“You recognize my preferences better than anyone, my dear. How can I resist?
It works in our favor Rafiq is occupied with the woman. Our only obstacle to keeping him will be Caleb, and I’m fairly certain his imposition in our lives will provide me the leverage needed to convince him the boy should remain with us. He will want the boy punished though; you know that.”
Celia’s brows furrow and her mouth twists in disgust. “Yes, we’ll make it a spectacle of humiliation. Though, if Caleb is anything akin to Rafiq, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach his presence. That poor girl he’s kidnapped…I cannot wait for the day we are no longer beholden to men like them; they disgust me.” She halts her steps and turns when she no longer hears her master walking up behind her.
Felipe is serious. “Do I still disgust you, Celia? I’m no different than they are.”
Celia sighs wistfully. She takes two steps down to her master and wraps her arms about his neck. “Please don’t say such things. They hurt me.”
“I will ask the same of you.” Felipe speaks tenderly.
“Yes, master.” She kisses her lover’s strong, firm, and domineering lips—so different from the boy’s. She is a slave to these lips.
They walk the rest of the way to Celia’s room in companionable silence, fingers interlaced.
19. Kid
Fear is a constant emotion in the wake of Kid’s capture. Released from the dungeon and dragged upstairs into a lavish mansion complete with chandeliers and Persian rugs, Kid has no illusions about an end to his torture. Every moment is tense. Every touch, nefarious.
He isn’t allowed to wash himself; Celia scrubs him down and shaves him from nose to balls while Felipe watches menacingly. The older man smirks when Celia demands Kid spread his ass cheeks for her to remove the sparse blond hair around his asshole. Kid doesn’t dare to breathe as he complies. He fights back tears as Felipe compliments his ‘shy, pink hole’ and ‘virgin pussy’.
Kid is tempted to grab Celia and hold her under water until Felipe agrees to let him go, but he knows he’d never get away, and truthfully…Celia is kind of nice—still a perverted cunt—but genuinely concerned with Kid’s well-being. She’s very gentle with him, careful not to nick or cut, always sure to show him what she’s going to do next. She cleans his scrapes, kisses his bruises, and offers reassuring words in a language Kid only ambiguously understands.
Afterward, he is wrapped in a black silk robe that smells faintly of cologne and fed a familiar meal of seasoned steak—precut—rice, and beans. Kid chews slowly, the way Felipe asks, because he doesn’t want stomach cramps. He’s rewarded with more praise and three Vicodin. He even manages a mumbled ‘thank you’ to his gracious captor.
Washed, fed, and medicated, Kid is in no condition to refuse an invitation to lie in a frilly and enormous bed. He can hear Felipe speaking to him—Kid’s body is made for pleasure—he must obey—continue to be a good boy and show off his pretty parts—he belongs to Felipe and Celia—obey—obey—or suffer. Kid allows his mind to descend into his nightmares, more comforted by them than his reality.
***
Celia speaks. Felipe translates: “Put him on his knees and lock his wrists to his ankles.” There’s applause.
Kid digs his heels into the floor. He’s blindfolded, gagged, and surrounded by strangers. He panics, struggles against the men forcing him to submit, incensed by the laughter of his sadistic audience. A low warning is whispered into his ear, “The master said to remind you what can happen if you’re not a good boy.”
Hesitant knees find their mark and Kid allows himself to be bound. Whatever’s going to play out in the next few minutes, Kid would rather believe it can’t be as horrible as the alternative. Please, God, don’t let them pass me around like a party favor. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.
Delicate fingers tuck his hair behind his ears. The faint scent of apples enters the intimate space between their two bodies. “Shh, pobrecito. I’m good to you.” Kid barely has time to digest the situation before Celia fists his overgrown hair and snaps his head back.
“Fuck!” Kid lets out a muffled bark. He wasn’t expecting pain, not from Celia. His shock makes him realize how naïve he truly is and he chides himself. No one here is his friend.
“Does it hurt, slave?” she mocks. Soft laughter ripples through the room.
Kid is silent. Behind his back, his fists clench and his arms strain against his restraints. Celia pulls harder, wrenching his head back in such a way to completely expose his throat. “Yes…Celia,” he manages around the gag. All at once, he wants to die, he wants to murder everyone in the room, and he wants to weep in Celia’s arms. The only thing Kid can hear is his own heartbeat and frightened breathing. He can’t see Celia, but he can feel her in the empty space between his vulnerable body and her comforting softness. He’s desperate to close the gap and escape their avid spectators.