Your Sexy Friday scene
Jul. 17th, 2015 11:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdFrom a work in progress.
Ligatos slammed the door of the cabin open and David startled. His master had been in a good mood for most of the visit and now he looked more than slightly agitated.
“Master?” he asked. This did not seem the time for a “darling.” He had adopted the form of address, and James had accepted it, hearing the “master” under every “darling” out of his mouth.
“Dinner and wine. Then your studies. Are you quite caught up, child?”
The words were all wrong. He was boy, not child. James did not use that form of address. And yet, this was James in every particular, from the slight curl in his short black hair, the liquid piercing eyes, that full mouth that David adored kissing.
“Quite, Master. Dinner in five minutes. Please select the wine? Your taste is better than mine.”
Ligatos came to the stove and sniffed at the pots, his long nose flaring. This was a feral, predatory version of his master, a man who did not dominate a room so much as devour it. David reached two possible conclusions. The third, that he didn't really care and did want this version, he put aside. He served dinner as Ligatos poured the wine.
“May I join you, Master?” It seemed safer to ask tonight.
“Please.” he gestured to the seat at his left. David saw the watch on his left wrist. That clinched it. James was left-handed and wore his watch on the right.
“Master, may I ask whom I have the pleasure of serving tonight?”
Not-James had been taking a drink and backhanded him, wine glass still in hand. The glass shattered, cutting his cheek. David slid out of the chair, going to his knees at once.
“I was told you were brilliant, not saucy. Clean that, clean yourself and go wait in the bedroom. You lose dinner for impertinence. Have a whip and that jar of strawberry jam awaiting me.”
David rose and collected the jam. He had ideas about what the imposter Ligatos would do to him with it, and none of them struck his fancy. He did not want this new, slightly wild form of his master, especially one so gauche as to bring food to bed. He wanted his James.
A note addressed to him lay on the bedside table. He read it as he pressed a cloth to his bleeding cheek.
“My boy, the Lady wishes to keep me at the Villa tonight. You may spend it alone or someone may be rewarded with you. You are to serve them well, and make me proud of you.”
A reward. He was property, being handed around. He touched the collar on his throat. At least they had given him the appearance of James. He cleaned his face, stopped the bleeding and bandaged it.
“Master says serve him,” he told his reflection. He set the jam on the bedside table and opened the implement chest at the foot of the bed. The imposter had specified a whip. David chose a light horsewhip. It would hurt, true, but it wouldn't flay skin from bone as a bullwhip could.
He stripped and waited, kneeling at the foot of the bed. The temporary master would probably like that. He might be half-wild, but he liked his slaves well-behaved and very quiet.
David waited nearly an hour, shifting as he need to so his feet wouldn't go to sleep. The new man came in, wineglass in hand.
“All right, slave. They say you're smart. Who do you say I am?”
“You are a doppelganger for my master, James Ligatos. I would say you are either a near relative, perhaps a brother, or surgically altered to look like him in case of emergency. If it is the latter, your training and/or observation has been quite lax. I spotted you for an imposter within thirty seconds.”
That earned him another backhand. This time thankfully without the wineglass.
David gave a superior little nod, the kind this man would likely find infuriating. He didn't know why he was goading the faux-James. It just felt right to do so. “Exactly my point. You see, my master never punishes me for speaking the truth. Nor does he call me 'child', which anyone who has listened to us for half an hour knows.”
“Continue.” His master of the evening settled down on the edge of the bed.
“You do not move like my master. He is a large man, and graceful, but his is a refined grace, one of boardrooms and not out of place in a ballroom. James Ligatos is a gentleman. You, sir, are not. You are untamed and half-wild. The suit is integral to who James Ligatos is. The suit wears you, it is not your natural attire nor are you comfortable with it. While James is a sensualist, you are a creature of your senses. He would not have sniffed the cooking pots. He would have asked what I was preparing and selected the wine accordingly.”
“And you adore him, don't you?” The man sounded oddly unhappy as he asked the question.
David saw no reason to lie. “I love my master.”
“Are you sure it's love and not just gratitude?”
David gave him the look John always used when he was being particularly thick. “Do you think me a simpering ninny to label the first stirrings of infatuation as eternal love? I have considered, dissected the feelings and actions, gone against my own desires and analyzed my reactions. Emotions are completely suspect in my world.”
A low chuckle and then the order, “You may call me Ishamel. My brother is busy with the Lady Benta.”
“Master Ishmael.” David gave a small bow without rising from his kneeling position. “Am I correct in thinking you are his identical twin?”
Ishmael nodded. “My brother and I have many differences. But we do have the same taste in men. And unfortunately, in women. So, child, you have proven yourself to me mentally. I should like a sample of the physical as well. I want to see how well you use that monster between your legs.”
“Of course, Master Ishmael.” The desire for this man had kindled again in David and his cock was thickening already.
After that demonstration was out of the way, David cleaned the kitchen, while Ishmael worked on his own handheld. David finished and came to sit as Ishamel's feet.
“So, my brother has won another heart. Such a pity he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't love you back, you know. He can't.”
David gave a small shrug. “That is unimportant.”
Ishamel lifted his face. “You'll change your tune when he sends you away. If you'd ever been really loved, you wouldn't settle for the cut-rate fondness he can give you.”
“As you say, Master Ishmael.” David did not want to pursue that line of conversation.
“I've seen a dozen beautiful boys and girls fill his bed in the last thirty years, child. He always moves on.”
Feeling bold, David asked, “And how many moved through your own?”
“Few. I take my pleasures at the Men's Club or the Maledom club as the mood strikes me. You're meant for more than that collar, child. Never forget it.”
Ligatos slammed the door of the cabin open and David startled. His master had been in a good mood for most of the visit and now he looked more than slightly agitated.
“Master?” he asked. This did not seem the time for a “darling.” He had adopted the form of address, and James had accepted it, hearing the “master” under every “darling” out of his mouth.
“Dinner and wine. Then your studies. Are you quite caught up, child?”
The words were all wrong. He was boy, not child. James did not use that form of address. And yet, this was James in every particular, from the slight curl in his short black hair, the liquid piercing eyes, that full mouth that David adored kissing.
“Quite, Master. Dinner in five minutes. Please select the wine? Your taste is better than mine.”
Ligatos came to the stove and sniffed at the pots, his long nose flaring. This was a feral, predatory version of his master, a man who did not dominate a room so much as devour it. David reached two possible conclusions. The third, that he didn't really care and did want this version, he put aside. He served dinner as Ligatos poured the wine.
“May I join you, Master?” It seemed safer to ask tonight.
“Please.” he gestured to the seat at his left. David saw the watch on his left wrist. That clinched it. James was left-handed and wore his watch on the right.
“Master, may I ask whom I have the pleasure of serving tonight?”
Not-James had been taking a drink and backhanded him, wine glass still in hand. The glass shattered, cutting his cheek. David slid out of the chair, going to his knees at once.
“I was told you were brilliant, not saucy. Clean that, clean yourself and go wait in the bedroom. You lose dinner for impertinence. Have a whip and that jar of strawberry jam awaiting me.”
David rose and collected the jam. He had ideas about what the imposter Ligatos would do to him with it, and none of them struck his fancy. He did not want this new, slightly wild form of his master, especially one so gauche as to bring food to bed. He wanted his James.
A note addressed to him lay on the bedside table. He read it as he pressed a cloth to his bleeding cheek.
“My boy, the Lady wishes to keep me at the Villa tonight. You may spend it alone or someone may be rewarded with you. You are to serve them well, and make me proud of you.”
A reward. He was property, being handed around. He touched the collar on his throat. At least they had given him the appearance of James. He cleaned his face, stopped the bleeding and bandaged it.
“Master says serve him,” he told his reflection. He set the jam on the bedside table and opened the implement chest at the foot of the bed. The imposter had specified a whip. David chose a light horsewhip. It would hurt, true, but it wouldn't flay skin from bone as a bullwhip could.
He stripped and waited, kneeling at the foot of the bed. The temporary master would probably like that. He might be half-wild, but he liked his slaves well-behaved and very quiet.
David waited nearly an hour, shifting as he need to so his feet wouldn't go to sleep. The new man came in, wineglass in hand.
“All right, slave. They say you're smart. Who do you say I am?”
“You are a doppelganger for my master, James Ligatos. I would say you are either a near relative, perhaps a brother, or surgically altered to look like him in case of emergency. If it is the latter, your training and/or observation has been quite lax. I spotted you for an imposter within thirty seconds.”
That earned him another backhand. This time thankfully without the wineglass.
David gave a superior little nod, the kind this man would likely find infuriating. He didn't know why he was goading the faux-James. It just felt right to do so. “Exactly my point. You see, my master never punishes me for speaking the truth. Nor does he call me 'child', which anyone who has listened to us for half an hour knows.”
“Continue.” His master of the evening settled down on the edge of the bed.
“You do not move like my master. He is a large man, and graceful, but his is a refined grace, one of boardrooms and not out of place in a ballroom. James Ligatos is a gentleman. You, sir, are not. You are untamed and half-wild. The suit is integral to who James Ligatos is. The suit wears you, it is not your natural attire nor are you comfortable with it. While James is a sensualist, you are a creature of your senses. He would not have sniffed the cooking pots. He would have asked what I was preparing and selected the wine accordingly.”
“And you adore him, don't you?” The man sounded oddly unhappy as he asked the question.
David saw no reason to lie. “I love my master.”
“Are you sure it's love and not just gratitude?”
David gave him the look John always used when he was being particularly thick. “Do you think me a simpering ninny to label the first stirrings of infatuation as eternal love? I have considered, dissected the feelings and actions, gone against my own desires and analyzed my reactions. Emotions are completely suspect in my world.”
A low chuckle and then the order, “You may call me Ishamel. My brother is busy with the Lady Benta.”
“Master Ishmael.” David gave a small bow without rising from his kneeling position. “Am I correct in thinking you are his identical twin?”
Ishmael nodded. “My brother and I have many differences. But we do have the same taste in men. And unfortunately, in women. So, child, you have proven yourself to me mentally. I should like a sample of the physical as well. I want to see how well you use that monster between your legs.”
“Of course, Master Ishmael.” The desire for this man had kindled again in David and his cock was thickening already.
After that demonstration was out of the way, David cleaned the kitchen, while Ishmael worked on his own handheld. David finished and came to sit as Ishamel's feet.
“So, my brother has won another heart. Such a pity he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't love you back, you know. He can't.”
David gave a small shrug. “That is unimportant.”
Ishamel lifted his face. “You'll change your tune when he sends you away. If you'd ever been really loved, you wouldn't settle for the cut-rate fondness he can give you.”
“As you say, Master Ishmael.” David did not want to pursue that line of conversation.
“I've seen a dozen beautiful boys and girls fill his bed in the last thirty years, child. He always moves on.”
Feeling bold, David asked, “And how many moved through your own?”
“Few. I take my pleasures at the Men's Club or the Maledom club as the mood strikes me. You're meant for more than that collar, child. Never forget it.”
