The Slave Harem: A Kingdom of Slaves Book Page 19

  Ren felt the dildo shift slightly as his muscles rippled with his arousal. The ring around his balls dug in, making him feel more exposed than ever.

  Zanti looked at his whip, then at Ren, and frowned. Pouted.

  With a fast motion, he flung his arm out but none of the leather tails touched Ren. He flicked them on the air above Ren’s body. They made a slight wind and tiny popping sounds.

  Ren’s skin prickled at the non-touch. Strange.

  Like some sort of deranged shaman, Zanti moved the whip all up and down Ren’s body without touching it. He flicked it over and over, the tails almost but not quite making contact with Ren’s skin. He teased him that way for long minutes, circling the bed, threatening every inch of Ren’s skin.

  After awhile, Ren began to squirm for any touch, even an outright beating. He felt drops of pre-cum slide from the tip of his cock.

  His arousal, at first a shudder, became a wind. He watched Zanti move around him and couldn’t help but swallow over and over, waiting for something to happen. Wanting it to happen.

  He remembered that perfect, hard cock pistoning into him, rough and hurting and found himself even wanting that again. Anything to defeat that weirdly disturbed ache that kept folding and unfolding deep inside.

  Ren could not keep his eyes off the man. He watched Zanti’s graceful motions, memorized the curves of his body at different angles, kept trying to see his eyes, get them to meet his own. They wouldn’t.

  Zanti’s aura was still undulating between pure blue and gray.

  Finally, Zanti’s eyes met Ren’s a few times, dark and deep and concentrated, only to glance away, deny, reject, dismiss. But Ren paid attention now. Each time their gazes connected, the eyes gave him a falling feeling. He would never land because there was no bottom, only more faraway darknesses to pass through. But Zanti was present in those gazes, too, and with Ren right now. He did not play a role. He was not someone else. He remained focused. Tied to Ren in every action. Nothing escaped his notice. It was more than Ren ever expected, and it was strangely and supremely tantalizing.

  Zanti did not just obey Master. He had no brand. Master’s orders were: Do as you wish. Perhaps he did not see that order the same way Ren did, that he wanted to please Master only. That he wanted to perform. Zanti didn’t care about performing. Zanti did what Zanti wanted.

  I give myself over to you. He wanted to say those words aloud. To Master. And to Zanti. He opened his mouth, began: “I give…”

  Zanti’s hand whipped down between his legs, the tails of the cat curving and curling about his penis, the edge of the handle scraping the wet tip. His cock had been straining and now the sensation of weirdness, of roughness—no, not rough, more smooth, tentative and slow—made Ren arch up.

  That familiar smirk came to Zanti’s lips. The leather tails dangled, tickling, over his distended balls. Ren drew in a sharp breath. His muscles clutched at the slick dildo inside him.

  He felt open and tender. At the same time his arousal shot higher than ever. He squirmed and thrust upward without control. And yet nothing had happened. Zanti had only really touched him, skin to skin, when inserting the dildo, and strapping his balls. His mind wanted to remember those touches now. It clung to anything it could for it wanted over that crest of pleasure. It wanted the tightening and soaring and froth of release. It wanted hands on him, any stroke or caress, any pinch or pat or even slap. It wanted Zanti.

  Zanti’s hand moved the tails up Ren’s body now. He leaned over him, watching Ren’s chest rise and fall. Then he looked into his eyes.

  Ren saw the tease there, and a conqueror’s conceit. He saw the glimmer and gleam of control. This was the man who had survived Mister X. The pupils had expanded making his brown eyes almost entirely black. Zanti smelled of amber and metal and the burnt remains of a poison fire. Ren inhaled, drew him in… Zanti’s inhumanness, Zanti’s silence, Zanti’s fairy-boy beauty and his abyss-god gaze.

  Zanti leaned down. His pink lips parted. “Come,” he whispered.

  Ren thrust up, bucking against the tails and further up, cock meeting the fine, hard skin of the underside of Zanti’s wrist. His tender cock head swept along that skin, searching for a palm, for fingers to hold him. That never happened but he still burst from inside out, shooting his pleasure.

  The orgasm rolled through him.

  Zanti had spoken!

  And Ren had come with barely a touch.

  The boy’s smile churned into Ren. Twisting him. Confusing him. The gray aura around Zanti went white as pure snow with edges of blue surrounding it.

  Zanti shook himself, as if coming out of a trance.

  As Ren’s orgasm subsided, Zanti ran the whip through the puddle of cum on his stomach and chest. Then he threw the cat o’nine tails hard until it hit the wall.

  Ren watched him, white-haloed now, kick the bed. He looked down and saw Zanti’s cock had hardened. It pulsed beautifully, the head tender and pink. Pink light surrounded it.

  Zanti turned away, his satisfaction at what he had done to Ren transforming to something else. Confusion at his own response, maybe. Or anger.

  Ren tried to sit up. The chains caught, holding him in a half-upright position. The dildo inside him threatened to come out as he moved, then pushed back in. His balls ached still, as if no release had happened, the ring around them digging in and hurting now that his skin was so sensitive from coming.

  In any ordinary circumstance between two pleasure slaves performing for their master, Ren would have encouraged his partner, asked, even begged him to fuck him, especially if he saw the other was aroused. But this was Zanti and Zanti didn’t want to be touched. Or did he now? No brand. Not a slave. But part of the harem.

  Nothing was as it seemed.

  The door opened. The two grooms came in. They went to the bed and undid Ren’s cuffs. He sat up now, asking one, “I can take this off now?” He indicated the band around his balls, the dildo.

  “Yes. Leave those things on the bed and they will be dealt with,” said the groom nearest to him.

  Ren took care of himself, then slid to the end of the bed and stood.

  The grooms stood by the door waiting.

  Zanti turned, his cock still half-hard, and tossed his hair as he strode into the hall. It seemed he could not get away fast enough.

  Ren began to follow, planning on heading straight for the shower after they were returned to the harem. The energy in the room changed. The air crackled.

  Master’s voice. “Ren. Stay. Forty-five, wait for him in the hall, please.”

  Ren watched as the grooms followed Zanti out.

  Ren stood in the center of the room facing the bed and waited.

  “Zanti spoke to you.” Master sounded almost as amazed as Ren had been.

  “A whisper only. One word.”

  “I heard.”

  “I thought he couldn’t talk.”

  “He can. He chooses not to. He has written me notes now and again. But he has spoken only twice that I know. To me. Never to another. Not even to Cam.”

  Should Ren feel special, then?

  Master said, “I am curious. When you first touched and tasted Zanti during the play last week, what did his colors display? And did they have a flavor? If so, what did they taste of?”

  Master had been curious from the first and Ren’s body churned in pleasure at the attention.

  Ren had not tasted Zanti since. He thought back. He had been nervous and encumbered. The mask kept his senses diminished.

  Ren swirled his tongue around his mouth, the motion stimulating taste and taste-memory. “The auras on his body did have a faint flavor, I think. Campfires.”

  “He tasted of campfires?”

  “Smoky, a bit. How campfires smell. And—and of ash, fine and smooth but disintegrating.”

  “Ash,” Master repeated. “Yes. Thank you. You may go.”

  “Master! Please! I have a question.”

  “You may ask but I may not answer.”

&nbs
p; Hair falling forward, Ren bowed his head. “Everything Cam said to me about Zanti. His history. He is unbranded. But if all that is true about Mister X and Zanti’s terrible past, is he really here of his own free will?”

  “Zanti is unbranded because I do not own him. Zanti is the only one of you free to leave at any time. He does not. He stays. This is his choice. Tonight, with you chained and Zanti free he knows he could have walked out of the room at any time. My grooms would not have stopped him. But he did not leave. His wish is granted to remain as long as he likes.”

  “But he fights me, the grooms, your commands. Maybe he stays because he has nowhere else to go?”

  A soft rumble, like a laugh. “Zanti can go anywhere, all funds paid, any life he wants. He knows this. Now, you may go. No more questions tonight. Maybe tomorrow I will answer more of your questions. If you are ready.”

  “Yes, Master.” Ready? Ready for what?

  So it was true. At least he knew now. Zanti did as he wished. And he had wished to make Ren come. He had spoken because he had wished to speak. Had wished Ren to come without hands, without human touch.

  Ren had come, but not without fighting for the barest brush of wrist against his yearning cock. He’d gotten it. He’d gotten Zanti’s command. He had obeyed. Zanti had not obeyed. Zanti had gotten his wish.

  What did that mean?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Third Night

  The atrium lights had dimmed for the night. Most of the alcoves were dark.

  When Ren had left the white room upstairs one groom was waiting. Zanti and the other groom were gone.

  In the dining area, Li Po motioned him over, keeping his voice low, knowing other men now slept. How much time had actually passed in that room upstairs? Ren had missed more than another meal. He’d missed the entire evening.

  And where was Zanti?

  Li Po had a dinner plate waiting for him, heated. Ren thanked him, then ate silently. Steak. Broccoli. A baked potato with fresh melted butter Li Po had just placed on top. Ren shoveled in the food.

  He was so hungry he didn’t care that he was sex-grimy. Li Po did not comment on his appearance. But he did softly ask, “Are you all right?”

  Ren nodded. He thanked Li Po again and headed for the showers.

  When he came into the main room and turned to head to his alcove, he passed several where men slept, some alone, some together.

  Cam’s alcove, shrouded in shadow, showed two men, side by side. He could not help but pause, taking them in. Cam lay on his back, the sheet stretched up to his hips. Zanti lay on his side, head bowed against the side of Cam’s chest. Cam’s arm encircled Zanti’s head. Cam was the only one of the harem Ren had seen who touched Zanti. The only one Zanti allowed. And that was, according to Cam, only on nights when Zanti could not sleep. When being alone made Zanti too restless.

  As if sensing Ren’s stare, Zanti made a low sound and curled closer to Cam, eyes shut tight.

  Ren turned away, his heart pounding, that strange ache returning in his solar plexus.

  *

  Stepping off the treadmill, Ren grabbed a towel and rubbed the sweat off his arms and chest.

  Cam was staring at him from a nearby couch, haloed in bright green. Ren glanced about the room and saw Zanti on a lounge chair by the pool, tablet in hand.

  It was obvious Cam wanted to know what had been going on upstairs. He cared.

  But Ren avoided him, not comfortable yet to talk. Not wanting to reveal yet that Zanti had spoken. Granted, it had been only one word, and whispered, but it had been a word. If Zanti wanted Cam to know, maybe he could speak and tell him himself. Or Master could inform Cam. Master had seen it all.

  When Ren had returned to the harem the night before, it had been obvious to those still awake, like Li Po, that he’d had some action. He had his own emissions all over him. He’d headed straight for the shower after stuffing his face. And this morning he’d slept in. He had not wanted to face anyone.

  He was normally social. At the Palace he’d been around all different slaves at different times for classes, training, dining and recreation. But those men and women had all been friendly, exciting. Willing.

  These men in the harem were willing, too. Supposedly. All except Zanti. But Zanti was different. He was not a slave. He was a free man.

  Ren threw his towel in the gym hamper and came down the steps, thinking a swim would be nice now that he’d worked his body up to a sweat. He did not look directly at Cam, but felt his eyes on him as he walked to the pool.

  All the other men were busy, some watching TV, some fucking on the wider couches beyond the waterfall.

  He dived into the pool, the coolness enfolding him. The last time he’d been swimming, he’d been attacked. It was still fresh, still hurt even after the past two nights Master had forced him and Zanti to be together.

  He swam with force, the water frothing in waves alongside him.

  This wasn’t over. Not by a long-shot.

  What would Master ask of them tonight?

  When Ren popped up at the other end by the waterfall for air, he saw Zanti watching him. Slowly, Zanti looked down, pretending to be interested in something on his tablet, but Ren had not missed it. Zanti was watching him, and a heat deep in his groin flared to life.

  *

  “Zanti. Ren.” Master’s voice resounded throughout the harem.

  It was no surprise to hear the order again, but some of the men chuckled or grumbled from around the room at the two new favorites. How could there not be competition in the ranks? Anyone worth their salt as a pleasure slave would want to be number one to their master.

  Ren prepared alone. This time not even Li Po was there to do his hair or offer make up. Since Master had not required make up from him, or braids after that first time, Ren did nothing but the required cleansing inside and out since he had not done it that morning. He dried his hair straight. Unlike some of the others, he did not need to shave. The Palace’s depilatory was permanent on slaves like Ren who had chosen to be hairless but for scalp, brows and lashes.

  Ren stood by the door and waited, knowing all the eyes of the harem were upon him. He kept his head down. The scratches on his chest, he noted, had healed. There was barely a faint trail of pink now from Zanti’s nails on him during their fight.

  He sensed Zanti before he saw him. His smoky cologne. His weirdly sharp presence that made the air almost prickle. When he looked sideways at him, Zanti was staring upward, as if the tall ceiling had all his answers.

  Master must have been watching, for only seconds later the door behind the tree of life tapestry opened and two grooms motioned them forward.

  Ren let Zanti go first. Zanti did not hesitate. He almost bounced, his tight, slender ass bobbing as if conscious to the tease.

  Ren wanted to roll his eyes. But a warmth began within, slowly penetrating throughout his body. His balls shifted, tingled. Zanti turned him on. There was no denying it. It wouldn’t have been at all odd, except the warmth that kindled inside him for the beautiful, annoying man trembled and tickled in a way that involved his emotions. Longing, loneliness and empathy took him into a weird yearning. He wanted Zanti. He wanted to hold him. To kiss him.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of such thoughts. His normal response to males was sexual, yes, and pleasurable. But other than feelings for Master Locke, and his hint of envy at Locke’s close relationship with his slave Wulf, Ren had no trouble when it came to mixing up pleasure with bonding. He easily separated the act of sex from love. He had dreamed of an actual relationship with his master. Hoped. He never thought of anything but mild friendship for his fellow slaves. Li Po had come the closest to making him feel a deeper friendship.

  He did not acknowledge what he felt with Zanti as friendship, but this other part, the yearning part, the longing – both sexual and non-sexual—that scared him. He wasn’t ready to accept even the thought of it.

  Again, the grooms escorted them up the stairwell and
down the long hall to the white room.

  Zanti tossed his head like a vain prince. He seemed to know what was coming. Already, he approached the bed, arms out, and backed up onto it. He lay down on the cool, lavender silks, his legs spread as the grooms attached the wool-lined cuffs to his ankles and wrists.

  Ren saw a pattern. First one of them was restrained, then the next night the other. The first night, Ren had done nothing until, after what seemed like hours, he’d let Zanti go free. He had not touched him.

  Well, just because Zanti had done things to Ren the night before did not mean Ren was ready to do the same in return. Unless commanded by Master, of course.

  Yet Zanti, with no brand of his own, freely allowed the grooms to restrain him on the bed. He did not tease or fight this time. Even if Zanti hated him, it was consent, wasn’t it?

  Would Master’s orders be the same now? Do as you wish.

  The room smelled of body powder, clean and sweet, and like pears again. Sweet as syrup. There was a tinge of greenness, too, like rain. The harem smelled that way all day because of the constantly flowing waterfall. And Zanti, with his fiery cologne, made the outdoorsy atmosphere complete both in the harem and here in the white room. The aromas flowed through Ren’s body, quickening him. His body liked it. He liked how Zanti smelled. There was no denying it.

  The grooms exited the room without a word. Forty-five and Six? He could never tell any of them apart.

  The static in the air changed. Ren sensed the speakers coming on even as he heard nothing but continued silence.

  “Welcome, Zanti. Welcome, Ren.”

  Ren’s gaze darted to Zanti who lay with his head back on a pale lavender pillow, dark and shining, a vivacious look on his face as he stared straight upward.

  “I have new instructions tonight,” Master continued.

  Zanti pushed his lips out in a childish double pout.

  Ren closed his eyes, feeling his muscles tense. He forced control.

  “Ren, I want you to go now to Zanti’s side.”