Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 8
As Raoul had said, the Wasteland was a different world after dark. Katze and Iason rode slowly through streets that rapidly filled with men and an eccentric assortment of vehicles. The name of this particular settlement was Midnight and it was supposed to be the most well-developed of all the pockets of habitation scattered over the vast ruins.
Light glowed in the windows of buildings they'd thought abandoned. People stared after Iason with open mouths, whispers following them as they made their way through this populated section.
"There's a likely place," said Iason suddenly, pointing ahead toward a building with an open door that spilled light and noise into the dark.
"If you say so," was Katze's unenthusiastic reply.
"And bring in the bikes," Iason added when they reached it.
"What?"
"According to Raoul, if we take our eyes off them, they'll be stolen. I have no intention of wasting my time in a trial by combat to get them back."
"What are you talking about?"
But Iason only smiled, remembering Raoul's tales.
No one objected as he walked through the door and into the bar, wheeling the big bike, Katze at his heels. The crowded room fell silent. Ragged, dirty men stared at them through the haze of smoke and cheap alcohol fumes. After a moment, a rail-thin youth approached them nervously. "S-sirs?" He could not take his eyes from Iason's hair.
"What do you have?"
The boy, stammering, rattled off a brief list of alcoholic beverages, the best of them only barely palatable. Iason, deciding that if he was going to be in the Wasteland, he might as well go for the full, sordid experience, ordered stout. Katze looked at him as if he'd gone mad and asked for wine.
It was the barkeep himself who brought their drinks, wiping hastily at the filthy table top. "Welcome to Stony's," he said, eyes bright with curiosity. "Can't say as we get too many of your kind here, sir."
"I don't doubt it," agreed Iason, accepting the bottle of stout and setting it on the table before him. "I'm looking for someone."
The man blinked.
"Another Blondie," said Iason. "An old friend of mine. His name is Raoul. I hear you people call him the Gold King or something equally colorful. By the way, do you have a glass?"
"Never heard of him," muttered the barkeep, and hurried off. It was the boy who brought him a tumbler.
"Subtly is clearly not on your agenda," Katze noted in a faint voice. "We'll be lucky not to be shot in the back."
"Oh, I don't think so," replied Iason calmly. He poured some of the stout into the tumbler and held it to the light, thoughtful. "My guess is that everyone is too afraid of Raoul to risk angering him by killing me – just in case I am what I say – an old friend."
"And Raoul? What is he likely to think?"
"I have no idea," admitted Iason. "How's your wine? It is wine, isn't it?"
Katze stared at the dirty glass. "This is going to be a long trip," he sighed.
The days dragged. Draco spent a lot of time away from their rooms, "whipping the place into shape," as he put it. Els drifted around the apartment, playing video games, pruning their new potted plants and picking up here and there. He worked on his latest picture of Draco, but couldn't get the damned nose right.
Two weeks after they arrived, it started to snow. That was entertaining for awhile. He'd never seen real snow. He stood at the window, ignoring the chill coming off the glass and stared at the endless feathery flakes that whirled from the sky, obscuring the Fortress, softening its harsh, ugly lines in a gentle blanket of white. A company of cadets appeared in his narrow field of vision, marching smartly through it, apparently oblivious, their arms swinging to and fro before disappearing around the corner. The sight appealed to him and he bolted back to his room, hastily putting down a rough sketch while the image hung in his mind. Draco called in the middle of the afternoon from the administration building. "There will be guests for dinner," he told Els. "Our neighbor, Lieutenant Richards, is coming. We're going to discuss some changes in staffing. He'll be bringing his pet, as well. Word has gotten around about you, it would seem."
Richards. He was one of the two officers who shared the big old apartment building with them. Simms was the other.
"You'll want us to perform?"
"Yes."
"I-Is he an Academy pet?"
"Probably," came Draco's indifferent reply. "I'll see you later."
There was a queasy feeling in the pit of Els' stomach. He'd been dreading the moment when he'd be forced to measure his skills against someone with real training. He remembered the mongrel, how the man had been able to turn him into a moaning slut even though he'd wanted more than anything to remain unaffected. That was training and Els didn't have it.
Brooding on the problem, he almost forgot to retrieve the mongrel's dinner tray. It was on the floor where he'd left it, empty. The mongrel lay with his back to Els and didn't move, not even when Els deliberately rattled the tray picking it up.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Els cleaned and cooked. He pulled out his prop boxes and went through the various costumes inside, looking for something to wear. He didn't have many things; Draco was not a demanding master. Els finally settled on a blue g-string with a small, matching vest.
Draco arrived at sunset, surrounded by cold and covered with snow. The lieutenant was with him, a handsome man with a ready smile. Trailing after them was a beautiful youth with jewel-green eyes and a sulky expression. He looked Els over as if the colonist had come crawling out of the sewer. Els' stomach, already in anxious knots, got queasier yet.
He served the masters in the small dining room. The pet, Asher, ate with him in the kitchen, saying little, picking at the food and looking dissatisfied. He shrugged when Els asked if dinner was to his liking and turned down dessert.
"What kind of repertoire do you have?" he asked, as Els carried their dishes to the sink.
"R-repertoire?"
"Oh, shit, that's what I was afraid of. You're a colony pet, right?"
"Y-yeah."
Asher sighed heavily and all but rolled his eyes. "I hear you don't have any formal training."
Els shook his head.
"Great." Another sigh. "Oh, well – Michael wanted to see you in action, so I guess I don't have any choice. We'll do something simple, all right?" Asher rose and stretched sinuously. He was wearing a slinky pair of trousers and shirt that just barely covered his belly. His ears were pierced with a half dozen rings of very fine gold with bits of gemstones sparkling on them. Short white hair, gelled and spiked, gave him a slightly rakish look.
"Like what?"
"We'll kiss first – don't you put your tongue in my mouth, either. Then you can suck my cock. If by some miracle I get hard, I'll finish up by fucking you in the ass. Mike likes that."
"Draco likes to see me sucked, too," Els said, beginning to get annoyed with Asher's supercilious attitude.
"I'm not sucking you off," retorted Asher. "Mike said I didn't have to do anything I don't want to."
Els had received no similar assurances from his master. "All right," he muttered.
The Midas pet wandered off to the sitting room to "try to get in the mood," as he put it, leaving Els to clean up the dinner things and to bring their masters some drinks.
Please don't let me embarrass Draco, he thought, trudging down the hall to the sitting room. Don't let him think he should get an Academy pet of his own! Determined to do the best he could, he walked in to find Asher sifting through their collection of vids.
"Our masters are on their way," Els said, mouth suddenly dry.
"Yeah, yeah." With a long-suffering look, Asher beckoned impatiently. "Come on. Let's get going."
"But they're not here ye..." Els' protest was cut off by the sudden crush of Asher's lips against his. Taken by surprise, he nearly pushed the other youth away, but Asher just shoved Els hard into the wall. Aggressively, the taller pet forced Els' mouth open and thrust his tongue in. Then he pulled open Els' little vest. Els made a sound of surprise and pain as Asher's fingers found his nipples and pinched them hard.
Through the pounding of his pulse in his ears, Els heard deep laughter from across the room. "Looks like the randy little sluts couldn't wait to go at it," came the lieutenant's voice. There was a rustling as the two officers found seats.
"Put your arms around me, you stupid rube," hissed Asher, moving his lips to Els' ear. Els quickly obeyed. He was kissed again, roughly, competently, then pulled out into the middle of the room. Asher's hands moved busily up and down his back and over his ass, fingers sliding into the cleft between his buttocks. His loincloth was torn away. The other pet's fingers tightened, nails digging into Els' flesh.
Els was getting dizzy from lack of air. When he was finally released, he sagged weakly in the other boy's arms, trying to catch his breath. The lieutenant made another laughing comment, but Els didn't hear it. His heart was pounding too loudly.
It was horrible. Asher pawed and mauled at him, moaning and rubbing his crotch against Els, all the while whispering impatient instructions as if Els were a half-wit. "Undress me, you idiot. No. Ouch! Not like that."
Finally, his lips throbbing, nipples pulsing and swollen from Asher's malicious attentions, Els was allowed to kneel. He opened his mouth and nearly choked when Asher pushed the generously sized organ into it. An image came to him as he knelt, the floor hard under his knees and his mouth filled with the musky flesh of his tormenter – an image of the mongrel in this exact same position.
Several uncomfortable minutes passed and nothing was happening. Els struggled to bring Asher to an erection, but Asher's cock remained limp. Each time Els tried to apply suction, or a bit of tonguing, the other boy moved just enough to pull himself away or break Els' rhythm.
"Ow!" cried Asher suddenly, jerking back and out of Els' mouth. Els blinked at the tears that had gathered in his eyes and drew a long, shaky breath. His mouth hurt. He looked up at Asher. The other boy had his hand cupped over his genitals and an expression of chagrin on his face.
"I'm sorry, sir," Asher whined. "Nothing's happening and I'm getting sore."
The lieutenant favored Els with a startled look. Draco was frowning. Els looked from them to the pet. The son of a bitch was doing it on purpose, he thought suddenly. He wants me to fail!
"Well, that's too bad," the lieutenant said. "Maybe he's just not used to Amoi yet?"
"Possibly."
Els stared blindly at the floor, certain that if he had to look at Asher, he would punch the bastard's lights out.
"Why not let Asher give us a show?" continued the lieutenant. "He was so excited at being able to perform for an Elite."
Draco's eyes drifted over the lieutenant's pet. The youth stretched, thrusting his hips forward. One hand crept between his legs to rub at his genitals suggestively. There was a little pout on his full, red mouth and a challenge in his green gaze.
"Come here," Draco said then, beckoning to Els without looking at him. "Watch. You might learn something."
Ears burning, Els wished he could sink into the floor. He stood at his master's shoulder and tried not to see the triumph in the other pet's face.
"Dance for us," growled the lieutenant, staring hungrily at Asher.
As much as Els wanted to remain unimpressed, he had to admit that Asher knew his stuff. While the masters watched, rapt, the other pet caressed himself, eyes half-closed, lips parted, his body springing magically, beautifully to life. His sex, so uncooperative before, now hardened and lengthened. His small, caramel-colored nipples became points of desire. He tossed his head and the earrings flashed and jingled.
"Master," he cried at last, trembling, body rosy with arousal.
"What do you say, Brand? Shall we let him come or does he play for us awhile longer?"
"Don't torment the boy," Draco said with a small smile. "He's worked hard."
So Lieutenant Richards nodded. Asher's fist tightened around his cock and his pumping became frantic. A shudder ran through him and he cried out, spilling his seed into his other hand, knees buckling. Richards and Draco were still heaping praise on the breathless youth when Els, with a heavy heart, crept away.