The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

God, he wanted it, wanted that clean familiar taste on his tongue, that comforting scent in his nostrils, those breathy little moans of pleasure filling his ears. He mouthed at Roger, found himself whining again without meaning to but he didn’t feel like a dog this time, he felt like a man, like a good boy , and Roger cupped his head in both hands and said, “Maybe later, if the master wants. But now we need to go, Douglas. Now your master’s waiting, all right?”
    Yes. Yes. Better than all right. Better than anything . Nikolai was waiting? For him ? Tears flowed fresh and free at the thought, and he was unashamed, basking in the pleasure of it all, the sheer orgasmic ecstasy of Nikolai’s forgiveness. Roger helped him to unsteady feet made even shakier by the thought of what glories might await him, what chances to prove himself, to please his master. He hurried as best he could. He’d never keep his master waiting again. Never.

    Roger washed and waxed his body. Trimmed his hair and shaved his face. Gingerly helped him through a nice cleansing enema that Dougie was actually pretty happy to receive, considering how his ass had been used over the last week. Nothing to be done for all the bruises and scrapes, but Dougie liked to think they added color, that maybe Nikolai wouldn’t mind them. Or, even better, that Nikolai would look upon them and see how much Dougie had suffered for his mistakes, how sorry he was, how much he was willing to endure for his master. No longer a pampered, naïve boy, Dougie was now a seasoned slave. Had proved his worth. And knew exactly how lucky he was to be Nikolai’s sweet boy.
    He’d eagerly take his place with Roger at Nikolai’s feet, and be so, so grateful for it.
    Once properly groomed, Roger led him back down to the basement. Dougie tried not to be disappointed by that—oh how he’d hoped and dreamed of being ushered into Nikolai’s bedroom, of demonstrating his newfound devotion in his master’s arms. But perhaps Nikolai wasn’t done with his suffering yet. That was . . . well, not what he’d hoped for, obviously, but something he’d gladly endure for his master if need be. Whatever this new fate was, he wasn’t going back to being a dog. He was clean now, clean and scrubbed and beautiful, pristine , the collar left far behind him.
    Yet as Roger walked him to the door of the dungeon where this week’s nightmare had begun, it seemed increasingly likely that Dougie’s continued suffering was exactly what Nikolai needed.
    His mind flashed back to those first endless hours of agony, then shied away, the memory of pain so strong he felt sick with it. But he’d do it. He’d lie down on that bed and let Roger strap him in and take the poison with his chin held high. For Nikolai. Anything for Nikolai.
    “Easy,” Roger said, smoothing a hand between Dougie’s shoulder blades. “It’ll be all right, Douglas, I promise.”
    “I know,” he said, because he was done making stupid mistakes, and Nikolai was a good man, a forgiving man, a loving man.
    And then Roger opened the door, and what Dougie saw there didn’t surprise him at all.
    Because of course it had to be Mat, naked and bound to a table that looked like it’d come right out of an obstetrics office, stirrups and all. He was seated half upright, a wide leather strap across his chest, another holding his hips and wrists down, ass hanging off the edge of the table, feet strapped into the stirrups. Meat on display. A body to be used, and Dougie had no illusions about who would be using it.
    No reservations, either.
    Oddly, Mat wasn’t struggling this time, and he wasn’t gagged. And since Dougie doubted Nikolai had resorted to cutting his tongue out, that meant he was being willingly silent right now. As Dougie walked into the room, Mat stared resolutely at the ceiling, and his breath came through his nostrils in harsh but controlled puffs.
    To the left of the table, Nikolai stood against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Not ready to welcome Dougie into them, not yet, not until Dougie did this one last thing, proved this one last point, passed this one final test.
    He turned his eyes back to Mat. Saw an auto-injector lying ready on a side table, shining and immaculate atop a sterile blue sheet of paper. No question what was inside. And Dougie knew now exactly how torturous it was, how unspeakably, indescribably brutal, how utterly terrifying. He also knew it wasn’t for him.
    “Go on,