The Flesh Cartel - Episode #4: Consequences

relish for some time yet.
    Right now, in fact, he clearly feared it, hands fisting tight on his thighs as those big blue Disney
    eyes shimmered with wetness. And his posture was appalling. All hunched and tight, hiding himself
    as best he could.
    “Pull yourself together. I don’t have a taste for crying men. Hands behind your back. Spread your
    knees. Didn’t Madame teach you anything?”
    “Y-yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.” He spread his knees, straightened his shoulders, folded his hands
    behind his back. Still far too tense to look elegant, but that was all right. There was time for that.
    “Lovely,” Nikolai said, and the boy looked pleased a moment before he remembered to be angry
    and afraid again. “Very pretty. I could sit and look at you like this all day and not get bored. Someday, I might. Your future master may well use you as decoration sometimes—live statuary, if you will.
    And so you must learn patience, and stillness, and discipline to hold position, no matter how tiring or boring. Or painful, if you’ve been tied cruelly.”
    Questions brimmed in the boy’s still-watering eyes: Now? Will you tie me cruelly?
    “I have other plans for you today,” Nikolai said, as if Douglas had asked aloud. “Tell me. Had
    you ever been anally penetrated before you were procured? Perhaps by your own hand? Honest
    answer.”
    Douglas shook his head. “N— Um, well, I mean . . .” Oh, that blush was a lovely sight on his
    sun-starved skin. “No. No, sir.”
    “Are you lying to me right now?”
    A gulp. “I . . . Sir, there was one time. When Mat . . . when Mat came out. I tried it just . . . just to see if I was like him. Only one finger. I didn’t . . . I didn’t even make it past the tip. It was weird. I didn’t like it. So I guess . . . I guess I decided I wasn’t like him at all.”
    How delightfully naive—Nikolai had to stifle a smile. “I don’t want to lead you into thinking that
    your sexuality is in any way relevant anymore, but you realize anal stimulation isn’t the sole province of gay men, don’t you? The physiology doesn’t discriminate.”
    “I was ten . But I know that now, sir.”
    “I think you’re in need of a demonstration. Come.” He held out his hand, pleased to see the boy
    didn’t flinch at the gentle motion. “Let us muss your finely made bed with some much-needed pleasure
    in your life.”
    Not unexpectedly, Douglas didn’t take his hand. “Sir, I . . .” More furious blushing. Nikolai
    withheld his scolding for the disobedience, waiting to see if the boy might reveal some useful truth. “I appreciate the offer, but I . . . I don’t want t—”
    “What you want ceased to matter the moment you were procured.”
    “Kidnapped, you mean!” Douglas shouted. And yet he hadn’t unfolded his hands from their neat
    position behind his back.
    Nikolai backhanded him. His cheekbone felt like porcelain compared to his brother’s. “ Rescued ,
    if you ask me. From a life of aimless, needless suffering. From a world of animal cruelty. From a
    loveless existence, Douglas. Everyone you’ve ever loved has left you. But I won’t, Douglas. And I’ll
    always love you, if you let me.”
    “Shut up!” Douglas wailed. “Just shut up and fuck me already. Do whatever you want. Stick
    whatever you want up my ass, I don’t care. Just stop with the fucking mind games! Please. Sir.”
    A whole tirade , and he still hadn’t broken position. Hadn’t cried, either, though he still looked very much on the verge. Nikolai squatted in front of him, cupped Douglas’s chin in a gentle hand. “Is
    that what you want?”
    Douglas sniffed, blinked back tears and hardened his features. “I thought what I wanted didn’t
    matter anymore.”
    “Then why ask for anything at all?”
    That one seemed to stump the boy. He said nothing. Finally shrugged.
    “Hope,” Nikolai told him. “You hope for things. Hope is a fool’s game. Hope will only break
    your heart. Like your parents did. Like Pattie and Mike did. Like Mathias did.”
    The fuck you was stamped all over Douglas’s face. For a moment, Nikolai was certain the boy
    would spit on him. But then wisdom won out. He said nothing. Did nothing.
    “You hope I won’t hurt you. I hadn’t yet, not until you went off like some spoiled child and
    forced my hand. Will you force me again? Or will you lay hope by the wayside where it belongs, and
    balance your choices and consequences like the smart young man you are?”
    Douglas