A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (20 page)

“Do you want to have sex with Allen? To compare?”

Martin was startled. “To compare him with
you
? I must
admit, I’ve never considered it before.”

Henry laughed. “But you’re considering it now.”

Martin shook his head. “You and I are so good together that
I find I’m not very interested in other partners.”

“There are things you like that I can’t do, though,” Henry
reminded him. “Two boys at the same time, for instance.”

Martin shrugged. “If you wanted to experience that, Henry,
you know I’d arrange it for you, but I’m certainly not lying awake nights
wishing for another boy. I really love you, and I really love having sex with
you.”

“I love you, too, Martin.” Henry reached out his hand and
Martin took it and bent to kiss his knuckles. “I actually thought I was doing
better, though,” Henry admitted. “I thought I was being less jealous in recent
weeks.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right. I just think it’s a waste of
your energies to be jealous at all. I will always be completely devoted to
you.” Martin slid further onto the bed and stretched out on his side facing
Henry.

“You can’t promise that,” Henry insisted. “You might change
your mind about me.”

Martin blinked, baffled. “I don’t think I could do that. I
can’t imagine what terrible thing you might do that would change my mind.”

“What if I was mean to you? Cruel?”

“I would have to try to figure out what I’d done to make you
treat me that way.” He looked down into Henry’s face and ran his fingers
through his hair.

“What if it wasn’t you at all, though? What if it was just
me being awful?”

Martin shook his head again. “That doesn’t sound like you,
Henry. If you turned against me, it would be because of something I did.” He
sounded quite convinced.

Henry thought Martin was severely underestimating Henry’s
capacity for petty vindictiveness. “What do you think you could possibly do,
then, to bring out the meanness in me?”

“If I hurt you, Henry, or made you angry, then certainly I’d
deserve it, wouldn’t I?”

“I think you ought to be able to hurt me or make me angry
without me turning on you completely,” Henry told him. “People disagree. People
hurt each other’s feelings.”

“As your slave, though, the rules are different…”

Henry scoffed at this, waving off Martin’s qualifiers with
an impatient flap of his hand. “You’re not just a slave to me, Martin—you know
this. I-I don’t know what the word is for what you are to me, really. You’re my
lover. You’re my…intimate friend, I guess. If you were a free fellow, I
couldn’t just decide to be horrible to you if you disagreed with me. I couldn’t
be awful and expect you to keep loving me.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Martin agreed grudgingly.

“I want us to be like that,” Henry explained, “Like free men
who’ve made the choice to be together, and then treat each other accordingly.”

Watching to see the effect his words had, Henry could see
that Martin didn’t like this idea very well.

“I’ve
made
a choice, Henry. I don’t need to be free
to choose you.” He was quiet a moment, eyes cast down, fidgeting with a wrinkle
in the coverlet. “I don’t want to be free, you know this, Henry. I
like
being your property.”

Henry was increasingly uneasy with the idea that he owned
Martin, as if Martin were an object instead of a unique and precious being, but
he could never seem to relate this to Martin in a way that got his point
across.

“I don’t think of you as property.”

“That’s because you’re sweet, Henry. But I like being your
slave. I think it’s turned out very well for me. Without you, I’d be nothing.
I’d have nothing.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Without my father, you mean.” Martin
seemed convinced that he’d have been destitute if he’d been born free, but
Henry suspected that Martin would have done just fine as a free boy, even being
born into poverty. Someone would have seen him and wanted to give him a better
life. Someone would have fucked him and never wanted to let him go. Martin was
eminently lovable, and Henry could not imagine a world in which Martin would
not find favor.

“Mr. Blackwell has been very kind to me,” Martin agreed. “He
bought me for you, after all, which is the nicest thing anyone ever did for
me.”

“Nicer even than the things I do for you?” Henry was only
half-joking. He rolled up onto his side to face Martin and reached to pull the
tie from Martin’s hair.

“Hmm…well, it certainly facilitated the rest. I am very
grateful to him. I am loyal to you, first and foremost, but I want to do a good
job for your father, as well.”

“But I’m first.”

Martin laughed and leaned in to kiss him. “Of course.”

“Do you remember, Martin? Months ago, you said you were
betraying Father every time you kissed me.”

Martin frowned. “I said that? That seems very dramatic!”

“You did,” Henry confirmed.

Martin was still frowning. “I suppose I might have been
worried your father would see it that way, but please be assured that I’m not
thinking of your father at all when we kiss.”

“Prove it,” Henry suggested, slipping his hand around the
back of Martin’s neck and pulling him close. “Give me a kiss and think only of
me.”

They kissed and undressed and then sucked one another to
completion, and Martin’s mouth felt especially wet and hot, and the noises he
made were especially eager, and of course Henry had no idea what Martin’s
thoughts might have been, but he could easily believe they were only of Henry
and of their pleasure in one another.

After dinner, Martin took out Henry’s tailcoat and looked it
over, making sure there were no last-minute repairs that needed to be made.
Henry had tried it on at the beginning of the month to make sure it still fit
him well, and it did; it had been made for him less than a year ago and his
growth had slowed down considerably in the interim. Martin, on the other hand,
was getting taller; he’d grown just under an inch since coming to live with Henry
and they were now very nearly the same height.

Henry, otherwise naked, put on the tailcoat at Martin’s
request so that he might scrutinize the lay of the lapels.

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Henry asked. “You’re worrying for no
reason.”

“I just want to be sure everything’s perfect. This is an
important event.” Martin, also naked, stepped forward and kissed Henry lightly
on the lips. “Besides, I wanted to see you in your coat with no trousers.”

Henry laughed and kissed him back. “You’re the only one
who’ll ever see me like this,” he said.

“Someday you’ll have a wife,” Martin suggested. He stepped
around to stand behind Henry and helped him take the jacket off.

“I won’t be doing anything like this for a wife, Martin.”
Henry rolled his eyes, finding the idea ridiculous. “There are loads of things
that I’ll only ever do for you, you know.” He flopped back down on the bed and
patted the coverlet at his side. “Come lie down.”

Martin climbed onto the bed and stretched out at Henry’s
side. “What would you like to do tonight?”

Henry whispered the answer in Martin’s ear, something he’d
never do for a wife, and Martin laughed and pulled him close.

On Saturday morning, the day of the Metropolitan Ball, Henry
woke up excited, experiencing alternating rounds of apprehension and
anticipation. He was eager to see Martin in formal clothes—Martin
collared
,
Martin in a
tie
—and to dance and be treated as an adult. He was
not
looking forward to Abigail DeWitt’s flirting and pushiness, though he
recognized that almost any of the other boys would welcome her aggressive
attentions and knew it might draw notice if he was too cold or dismissive. He’d
be as nice as he could manage without encouraging her.

Martin was excited, too, though he shared Henry’s dismay
that they would not have the chance to dance together before a full orchestra.
The slaves might get away with dancing a few steps together in the dim corners
of the room, out of the spotlight, but there was no reason for master and slave
to dance together, not when Henry would have so many young ladies to choose
from.

Henry ate his usual big breakfast, and afterward sat slumped
in an armchair before his cold hearth and tried to read the rest of the recent
issue of
Pals
while he listened to Martin practice his violin in his room.
It had been awhile since he’d heard Martin work on his difficult piece, but
today he was playing all modern works, dance tunes, perhaps in anticipation of
the ball. Henry called out to him and Martin came at a trot.

“Yes, Henry?”

“I have all this nervous energy,” Henry told him, shifting
restlessly. “I’m all keyed up.”

Martin laughed. “What would you like to do? Let me help
you.”

Henry had not thought this far. “Um…”

“I know. We could play our game,
Sir
,” Martin
suggested, grinning at him. “You could make me suck your cock.”

Henry thought this was a perfect idea. “Why should I have to
make
you?” Henry asked. “Are you a bad slave who doesn’t do what he’s
told?”

“I might be, Sir. I might be very disobedient,” Martin
seemed delighted by the prospect of his own naughtiness.

Henry remembered what Martin had told him about the most
disobedient slave he knew. “Are you like Julian, then? Do you not even
want
to suck my cock?”

This was perhaps a step too far for Martin. “I might just be
willful, Sir.” Really, there wasn’t a plausible scenario in which Martin never
wanted to suck a cock, and Henry decided not to press the issue.

“We’ll see about that, slave. On your knees, here between my
feet.” Henry spread his legs and set to work on his trouser buttons. When Martin
hesitated, Henry said, “What are you waiting for? I gave you an order, slave!”

“Sir,” Martin said, sinking slowly to his knees. “I have so
many duties, Sir. You’re keeping me from my important work.” He reached to open
Henry’s waistcoat, and together they fumbled his braces free from their
buttons, his shirttail free from his trousers.

“You don’t have anything to do that’s more important than my
cock,” Henry informed him haughtily. Said cock lurched proudly upright out of
the vee of his drawers. Just now, seeing it standing up straight, and looking
past it to Martin’s avid expression, Henry felt very happy it was his, and
believed all the flattering things Martin had ever said about it.

Impulsively, Henry sat up out of the depths of the chair,
leaned forward to put a hand around the back of Martin’s neck, and kissed him.

“Sir!” Martin’s cheeks pinked attractively; he clearly had
not expected the kiss.

“I wasn’t playing just then,” Henry offered shyly. “I just
had to kiss you. I still want to play, though.”

Martin regained his composure. “Very well. As I was saying,
Sir, I’m very busy. Perhaps after dinner—”

“Enough!” Henry shook his head vehemently. “Insubordinate!
Disobedient! All that matters is what
I
want. If I want sex, you should
be on your knees offering me a hole.”

“Sir!” Martin was plainly delighted by this statement.

“Why are you still dressed, slave?” Henry demanded
imperiously. “You have thirty seconds to get undressed or you’ll be punished.
Hurry!”

Henry did not bother to count, quite confident that Martin
would beat the clock with time to spare. Martin leapt up and stripped out of
his uniform, strewing clothes around his feet and kicking them impatiently
aside. When at last he was naked, he was out of breath from rushing, and his
pretty cock stood nearly flat to his belly as he took heaving breaths and
shifted from foot to foot. He was the most beautiful, enticing man in the
world. Henry resisted the urge to go to his own knees; that wasn’t the game
Martin wanted.

“Twenty-six seconds, Sir,” Martin said, grinning.

“It was twenty-seven,” Henry insisted with an air of
displeasure, though of course he had no idea. “Why aren’t you on your knees?
How are you going to suck my cock from up there, stupid slave?”

Martin snorted and fell to his knees between Henry’s feet.
He knelt there with his hands on Henry’s thighs, looking intently at Henry’s
cock. He licked his lip, clearly anticipating putting it in his mouth, and
Henry could not suppress a little whimper of longing.

Henry opened his mouth to speak but arousal had dulled his
tongue; he had to clear his throat and try again. “You’re wasting time,” Henry
said hoarsely. “Your mouth should have a cock in it, slave.”

“Whose cock, Sir?” Martin asked brightly, tilting his head
questioningly.

“Mine, of course, you…you untrained
labor
slave!
Atlas boy!”

Martin gasped, horrified and thrilled.

“Stop wasting my valuable time and suck my cock!”

Martin hesitated, clearly trying not to smile.

“What are you waiting for? It’s right there in front of you,
slave!”

“Make me do it, Sir.” There was a mischievous light in
Martin’s eye, and he was unable to keep from grinning.

Returning the smile, Henry reached out, grabbed Martin by
the hair, and dragged him close. Martin yelped and wobbled forward on his
knees. Henry tugged Martin’s hair and pushed Martin’s face into his crotch, his
cock sliding wetly across Martin’s cheek and into the hair at his temple. “What
a useless slave!” he chided. “Worse than untrained! If you don’t do your job,
I’ll see to it you’re punished!”

“
No
, Sir,” Martin moaned. He rubbed his cheek along
Henry’s cock, his breath hot against Henry’s groin.

“Tied up and whipped,” Henry elaborated. “Humiliated in
front of everyone.” He tightened his fist in Martin’s hair and gave his head a
little shake. “Do you want me to replace you with an Atlas boy?”

Martin let out a shaky little moan. “Oh, no, Sir, please…”

“A slave like that would give anything to live your life. He
wouldn’t be an ungrateful shirker like you.”

Martin nuzzled Henry’s cock and breathlessly said, “Sir, no,
please, don’t replace me! I’m
very
grateful. I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll do my
job and I won’t complain.”

“So you’re ready to suck my cock now? You don’t have any
boots to polish or buttons to sew on first?”

Martin laughed, his hands tightening on Henry’s knees.
“Perhaps I should lay out your dress suit, Sir.”

Henry laughed, too, and pulled Martin’s hair. “Enough
stalling, you lazy slave. You keep staring at my cock. Hurry up and put it in
your mouth.”

Martin twisted his neck to look up at Henry. “You’re going
to have to
make
me do it, Sir,” he cautioned.

Henry held Martin’s hair tightly in one hand, giving him no
slack, and aimed his cock at Martin’s parted lips with the other. After a brief
struggle, Henry’s cock veering off to one side of Martin’s mouth and then the
other, Martin relented and took the slick head into his mouth and slowly
lowered his lips toward Henry’s groin. He put one hand at the base of Henry’s
cock and the other on Henry’s hip and began to suck. Henry let him do this a
few seconds, but thought it was lacking in the forcefulness Martin enjoyed, so
then scooted forward, almost out of his seat, cramming his cock into Martin’s
mouth and holding the back of Martin’s head, keeping him in place with his
mouth and throat stuffed full. Martin made excited, enthusiastic grunts, his
breath coming in hard bursts through his nose.

“No hands,” Henry decided. “Hands behind your back or you’ll
be punished.” Martin whimpered and gulped for air around Henry’s cock and
quickly put his hands behind his back. Martin was trembling a little, energy
moving through him in waves, and when Henry looked down, Martin’s cock was
slick and glossy at the head, and he felt confident Martin found this whole
scenario exciting and erotic. Henry was enjoying himself, of course, but he was
happiest that he was doing something Martin especially liked.

One hand twisted in Martin’s hair, the other on the back of
his head, maneuvering and steering him, back and then forth, pulling Martin’s
mouth further and further onto his cock. He heard Martin choke, felt the
muscles in his throat spasm, and his impulse was to stop, but he knew Martin
would want more. “If you do a good job, I won’t punish you,” he promised, and
Martin moaned enthusiastically even as he choked.

“I’ll bet there are Atlas boys who do this better than you,”
Henry suggested, quite sure this was impossible.

Martin made a sound of emphatic protest around Henry’s cock
and shuddered, his eyelids fluttering. He set about proving Henry wrong, taking
him deep into his throat over and over again. Henry let him do this a few long
minutes, listening to Martin choke and feeling a little uneasy with how much it
aroused him. Martin clearly loved what he was doing, moaning even as he gagged,
his mouth very wet as he did incredible things to Henry’s cock with his lips
and tongue and the back of his throat. Henry’s cock glistened with Martin’s
saliva; spit ran down Martin’s chin, and Henry wiped it away with his thumb.
Martin looked up at him and grinned around his cock, and his heated gaze was
like a painless punch to the chest, leaving Henry slumped dazed and breathless.
Martin was such a dirty boy, his very own dirty angel.

While Henry struggled to reorient himself to reality, Martin
sneaked a hand around to touch his own hard cock. Henry blinked
uncomprehending, watching as Martin’s arm moved in furtive strokes, and then
remembered: they were playing a game, and he wasn’t doing his bossy job. He sat
up and pulled Martin’s hair, pulling his mouth off his cock, and shoved his head
toward the floor, bending him over double.

Martin gave a tiny shocked cry, a hint of pained fear.

Henry leaned over him, fist tight in his hair, and gave his
head a little shake. “Hands. Behind. Your. Back.”

Martin gasped, his eyes welling with tears, but he bit his
lip against a smile. He put his hands behind his back.

“So defiant! Where were your hands supposed to be, slave?”

“B-behind my back, Master.” Martin had not called him this
before; Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Henry tugged on his hair and let him sit up. Martin knelt
back, sitting on his heels, his hard cock riding close to his belly. He kept
his gaze on the floor, his chest heaving with excited breaths. Henry let go of
Martin’s hair and smoothed it back from his face. Martin’s eyes darted up to
meet his and he gave Henry a brief, brilliant smile before resuming his
submissive posture. Henry touched Martin’s cheek, rubbed Martin’s lower lip,
and Martin licked the pad of his thumb.

“Shall I try again, Master?” Martin asked in a low voice
with a hint of hopefulness that made it clear he very much wished to do this.

Henry shook his head. “No. You’re willful and disobedient
and I’m going to punish you.”

Martin gasped and looked up at him. “
Please
, Master,
I—”

Henry frowned at him. “Be quiet! No more talking!” He
thought quickly about what sort of punishment he was willing to mete out this
time, believing he might be willing to go a bit further than he had in the
past.

Martin shut his mouth immediately, seeming chastised.

“Ganymede lied to me,” Henry claimed. “You’re definitely not
a Superior boy. You probably weren’t even trained as a companion. I think you
were meant to be a stable boy.”

Martin groaned and shook his head, shifting his weight from
side to side, and it was obvious he wanted to protest this assertion, wanted to
offer some special service as proof of his quality, and Henry suspected it took
a great deal of effort for Martin to hold his tongue.

“Get up,” Henry said, poking at Martin’s knee with his foot.
“Go get me the razor strop.”

Martin gave a startled whimper, his eyes going wide, and his
cock jerked.

With all his wary fascination with punishment, Henry guessed
that Martin might be intrigued by a whipping game.

Martin scrambled to his feet and hurried to the bathroom. He
returned with the razor strop, a double strap of leather and canvas held
together with brass hardware at one end, and knelt at Henry’s feet, head bowed,
offering the strop up with both hands. He was trembling, all the hairs standing
up on his skin and his nipples tight.