The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1) Page 7

  “What else is abnormal?”

  “You took my clothes.”

  “You were born with no clothes, is that not normal?”

  Wulf huffed. “You will use me—my body—for whatever sinful needs are deemed desirable by you people.”

  “The word sinful is a point of view, not a fact. And your body will not be used. It will be trained.”

  “For sex,” Wulf put in. He stared at his food, not eating.

  “For pleasure. As far as I know, pleasure is not bad word.”

  “Force is a bad word in conjunction with pleasure. Rape is a bad word.” Wulf looked up, then down. He didn’t want this conversation. He was being forced into this conversation.

  Locke said, “If I were in a prison in Rille, would there not be force? And even rape?”

  No prison in the world avoided such darkness. Wulf did not reply.

  Locke calmly took another bite of his food. Then he said, “You are collared. Yes. You have no more rights. Yes. These things are true. But this Palace is a better fate than you could ever hope for. And you are under my protection. There will be no—uh,” he shook his head wearily, “rape.”

  Wulf bristled at the man’s denial. “You are a trainer of sex slaves. You are a rapist!”

  Heads turned toward their direction from nearby tables. Wulf had not meant for the tempo of his voice to rise. But what did he care? He had lost everything? He had nothing left.

  “Everyone here at the Palace has signed a consent form.”

  “Except me,” Wulf pointed out.

  Locke contemplated him with steady brown eyes. He breathed in through his nose, quiet, seemingly unperturbed. “I have your signed consent form.”

  “It’s faked.”

  “I see. Well, then. It’s good you are not technically a Palace slave, then. I bought you. For now, you are mine. That is why you are here.”

  How could it be possible that the more Locke projected calm, the more Wulf experienced rage? He felt under threat from every corner, he just couldn’t see it.

  “But if you don’t train me to be a pleasure slave, do you mean to eventually kill me after all? Then why put me through all this? Why?”

  Locke started to open his mouth to respond, but Wulf didn’t want to hear any more words from a man who was too beautiful to be a devil, but most certainly was. He wanted to smash those words from Locke’s mouth. He wanted to shut him up with fists. His temper rose, quick and fierce.

  Suddenly he could not hold himself back, all the fear and rage and anger burst through him. He lunged at Locke. Fast.

  The leash pulled hard enough to break the hook away from its fastening on the wall.

  The collar caught at Wulf with its own fury at the back of his neck on the spine. Fire and knives coursed through his body. It was as if he were being burned alive.

  Wulf screamed and fell writhing to the floor.

  The pain stopped within seconds but his body convulsed with the aftershocks.

  The pain numbed all his thoughts for a few seconds, but when he returned to awareness he felt mortified. He was writhing, naked on the floor of a dining hall, in front of spectators. His mind could not contain this situation.

  A voice said through the loud clanging of his pain, “Steady now.” A hand touched his shoulder. Wulf flinched.

  But Locke’s palm pressed down on him until Wulf gave way, body relaxing on the cool tile one muscle at a time.

  It seemed to take forever. But that hand stayed, firm and warm.

  How many times over the past days in the prison, at the warehouse, at the auction, and here at the Palace had he pulled away from touch? This time he let the hand stay and could not say why. Except, he did not want to die. Thus, self-preservation had become of interest to him.

  Wulf’s eyes stung. His breathing came in frequent gasps and hitches. His ears still rang, drowning out most sound. After a moment, he heard Locke speaking as if he were far away. Occasional words.

  “…not…different…sold…circumstance…”

  He was speaking to him. Gentle. Calm. Damn him!

  Wulf strained to put it all together, squeezing his eyes shut against his tears, and against the residual fire that still burned from his toes to his eyeballs, singeing him inside and out. The ringing in his ears diminished some. He began to hear full sentences.

  “…no intention of killing anyone. Why would I spend a fortune for you simply to dispose of you?”

  Wulf didn’t know why Locke would do that. He didn’t know anything anymore.

  He opened his eyes and saw Locke kneeling over him, the leash sagging in his hand. A threat. But not a threat in this moment, for Wulf could not move.

  “You are, in fact, safe here. If nothing else, try to understand that.”

  The man’s definition of safety did not match Wulf’s idea of that word.

  “Just stop,” Wulf heard himself mumble. “Just stop talking.”

  But if Wulf had learned anything in the past twenty-four hours, he understood that a slave could never order a master to do anything.

  Chapter Nine – Locke

  Such a waste. To see a beautiful specimen—and a seemingly intelligent one, at that—writhing on the floor on pain.

  Locke was used to how the collar affected slaves in training, a necessary tool to remind the body and the individual within what might be expected of them. Most slaves enjoyed the collar, wanted it, because then they did not have to think, only do. Most slaves did not wear collars adjusted at any of the high settings. The shocks given as reminders to trainees were more like short, sharp nudges. Tiny jolts that almost tickled.

  But Wulf had been labeled by every report on every computer. Dangerous.

  Though Wulf belonged to Locke exclusively, Palace rules stated any slave with such a designation must wear their collar on one of several high modes. Locke agreed with the rule, though it rarely had to be implemented. For no one knowingly bought dangerous slaves-in-training here at the Palace.

  Locke never thought to fight the rule regarding Wulf, for Wulf might be lovely and intelligent, but he was an unknown quantity.

  Malik had called him untamed.

  That word fit.

  It was why they’d made their bet.

  This amazing prisoner of war had come from a culture of fighters. And their enemy was anyone from Avilan. Simply, Wulf could not be trusted. At all.

  And Locke had only nine days left to tame him.

  Now he looked down at the suffering man before him, and began to hate that he had to use the collar on him to such a degree. He didn’t train slaves to suffer. Of course, many slaves did suffer. At first. But none were like Wulf.

  No one here continued in suffering unless they were mad, and then they were sent to hospital wards for help. The slaves trained. They learned. Everything from discipline to responsibility to manners. They learned structure, meditation, exercise and how to take care of their bodies inside and out. And then they learned how to use those perfect bodies. The side benefit was pleasure.

  When they were sold to new masters, those masters were vetted. The slaves went to good homes. Rich homes. They lived in luxury with no worries, for the duration of their lives.

  Wulf was different from all of them, though.

  That was the reason Locke had purchased him.

  Wulf’s body had stopped trembling, but he kept blinking a little too hard and fast.

  Locke said, “Can you sit up?”

  Wulf behaved as if he’d just discovered his hands. The shock must have been a bad one. At the higher levels, the collar still dispensed its punishment in degrees depending on how it sensed the strength of tension in the slave, and the rapidity of a wrong move. It detected levels of violence in its wearer.

  It was no surprise to Locke that Wulf had gotten angry and frustrated enough to want to lash out at him. Expected behavior, but Locke didn’t have to like it.

  He put his palm behind Wulf’s shoulder and helped him sit up. Wulf had said not to touch
him, but he didn’t seem to notice this kind of touch.

  The body of this man was like satin, and hot—so hot skin to skin, like caressing gentle flames when you’d been cold for a long, long time.

  Even with the wind knocked out of him, Wulf outshone every slave in the dining hall with his bronze muscles, broad shoulders, and fool’s gold hair. He was six-foot-three standing. Sitting on the floor did not diminish those numbers. Long and lean, but broad and strong enough to intimidate Special Forces soldiers, he was a treasure. Though trained to be focused on their own business, slaves—and even masters—let their attentions be distracted by Wulf’s presence here in the hall. It would be no different anywhere else in the Palace. Wulf was that impressive.

  Wulf’s knees bent as he sat up straighter. The hair around his generously-sized cock glimmered. His cock was dark pink, and a softer blush of pink skin peeked out from the edges of the foreskin. He wasn’t hard, he was just that well-endowed.

  And the fight in this one!

  Locke would have bought him even without a bet with Malik. Maybe he wouldn’t even have tried to train him. Instead, he might have just kept him locked away, coddled and spoiled, a sculpted man to gaze upon after a hard day’s work. Someone to hide away, tie up, pose like a doll.

  He’d fantasized about keeping someone all to himself like that, under strict control.

  But with Wulf’s personality, holding him back like that, breaking him might destroy what captivated him about the man in the first place.

  Looking at Wulf, Locke saw fantasies won and lost simultaneously.

  Right now, nothing mattered but keeping this man with him. Making sure he stayed healthy. Sane.

  It should have been simple.

  After a few minutes, Wulf allowed Locke to help him up. The leash startled Wulf every time it went a little taut.

  Locke led Wulf back to his seat. The hole in the wall where the leash-hook had been gaped, a long dark gash. Locke ignored the damage and signaled their waiter to take away their food, wipe away the bits of debris, and bring them fresh bacon, waffles, and coffee.

  While they waited, Locke wound the end of the leash about his wrist, loose, then tilted his head and gazed at Wulf.

  “We will eat,” he said softly. “And then I will give you the tour.”

  Locke watched as Wulf glanced at the wall, staring at the hole he had made. Wulf’s hands shook as he placed them, palms down, on the table.

  Locke leaned forward a bit. Softer, “Look, I have no intention of killing you. Believe me or not. Your choice. But your status as a One-Night Thrall has been erased. You belong to me now. I decide what comes next for you.”

  For the duration of their breakfast, Wulf did not speak. For the first fifteen minutes, he did not eat. The collar might hurt badly, but it did not do physical, lasting damage. Still, he let Wulf settle into himself. He ordered more coffee, hot and fresh, and had the waiter take the cold cups away.

  Finally, Wulf ate. In the end, he finished half his food and had one cup of coffee.

  Satisfied that his new slave would not starve, and was strong enough to continue for the day, Locke led him on a tour.

  He began with the exercise rooms.

  Wulf followed without a word, but his head lifted at all the equipment they passed: weight machines, treadmills, cycles, rowers. He could tell Wulf was only pretending not to be impressed.

  The room was half-filled to capacity. Some masters exercised alongside their slaves. Others were content to watch. A few trusted slaves, probably already graduated and simply awaiting placement, exercised alone.

  The huge area led to the baths.

  Wulf had learned his lesson in the dining hall and did not try to pull away, but he did lower his head.

  Exercise was one thing. Bathing naked was another. Perhaps to Wulf bathing was instilled in him to be a more private affair. Here in the Slave Palace, it wasn’t. Especially in these public baths, where more than bathing was going on.

  Some slaves and masters of both genders lounged naked and relaxed in the hot pools, their jets bubbling the clear water. Others swam in the larger, cooler pool at the center. A few had secluded themselves on benches under leafy potted plants, or on corner steps of smaller pools, and were enjoying oral sex. They were somewhat discreet, but it might be a shock to an over-sheltered Rilleian like Wulf.

  Locke did not stare directly at Wulf to gauge his reactions, but he did keep an eye on him. For this was only the beginning, and acclimating Wulf to his new life was paramount on Locke’s mind.

  For Locke, public sex and nudity was normal. He gave it no extra thought. The act of sex was natural to him, like eating. But he did understand inhibition in new trainees, and shyness, and culturally programmed restraint. A man like Wulf had to be all bound up inside. Locke looked forward to untying those knots.

  For now, Wulf kept his gaze turned downward, his hanks of golden hair hiding his cheeks and jaw.

  To get his attention, Locke turned his attention away from the pools. “The mosaics on the walls are done by a team of artists known as the Dawns of Time. They use tile, gemstones, glass and ceramic in their art.”

  Wulf finally glanced up through his fallen bangs at the nearest windowless wall. It contained swirls of color depicting humans frolicking with mermaids and mermen. A few dolphins looked on from the wall’s edge.

  Locke pointed to the wall in front of them, past two hot pools, one of which held a quite randy slave tipping his master up by the hips and swallowing his cock whole.

  Locke pretended not to see them, and said, “That one took months to do.”

  The mosaic was an orgy of bodies, buttocks, cocks, breasts, and spread legs so intricately done it looked three-dimensional.

  Wulf’s only response was a fast, loud breath through his nose, almost a snort. But a soft pink tint came to his cheeks.

  Locke noted it with not a small amount of pleasure. Everything about Wulf caught his attention and made his body tight, hot, distracted.

  “We can come back to these rooms later for a work-out and a soak, perhaps.” Locke did not phrase it as a question.

  But Wulf lifted his chin slightly and turned his head, not meeting Locke’s eyes. “Are you asking if I want to?”

  “No,” Locke replied. “If I ask you what you want, I will be very clear on the matter.”

  Wulf’s lips turned down. An ordinary slave might have gotten a light rebuff for that behavior—making a face at a master’s words. Wulf was no ordinary slave.

  Locke ignored the pout and lifted the leash, the gold chain glittering in the bath lights reflected off the glimmering pool waters.

  Locke thought about where to take Wulf next. The Palace had everything, a mall with intriguing shops, an adult school, a theatre and a bowling alley. But he remembered Malik and the bet. He was wasting time. Although Wulf was one he wanted to treat delicately, Locke’s bet with Malik left him little time to dally. Yesterday counted as day one. Today was day two. After that, only eight days remained to tame the wild beast.

  He told himself he didn’t care about the money. But the bet—that was about pride and saving face. He didn’t want to admit it, but losing annoyed him. He might be an Eminent Master, but he was not immune to being shallow about some things in life.

  Bets with Malik ranked high on that list.

  “I think we will go to the training rooms next,” Locke said.

  Wulf’s body stiffened.

  “This way,” Locke ordered.

  To avoid another shock, Wulf had no choice but to follow.

  Locke enjoyed his job. When another person was vulnerable and waiting for Locke to instruct their next move, he could not deny a cool, sexual thrill. The power play dynamic was etched into his veins. Control. Dependency. Need. Want. All these things mixed together in his mind to produce a tingle on his skin and a burn deep inside.

  But most of the time, his heart was not involved. This was how he was taught to be a good master. Don’t get too close. The depend
ency of the slave toward the master grew fast and must be curtailed. It wasn’t a problem for Locke. This was a job. For new slaves, there could be pouting, frustration, anger, and tears. For trained masters, none of those emotions were allowed to exist.

  This was all different and new for Locke. Wulf was his. A personal purchase. A friendly bet. A man whose beautiful body and fierce personality intrigued him so much it had him hesitating in his usual, easy-going manner. And questioning all of his perfectly trained moves.

  He needed to get hold of himself. But then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  The training rooms were not far. They were on an upper level of the back wing of the palace. A wide marble staircase let to them. Red carpet adorned the center of the stairs, as if one were climbing to an ethereal throne room, or a realm of absolute authority. The walls gleamed with gold framed paintings of erotic scenes of humans, fauns, fairies, and satyrs fucking in various ways. Some light, some dark, they depicted the sensuous worlds of sexual desire, passion, lust and pleasure.

  That any culture might teach something was wrong in the expression of pure natural ecstasy boggled Locke’s mind.

  Wulf’s thigh muscles flexed as he ascended the stairs, tightening to show off the rigid edge of muscle on the sides. He would be hard down there, like satin over steel but warm and, if well-oiled, slippery. And Locke hadn’t even gotten to thinking about that generous cock. The thighs were what he wanted to feel along the palms of his hands, to touch and caress.

  And maybe the biceps as well, yes, most certainly the biceps. And the area just beside the armpit. That was one of Locke’s favorite places to caress a lover. Lover? What was he thinking? This was a slave. And yet, his slave. He could do and think whatever he wanted about him.

  It was obvious Wulf had worked out every day of his adult life.

  Locke wanted to say something to prepare Wulf for the training room. He decided against it. Nothing he did would prepare this man who emphatically believed sex and pleasure slaves were a grave sin.

  The double doors stood twelve feet high. They opened automatically as Locke waved his palm over the small square security screen. This was not a public place. Slaves did not enter on their own here without a leash and without a master. Nor were they left unattended in this room. Only masters could come and go from this room at will.