The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

the man did seem to know what was best for his own body. Nikolai, for his part, enjoyed the show. Loved sitting on the man’s bed and watching him jump rope or run or attack his punching bag with single-minded ferocity. There was an animalistic fierceness in him, but also a uniquely human resolve that carried him through the more mundane or unpleasant tasks Nikolai gave him, through the myriad of domestic and sexual service chores he trained Mathias in each day. Whether fighting or fucking or simply folding his master’s clothes, Nikolai loved to watch the play of his muscles, his broad shoulders and tight, hard ass and powerful legs. Still a bit leaner than when he’d been acquired, but getting there. All in due time.
    His brother, on the other side of the coin, got softer and sweeter with each passing day. He took well to his chores, and always smiled and flushed and lowered his lashes when Nikolai passed him in the hall or the kitchen. Nikolai still hiked with him each morning—no need for hobbles or cuffs, not anymore—and often sent for him when he needed his back rubbed, or when he wanted someone to read aloud to him while he lazed in bed. Douglas took remarkably well to service: to cooking and cleaning, of course, but also to piano and poetry, and showed no evidence of his former heterosexuality when he worshipped at his master’s altar. In the shower. In bed. In front of Roger. With Roger. The boy had learned his place so well now that Nikolai never even bothered to lock his door anymore. Instead he let Douglas come and go as he pleased—and was continually delighted to see that every choice Douglas made was made to please his master.
    But no honeymoon could last forever, and as much as Nikolai hated to say it, it was time to move on to the challenge and drudgery of marriage. Time for Douglas to prove he was committed enough to make this work in the long term. To take the bad with the good. To perform even when the performance was distasteful or downright painful. He’d need to arrange for the boy to prove his dedication to service with a man not his rightful master—a cruel and unhygienic one, to be specific. And then there was Douglas’s debut to consider, although that wouldn’t be for at least another month, depending on the boy’s performance. There was also, of course, the final severing with his old life. In that, at least, Nikolai could kill two birds with one stone.
    He’d begin, then, with the most challenging test. Well, he had never been a timid man.

    Dougie liked these quiet moments best.
    He liked nearly everything, lately, but if he had to pick a favorite, this would be it, just sitting quietly at Nikolai’s feet, letting his mind wander where it would, while Nikolai above him handled everything important and stressful and demanding. He could barely remember what it felt like to be stressed, to be thinking about money and deadlines and assignments and scholarships and Mat’s fights and the job market. That life was a fading dream . . . No, it was a nightmare Nikolai had woken him from.
    Nikolai’s cock in his mouth was soft but heavy on his tongue, a constant warm weight that he happily took on. He’d suckle on occasion, or steal a swipe with his tongue, and Nikolai would chuckle and let him, or sometimes if he was trying to concentrate, flick him on the ear or pinch his cheek, but never cruelly. If Dougie was very lucky, Nikolai would harden and lengthen in his mouth, and if he was very very lucky, Nikolai would let Dougie bring him off, right there in the keyhole of his desk while he worked, and then let him swallow a big gratifying mouthful of cum. The petting and praise that’d inevitably follow was nearly as satisfying as knowing he’d been responsible for Nikolai’s pleasure.
    For now, though, Nikolai stayed soft, and that was just fine, too. Dougie lounged between his master’s legs, head pillowed on his master’s thigh, and mentally rehearsed piano exercises to the clack of Nikolai’s rhythmic typing. Sometimes on days like this, when Nikolai’s work went long and he didn’t want to be disturbed even for a moment, the soft cock in Dougie’s mouth would fill his throat with something entirely different from cum. No pleasure, no warning, just a hot bitter flow, endless and choking. (God, the first time he’d vomited, and Nikolai had been so angry that Dougie was glad he’d beaten him.) But Dougie was a good boy, and after that first time, he’d learned to