Slave to a Sadist: Rumour Has It
#3 of Slave to a Sadist
Søren has quite a reputation among the slaves.
Søren watched him with that cold, unfeeling gaze as Southstar neared. A studied gaze was nothing new--being a slave normalized many otherwise uncomfortable situations. Rather like the one he was in now. His new Master, the sadistic maned wolf, lay propped up in a nest of pillows which decorated the head of his oversized bed. He was shirtless, and his high-waisted trousers lay unbuttoned and shoved down below his hips. A sizeable erection protruded from that opening, red and neglected. However, that particular treat was not the feline's aim at the moment. Across the wolf's bare chest spattered two or three thick jets of Southstar's seed. And Søren had promised that if Southstar made a mess, he would have to clean it with his tongue.
He knew Søren was watching him, waiting to see if he remembered. If he would obey a command given earlier and not repeated. Southstar reached his destination and raised his lowered eyes, unsurprised to immediately meet his Master's. Their nearness was intimate. The wolf's scent thick with every breath, his own a salty aftertaste.
"May I touch you, Master?"
Søren's head lifted almost imperceptibly, his eyes unmoving. "Do what you must."
There was an ominous tone to the wolf's words that made Southstar hesitate. He decided to play it as safe as possible, but even when he placed his hand on Søren's hip for balance as he leaned over, he felt the wolf's muscles tense. Søren said nothing, his hands resting on the duvet, still watching through slightly lidded eyes.
Southstar took a steadying breath and leaned forward, wide pink tongue emerging to lap at his Master's soiled chest. Søren's fur was soft and clean. The thick, salty spunk clung stubbornly, but was no match for a bristly feline tongue. He felt himself getting hard again as he performed the humiliating task, entertaining himself with the thought that Søren would be proud of his good behavior. He moved lower, licking the sticky drips down the wolf's abdomen. He was acutely aware of the proximity of the wolf's cock to his cheek. He could feel the heat coming from it, the wolfy musk was stronger. Instinctively, as he moved lower, the hand he'd placed on Søren's waist slid down, and his Master twitched, one hand scruffing him with practiced ease. Southstar froze, tongue halfway out of his parted lips.
"That's enough," Søren declared. He pushed the slave away and sat up, sliding from the bed and pulling his trousers up. Southstar watched with more than a little disappointment as Søren tucked his erection away, buttoning it up into an uncomfortable-looking bulge. The cat was perplexed at this strange behavior, but kept his face blank, kneeling at the edge of the bed as he awaited further orders.
"Go to the kitchens. Bring me a plate. Some fruit and cheese." The wolf had pulled his shirt on and was tucking its tails into the wide waistband of his pants. He didn't turn to Southstar when he spoke, and the cat knew better than to wait to be told again. He slid down from the bed and took half a step, before remembering the mouse slave that'd come in to straighten up before. He sank to his knees and crawled to the door, hoping that Søren would see him and approve.
Once in the hallway, Southstar stood. His cock was still at attention, but most slaves weren't allowed clothing unless dressed in costumes by their Master. He blushed when he passed a servant in the hall, but his eyes were on the stone floor, and he didn't notice if he'd been stared at or likewise ignored. When he reached the end of the hall, he realized he didn't know where he was going. He'd never been in this building before. Cursing under his breath, he looked around for a sign, sniffing to try and catch the smell of baking bread. He started to worry he'd be caught loitering in the hall.
Better to keep moving, then. He turned right. Then left. Then left again. Then he lost count.
Thinking of how Søren would show his displeasure, Southstar stopped the next servant he passed. The yote was wearing a uniform, which put his station above a slave, but the cat's relief was palpable when he offered to help regardless, evident with much bowing and thanks.
"You don't have a collar on," the servant remarked, casting a sidelong glance. "And it looks as though you've never had."
"No," Southstar conceded, touching his bare throat. "You're right. I spent time with the Sunlin Pack. The Lord of the House purchased me for his son--Master Søren--and if he chooses to keep me, I suppose I'll be collared then."
The coyote was silent as they walked, just the click-clack of his claws on the stone below. Southstar knew he'd at least heard the same rumours that'd reached his own ears before meeting Søren. The silence built and Southstar could tell the other was bursting to say something.
"He's not that bad," the feline said softly.
Bright yellow eyes probed the slave suspiciously.
"He's just rough."
"You have some blood on you," the servant commented casually.
Southstar shut up.
They arrived at the kitchen, and the coyote left to carry on with his duties. Southstar sighed, then went to the ladies in aprons and gave them Søren's order. They also watched him curiously, but he didn't feel like talking. He simply waited until the platter was prepared, got directions back, and went on his way.
When he came back to the suite, he knocked once, then opened the door. Søren was at the desk, writing with a quill. He didn't turn when Southstar entered. He quietly carried the tray over to his Master, kneeling beside him. Søren still didn't move to acknowledge him or to take anything from the tray. The quill scratched on paper rhythmically for some time. Southstar was slightly startled when the wolf put the quill away, closed the ink, and sprinkled sand on the parchment before shaking it dry, folding it, and sealing it with wax. Søren leaned back in the chair.
"What took you so long?"
Southstar kept his face a mask. "I got lost. I apologize, Sir. It won't happen again."
"I hadn't considered that you are new to this place. Your next errand will be chaperoned."
"Yes, Sir."
There was a pause, then Søren took a grape. "You are blushing. Tell me why."
Southstar chewed his lip, feeling his ears grow hot as his flush intensified. "Everyone knows I'm here for you."
Søren made a soft noncommittal sound, waving his hand for his slave to elaborate.
"I-... um."
"Look at me. I won't tell you again."
Wide-eyed, Southstar obeyed. His ears were flat against his head. Søren barely looked interested in what else he had to say, but clearly he was still waiting. He'd bitten the grape in half and was picking out the seeds with a claw.
"They're all afraid of you."
Søren turned his head to look at him directly, pinning him with a focused gaze. "Are you afraid of me?"
"Yes."
"This arouses you?"
Southstar was suddenly aware that his erection, which had flagged during his panic in the halls, was now back in full force. "N-no, Sir, I mean, yes, it might... I'm not sure, Sir."
"Hm." Søren leaned back in his chair again and gazed at the ceiling, rubbing his chin in thought. "I think it's only fair then if I don't allow you to climax until you can tell me why you can't be in my presence for ten minutes without that happening." He eyed the slave's crotch pointedly.
"As it pleases you, Sir."
"It does not please me."
Southstar didn't know how to respond. His mouth opened, then closed, fixated upon suddenly by Søren's steel gaze.
And then the wolf's hand was around his throat. The fruit- and cheese-laden tray was flung, food flying, and he was forced to stand as his Master did so. He struggled to keep eye contact with Søren even as his body instinctively battled for air, his hands grasping the sinewy forearm which lifted him by his throat, doing nothing to loosen those strong fingers leaving bruises around his neck.
When Søren was standing at his full height, Southstar's toes didn't so much as brush the floor. Panic was setting in, the snowcat flailing weakly against the wolf, who was scarcely more than a statue. His expression was blank, those eyes frozen and focused, grip firm and unyielding.
He dropped him, suddenly. Southstar's wide feet skittered and slid on the ground before he fell to his knees, rubbing his neck and coughing, his body desperately choking down air. With tears in his eyes, he looked up, keeping Søren in his bleary gaze as he recovered.
Søren sneered down at him. "Clean that up. Eat what you wish. I have work to attend to. Wait for me on the bed. I will expect a cigar and rum."