Playing With Fire by Sean Michael Read Free Book Online Page B

man to punish him too often. “No, I would prefer to honor my word and submit to your will, Zujan.”
    He got a long look then that pointed chin dipped. “As you will.”
    Zujan snapped his fingers and another scantily clad boy appeared. “Yes, Master?”
    “Feed the prince. Tend to his feet, his hair, his wrists and have him delivered to my quarters when he is ready.”
    Wintras inclined his head. “Thank you, Zujan.”
    He had to force the words from his mouth, but he said them nonetheless. He received a nod, and then the boy took his wrist, leading him back to the quiet, lush rooms where a number of young people waited. The boy spoke quickly, and then it seemed dozens of hands were on him—petting and applying salve and brushing and offering food to his lips.
    He was tired and hurting and let them pamper him, let them feed him from their hands and make him feel better without complaint, without trying to do for himself. He didn’t question any of them if they were happy or not, he was learning that Zujan’s people were loyal, even if they weren’t free.
    He did feel better by the end, soothing creams spread on his feet, his nipples, his wrists. Even the battered entrance to his body was doctored and stroked. His head rested on the soft thighs of one boy, grapes and slices of fruit finding their way to his mouth, the occasional sip of water. His skin was oiled, the hands gentle. He almost fell asleep, it was so soothing.
    It was the thought that he could get used to this that roused him. It would not do to become complacent. Nor would it do to forget that these men were slaves who coddled and served him because they had no other choice.
    Warm eyes met his. “Rest, sweet prince. You need not return to our master until you are ready.”
    “And which of us gets in trouble if I am not ready for some time?” he asked as he settled again on the warm legs.
    “No one. The master does not wish you harm.”
    “Really?” He could smell the sweet, male scent of the boy. This he was familiar with. Being close with male friends, warming and comforting each other. Innocent fumblings. No one forced into anything. Almost without thinking, he nuzzled the soft blond curls crowning the bared cock.
    “Mmm…” The sounds were sweet, soft chuckles and giggles filling the air.
    It made him smile. “Is this allowed? Pleasuring each other?”
    “Mmm…yes. We like to touch.” Soft lips started brushing his skin, fingers stroking and teasing.
    Oh. Oh, it was sweet, to be touched, pleasured because he and they wanted it.
    He turned his head, pushing his face against… He raised his head. “What are your names?” He was not an animal, mindlessly taking his pleasure from nameless, faceless men.
    “Yves.”
    “Furn.”
    “Patricio.”
    The soft names poured over him, like the gentle touches, the soft tongues.
    “I am Wintras.” He reached up to Yves, tracing the soft features before burying his face in the boy’s crotch again, mouthing the hardness there.
    “Wintras.”
    “Sweet prince.”
    “So lovely.”
    “So strong.”
    “Sweet as honeyed wine.”
    Gentle fingers entered him, lips surrounded his shaft. He cried out, the pleasure soft and wanted. His own hands slid on Yves, offering, he hoped, as much pleasure as he was being given. The gentleness, the praise and warmth a balm. Fingers stroked his head, his hair, soft moans of pleasure seeming to come from everywhere. He pushed away Yves’ short tunic, lips sliding on the hot shaft itself. Yves’ cock was not too long, but hard and leaking at the tip, the flavor mostly sweet. The moan was long, calling for him, calling for more. He slipped his lips over Yves’ cock, sucking gently, fingers stroking the so soft inner thighs as his own parted for clever fingers that were making him fly.
    The silken flesh slid over his tongue, salt and sweet spreading in his mouth. The pressure within him made him shift, so careful, so gentle. He undulated, feeling sensual, sexy. It