Big Bang 2013: Have Hatred and Gravity Won - 1/19
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Part One
Jared's cheeks were rosy warm and he was off-balance. The effects of too much wine were starting to manifest, which was good, because he needed something to get him through the pompous tedium of the banquet. His current view, of the pert ass of a man bending to pick a napkin from the floor, also helped.
Pa had a new slave and he was hot. He was over six foot of lean meat and muscle, with the face of an angel, golden freckles on his nose, and the pouty pink lips of a cock sucking demon. The slave was undecorated, perfect in grace and his eyes turned to the floor without any hint that he noticed the raucous bawdiness of the President and his men. He wasn’t young, not even a teenager, maybe ten years older than Jared. He was the epitome of what his father enjoyed, a beautiful specimen, and eager to please. Jared spared himself a downwards glance when his father wasn’t looking, because damn, he hoped he wasn’t a eunuch. Just because his father didn’t approve of sex with the crawling classes didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it a try, and he normally got his way. The slave's pants weren't tight enough to give anything away. Jared licked his lips. He'd just have to find a way to remove them.
The slave retreated to the kitchen with dirty plates, and Jared idly pushed his dessert around his plate, wondering how soon he could make excuses to leave. He had a big appetite, but the quantity of food served was bigger, and only a few still ate. Government representatives fawned around his father at the main table of a grandly decorated, and crimson-carpeted dining hall. His father ignored his youngest son as usual, guzzling a bellyful of wine for every plentiful mouthful of dessert, while extolling the virtues of vegetables, grown over the graves of his political opponents. Jared drained the last of his wine in a bid to silence his frustration.
“Lord Jared?” Jared was startled by a low drawl. The boy, no, hell, man-slave, was by his elbow offering port from a crystal carafe.
“Not a Lord. Don’t call me that,” As his Pa's enemies and paranoia multiplied, the President increasingly justified muting his personal slaves. He obviously hadn’t found a reason to silence this one yet, and Jared didn't like to be compared to the creeps who coveted meaningless titles. Still, Jared considered all the things the tongue in that pretty head could do, and decided he’d like to keep it there.
The new slave risked a sly glance at Jared’s father. “The Lord President Padalecki thought you might take more wine.” He lowered his voice, so Jared could only just hear, “I don't think you should. Nobody likes a hangover, and drunk doesn't improve anybody's behavior.” Green-gold eyes rolled their derision in the direction of his Pa. The slave withdrew the carafe without waiting for Jared's answer and started to walk around his chair.
Jared took a moment to process the implied insult, before his hand shot out, to grasp the slave’s forearm. “You need to watch that tongue, or you will lose it,” he threatened, as he yanked him back with a force that reddened his skin and twisted his arm. Vintage port splashed onto Jared’s Ralph Lauren shirt, and his father’s attention focused on the scene with a narrow-eyed glare. Fuck.
“My useless son is wasting my liquor, and there is a slave who cannot serve. What shall we do?” President Padalecki was loud in his scorn. His cronies laughed heartily and hollered for whip, strap or blade.
Jared’s cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. He slammed his napkin to the table, and his chair caught in the carpet and toppled as he stood up. He didn’t lose grip of the slave who looked between him and his father with startled and unusually bold green eyes. “You don’t get to look at us!” Jared yelled at the slave, before turning to shout at his father, “Look what your bitch did! Fucking idiot needs a lesson.”
The President’s eyes smoldered dangerously. He spoke to the entire room while fixing Jared in his stare, “Are you too pathetic to take a stand for yourself? Is that why you can’t take a uniform and fight? We know you would fuck him, but not fuck him up, because you’ll never be a man, Jared.”
There was a sudden silence, broken only by the shift of father’s bodyguards, assessing the risk. The tension between father and son hung heavily in the air and the discomfort of it spread. Their dinner companions buried their noses in wine glasses, or pretended to look at their plates. They let the scene play out with a morbid fascination. It wasn’t the first time that Jared and his father had clashed, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It always made for drama and gossip.
“Get me the cat.” Jared’s jaw jutted in determination.
His father hooted with laughter and doubled over.
“I said, get me the cat.”
“Jensen isn’t your property to punish, you worthless degenerate. Maybe I will cut off his balls with a rusty knife, and I can, because he belongs to me. Everything here does." There was a hint of pride in his father’s slurred statement. He guarded his new toys with pride, and the slave had undoubtedly been an expensive one.
“He harmed me, it is my prerogative,” spat Jared. He was shaking and he was unsure if it was anger, fear or excitement that fueled him. The slave, Jensen, was pale in his grip, his bravado gone in the face of his impending punishment. He had to know there was no running from it, or pleading out of it.
His father sneered at Jared but he had his favorite girl collect his fiercest cat-o-nine-tails. “Show me you’re a man, Jared. I don’t believe you are.” His cruel hazel eyes fixed on his son and his teeth bared in a crooked smile.
Jared seethed with resentment; he was seventeen, no boy and not weak. This shouldn’t have happened. He was humiliated, yet again, in front of his father, his father’s cronies, and his late mother’s detractors. It was entirely the slave’s fault, and in that moment, rage burned and he hated him.
Sometimes, Jared was convinced that his Pa deliberately tempted him with handsome slaves then damaged them, to punish him for his sexuality and his choices. This time he wouldn’t. It was Jared’s turn to take the slave’s perfection while his father still coveted it.
He twisted a hand into Jensen’s collar. With the other, he swiped crockery and crystal from the table, shattering it with a noise that echoed against the wood-paneled walls. He bent the man over, slammed his face onto the table, and then took his dagger from its sheath. Jensen’s eyes widened in horror, and he bucked against Jared’s hold. Jared twisted his collar until his breath was cut off, and then kicked his legs from under him. Jensen wheezed, and Jared only let go when he slumped, defeated and gasping on the table. His cheek dotted snow-white linen with bright flecks of blood drawn by broken glass and porcelain. Jared admired the bright color contrast, as he snarled in the slave’s ear, “There is armed security at every exit. Stay there, and take your punishment, if you want to live.”
His knife was wicked sharp. He let it reflect the bright light from the chandeliers before he sliced through the fabric of Jensen’s pants, and up his shirt, ripping his uniform apart. The clothes peeled neatly from his skin and Jared took a moment to admire the slave’s perfection. Jensen froze in place with only the heave of his breath from the moment the knife nosed into his pants. His terror was tangible, and it amused Jared. He didn’t intend to inflict permanent damage to an ass as fine as this, but the slave didn’t have to know. He sheathed his knife, but he didn’t think he was done with it yet.
The cat-o-nine-tails felt heavy in Jared’s hand. He knew how to use it, and thanks to his father, he knew the pain of knotted leather against flesh. He remembered how it felt when it drew blood to the surface, and lit every nerve with agony. Jared raised his arm, stared defiantly into his father’s face. He brought the flogger down against the skin of Jensen’s shoulders, and it landed with a thud and cry of pain from the slave. He hesitated before the next stroke, and his father jeered an insult, “Knew you were a pussy, Jared.”
Jared tipped his head and considered his father. He wouldn’t back down. Not this time. He smoothed the leather handle in his hand, considered the golden-dotted and pale canvas of Jensen’s back. He leaned over him, trailed his hand lightly over the angry marks that the first lash had left, and slid his fingertips lower, to stroke the round cheeks of the trembling ass. Breathing hot in Jensen’s ear, he whispered, “Don’t make a sound.” He grabbed his used napkin, balled it up and forced it into the slave’s mouth.
The second strike left hot pink stripes over the swell of Jensen’s ass and the third struck his thighs. With each one, Jared breathed deep and Jensen flinched and grunted. By the tenth strike, Jared reached a steady rhythm and tears of defeat rolled down the slave’s face. Guests murmured in disbelief. His father’s expression didn’t lose its drunken arrogance. Jared didn’t stop at twenty, and Jensen’s back was a bloody mess by twenty-five. He barely noticed the slave’s legs give way, and the roll of his eyes back into his head, as he slumped unconscious over the table. Jared was sweaty and satisfied. His father’s furious face was worth every stroke. He threw the cat to the floor, next to the slave, and drew his knife once more. He crouched to carve a neat ‘JP’ over the chiseled perfection of the slave’s cheekbone, and then stalked from the dining hall. His father waved an impatient signal to his bodyguards who lowered their weapons to let Jared pass. Jared had the final words, “I believe the slave has my mark now, Pa.”
Jared let adrenalin carry him out of his father’s sight. He hadn’t thought past his defiant display, and now had to wonder if he would be disowned and thrown from the safety of the compound. Pa was an unpredictable drunk, and he made no secret of his disappointment in Jared. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, to catch his breath and look for a particular slave in a kitchen that bustled with the aftermath of a nine course banquet.
“Fin!” Jared beckoned a slight blond slave who stood by a sink of soapy water, scrubbing a pot. There was an extra loud clang as the boy slammed the pan onto the stand in obvious temper. Everything else hushed, and Jared was abruptly aware of being stared at by every servant and slave in the kitchen.
“You said it was my choice, I never have to,” Fin’s voice wavered. It was a childish plea, a far cry from his usual ebullient manner.
“I need you,” stated Jared, firmly.
“Cook needs me, Master Jared.” Fin turned away from him. Cook raised her hands in a fluster, “It is a complicated banquet, Master Jared.”
“We have finished eating.” Jared’s voice was laced with menace. There was no reason for any of the staff to respect him, but he was used to their co-operation.
The young scullery maid, Madison, bit her lip and pushed Fin forwards, “You should go,” she said.
Jared smiled at her. Madison was one of his favorites. She lowered her eyes and her lip quivered. She stepped behind Fin and hid. Fin reached a hand to touch her and it looked protective. Jared swept his gaze around the kitchen once more. He sensed fear and disapproval in hastily down-turned faces, and the fumbling pretense of work. Someone had seen him flog the new slave, and whispers had already spread. He addressed them as a group, with an icy glare. “Get on with your work, or I will report you all for slacking.” It was an empty threat but he knew they wouldn’t take the chance of it. Sideways glances were exchanged with Fin, and tasks were resumed.
“It’s okay,” Fin reassured Cook, as he stepped to Jared’s side.
Jared banged his bedroom door behind him. He didn’t need small talk and he didn’t want to think. He had Fin slammed against the wall in no time. His hands looped into the belt of Fin’s pants, and he pulled them down, exposing the twink’s perfect round ass and his neat, cut cock hung flaccid between his thighs. Jared buried his face into Fin’s shoulder, licked the line of his neck, and dragged his teeth along his collarbone, stopping to suck a purple bruise into his skin. His hands fumbled to get his own pants down around his eager erection. “Are you ready for me, Fin? I bet you’re all greased up for me, you kinky little shit. I bet you’re just waiting for me to split your ass.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jared’s huge hands gripped Fin’s hips and lifted him easily. The boy’s arms circled his neck and his legs hitched up to squeeze around Jared’s trim waist. Jared braced them both with Fin’s back to the wall, and he didn’t waste any time in breaching the tight young ass. He let gravity and a single powerful thrust do the work as his thick cock drove into the tight and fluttering hole. Fin’s head dropped onto Jared's shoulder to bury his face into the flexing flesh with a groan. The boy seemed as enthusiastic as ever. He rocked his hips into Jared’s thrusts and slid up his dick to slam back down, impaled and stuffed with cock. There were whimpers and groans, and encouragements of ‘do it’ and ‘fuck me’ dropping from his lips.
Jared snapped his hips and threw his head back, no thought for anything except the push and slide, breath, and hot flesh, chest to chest and balls deep in this delicious boy. He lost himself in need and lust until his world was white with bliss and a final harsh plunge had him tipped over the edge and coming hard. He groaned and his hands slid over the smooth painted wall, where a series of bloody finger-prints stained the magnolia surface. Jared blinked at the marks, then at his hands. He hadn’t washed after flogging the slave, and he remembered the horror of the man’s back when he’d finished with him. He eased his soft cock from Fin before placing him in a curled bundle on the floor. He wiped himself with tissues, tucked himself back in and scraped his fingers through his thick, mussed hair. “Shit!”
There was no response. Fin was panting hard, his face turned into the rug. Jared toed at his arm. “I said, Shit!”
“What?” inquired Fin, obediently.
“I got blood on the decor; Pa’s gonna go ape.”
“I’ll clean it for you.” Fin offered. The boy wiped himself with a cotton handkerchief and started to dress. His cock was still limp and he didn’t plead for his own relief. Jared couldn’t muster any concern for the kid’s enjoyment.
“Leave it. You should go.” He reached to a fruit bowl that stood on a decorative table and scooped out several apples, an orange and a lime, “Thanks Fin, share them with Madison.”
Fin gathered the fruit into his arms and hugged it into his chest with a huge grin. “All of it?” he asked, with hungry, wide eyes.
“Yeah, whatever. You didn’t get it from me. Don’t get caught.”
Fin lifted his shirt and tucked the fruit under it. He dared a look at Jared through his floppy blond fringe, “Can I give one to Jensen?”
“Pa’s new slave? Why should I care?”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He’s an obnoxious prick.”
There was the sound of boots and heavy scraping in the corridor. Jared frowned, wondering what it was, and Fin reached for the door handle, to leave in a hurry. The door banged open, and Jared’s Pa barged in, pushing Fin out of the way. Fruit bumped and bruised on the floor. The young slave fell to his knees in front the President. Goosebumps covered his arms and Jared could see him trembling with fear.
“Jared, this boy has been stealing. There could be no good reason for such a generous reward.” President Padalecki booted a foot into the soft flesh of Fin’s belly. The boy doubled over and coughed.
Jared’s mouth opened and closed. He couldn’t find his voice.
“Because no son of mine would be stupid enough fuck this slave, this boy.” Jared’s Pa loomed over him, sporting an evil smirk, “You wouldn’t court a scandal to blacken my name, would you? Because I would cut you off without a penny and feed you to the seething crowd. You wouldn’t be so silly, would you?”
Jared managed a strangled, “No, Sir.”
Fin looked like he might shatter. Nobody dared beg the President for mercy, but his eyes pleaded with Jared to tell the truth. A huge hand gripped the boy’s collar and lifted him from the ground. Jared’s Pa was massive, six foot six plus change, of raw muscle and anger, and he held the boy casually in one hand as he choked. Fin’s toes scrabbled through air trying to reach the safety of the floor.
“So, he was stealing from me? He’s a worthless thief?” The President raised his eyebrows at his son, and Fin continued to struggle, his eyes bugging from his head.
Jared was rooted to the spot. Whatever words he chose, this wouldn’t end well. He gave the slightest of nods. He heard his Pa’s handgun cock, and it took a minute to comprehend the warm splatter of droplets on his face, but there was no mistaking the echo of gunshot and the crimson pool of blood and brain that flecked the walls and pooled on the floor.
“Well, then. Witnessed, tried and sentenced.”
It was only when Jared vomited his entire evening’s banquet, into the gory mess on the rug, that he noticed what his father had dragged into the room. Shit! His Pa’s slave, Jensen, was collapsed on his floor. He hadn’t escaped the wrath of the President, even after his flogging. His right eye was bruised and swollen and his chin was similarly marked.
His Pa was leaving the room, without his slave.
“Sir …?” Jared needed to know what it meant.
“You humiliated me. You wanted Jensen, you marked him. I am a generous man, so he is yours, but you will not have another slave to serve you. You can remain in my safety. You will have bed and board, but no other slave is permitted to help you. Jensen is all you have. Care for him properly. Your tutor has been dismissed. I don't want to see or hear you. Your presence tires me.” His bloody hand reached for the door handle, “Get rid of this mess. Do it before anything starts to rot.” The door slammed behind him.
He stood beside the slave on the floor. Jensen’s left eye opened to look up at him, deep green and sullen. His spirit didn't seem as defeated as his body. Jared wondered about that.
Jensen closed his eye again, and he seemed to smirk, though it was difficult to tell.
Jared considered his slave for a moment, “Don’t be too smug. You’re stuck with me too.” He turned his back on the whole mess, left his slave in his room, and trailed blood all the way to the library.
Part two
Part One
Jared's cheeks were rosy warm and he was off-balance. The effects of too much wine were starting to manifest, which was good, because he needed something to get him through the pompous tedium of the banquet. His current view, of the pert ass of a man bending to pick a napkin from the floor, also helped.
Pa had a new slave and he was hot. He was over six foot of lean meat and muscle, with the face of an angel, golden freckles on his nose, and the pouty pink lips of a cock sucking demon. The slave was undecorated, perfect in grace and his eyes turned to the floor without any hint that he noticed the raucous bawdiness of the President and his men. He wasn’t young, not even a teenager, maybe ten years older than Jared. He was the epitome of what his father enjoyed, a beautiful specimen, and eager to please. Jared spared himself a downwards glance when his father wasn’t looking, because damn, he hoped he wasn’t a eunuch. Just because his father didn’t approve of sex with the crawling classes didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it a try, and he normally got his way. The slave's pants weren't tight enough to give anything away. Jared licked his lips. He'd just have to find a way to remove them.
The slave retreated to the kitchen with dirty plates, and Jared idly pushed his dessert around his plate, wondering how soon he could make excuses to leave. He had a big appetite, but the quantity of food served was bigger, and only a few still ate. Government representatives fawned around his father at the main table of a grandly decorated, and crimson-carpeted dining hall. His father ignored his youngest son as usual, guzzling a bellyful of wine for every plentiful mouthful of dessert, while extolling the virtues of vegetables, grown over the graves of his political opponents. Jared drained the last of his wine in a bid to silence his frustration.
“Lord Jared?” Jared was startled by a low drawl. The boy, no, hell, man-slave, was by his elbow offering port from a crystal carafe.
“Not a Lord. Don’t call me that,” As his Pa's enemies and paranoia multiplied, the President increasingly justified muting his personal slaves. He obviously hadn’t found a reason to silence this one yet, and Jared didn't like to be compared to the creeps who coveted meaningless titles. Still, Jared considered all the things the tongue in that pretty head could do, and decided he’d like to keep it there.
The new slave risked a sly glance at Jared’s father. “The Lord President Padalecki thought you might take more wine.” He lowered his voice, so Jared could only just hear, “I don't think you should. Nobody likes a hangover, and drunk doesn't improve anybody's behavior.” Green-gold eyes rolled their derision in the direction of his Pa. The slave withdrew the carafe without waiting for Jared's answer and started to walk around his chair.
Jared took a moment to process the implied insult, before his hand shot out, to grasp the slave’s forearm. “You need to watch that tongue, or you will lose it,” he threatened, as he yanked him back with a force that reddened his skin and twisted his arm. Vintage port splashed onto Jared’s Ralph Lauren shirt, and his father’s attention focused on the scene with a narrow-eyed glare. Fuck.
“My useless son is wasting my liquor, and there is a slave who cannot serve. What shall we do?” President Padalecki was loud in his scorn. His cronies laughed heartily and hollered for whip, strap or blade.
Jared’s cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. He slammed his napkin to the table, and his chair caught in the carpet and toppled as he stood up. He didn’t lose grip of the slave who looked between him and his father with startled and unusually bold green eyes. “You don’t get to look at us!” Jared yelled at the slave, before turning to shout at his father, “Look what your bitch did! Fucking idiot needs a lesson.”
The President’s eyes smoldered dangerously. He spoke to the entire room while fixing Jared in his stare, “Are you too pathetic to take a stand for yourself? Is that why you can’t take a uniform and fight? We know you would fuck him, but not fuck him up, because you’ll never be a man, Jared.”
There was a sudden silence, broken only by the shift of father’s bodyguards, assessing the risk. The tension between father and son hung heavily in the air and the discomfort of it spread. Their dinner companions buried their noses in wine glasses, or pretended to look at their plates. They let the scene play out with a morbid fascination. It wasn’t the first time that Jared and his father had clashed, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It always made for drama and gossip.
“Get me the cat.” Jared’s jaw jutted in determination.
His father hooted with laughter and doubled over.
“I said, get me the cat.”
“Jensen isn’t your property to punish, you worthless degenerate. Maybe I will cut off his balls with a rusty knife, and I can, because he belongs to me. Everything here does." There was a hint of pride in his father’s slurred statement. He guarded his new toys with pride, and the slave had undoubtedly been an expensive one.
“He harmed me, it is my prerogative,” spat Jared. He was shaking and he was unsure if it was anger, fear or excitement that fueled him. The slave, Jensen, was pale in his grip, his bravado gone in the face of his impending punishment. He had to know there was no running from it, or pleading out of it.
His father sneered at Jared but he had his favorite girl collect his fiercest cat-o-nine-tails. “Show me you’re a man, Jared. I don’t believe you are.” His cruel hazel eyes fixed on his son and his teeth bared in a crooked smile.
Jared seethed with resentment; he was seventeen, no boy and not weak. This shouldn’t have happened. He was humiliated, yet again, in front of his father, his father’s cronies, and his late mother’s detractors. It was entirely the slave’s fault, and in that moment, rage burned and he hated him.
Sometimes, Jared was convinced that his Pa deliberately tempted him with handsome slaves then damaged them, to punish him for his sexuality and his choices. This time he wouldn’t. It was Jared’s turn to take the slave’s perfection while his father still coveted it.
He twisted a hand into Jensen’s collar. With the other, he swiped crockery and crystal from the table, shattering it with a noise that echoed against the wood-paneled walls. He bent the man over, slammed his face onto the table, and then took his dagger from its sheath. Jensen’s eyes widened in horror, and he bucked against Jared’s hold. Jared twisted his collar until his breath was cut off, and then kicked his legs from under him. Jensen wheezed, and Jared only let go when he slumped, defeated and gasping on the table. His cheek dotted snow-white linen with bright flecks of blood drawn by broken glass and porcelain. Jared admired the bright color contrast, as he snarled in the slave’s ear, “There is armed security at every exit. Stay there, and take your punishment, if you want to live.”
His knife was wicked sharp. He let it reflect the bright light from the chandeliers before he sliced through the fabric of Jensen’s pants, and up his shirt, ripping his uniform apart. The clothes peeled neatly from his skin and Jared took a moment to admire the slave’s perfection. Jensen froze in place with only the heave of his breath from the moment the knife nosed into his pants. His terror was tangible, and it amused Jared. He didn’t intend to inflict permanent damage to an ass as fine as this, but the slave didn’t have to know. He sheathed his knife, but he didn’t think he was done with it yet.
The cat-o-nine-tails felt heavy in Jared’s hand. He knew how to use it, and thanks to his father, he knew the pain of knotted leather against flesh. He remembered how it felt when it drew blood to the surface, and lit every nerve with agony. Jared raised his arm, stared defiantly into his father’s face. He brought the flogger down against the skin of Jensen’s shoulders, and it landed with a thud and cry of pain from the slave. He hesitated before the next stroke, and his father jeered an insult, “Knew you were a pussy, Jared.”
Jared tipped his head and considered his father. He wouldn’t back down. Not this time. He smoothed the leather handle in his hand, considered the golden-dotted and pale canvas of Jensen’s back. He leaned over him, trailed his hand lightly over the angry marks that the first lash had left, and slid his fingertips lower, to stroke the round cheeks of the trembling ass. Breathing hot in Jensen’s ear, he whispered, “Don’t make a sound.” He grabbed his used napkin, balled it up and forced it into the slave’s mouth.
The second strike left hot pink stripes over the swell of Jensen’s ass and the third struck his thighs. With each one, Jared breathed deep and Jensen flinched and grunted. By the tenth strike, Jared reached a steady rhythm and tears of defeat rolled down the slave’s face. Guests murmured in disbelief. His father’s expression didn’t lose its drunken arrogance. Jared didn’t stop at twenty, and Jensen’s back was a bloody mess by twenty-five. He barely noticed the slave’s legs give way, and the roll of his eyes back into his head, as he slumped unconscious over the table. Jared was sweaty and satisfied. His father’s furious face was worth every stroke. He threw the cat to the floor, next to the slave, and drew his knife once more. He crouched to carve a neat ‘JP’ over the chiseled perfection of the slave’s cheekbone, and then stalked from the dining hall. His father waved an impatient signal to his bodyguards who lowered their weapons to let Jared pass. Jared had the final words, “I believe the slave has my mark now, Pa.”
Jared let adrenalin carry him out of his father’s sight. He hadn’t thought past his defiant display, and now had to wonder if he would be disowned and thrown from the safety of the compound. Pa was an unpredictable drunk, and he made no secret of his disappointment in Jared. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, to catch his breath and look for a particular slave in a kitchen that bustled with the aftermath of a nine course banquet.
“Fin!” Jared beckoned a slight blond slave who stood by a sink of soapy water, scrubbing a pot. There was an extra loud clang as the boy slammed the pan onto the stand in obvious temper. Everything else hushed, and Jared was abruptly aware of being stared at by every servant and slave in the kitchen.
“You said it was my choice, I never have to,” Fin’s voice wavered. It was a childish plea, a far cry from his usual ebullient manner.
“I need you,” stated Jared, firmly.
“Cook needs me, Master Jared.” Fin turned away from him. Cook raised her hands in a fluster, “It is a complicated banquet, Master Jared.”
“We have finished eating.” Jared’s voice was laced with menace. There was no reason for any of the staff to respect him, but he was used to their co-operation.
The young scullery maid, Madison, bit her lip and pushed Fin forwards, “You should go,” she said.
Jared smiled at her. Madison was one of his favorites. She lowered her eyes and her lip quivered. She stepped behind Fin and hid. Fin reached a hand to touch her and it looked protective. Jared swept his gaze around the kitchen once more. He sensed fear and disapproval in hastily down-turned faces, and the fumbling pretense of work. Someone had seen him flog the new slave, and whispers had already spread. He addressed them as a group, with an icy glare. “Get on with your work, or I will report you all for slacking.” It was an empty threat but he knew they wouldn’t take the chance of it. Sideways glances were exchanged with Fin, and tasks were resumed.
“It’s okay,” Fin reassured Cook, as he stepped to Jared’s side.
Jared banged his bedroom door behind him. He didn’t need small talk and he didn’t want to think. He had Fin slammed against the wall in no time. His hands looped into the belt of Fin’s pants, and he pulled them down, exposing the twink’s perfect round ass and his neat, cut cock hung flaccid between his thighs. Jared buried his face into Fin’s shoulder, licked the line of his neck, and dragged his teeth along his collarbone, stopping to suck a purple bruise into his skin. His hands fumbled to get his own pants down around his eager erection. “Are you ready for me, Fin? I bet you’re all greased up for me, you kinky little shit. I bet you’re just waiting for me to split your ass.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jared’s huge hands gripped Fin’s hips and lifted him easily. The boy’s arms circled his neck and his legs hitched up to squeeze around Jared’s trim waist. Jared braced them both with Fin’s back to the wall, and he didn’t waste any time in breaching the tight young ass. He let gravity and a single powerful thrust do the work as his thick cock drove into the tight and fluttering hole. Fin’s head dropped onto Jared's shoulder to bury his face into the flexing flesh with a groan. The boy seemed as enthusiastic as ever. He rocked his hips into Jared’s thrusts and slid up his dick to slam back down, impaled and stuffed with cock. There were whimpers and groans, and encouragements of ‘do it’ and ‘fuck me’ dropping from his lips.
Jared snapped his hips and threw his head back, no thought for anything except the push and slide, breath, and hot flesh, chest to chest and balls deep in this delicious boy. He lost himself in need and lust until his world was white with bliss and a final harsh plunge had him tipped over the edge and coming hard. He groaned and his hands slid over the smooth painted wall, where a series of bloody finger-prints stained the magnolia surface. Jared blinked at the marks, then at his hands. He hadn’t washed after flogging the slave, and he remembered the horror of the man’s back when he’d finished with him. He eased his soft cock from Fin before placing him in a curled bundle on the floor. He wiped himself with tissues, tucked himself back in and scraped his fingers through his thick, mussed hair. “Shit!”
There was no response. Fin was panting hard, his face turned into the rug. Jared toed at his arm. “I said, Shit!”
“What?” inquired Fin, obediently.
“I got blood on the decor; Pa’s gonna go ape.”
“I’ll clean it for you.” Fin offered. The boy wiped himself with a cotton handkerchief and started to dress. His cock was still limp and he didn’t plead for his own relief. Jared couldn’t muster any concern for the kid’s enjoyment.
“Leave it. You should go.” He reached to a fruit bowl that stood on a decorative table and scooped out several apples, an orange and a lime, “Thanks Fin, share them with Madison.”
Fin gathered the fruit into his arms and hugged it into his chest with a huge grin. “All of it?” he asked, with hungry, wide eyes.
“Yeah, whatever. You didn’t get it from me. Don’t get caught.”
Fin lifted his shirt and tucked the fruit under it. He dared a look at Jared through his floppy blond fringe, “Can I give one to Jensen?”
“Pa’s new slave? Why should I care?”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He’s an obnoxious prick.”
There was the sound of boots and heavy scraping in the corridor. Jared frowned, wondering what it was, and Fin reached for the door handle, to leave in a hurry. The door banged open, and Jared’s Pa barged in, pushing Fin out of the way. Fruit bumped and bruised on the floor. The young slave fell to his knees in front the President. Goosebumps covered his arms and Jared could see him trembling with fear.
“Jared, this boy has been stealing. There could be no good reason for such a generous reward.” President Padalecki booted a foot into the soft flesh of Fin’s belly. The boy doubled over and coughed.
Jared’s mouth opened and closed. He couldn’t find his voice.
“Because no son of mine would be stupid enough fuck this slave, this boy.” Jared’s Pa loomed over him, sporting an evil smirk, “You wouldn’t court a scandal to blacken my name, would you? Because I would cut you off without a penny and feed you to the seething crowd. You wouldn’t be so silly, would you?”
Jared managed a strangled, “No, Sir.”
Fin looked like he might shatter. Nobody dared beg the President for mercy, but his eyes pleaded with Jared to tell the truth. A huge hand gripped the boy’s collar and lifted him from the ground. Jared’s Pa was massive, six foot six plus change, of raw muscle and anger, and he held the boy casually in one hand as he choked. Fin’s toes scrabbled through air trying to reach the safety of the floor.
“So, he was stealing from me? He’s a worthless thief?” The President raised his eyebrows at his son, and Fin continued to struggle, his eyes bugging from his head.
Jared was rooted to the spot. Whatever words he chose, this wouldn’t end well. He gave the slightest of nods. He heard his Pa’s handgun cock, and it took a minute to comprehend the warm splatter of droplets on his face, but there was no mistaking the echo of gunshot and the crimson pool of blood and brain that flecked the walls and pooled on the floor.
“Well, then. Witnessed, tried and sentenced.”
It was only when Jared vomited his entire evening’s banquet, into the gory mess on the rug, that he noticed what his father had dragged into the room. Shit! His Pa’s slave, Jensen, was collapsed on his floor. He hadn’t escaped the wrath of the President, even after his flogging. His right eye was bruised and swollen and his chin was similarly marked.
His Pa was leaving the room, without his slave.
“Sir …?” Jared needed to know what it meant.
“You humiliated me. You wanted Jensen, you marked him. I am a generous man, so he is yours, but you will not have another slave to serve you. You can remain in my safety. You will have bed and board, but no other slave is permitted to help you. Jensen is all you have. Care for him properly. Your tutor has been dismissed. I don't want to see or hear you. Your presence tires me.” His bloody hand reached for the door handle, “Get rid of this mess. Do it before anything starts to rot.” The door slammed behind him.
He stood beside the slave on the floor. Jensen’s left eye opened to look up at him, deep green and sullen. His spirit didn't seem as defeated as his body. Jared wondered about that.
Jensen closed his eye again, and he seemed to smirk, though it was difficult to tell.
Jared considered his slave for a moment, “Don’t be too smug. You’re stuck with me too.” He turned his back on the whole mess, left his slave in his room, and trailed blood all the way to the library.
Part two