, and reached out, spreading the whipped cheeks of the slave's ass to expose the bud of his anus. It was reddened, and a probing finger discovered that the channel was still lubricated with semen. Jaw tightening in annoyance, he thrust his cock deep—and Sin's chest came off the table, a groan forcing its way past his clenched teeth. A smug smile curved the lord's mouth at the sound—he knew there was no way the slave could remain silent, he was a most vocal toy—and sheathed himself to the hilt. His cock twitched as he visualized the slave's mouth stretched around a wide plug, and he withdrew slowly before slamming back inside, grinding himself as deeply as he could.
Sin wanted to rip the hateful device out of his mouth and throw it to the ground, but he knew if he did, the punishment would be severe. Although Julian was younger than he by two years, he was forced to obey. He had no choice. His father had owed the Master a great deal of money, and when he'd died, the Master had taken possession of everything—including Sin. He was forced to serve in the home he'd grown up in, working at whatever chore he was given, as well as serving the desires of the Master and his two spoiled sons. Punishment came often, and quite was severe no matter if it was the smallest of infractions—and he had no choice but to endure. If he ran away, he would be captured and turned back over to the Master—the Crown was most severe when it came to fulfillment of debt.
For five long years he'd been a slave, and had long since given up hope of ever repaying his father's debt to the Master. The man could keep him for the rest of his life, and no one would intervene, or much care.
It had taken him a long time to come to grips with his new station in life, and the horrifying rush of arousal that flooded through him every time the Master or one of his sons used him or punished him, but he had learned how to cope with it, learned how to embrace his nature.
His father had died when he was 16, and up until then his sexual experiences had been pleasant dalliances with the young men and women of the district. When the Master had enslaved him and used him, it had been quite a shock to find himself almost craving his owner's rough touch, craving the whip and the lash and the cane. He had accepted his body's desires, but still wished for something else, something different. To the Master and his sons, he was merely a toy to be used carelessly and callously, forgotten when not in use. The dogs were treated better than he was.
Sin's eyebrows slashed downward at the thought, and he would have ground his teeth if the hard rubber gag hadn't been forcing his jaws apart. He shook his head—there was no point in thinking wistful thoughts of a different life. He would never escape the Master.
Dietrich, Julian's older brother, checked the leather cuffs fastening Sin's wrists to his ankles, making sure that he couldn't get loose, no matter how much he struggled. Satisfied with his work, he picked up the thick dildo he had just purchased and pressed it against the slave's well-used orifice, grinning to himself at the sound of the younger man's muffled groan.
The black rubber was much larger than the slave was used to, and he'd carefully lubed it up so it stretched rather than tore its new home. Of course, he'd used the special oil that his father had found for him, and regretfully wished that he could stay to watch it take effect—but there was the Prince's birthday ball to take into consideration, and only a few hours in which to prepare. The lovely Sin was just going have to suffer all alone until Dietrich came back to take care of him. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he let his gaze travel over the stripped body of the slave. All that creamy ivory skin, marked black and blue and red from the cat—the sleek muscles in his back and thighs already beginning to tense as the oil began to work on his rectum. A knock sounded at the door, and he turned away to answer it, smiling brightly up at his father and younger brother standing in the hall. Julian's dark eyes narrowed at the sight of that smile, and his father lifted one black eyebrow in amusement.
"Playing with your toys again, Dietrich?" the older man asked. His elder son stepped aside so his sire could see, and the amusement turned into an outright laugh at the sight of Sin bound helplessly on the bed. "Those stripes should last a good week. I trust they're not all the kitchen staffs' work, no?" he asked.
"Of course not, Papa," his eldest son answered. The younger of the two brothers shot his sibling a filthy look.
"You're not leaving him like this all night, are you?" Julian asked, entering behind his father to pace around the side of the bed. His fingers curled in the slave's thick hair, pulling his head back to examine his face. Sin squeezed his eyes closed, but the younger man could still see the tracks of his tears on his face.
"No. He has chores to do. Maybe two hours at the most. After I dress I'll take the dildo out—the oil should have worked its way deep inside by then. By the time we arrive home from the Prince's ball he'll be desperate for relief."
His father nodded approvingly at this. He strolled around the bed, standing opposite Julian, and the youngster released his grip on the slave's hair. The Master lifted his head, smiling down into his face, stroking calloused fingers down one lean cheek.
