The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

to fidget. He was sitting naked on the floor between Roger’s bare legs, Roger perched behind him on a footstool, both of them freshly washed and waxed and manicured. Two men, two slaves, two lovers of the same master, separated only by time.
    Two rooms over, in Nikolai’s grand, cathedral-ceilinged great room, Douglas’s coming-out party was winding up to full swing. He hadn’t heard the front door open in a good ten minutes, which meant everyone was probably here by now, or nearly so. Clients, mostly, Nikolai had explained, but a handful of his fellow trainers as well—those who worked with different wares, no competition to him—unable to resist a good party and a rare opportunity to socialize with their fellows. Nikolai’s parties were a popular affair, a chance to dress up and engage in luxurious debauchery and perhaps get a handful—or mouthful or cockful—of a freshly trained young slave. Douglas, to be specific.
    “I feel underdressed,” Douglas joked, and Roger chuckled even though there was no mistaking the nervous flutter in Douglas’s voice. He’d caught glimpses of tuxedos and cocktail dresses through the open door to the hall. He, of course, was as stark naked as Roger was, both of them wearing nothing but decorative leather wrist and ankle cuffs. No collar for him, which was reassuring, but a short platinum chain hung from Roger’s neck, the clasp stamped with a delicate “NP.” Nikolai’s chain, a gift to Roger, a sign of their permanent bond to one another.
    Maybe Douglas could come around to liking a collar, not that anyone was offering him one now. He wasn’t Nikolai’s in anything but his heart, after all. He was a homeless boy, the ward of a trainer awaiting a real master. A master that maybe Douglas would meet tonight.
    Strange, how much that reminded him of his early days in foster care. He was, he realized, just as scared now as he had been then. Desperately wanting the one thing he knew he couldn’t have. Terrified of what he might end up getting. Or rather, who might end up getting him.
    Roger put the comb down and used his fingers for the final touches. This long, Douglas’s hair curled a little at the ends.
    Douglas reached up and captured Roger’s hand. “I’m scared,” he said.
    Roger kissed the crown of his head. “That’s normal. It’s all right to be afraid now.”
    “But . . .” Dougie turned around to face Roger, settled on his heels between Roger’s legs, met his eyes. How much to say? If it were Nikolai here now, he wouldn’t hesitate to speak the whole truth. Nikolai would know exactly what to say to make things better, to make him braver, stronger, the perfect slave.
    Still, Roger was his friend. His occasional lover. And Nikolai’s right hand in many ways. Maybe he’d know the right thing to say, too.
    “The thing is . . . I don’t want to go, and I’m afraid that maybe I’ll do something or say something without meaning to, or that I won’t be my best, that I’ll disappoint the master, or worse, embarrass him in front of his guests. What if my subconscious tries to sabotage things? Tries to make it impossible for Nikolai to sell me?”
    Roger shook his head, took both of Douglas’s hands in his own. “That’s not going to happen. We both know you’re stronger than that. And you won’t let the master down because he didn’t let you down. All the time and care he’s given you—you’re perfect, Douglas. You’re exactly as you should be. And when you go out there, you’ll do exactly what you should do.” He raised Douglas’s right hand to his mouth, pressed his lips to it, then laid it back on Douglas’s thigh with a gentle pat. “I know you’ll make him proud.”
    “Did you? I mean, did you make him proud? Did you have a party like this?”
    Roger nodded. “But that was back in the nineties, so the fashion wasn’t as easy to take seriously.”
    Douglas laughed, bright and unexpected. “I guess there’s something to be said for going naked,” he replied, and there was no missing how much better he felt. Roger really did know just what to say, had even gone beyond Nikolai this time. Nikolai wouldn’t have thought to make him laugh. He was a wonderful man, but humor wasn’t exactly his style. He and Roger completed each other. Douglas liked to think that, in turn, he completed them . A perfect, comfortable triad.
    And it was about to be shattered.
    “Now, now,” Roger chided, swiping a thumb beneath Douglas’s eye,