The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

Douglas,” Roger said. Roger, not Nikolai, not the man whose voice Dougie most yearned to hear. Roger’s hand at the small of his back, urging him forward. “Sever the final thread. Be free.”
    Yes, be free. Like Roger. Forever. Happy.
    Dougie’s treacherous hands trembled as he picked up the auto-injector, and his body betrayed him further when, just before jamming it into Mat’s splayed thigh, his eyes moved of their own accord to look at Mat. Right into Mat’s face as he whimpered and lurched in his bonds, then forced himself still and silent, gaze cast resolutely to the ceiling. He was panting like he’d just gone three hard rounds, fingers curled into fists, jaw clenched, blinking far too fast over watering eyes. Ever the tough one, the damned fool. Trying to pretend he wasn’t terrified. Trying to hide his pain. Unable to let go of his stupid fucking pride.
    Dougie raised his arm again, auto-injector clenched in his fist.
    “Pl—” Mat clamped down on his begging so hard his teeth clicked, but he was looking at Dougie now with those big stupid blue eyes, wet and wounded, and fuck him anyway, he had no fucking right to look at Dougie like that, not after all he’d done to him.
    Dougie glared back. Mat took Dougie’s anger like he took everything else: silent and stoic, right on the chin. Swallowed hard and said, “I love you, Dougie. No matter what. Never forget that.”
    Then he closed his eyes and turned his head away and banged it twice against the back of the table like maybe he hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud.
    Or maybe he’d just realized he had no fucking right to. “Fuck you,” Dougie—no, Douglas —growled. “My name’s not Dougie anymore, it’s Douglas , and I don’t belong to you anymore, and you don’t get to talk to me that way.”
    Mat—no, the slave, just a slave that meant nothing to Douglas at all—swallowed hard, jaw stiff like he knew if he opened it the words would keep pouring out of him and never stop. Good. Douglas was tired of hearing him, tired of words and meaningless platitudes, when the only thing that counted were actions.
    And Douglas was ready to define himself by his. He slammed the auto-injector into the slave’s thigh, then slammed his rigid cock balls deep into the slave’s pre-slicked ass. He didn’t remember getting hard, wasn’t even sure how it’d happened, but there was no mistaking his master’s approving hum, even over the slave’s agonized screams and bitter weeping. Douglas ignored the slave’s pleading, fucked the bound body harder, the slave’s muscles spasming so tight around his cock it nearly hurt. He could feel his master’s gaze upon him, feel his master’s smile.
    He’d never come so fast in his life.
    He pulled out with a growl, caught the cum dripping out of the slave’s hole and shoved it back inside with three fingers. Fucked him with them. He’d come too fast beneath the heady weight of his master’s approval. He’d been supposed to hurt this slave. He meant to see it through. Maybe he could work his whole fist up there, beat the troublesome beast from the inside.
    “That’s enough, Douglas,” his master said, his voice tremulous, full of weight and meaning. “Clean yourself and come here.”
    No towel, no tissues. Douglas swiped his hand over his cock to wipe away the traces of cum and lube, then forced his fingers into the slave’s mouth and snapped, “Lick.” But the slave was so far gone with the pain of the injection that Douglas was lucky he didn’t lose his fingers to clenching teeth. He rolled them around the slave’s tongue and lips until they seemed reasonably clean, then wiped his wet hand on the slave’s trembling shoulder.
    When it was done, he went to his master and fell to his knees. He was shaking. Hard. Vibrating with adrenaline. His master laid a hand on the top of his head, and it took every ounce of control Nikolai had ever taught him for Douglas not to lean into that touch without permission.
    “Well done,” his master said, and ecstasy washed through Douglas as fiercely as his orgasm had just moments before “Now let go of your anger, Douglas. Give me back my sweet boy. Come home to me.”
    Nikolai’s sweet boy. Nikolai’s alone. He owed nothing else to anyone, least of all the slave crying on the table.
    He breathed out a sigh as the anger and hate drained from his body, replaced by the suppleness of submission, and then he laid his cheek against his master’s