“Tell me about it—who bought you?” Kaitlyn asked gently.
“A Yonnite Mistress—Mistress Lovelyone,” he said. He closed his eyes, remembering the touch of her small, cool hand on his heated flesh. “I was bound…naked on display,” he went on, aloud. “I’d been poked and prodded…had my shaft yanked on and my ass tested by so many fingers by then, I was caught in a snarl of hate and fury. But then…she came.”
“And what did she do?” Kaitlyn’s voice seemed to come from far away. He still had his eyes closed, remembering.
“Touched me…just touched me. But her touch was soothing—kind instead of cruel and teasing. She stroked my forehead and murmured, “Poor boy—they have used you ill indeed, have they not?” He gave a choked laugh. “She always talked like that—so fucking flowery. But…I liked it.”
“So she bought you and took you home with her?” Kaitlyn asked.
He nodded.
“Back to her tower in downtown Opulex. She was really rich—she owned a whole building herself. But she only lived on the very top floor—in the penthouse suite,” he added.
“I see. And how old were you when she bought you?” Kaitlyn asked.
“Nineteen or twenty cycles, I think,” he murmured. “And she was twenty cycles older at least—wise in the ways of the word. At least, wise in the ways of Yonnie Six.”
“And what did she do to you. While she kept you captive?” Kaitlyn asked softly.
“Trained me.” He shrugged, his shoulders rolling. “To be the perfect bodyguard and the perfect bodyslave.”
“What’s the difference?” Kaitlyn asked.
“A bodyguard keeps his Mistress safe and secure. A bodyslave serves her other ways…sexually.” His voice had dropped and gone gravelly as he thought of his training. “She taught me to please her…to taste her.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “It wasn’t hard to train me—I’m a Kindred and we already have a biological need to taste the woman we crave. It’s one reason so many of us have been kidnapped to serve as bodyslaves to Yonnie Mistresses. That and the fact that we refuse to hurt a woman—even one holding us in bondage.”
“That seems really unfair—you must have been miserable,” Kaitlyn said.
Braze almost nodded in agreement…but he couldn’t do it. Something about this moment compelled him to tell the truth.
“No,” he said in a low voice. “I had a hard time adjusting to losing my freedom at first. But after that, I fucking loved it. Loved kneeling before her, waiting for her orders…loved the way she pushed my face between her thighs and ordered me to please her with my tongue.”
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the scent of leather and Kaitlyn’s perfume was replaced by the memory of spiced incense and cool marble…
He was twenty cycles old, naked except for the supple black collar around his throat. The training room in Mistress Lovelyone’s penthouse was silent save for the soft chime of water falling in a distant fountain. He knelt on the polished stone floor, back straight, hands resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the rug three feet before him. He had been holding the position for an hour. Every muscle sang with a steady burn, but he did not tremble. To tremble was to fail.
“Very good, my fierce one.” Her voice, like silk and honey, came from behind him.
Braze didn’t turn or answer. He hadn’t been given permission. The swish of her silk robes approached. A small, cool hand came to rest on his sweat-damp shoulder.
“Your discipline pleases me. Such control. Such focus.”
Her praise warmed him to the core. This was what he craved—the earned reward of her approval.
“You may look at me,” she murmured.
He lifted his gaze and drank her in.
Mistress Lovelyone was still beautiful and elegant in her middle years—her hair was a complex twist of silver and blue and her eyes were the color of storm clouds. She held a thin, flexible rod of polished wood in one hand.
“Today,” she said, tapping the rod against her palm, “We continue your lessons in sensitivity. You will learn to discern my desire from the slightest shift in my breath…the smallest change in my scent.” She circled him. “A bodyslave does not wait for commands. He anticipates. He exists to please.”
She stopped before him. With the tip of the rod, she lifted his chin.
“Open your mouth.”
He obeyed. She placed a tiny, candied fruit on his tongue. Tart sweetness exploded in his mouth.
“Hold it. Do not swallow,” she ordered.
