Playing With Fire (6 page)

It was well past sunset, the world gone black but for the stars in the sky before they came for him again, torches slowly drawing nearer. It was the guards though, rather than the farmers, and the ropes were cut, leaving him to fall to the ground in an undignified heap.

He was given a not-entirely gentle nudge by a booted toe. “Come now. We’ve orders to bathe you and present you to his Lordship.”

“I thought he was done with me.” His voice was croaky and far more plaintive than he’d wanted.

“If he is, then you’ll come down to the guards’ quarters and service us until someone remembers you’re alive.”

“I am a prince!” Wintras managed a little more life in that one, though his refrain was growing old, even to his own ears.

Another guard chuckled. “Nothing like a ride on a royal.”

He gasped. Zujan had trained his men to be as perverted as he himself was!

“Come on then. We don’t have all night, and if his Lordship has reason to punish us, you’ll pay.”

He snorted, their threats meant little to him—he’d been forced to give his word to acquiesce to Zujan, after having been kept against his will, and even submitting had not been enough for the little dictator. He had been used by the farmers at Zujan’s command. Nonetheless, he stumbled along, his feet stinging, muscles cramping.

He was pushed into a tub filled with cold water, the guards scrubbing him roughly then bent over, the tip of a wineskin pressed inside his body, the wine flooding him. “To freshen you up.”

It made him gasp and writhe, the wine, the water, the soap, all burning cruelly against his sun-ravaged, cut and abused flesh. He would not cry out though, would not give them that satisfaction. The wine made his heart pound, made the world spin a bit, and he was lifted up, a rough blanket thrown around him. His teeth were chattering, and he was colder now than he’d been overnight in the orchard.

He was brought to Zujan; the man sitting in his huge throne, furs piled about him. “Did you enjoy the orchards, pet?”

His furs. The furs of his people, offered to Zujan for no more than the hope of lenience. It sickened him. “Not the worst nights I’ve suffered under your hospitality.”

“Oh? Shall I make that your permanent post then?” One black eyebrow arched.

Wintras’ pride warred with the absolute boredom he’d experienced in only two days of hanging there. The pains to his body he could withstand, whatever they might be. It occurred to him that hanging there was hardly submitting to Zujan’s will, which was what he had promised. And while he saw no need to enjoy his time as Zujan’s slave, he was dishonoring his name if he forced the man to punish him too often. “No, I would prefer to honor my word and submit to your will, Zujan.”

He got a long look then that pointed chin dipped. “As you will.”

Zujan snapped his fingers and another scantily clad boy appeared. “Yes, Master?”

“Feed the prince. Tend to his feet, his hair, his wrists and have him delivered to my quarters when he is ready.”

Wintras inclined his head. “Thank you, Zujan.”

He had to force the words from his mouth, but he said them nonetheless. He received a nod, and then the boy took his wrist, leading him back to the quiet, lush rooms where a number of young people waited. The boy spoke quickly, and then it seemed dozens of hands were on him—petting and applying salve and brushing and offering food to his lips.

He was tired and hurting and let them pamper him, let them feed him from their hands and make him feel better without complaint, without trying to do for himself. He didn’t question any of them if they were happy or not, he was learning that Zujan’s people were loyal, even if they weren’t free.

He did feel better by the end, soothing creams spread on his feet, his nipples, his wrists. Even the battered entrance to his body was doctored and stroked. His head rested on the soft thighs of one boy, grapes and slices of fruit finding their way to his mouth, the occasional sip of water. His skin was oiled, the hands gentle. He almost fell asleep, it was so soothing.

It was the thought that he could get used to this that roused him. It would not do to become complacent. Nor would it do to forget that these men were slaves who coddled and served him because they had no other choice.

Warm eyes met his. “Rest, sweet prince. You need not return to our master until you are ready.”

“And which of us gets in trouble if I am not ready for some time?” he asked as he settled again on the warm legs.

“No one. The master does not wish you harm.”

“Really?” He could smell the sweet, male scent of the boy. This he was familiar with. Being close with male friends, warming and comforting each other. Innocent fumblings. No one forced into anything. Almost without thinking, he nuzzled the soft blond curls crowning the bared cock.

“Mmm…” The sounds were sweet, soft chuckles and giggles filling the air.

It made him smile. “Is this allowed? Pleasuring each other?”

“Mmm…yes. We like to touch.” Soft lips started brushing his skin, fingers stroking and teasing.

Oh. Oh, it was sweet, to be touched, pleasured because he and they wanted it.

He turned his head, pushing his face against… He raised his head. “What are your names?” He was not an animal, mindlessly taking his pleasure from nameless, faceless men.

“Yves.”

“Furn.”

“Patricio.”

The soft names poured over him, like the gentle touches, the soft tongues.

“I am Wintras.” He reached up to Yves, tracing the soft features before burying his face in the boy’s crotch again, mouthing the hardness there.

“Wintras.”

“Sweet prince.”

“So lovely.”

“So strong.”

“Sweet as honeyed wine.”

Gentle fingers entered him, lips surrounded his shaft. He cried out, the pleasure soft and wanted. His own hands slid on Yves, offering, he hoped, as much pleasure as he was being given. The gentleness, the praise and warmth a balm. Fingers stroked his head, his hair, soft moans of pleasure seeming to come from everywhere. He pushed away Yves’ short tunic, lips sliding on the hot shaft itself. Yves’ cock was not too long, but hard and leaking at the tip, the flavor mostly sweet. The moan was long, calling for him, calling for more. He slipped his lips over Yves’ cock, sucking gently, fingers stroking the so soft inner thighs as his own parted for clever fingers that were making him fly.

The silken flesh slid over his tongue, salt and sweet spreading in his mouth. The pressure within him made him shift, so careful, so gentle. He undulated, feeling sensual, sexy. It was good.

His companions seemed to think so too, bodies bare and twined with his, with one another. They all moved together, gasps and cries filling the air, the pleasure in those sounds echoed in his body. Yves arched, seed splashing on his tongue, more heat spraying against his legs. His own orgasm was enjoyable, made more so by the fact that he wanted it. Bodies pressed against him, held him, cradled him, happy laughter in the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured, sleep pulling heavily at him. He let himself go, he would worry about dealing with Zujan on the morrow. For now, he rested in the warm arms of his fellow slaves.

Chapter Four

For the first time since Wintras had been taken prisoner by Zujan, he woke up at peace. For a moment he wondered if it had all been a horrible nightmare. He was warm, curled between two bodies on a soft bed. He wasn’t starving or thirsty; his throat and mouth were not too dry to speak.

It was the twinge in his anus as he moved that shattered the illusion. He had been pleasured for the first time, Zujan actually being kind in that, but then he had been used by the farmers. He was sure it was just the kind ministrations of Zujan’s slave boys that saved him from being in more pain this morning.

There was a slender cock, hard with morning’s need against his back. His own need was nestled in the back of another slave—Patricio, unless it was Furn who had the pitch as night hair.

He looked around, careful not to move too much, not wanting to wake anyone.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows, lighting up the large room. There were several large beds, each with its own pile of bodies, some moving in an unmistakable pattern, and there was a long, low table by the fire, covered in bowls of fruit, nuts, little cakes and several large jugs. A bar near the door held a plethora of tunics, all in varying sizes, though more small than not and two matching red haired twins sat at the small table near the bells, playing cards, naked with their tunics hanging off the backs of their chairs.

A soft moan sounded from one of the beds, followed quickly by a cry, both sounds making Wintras’ own prick throb with need. He wondered at how his cock always seemed so eager since being under Zujan’s rule. Was it something in the air? Some strange magic?

Certainly the harem was more than a little sexed. His dreams had been filled with sounds from the room, of moans and groans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He shivered, unable to make his mind find another subject, and he began to rock, sliding between warm bodies, desire throbbing in his belly. Hands and lips answered him, sliding over his skin, meeting his need. It felt good, and he went with it. There would be plenty of time to let his mind rule his body, he was sure.

The sweet hole of the boy in front of him was offered, and he slid his fingers down, testing Furn’s—for it was Furn—heat. Eager and willing, it felt so good to push into that tightness, to hear the happy cry. He stretched Furn with one finger and then two, his prick rubbing against Furn’s thighs.

“Morning. Morning, Wintras. Please. I have need.”

“You seem to always have need,” he murmured, fingers sliding away. He spat into his hand and lubricated his shaft before pushing his cock into Furn’s prepared hole. Oh, it was tight and hot. So good.

“It is what we were made for, to share pleasure.”

His own need was driving him too hard to argue or worry on that right now. And surely despite his status, Furn wanted this—the boy could not say no to Zujan, but could to him, so it was all right. Wintras moved slowly, enjoying the squeeze of Furn’s body along his cock. Furn rolled upon his shaft, riding him, meeting each thrust.

The boy behind him rubbed frantically. “Please, Wintras, may I?”

He nodded, words gone as his hand wrapped around Furn’s cock.

“Oh…” New pressure, warm and slick and fine behind him, stretching him. He shuddered slowly as he was filled, making Furn writhe.

The cushions were soft and slick beneath him, the skin against him like silk. Soon they were all moving together again, panting and moaning, just another pile of moving bodies. It was happy, wanton, natural and relaxed and heated. Wintras moved faster, spurred on by his own pleasure, by the sounds of the boys moving with him.

“Soon. Oh, lovelies, soon!” Someone cried out, someone else moaned low.

He shuddered, pushing hard into Furn as he came, his body shaking with the pleasure. They curled and cuddled, rubbing and touching as they came down. He sighed happily as they stopped moving. “Oh. Good morning.”

He got a soft chuckle. “Yes. Very good.”

He could hear some of the other boys still indulging, and amazingly it made his prick perk up and try again. “What does Zujan put in the water?” he asked, not quite believing his own enhanced libido.

“In the water?” He got a confused look, a soft kiss.

He shook his head. “It is just an expression.” He smiled at Patricio and then at Furn. He had not thought he would make friends here, but the boys were delightful. He got two giggles, noses and lips rubbing against him.

One of the bells rang, sending one of the twins at the table by the door scrambling. Another took his place, dragging out of a pile of six or seven slaves, hair mussed, eyes blinking as the lithe body stretched. Wintras couldn’t help himself, he moaned, his prick paying full attention.

“We should do your hair.” Furn’s hands petted him carefully. “Make you beautiful.”

“You don’t have to do that—I can dress and groom myself. You aren’t my servants.”

“No. Your friends.” Those pretty green eyes were shining, lips smiling as Furn pressed close again.

“Oh. Yes.” He smiled back, hand sliding down along Furn’s back to rest on the pert little ass. “I guess friends might do such things for each other.” They were going to make him forget why he was here and who their master was at this rate.

“We do. We’re happy here, Wintras. We are.”

“But you’re slaves. You must serve Zujan and his guests when he asks—that is not the same as playing amongst yourselves by choice.”

“No. Serving our master is a sweet luxury, thanking him for his care, his attention.”

Wintras snorted. Zujan had them well trained, their minds were his. “If you say so, Furn.”

Furn chuckled, offered him another kiss. “My brother refused Zujan’s offer, and he is dead now, starved and frozen, and I am with you.”

He sighed. These boys were convinced Zujan had done them a favor. He doubted very much that he would be able to convince them otherwise. At any rate, he did not wish to distress them. They had been so kind to him.

“Should we do your hair, pretty prince?”

“If you would like to, Furn.”

“I would. You have hair like sunshine.”

“Like gold.” Another pair of hands tangled in.

“Patin!” Wintras smiled at the boy who’d bathed him the other night. Their hands felt good. He could understand why always being pampered by these sweet boys would be a temptation.

He got a grin and a giggle and a nod. “Bright morning, Wintras.”

“Bright morning, Patin.” He relaxed and let them touch him, indulging them and him both. Their hands were warm and soft and sweet.

It was obvious they were healthy and happy, chattering away with each other and him. Despite that, he was having a difficult time reconciling the benevolent master they spoke of with the domineering dictator of his experience.

Time would tell. He had nearly a moon before his promise was fulfilled. He shook his head, banishing Zujan from his mind in favor of the pleasant company of the harem boys.