Succession (3 page)

“Face the wall and unzip,” I say. The crowd that followed us voices their displeasure. They want to see the boy, but I can tell he’s starting to panic. It’s best that I keep him facing away from the others. All they need is proof that I’m fucking him.

“If you don’t like it, go look at one of the boys on display,” I growl, placing a possessive hand on Sascha’s hip. “This one’s mine. I’ll do exactly what I want with him.”

I feel Sascha shudder, but he unzips and waits for the next order. I need him scared, not frozen.

“Put your arms back,” I tell him, barely loud enough to hear. I’m trying to be gentle with him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He obeys, tense, and I reach around him, taking the edges of his jumpsuit and stripping of off easily. I slide it down, letting it pool around his ankles, and I grip his waist firmly and lift him as I kick the jumpsuit aside. It’s the best I can do to make him comfortable.

“Get to fucking him already!” a voice calls out.

“Give it to him hard!”

We’re entertainment. I’m glad they can’t see Sascha’s face, or mine, because he is terrified beyond belief and I’m growing irritated. For a pretty pet, the boy can’t act to save his goddamned life.

“Get against that wall and spread those little legs of yours,” I order, indicating the one area in the room that’s not taken up by a bed, toilet, or sink.

He complies, trembling. I wonder what’s been done to him to make him this afraid. The scars that cover his back point me in the logical direction, but I’m certain there’s more. I just hope he gets through this without spoiling it for both of us.

I unzip and press against his back, clamping a hand over his shoulder to make sure he stays in place. I don’t trust him not to do something stupid like fight back or try to beg, but when I place my cock against his ass, I feel him brace himself. I start to thrust, careful, riding between his asscheeks but not penetrating him. Sascha tenses and I wait for him to catch on.

“Oh yeah,” I moan, loud enough that our crowd can hear it. “Yeah, this pretty boy has such a tight little ass!”

Sascha is awfully stiff for someone whose ass I’m supposed to be pounding. I lean forward, pressing my face into his neck, frustrated when he tenses and pulls away like he’s expecting me to bite him.

“Make some noise, Sascha,” I whisper in his ear. “I can’t do all the work, here.”

He makes a half-assed attempt, a few grunts and gasps, but he seems more confused than anything. He’s still tense, waiting. I don’t know how much more obvious I have to make it.

“Stop holding back, Sy!” someone from the crowd calls. “Fuck him harder!”

“Oh, I’ll fuck this little bitch hard all right!” I reply, thrusting more vigorously. I ride up and down the crack of his ass, pretending to love it.

“Scream for me, pretty boy!” I order, pounding against him hard enough that he struggles to keep his head from banging against the wall. “Let everyone know how much my cock is tearing up your ass!”

Instead, he stays quiet, keeping up with the moans and whimpers like we’re engaging in a rather dull session of foreplay. I nibble at his earlobe, hoping to pull him out of whatever trance he’s in.

“Scream, Sascha,” I whisper, my words taking on a desperate edge.

Something must click for him, because he lets out a believable, pained scream as I thrust at him again. “Please,” he whimpers. “You’re too big! It hurts!”

The crowd starts clapping. I’m relieved that we’re convincing enough, and I hope the boy doesn’t disappear on me again.

“You’ll take it, pretty boy!” I demand, adding to the mood. “You’ll take it and you’ll thank me for it later! You’re mine!”

Sascha makes some more whimpering pleas and begs for mercy. I lean in, close enough that I can see the slight smile on his face. He’s finally figured out that we’re acting.

“Come on his face!” The cheers and roars of approval indicate that this would be the preferred method of discharge.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty boy?” I taunt, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’d like to wear my come on your face all day?”

“I’d rather have it down my throat,” he replies, just barely sarcastic enough to be believable.

I keep rutting against him for a few more minutes, trying not to laugh, then I twist Sascha around to face me.

“Get on your knees,” I order, hoping my face conveys my apologies. When the laughter and taunting from the crowd brings that haunted look back to Sascha’s face, I decide to finish up quickly. I grab my cock, jerking it like it’s my sole priority.

“Better close your eyes, pretty boy!” I taunt. “And open that pretty mouth of yours, while you’re at it!”

Sascha obeys, resigned to what he thinks is his fate, and I try not think about how it actually would feel to have his lips around my cock. I have to finish our show, though, and I moan as I bring myself closer. When I’m almost there, I grab Sascha by the hair, pulling him close, and almost out of the path of my come. The onlookers make a noise of disappointment.

“Come on, how the hell could you miss!” a disappointed voice calls out. “I had better aim when I was twelve!”

Sascha opens his eyes and closes his mouth, looking shocked. I grin at him before looking back over my shoulder.

“I guess I was a little off-balance from squeezing into that tight ass,” I call back, cocky and sated. “Too bad you won’t ever know how good it is!”

There are a couple of grumbles after this, but the crowd quickly disperses. Sascha and I are left alone. I brush the come off of his face with my finger, wiping it on my leg before offering him my hand. It’s the best I can offer.

He stands warily.

“Stay close to me, Sascha,” I say quietly, once we’re face-to-face. “My reputation only goes so far. Follow my lead and you’ll do all right.”

He nods.

“We can talk more tonight. If I tell you to do anything, anything at all, you need to do it. Promise me you’ll do it?”

“I promise,” he answers without a thought. Someone has beaten obedience into him.

“I’m sorry,” I add on, almost a whisper. “It was the best I could do.”

“I appreciate it,” he replies. At least this time, I can tell he’s being honest.

I stay close to Sy, as ordered. He keeps me close, even taking me to use the toilet. It’s humiliating, but I’m pretty certain he’s working in my best interest. Once I figured out what he was doing in the cell, it made sense. Once I stopped having flashbacks of what Torenze and Cash’s mother did to me, it was even sort of fun to join Sy in his game. I’m still nervous, because I still don’t know why he’s so set on protecting me.

After dinner, we filter back into the common room. Two guards come in, different ones than were here this morning.

“We hear there’s a new boy! Which one of you is it?”

I raise my hand, looking for Sy for approval. He nods at me, barely.

The guard whistles. “Bet you’ve been claimed already, haven’t you, sweetcheeks?”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

The guards leer at me. “And who might you belong to?”

“Sy wanted him,” Marvin volunteers, sounding apologetic. “Boring little fuck, anyway.”

“Syrus,” the first guard muses, glaring.

Sy steps up, seemingly unfazed. “Yes, sir.”

“Look at you, always keeping your nose clean. Is this what you were waiting for, the perfect boy? It’s a pity with your reluctance to share. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” The guard is trying to get a rise.

“I guess not, sir,” Sy answers, still impassive. “I don’t take part in other people’s enjoyment; I expect to keep mine to myself.”

“Isn’t that grand,” the second guard rolls his eyes. “A felon’s slave with a heart of gold.”

“Well, we’d still like to watch that enjoyment,” the first guard decides. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Sy answers. “On your knees, pretty boy.”

The words are there, the domineering, cutting tone is there, but his heart isn’t behind it. His lips are pressed too tightly together and he won’t look me in the eye. He’s faking disinterest about as poorly as Cash fakes it. I take a step closer to him, hesitating in case he changes his mind.

Bad idea.

He grabs me by the hair and kicks my legs out from under me; the pressure on my scalp the only thing keeping me from eating the concrete with my teeth. While he holds me in place, his free hand jerks his zipper down and yanks his cock out, shoving it toward my face.

“Show them who you belong to, pretty boy.”

I feel tears spring to my eyes from pain and humiliation. I’m smarter than this; I shouldn’t let my stupid feelings fuck up whatever plans Sy has for me. His plans are keeping me safe.

I go to my task immediately, and it takes a few moments before I can bring myself to look up at him, expecting disappointment. Instead, he mouths “sorry” at me between grunts and thrusts.

It’s not long before I feel Sy’s hands fisting in my hair, pretending to pull me down. As soon as I move, he stops pulling, allowing me to stay there on my own. The guards are appreciating our show.

He finishes in my mouth. I don’t need to be told to swallow. When I finish, I stay on my knees since I haven’t been told otherwise. Sy zips up his jumpsuit as if this were an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is.

“Someone else will benefit from how worked up you just got me,” one of the guards comments, casting a lustful eye over the rest of the population. “We want two of you. If you feel so gracious as to share one of your pets, we might share favors in return!”

“What’s up for grabs tonight?” Marvin asks, like a businessman.

“We have one leftover dinner and a cigarette,” the second guard declares. “Been a long time since we’ve had one of those. Trade restrictions outside are getting awfully tight, especially with the riots that have been happening out there. Hard enough to get cigarettes for myself.”

A few voices murmur through the slaves, and I wonder if anyone but me knows the cause of the riots. After a few moments, two slaves “volunteer” to go with the guards, with considerable pressure. Once again, I’m thankful to be with Sy.

I feel his fingers brushing through my hair and I look up, wishing I could ask him the thousands of questions that are swirling through my head. I stand, relieved when he keeps a possessive hand on my shoulder.

“You okay?”

I nod quickly.

“Sascha,” he looks at me desperately. “Please do as I say from now on.”

I’m not the only one at risk. He is, too. “I will. I’m sorry.”

He nods. “It will be time for bed soon. We can talk then.”

I follow him around as he makes his way around the common room. Sy has quite a few people who seem fond of him. I wonder just how long he’s been here, how many other “boys” he’s had before me. I wonder what he ended up doing with them. Our arrangement can’t be very rewarding for him. Everyone else is getting real sex, real energetic blowjobs, favors from the guards—all this arrangement seems to gain him is a lot of trouble and some dirty looks.

Finally, we are directed to our cells for bed. Sy pulls me along, making it clear to everyone that I will sleep with him. The other beds in the cell are empty.

I stand there, uncertain, the faint lights from the exit sign at the end of the row barely illuminating anything.

“Take your jumpsuit off,” Sy orders, loud.

I fail to hold back the shaky breath that I’m trying not to let out. I don’t understand him. Was the show earlier just because he wanted to wait until we were alone? I feel around for the zipper and start to strip.

“We get clean jumpsuits every other day,” Sy explains quietly. “They smell better if you don’t sleep in them.”

I breathe a little more easily. Trusting Cash is hard enough. I know what he wants from me. Trusting Sy is nearly impossible.

“Besides, if you shift around too much, your dick rubs against the zipper and it hurts like a son of a bitch.”

I laugh, in part because of the sheer ridiculousness of the advice, and in part because this is the first thing I’ve heard Sy say that’s not completely serious. He’s trying to joke, to lighten the mood. I appreciate it.

Still, I flinch when I feel him come up next to me.

“Easy,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “My bed is over here. Get in, under the sheets.”

I’m still skeptical, but I obey. I slip between the cold, scratchy sheets, and I shiver. I feel the thin mattress depress next to me, and wait for the unwelcome sensation of a strange body next to me, someone else’s unfamiliar skin touching mine, someone who’s not my master, someone who has no reason to care about me.

I’m surprised when I realize that Sy has placed himself on top of the sheet, keeping us from touching.

“I’m not out to hurt you, Sascha,” he whispers, settling in. “I’m sorry if I made you think that.”

“I don’t understand.” I hate that I don’t know his motivations.

“I just wanted to help you out. It’s not every day that we get someone in here who looks like he’s about to cry. I felt bad for you.”

“I could have handled it!” I retort, offended. I realize how ungrateful I sound. “I mean, thank you. I know I probably seem like some rich guy’s pet, but it hasn’t always been like that. I can handle myself.”