The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

even though he wasn’t crying—yet. “None of that. Think of how happy you’re about to make the master, and smile.”
    Douglas did—closed his eyes and thought about the warmth in Nikolai’s eyes when he pleased him, the calm wash of satisfaction and pride and rightness at being Nikolai’s good boy. His heart settled. His breathing eased. The threat of tears receded.
    Roger said nothing more, and neither did Douglas, just sat there in silence, in perfect position, eyes closed, holding on to that image of domestic bliss in his mind. He didn’t know how long he sat there picturing forever with Nikolai. Only that he felt so very, very calm when at last Nikolai came to collect him.
    He rose to his feet, leaned into Nikolai’s touch when the man put a hand on each bare shoulder. Nikolai leaned down to murmur in his ear. “Remember, I’ll walk you in, you’ll fall into position, I’ll announce you and then step away. I’ve eighteen guests. Three are trainers, you’ll not need to perform for them, but the rest may sample as they will . . . though it’s considered impolite to leave a mess. No matter their requests, you will of course offer them your very finest behavior.”
    Sample , Douglas thought, picturing them using his mouth, touching his body. He’d perform. He would. Because it would make his master happy, and that was all that mattered.
    Nikolai’s hands massaged his shoulders. “It’s all right to be nervous, Douglas. Everyone is at their coming-out. But no one’s ever let me down, and I know you won’t either.” One hand left Douglas’s shoulder to stroke his cheek, and Nikolai offered him a private little smile. “You’re one of my very finest, Douglas. You’ll make me proud. Now, come.”

    All the usuals—Nikolai’s best customers and a few favorite colleagues—had shown up for the occasion of Douglas’s debut.
    Most importantly, Allen was here, looking sour as ever sipping at his cocktail in one corner of the room. Nikolai had shown Douglas his picture earlier today, and he tilted Douglas toward him now with a firm squeeze to his shoulder, just to make sure Douglas knew who he was truly here to impress.
    Douglas nodded almost imperceptibly, and then sank to his knees at Nikolai’s feet, a picture of submissive perfection. So beautiful, and growing more so by the day. It strained Nikolai’s heart to look at him now and know how very little time they had left together. But such was the way of things—always had been, always would be—and he took comfort in the idea that he’d likely be able to buy Douglas back sooner rather than later. Took significantly less comfort in the knowledge that Mathias’s untimely—and likely brutal—death would be the precipitator of the opportunity. But after all Mathias had put him through, the thought didn’t bother him quite so much as it might once have.
    In any case, he had an introduction to make, and he needed to be on his best behavior just as much as Douglas did, so he pushed thoughts of later from his mind, took a glass of champagne and a silver knife from Luke’s hand—my, he cleaned up nicely when he wasn’t out mucking with Nikolai’s edible livestock—and clinked his glass.
    The room quieted, soft conversations fading into silence, and all eyes turned to him—and, of course, to Douglas. “Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen—it is my honor to see each and every one of you here today. Allow me to introduce you to my newest creation, Douglas Petrovic.” At the sound of his name, Douglas raised his head, and though Nikolai couldn’t see his face, he knew the boy was smiling demurely, just as they’d rehearsed. “This one’s quite special. For one, he’s my first in nearly three years that isn’t already promised, and I know many of you have been waiting some time for a new indulgence. More importantly, he’s quite the unique creature. A sharp mind, a sweet body, a poet’s heart, a burning desire to love and be loved . . .” A theatrical pause, a slightly naughty smile, “and an absolutely spectacular mouth. I invite you to try for yourself.”
    Now that energized his guests. They closed in, drinks in hand, to watch, or to try the boy for themselves. All except for Allen, off sulking in a corner with his wife (who looked quite eager to get closer to Douglas but resigned to stay by her husband’s side), no doubt impatient to see what he’d really come for. He wasn’t a popular man at these