Loyalties (9 page)

No punishment came. Again. Just a breath on his ear, a warmth against his back, a hand lightly pressing on his throat from behind, threatening to choke him. “You
think
too much, Douglas. You say you know your place, but you don’t. It’s not your place to worry about the future, and it’s not your place to ask questions, and it’s not your place to wonder about your place. In the world. In this house. In my heart. Your place is just. To. Accept.” The hand on Dougie’s throat tightened, and his mouth fell open, trying to pull in air that just wouldn’t come. “If only there was a way for me to remind you. An easy way to put your restless mind at ease, to express to you in
no uncertain terms
that you are mine, and that your body and your fate are all mine, and all you need do is . . .” The lack of air was starting to hurt, to burn, and now there was another hand sliding down Dougie’s side, down to cup Dougie’s ass, weighing the flesh in a thoughtful palm. “Accept.”

Punish me.

A reminder that he was Nikolai’s, that Nikolai owned his body and his mind, and that he would gladly give: even things he didn’t want to give, even things he was afraid to give, even things that were unpleasant to give. The same way Jeremy and Roger and all the others had gone to their new masters, given up their happiness and their security with Nikolai, because that was their fate, because that was what Nikolai chose, and all they had to do was trust in his wisdom and know that he would one day bring them home.

Punish me and bring me home.

My body, my life, my sex, my pain. Let me give myself to you.

When he tried to speak it, only a strange whistle came out.

“What was that?” Nikolai said sweetly, crushing Dougie’s windpipe one last time and then the hand was gone and Dougie was gulping down air, burning air that made spots like soap bubbles pop in front of his eyes.

“Punish me,” Dougie croaked. “Punish me, sir. Hurt me like you hurt Roger. I can take it, sir. I deserve it. I want to give it to you.”

“Good boy,” Nikolai said, and ripped the plug from Dougie’s ass.

Dougie
was
a good boy. A
very
good boy: he’d chosen just the right plug, big enough that Nikolai didn’t need to prepare him but small enough that it still burned and stretched when Nikolai’s erection claimed his ass.

Dougie was a good boy. He gave his master his ass, gladly took the rough pounding, even though it meant getting a horizontal counter-edge bruise right across his belly and hips, even though it meant sobbing out his pain with Jeremy standing
right there
, watching through the corner of his eye, watching Dougie crying and being fucked, because this time Nikolai hadn’t cared to send Jeremy away, and it wasn’t Dougie’s place to ask for privacy.

Dougie was a good boy. When Nikolai grabbed him by the hair and jerked his face forward and told him not to neglect his chores, he picked up his sponge again and he picked up the stubborn pot and resumed scrubbing, the motion of his shaking hands across the bottom of the pot following the rhythm of Nikolai’s strokes inside him.

Dougie was a good boy. He kept on washing even when Nikolai grabbed his cock and jerked him hard, bringing him off so fast his head spun and he had to cling to the counter’s edge just to stay upright so Nikolai could continue chasing his own pleasure inside Dougie’s abused ass. And Dougie held still for that, even through post-orgasm sensitivity that set his teeth on edge every time Nikolai’s cock drove over his prostate—a pleasure so raw, so far past
good
it might as well have been the punishment he’d been begging for.

Dougie was a good boy. When Nikolai finished with him, filled him with seed and plugged him up again and told him to clean up the mess he’d made, Dougie knew he wouldn’t be needing the sponge.

Dougie was a good boy. He licked his master’s cock clean, and then he turned and did the same to the cupboard doors, lapping up his own dripping semen with a happy, sated hum.

Dougie was a good boy. He knew that his master hadn’t punished him upstairs, even though he’d deserved it, because it was only through denial that he’d learned the
value
of that punishment.

A reminder of who was in charge. Who was owner, who was owned. Who did the thinking and planning and worrying, and who accepted his fate with dignity and humility.

Yes, Dougie had forgotten that. Been bad. But Nikolai had guided him in ways he hadn’t even begun to be able to see, and now he was back on steady ground and a good boy again, and Nikolai had rewarded him with punishment
and
pleasure, had given him what he’d needed and then what he’d wanted, and this time when Nikolai had finished with him and left him alone with Jeremy again, Dougie didn’t mind, not even a little.

Because Dougie was a good boy. And he’d
stay
a good boy, and one day Nikolai would come back for him and keep him and love him forever.

Mat was eating an austere lunch of toast and jelly and applesauce—but hey, solid foods, big step in the right direction—when he heard the key in the lock of his door. He put down his spoon. Shucked off his shorts and draped them over the back of his chair.

By the time the door opened, he was on his knees in front of it, legs spread and palms up, waiting.

This time, it wasn’t Roger who came through the door, not that Mat had ever thought it would be. Not this time.

This time, it was Nikolai.

It couldn’t have been anybody else, of course, because it was
time
, and Nikolai was never early and he was never late for anything.

Right on time.

“You’ve decided to live.”

Mat looked up into Nikolai’s eyes, giving him a hard stare to prove he still had what Nikolai wanted, that Nikolai hadn’t
broken
Mat, but merely tamed him. “Yes,” he said. Not
Yes, sir
or
Yes, Master
. Just
Yes.

Mat would obey, but he wouldn’t cower.

Obey, and bide his time, but Nikolai didn’t need to know the second part. Or maybe he already knew the second part, but thought he could still come out on top in the end.

Yes, Mat was done underestimating Nikolai. But Nikolai had
always
underestimated Mat, and that would be his downfall. All in good time.

“I’m ready to do what you want. I’m ready to
be
who you want.”

Nikolai nodded, not smiling, not showing any emotion at all, not even victory. Just acknowledgment. “Let’s begin, then.”

You and me. You
versus
me.

Mat nodded, too. “Yes, let’s.”

www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/flesh-cartel-9-trials-and-errors

Bookended

Giving an Inch (Professor’s Rule, #1), with Amelia Gormley

Apple Polisher (Rear Entrance Video, #1)

With Violetta Vane
:

Mark of the Gladiator

Galway Bound

The Druid Stone

The War at the End of the World

Hawaiian Gothic

“Salting the Earth,” a short story in the anthology Like It or Not

Cruce de Caminos

Harm Reduction

The Saturnalia Effect

Power Play: Resistance, with Cat Grant

Power Play: Awakening, with Cat Grant

Master Class (Master Class, #1)

Sublime: Collected Shorts (Master Class, #2)

Counterpoint (Song of the Fallen, #1)

Crescendo (Song of the Fallen, #2)

Anchored (Belonging, #1)

Where He Belongs (Belonging, #2)

Break and Enter, with Aleksandr Voinov

Heidi Belleau was born and raised in small town New Brunswick, Canada. She now lives in the rugged oil-patch frontier of Northern BC with her husband, an Irish ex-pat whose long work hours in the trades leave her plenty of quiet time to write. She has a degree in history from Simon Fraser University with a concentration in British and Irish studies; much of her work centred on popular culture, oral folklore, and sexuality, but she was known to perplex her professors with unironic papers on the historical roots of modern romance novel tropes. (Ask her about Highlanders!) When not writing, you might catch her trying to explain British television to her newborn daughter or standing in line at the local coffee shop, waiting on her caramel macchiato.