Seven stood in the doorway of the study, envelope in hand as he hesitated at the threshold. He just got there, but what it took to move now he was in sight of Blackwell felt too much. Mail was to be brought at 4 pm sharp. It was 4:23. It would not be unnoticed. It would not be unpunished.
The study was dimly lit and full of books and occult instruments. A stunning rug of indigo with intricate patterns stretched beneath Blackwell’s feet, and far from the fireplace a beautiful, solid wood desk sat. Seven barely saw the room. He was going to be punished. He knew it as assuredly as he felt the displeasure rolling off of his master through their bond. Rarely did Seven see Blackwell and not be punished. If not with pain or degrading acts, then the far more heart twisting reminder he could never leave. Seven would always return to this room and to this horrible man.
“You’re late. I called for you over fifteen minutes ago.” Blackwell didn’t turn, content to stare at the flames of the fireplace from his seat.
Seven took a deep breath and forced his legs to move. He didn’t tremble anymore. He had no anger left to shield and ultimately tear him in every struggle for freedom. He learned to erase all feeling from his very being along with the memories of who he once was. It was easier. It was easier to be nothing, than to be someone while a slave to a sorcerer.
Randal Blackwell was not a man accustomed to waiting. Patience didn’t grow with long age, not after the hundred and twenty-seven years he lived. If anything, he found his expectations and need for structure to be more rigid as each year passed. Blackwell’s magic was strong. He was powerful enough to preserve his appearance and health while weaker sorcerers aged, decayed and died. He was considered to be the top sorcerer in all of North America. Sure, there were a few rogues steeped in the dark arts who might possess superior abilities, but they weren’t practicing commercially. If they weren’t direct competition, they weren’t worth considering.
Blackwell amassed a fortune by casting for men with political sway as powerful as he was magical. It gave him an edge. He was protected from laws, protected from prosecution. He never slipped, but if the impossible did occur and he was caught, Blackwell knew he would never see the inside of a jail cell. He was untouchable.
Still, his sweet-tempered demon disobeyed.
Seven glided cautiously into the study and stood to the side of his master’s chair. He didn’t dare block Blackwell’s view of the fire; he was clearly in a mood. “Forgive me, Master. I was watching…”
“The rats. Yes, I’m aware.” Blackwell’s fingers twitched on the armrest. “I keep toying with the idea of getting a cat, but I fear you’d keep the creature from hunting with all your fussing.” Not to mention, he’d probably never see the demon at all if Seven had a pet to chase around. He was far too distractible as it was. Blackwell waved his hand and beckoned him closer. “Have you succeeded in your mission?”
Seven crossed the small space and knelt nude at Blackwell’s feet. His long red hair cascaded like silk on the floor as he pressed lips to the toe of his master’s shoe. Unlike the more brutish, leather-winged demons, Seven was an elegance of black, feathery wings, dark curl of horns, and long serpentine tail. His lithe body flexed gracefully and submitted when Blackwell pushed his head down roughly with the flat of his shoe. Seven kept his bright blue gaze fixed on the floor patiently as he was held down.
He was the prize piece of Blackwell’s demon collection. Seven’s beauty was unmatched but it wasn’t his true value to Blackwell. Seven was able to become intangible at will. It allowed him to slip unseen and untouched where no one else could travel. He was his thief, and when information was needed, his eyes and ears. Possibly more unique was Seven’s sweet, affectionate personality. Blackwell admitted to the poor habit of spoiling the gentle pet when he would harshly discipline his other slaves for the same lax behavior.
When the shoe was removed from his head, Seven held the envelope up to Blackwell. He kept his eyes averted from his master’s roaming gaze. Blackwell broke the wax seal on the back of the envelope with a manicured fingernail. He skimmed the missive quickly, then tucked it into his pocket. “Another taken.”
“Master?” Seven queried, unsure if he was speaking to him or to himself. It was a mistake; Blackwell grabbed him painfully by the chin and pulled him up.
“Do you know how difficult it is to find these useless little cats, my pet?” The question was rhetorical, no answer actually wanted. Blackwell teased fingers through Seven’s blood-red hair, then tightened his hold on his chin. He smirked at the demon’s noise of pain. “Yes, I am well compensated for my efforts but for how long when these imbecilic socialites can’t hold onto the dreadful, flea infested creatures? Their failures always lead to complaints. I do hate complaints, Seven.”
“Yes, Master,” Seven whispered, his words muffled when his head was forced down and face pressed against expensive slacks.
Blackwell continued to stroke his head as he muttered bitterly aloud. “It’s more than that; this is a challenge. Some meddlesome leech is out there feeding off my hard labor. What is he, keeping the cats for himself? Stealing them once they’re sold and then selling them again? Whatever he makes is owed me. I do not allow resale of my labor; I would rather kill the troublesome creatures.”
His fingers tightened in Seven’s hair and Blackwell pulled him up roughly to stare into the demon’s troubled, bright blue eyes. His dark gaze lingered on Seven’s flawless face and paused on the furrow of pain to his brow and the way his flushed lips were parted. “Are you in need, pet? I think a distraction is in order after such foul news. I cannot recall the last time you fed.”
Seven swallowed hard and tried to keep his expression impassive as he dared to meet the cruel eyes of his master. Randal Blackwell’s long, silver hair was kept in a neat ponytail at his nape, his facial hair groomed to perfection, and his eyes so black they rivaled the demons Seven grew up among. Blackwell never gave without pain; he never took without it either. Seven still hurt from his last feeding and wasn’t in a hurry to repeat it.
“It was only yesterday, Master. I do not hunger,” Seven said as emotionlessly as possible.
“That you are fed at all is only due to my generosity.” Blackwell’s reminder was a dangerous purr, and his hand tightened painfully in his hair.
Seven blanched as he realized his mistake. “Of course, Master. I’m grateful not to starve. No master is as generous as you. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
“No?” Blackwell’s grip loosened and his fingers slid down. He pressed his thumb to Seven’s lips until the lush flesh yielded. “Then feed, my pet. In my entire collection, I personally feed you. Show me how grateful you are to have been gifted such a generous master.”
Seven whimpered as his face was roughly pressed down the front of Blackwell’s pants. He knew his master only fed him because he sustained off of sex while other demons needed blood. Blackwell would never be so generous to open a vein for his slaves. Seven nuzzled into the bulge growing on the other side of the fabric, his eyes closed tight to hide his relief. Rarely did a blowjob lead to pain, unlike the other ways Blackwell took him. As long as he played his part, it would be over in minutes and he wouldn’t have to return to this room for another twenty-four hours.
“Hands,” Blackwell ordered. Seven obediently slipped them behind his back and wrapped his tail around his arms to keep them in place. One of his horns was held tight while Blackwell unzipped. There was a rustle of fabric and his dusky tipped dick sprang free and jolted Seven on his cheek. Seven quickly took a breath, knowing he would be unlikely to get another as his both his horns were locked in Blackwell’s grip. He was pulled down, his lips stretching to take the cock pushed abruptly into his mouth.
Seven kept as pliant as possible. He knew what Blackwell preferred after all these years. His participation in the act wasn’t required, just his gasps for air and hot tears when he choked. Blackwell liked to know he suffered, his throat raw with each brutal thrust of his dick. Seven released a pained cry when his hair was twisted hard. He hoped it would be enough, but wasn’t surprised when Blackwell’s hand reached for his neck. Long, cruel fingers wrapped tight around his throat and bruised his porcelain flesh.
Seven could feel the anger in the grip. He whimpered and struggled not to fight back or pull away when his air was cut off completely from the painful hold and the thick cock dripping wet in his mouth. Blackwell would make it worse if he fought. Seven might fear him, but over the last ten years enslaved to the sorcerer, he had yet to be killed. Seven opened wider and stayed as still as possible as Blackwell thrust deep, careless pumps against his tonsils, his cock head jarring against the back of his throat erratically. With a groan, Blackwell pulled him tight while surging forward. He sank his cock deep into Seven’s throat and held there while the demon dripped tears and saliva.
“Yes. Don’t fucking move.” Blackwell stared down into his eyes, watching Seven’s face flush with his need for oxygen. “Grip it. Deeper. Tighter.”
There was no way to do both with his mouth open so wide to take him in deep. Seven ran his tongue sloppily over the underside of Blackwell’s shaft, relieved to feel his heavy length thrum as he got closer. Maybe it was the pulse of his own heartbeat. Things were getting hazy and Seven could no longer feel the fingers biting into his neck or the saliva dripping crystal down his chin.
“Hold. Like that.”
Seven’s sway was stopped by the wrench to his hair. Blackwell’s cock swelled in deep his throat, and he grunted as he jerked streams of cum against the back of Seven’s throat. He held him there, Seven’s nose crushed to his navel as he ground hard like he was trying to ingrain the pattern of his cock into his flesh.
Seven rumbled deep in his chest as power zinged through him with every drop of seed. He didn’t need energy but his throat convulsed and he drank it down eagerly. He loved the taste, the texture, the buzz; he loved everything about the life giving nectar he fed from. Yes, blood could sustain him but it was nothing compared to the wild high he got from cum.
Seven gagged and tears streamed down his face as the fingers around his throat tightened. Heat rose through him and Seven’s vision dimmed. He struggled to stay conscious. He couldn’t pass out. If he spilled a drop of cum, Blackwell would rage about the waste and his immaculate clothes being ruined. It was just a wave of magic to clean any stains away, but his master enjoyed his games.
“Good, Seven. Very good.” Blackwell’s thumb stroked down the side of his throat. “Swallow your reward, my pet.” His fingers reluctantly released Seven’s neck and he smoothed over the pattern of bruises while Seven swallowed down what was left of Blackwell’s seed between gasps for air. There was no time to recover; three of Blackwell’s fingers shoved between Seven’s swollen lips and reached as deep as he could get.
Seven groaned at the new intrusion. He swayed dizzily and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth as Blackwell continued to fuck his lips raw. It didn’t matter; it was nearly over. He just needed to wait it out and he’d be free for hours.
“You are beautiful, my pet. It must be why I put up with your constant disappointments,” Blackwell mused. He used his free hand to comb through Seven’s blood-red tangle of hair. “The others are jealous of the attention I give you. They don’t think you deserve it, pet, not when you don’t join them in their raids. Thirteen, in particular, seems very upset with you.”
Seven’s gaze focused blearily on Blackwell’s knee as thick fingers continued to thrust into his mouth. Dread tightened in the pit of his stomach and quickly churned to something unbearable. He heard the promise of punishment clear in his master’s voice. Not done. Not done yet.
Blackwell curled his wet fingers and scraped down Seven’s throat as he tried to make him gag. “I have a plan, my pet. I think I know how to get Thirteen to appreciate your gifts better.” Seven closed his eyes to block out his impassive stare. He didn’t have to turn when the quiet sound of padding bare feet reached his ears. He knew it was the powerful, gray skinned demon with burning red eyes and long, leathery wings.
Thirteen was the newest to the ranks and already caused quite a stir with Blackwell. He was powerful, brutal and so eager to kill; everything Seven wasn’t. Everything Seven despised. Blackwell knew. Seven hadn’t been blind to the dark, hungry look in his master’s eyes whenever he noticed Thirteen glaring at his sweet demon pet.
“Sorcerer slut.” Thirteen was careful to growl in their demonic language so Blackwell wouldn’t understand. His glare burned over Seven’s naked body where he knelt on the floor with mouth open wide as he choked on Blackwell’s fingers. “You let this human fuck you. It would be better to kill yourself, you pathetic waste. You are no demon.”
Seven did his best to focus on every small gasp of air he could drag in and not Thirteen’s words. Even if he could have spoken in that moment, Thirteen was too proud to listen. He was too new to understand what life on Earth was like. There had been no choice once Blackwell collared him. Death. Death was not a choice but an inevitability he would not rush toward. As long as he held life within him, Seven would seek the light he could of each moment. Life was precious, sacred, and fleeting for so many. Seven didn’t kill; surely the last scrap of his sanity was in his refusal to take another’s life for his master. Something Thirteen couldn’t say for even his short time there.
“Get up, my pet.” Blackwell removed his fingers from Seven’s mouth and wiped the wet digits on his throat to smear on his skin. His thumb came up again to run over Seven’s bruised bottom lip before he let him stand. “Kneel on the carpet with your face to me so I can see your expression. Spread your knees wide and get down on your hands.” Blackwell’s eyes didn’t move from Seven as he watched him sink to the floor with his ass up in the air. “Good. Is it too hard for your skin, pretty pet?”
Seven panted softly, his unfocused eyes turned in the direction of the elaborately woven carpet. “It’s fine,” he answered as blandly as possible. He knew Blackwell was only trying to incite Thirteen. He was pretending to pamper, pretending to give a fuck like he was the sorcerer’s treasured pet and not his favorite hole. By the sound of Thirteen’s snarl, it was working. Seven didn’t have to look at Blackwell to know it would please him; there was something fucked up in the man. He was cruel and twisted and took pleasure in seeing Seven injured and humiliated whenever he could.
“Thirteen, to me.”
The muscular demon took sure, silent steps and stopped in front of where Blackwell was seated. Although his head was held high, his eyes were fixed on where Seven was spread out on the rug.
Blackwell’s gaze ran down Thirteen’s nude, powerful form as he took in his hard muscle and blue-gray skin color. His eyes lingered and fixed on the demon’s half-erect arousal. “Your anatomy is always so fascinating. It doesn’t matter how much you demons vary in shape and abilities, you’re all designed to ensure your mating is successful.” His palm came up to caress Thirteen’s dick. Blackwell squeezed and stroked the flesh to full hardness. A smile quirked his lips when he saw the full impressive size.
Thirteen’s glare grew the longer he was fondled. His expression was stone-faced when the raised ridges that wrapped his shaft every inch were traced by Blackwell’s fingers with interest.
“You grow even larger when you cum and lock inside your mate. It must be painful for a tight hole like Seven.” Blackwell’s gaze slid down again to where Seven was bent forward, his curtain of red hair draped around his shoulders. “My pet knows enough not to complain about such things, even if he still cannot figure out how to answer my summons in a timely manner.”
Seven swallowed thickly and didn’t dare look up. The last thing he wanted Blackwell to see was his fear. “Forgive me, Master.”
“I do not forgive, Seven. I punish and expect obedience to follow.” Blackwell gave a final squeeze to Thirteen’s pulsing, ridged cock, his gaze full of barely contained anger. “Thirteen, you may mate him but there must be no blood. Bruises are fine. Expected with one as strong as you. Do not stain my carpet; it was a gift.”