Author: Katica Locke PM
After failing to pay his taxes, Bryan is sold as a slave to cover the bill. Slash.Rated: Fiction M - English - Western/Drama - Words: 3,496 - Reviews: 23 - Favs: 60 - Follows: 11 - Published: 11-10-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2740189
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
In the noisy, crowded magistrate's office, Bryan stood as though in the eye of a hurricane; in silence, untouched, watching as his world was ripped apart around him. The clerk slipped the bill of sale back into its brown folder and laid it upon the desk.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sobe, but it's too late--"
"No," Bryan said, stepping forward and planting his hands on the worn desktop, looming over the young man and his neat stack of paperwork. "Just give me a little more time--I can get the money."
"Mr. Sobe, you haven't paid your taxes in six months," the clerk informed him needlessly. "With fines, fees, and penalties, you owe more than your land is worth. There is nothing I can do."
Bryan slammed his fist against the desk, making the clerk jump and a pair of uniformed officers rise from their seats at a table near the back of the room. Before he did something stupid, he turned away, running a hand back through his shaggy brown hair as he drew a slow breath through his teeth.
"So I'm just supposed to walk away?" he asked, fighting to keep his tone civil. "That land has been in my family for generations--My great-grandfather was born in that house! And what am I supposed to do with my cattle?"
"Mr. Sobe, I don't think you understand. Your land is not worth enough to cover your debt. The government has seized and sold all of your assets. That includes your cattle...and you, Mr. Sobe."
"I am not a government slave!" Bryan snarled through his teeth, glancing over at the officers as they approached.
"Technically, you're a privately owned slave now," the clerk said, rising from his chair. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sobe." If he apologized one more time, Bryan was going to kill him. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be." Bryan turned to face the officers, started to raise his fists, and then lowered them again. The room was filled with uniforms. He turned back to the clerk.
"Who bought me?" he demanded. "Who bought my land?"
"I'm not legally allowed to say," the clerk said, "but it shouldn't be too hard to guess."
Bryan clenched his teeth.
"That fucking faerie."
Pacing back and forth before a long bench, Bryan stared out through the iron bars of the holding cell, his jaw aching as he ground his teeth. Taikara Hauvae was some sort of faerie--sidhe, not fey--who had moved to the valley four years ago, and had since bought up all the private land to the south of town. All except Bryan's. The faerie had offered him three times what the land was worth--a sizeable fortune, considering that Bryan had nearly half a million acres of pasture, forest, and hills--but Bryan wasn't interested in selling. Especially not to that greedy, immoral bastard.
Mr. Hauvae ran a unicorn ranch, which was just about the most disgusting thing Bryan had ever heard of. Wild unicorns on Eshaedra were endangered and protected by law after having been hunted to near extinction for their horns, blood, hair, skin, and bone, all of which were infused with magical energy. Captive bred and unicorn/horse hybrids, though, were as legal to own, raises, and slaughter as cattle, even though it had been proven that unicorns possessed the mental and emotional capabilities of a human child. The only thing that kept them from being recognized as people, rather than animals, was their lack of an established language, but in Bryan's eyes, that was not reason enough to excuse what the faerie was doing.
Bryan stopped his pacing, stepping over to the bars as the office door opened and the faerie strutted into the room, his silver spurs jangling and a coiled lariat hanging over one arm. He wore black suede boots and faded blue jeans, with a long-sleeved, white silk shirt under a black suede vest. His shoulder-length golden hair was tied back with a black silk ribbon and his amber eyes looked out from beneath the brim of his black cowboy hat. He was fucking beautiful--lithe and slender and delicate--but all faeries were, and Bryan let himself feel only hatred and contempt when he looked at his new master.
The faerie spoke briefly to the clerk, and then strode over to the cell, smirking as his gazed moved slowly down Bryan's figure.
"Mr. Sobe..." he said, his voice rich and mellow. "Bryan, isn't it? Or perhaps I'll just call you Pet." He chuckled as Bryan lunged, pressing himself against the bars, but his mirth vanished as Bryan spat in his face. An ugly flicker of rage darkened his beautiful face, and he turned away, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket as he motioned for one of the officers to open the cell door. Mr. Hauvae wiped his cheek and tucked the cloth back in his pocket before pushing past the officer and entering the cell. Without a word, he stepped over to Bryan and backhanded him across the face, sending Bryan stumbling sideways.
Face stinging, Bryan straightened up, baring his teeth as he took a step toward the faerie. He stopped short, staring down the long, black barrel of a pistol.
"Go ahead," Bryan said, staring defiantly into the faerie's amber eyes. He had the eyes of a wolf. "I'd rather be dead than be owned by you."
The faerie regarded him for a moment, and then put the gun away.
"That's not much of a punishment, then, is it?" Mr. Hauvae said. "But I know what would be; disrespect me again, and I'll let you watch while I burn that unsightly shack you used to live in to the ground. Understand?" Bryan seethed, shaking inside. The faerie was right--his family had lived in that house for five generations. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing it destroyed.
"If I cooperate," he said through his teeth, "will you let my house be?"
"It's my house now," the faerie said, "and I'll consider it. Right now, it would be more trouble to tear it down than to let it stand. Hold out your arms." Bryan allowed his wrists to be bound before him, his head up and back straight as he was led out of the magistrate's office.
As the faerie untied his palomino unicorn from the hitching post and swung up into the saddle, Bryan glanced around the dusty main street, catching and holding the gaze of anyone who had the guts to look at him. Most didn't. Those who did quickly looked away. Selfish, greedy cowards, all of them. If they hadn't sold out, they all could have taken a stand and protested the outrageous taxes, but instead it was just Bryan, one whining rancher bitching into a deaf ear.
Gathering up the reins, the faerie turned his unicorn toward the south edge of town, and with the sun beating down upon his shoulders and bare head, Bryan followed silently behind.
Bryan had expected to be pulled along behind the unicorn, or dragged near to death, but Mr. Hauvae urged his mount no faster than a walk. It was still five miles from the edge of town out to the faerie's ranch, though, and Bryan's legs ached by the time they passed beneath the presumptuous stone arch holding the wooden sign declaring this the Wild Iris Unicorn Rescue. That sign probably gave him some sort of tax deduction, if he claimed it as a rescue and not what it really was.
On either side of the long road, large paddocks of green grass and pink flowering clover held separate herds of unicorns; each one with a stallion and half a dozen mares and their foals. They were magnificent creatures, as powerful and graceful as the finest horse, with bright, intelligent eyes, long, silken manes and tails, and gleaming, spiral horns.
At the end of the road, the faerie reined in the palomino in front of a massive stone manor and dismounted. A young man in jeans and a ragged straw hat ran over from the nearest of three red barns and took the unicorn's reins, leading it away. In an unsettling parallel, Bryan followed at the end of the faerie's rope, the cool, dark interior of the manor a relief after being baked in the sun for the better part of two hours. Bryan raised his arms as much as the rope would let him, wiping the gritty dust from his face on the sleeves of his shirt as the faerie removed his hat and spurs, hanging them on a rack just inside the door.
Mr. Hauvae led him into a resplendent sitting room that was almost as big as Bryan's entire house. Thick carpet covered the floor and sparkling crystal chandeliers lit up the rosewood paneled walls. The faerie crossed the room to an ornate liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink, then turned and leaned against the cabinet, regarding Bryan while he sipped his drink. Bryan just stood and stared back at him, though his mouth was as dry as the dust on his boots.
After a moment, the faerie set his glass down and picked up a large, ceramic pitcher, pouring what looked like water into a second glass. Bryan couldn't help but lick his lips, tasting sweat and dirt. Without a word, Mr. Hauvae held out the glass to him. Bryan hesitated, wary of a trick, and then took a small step closer and raised his bound hands, his fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
"Thank you," he muttered, lifting the glass to his lips and taking an experimental sip. He didn't taste anything other than the slight mineral flavor of the valley's wells, and he supposed the faerie wouldn't drag him all the way out to his manor just to poison him. He could have shot Bryan right there in the magistrate's office and no one would have done a damn thing; Bryan was his property to do with as he pleased. Which raised a frightening question: What did the faerie want with him?
"So, Bryan," Mr. Hauvae said as Bryan gulped down the water. "How many cattle do I now own?"
Bryan swallowed and scowled at the faerie, weighing the glass in his hands and wondering if he could hit him with it, and if it would be worth the punishment.
"A hundred and fifty head," he said finally.
"And how much grazing land do a hundred and fifty head need?"
"Depends," Bryan said, and finished emptying the glass.
"On what?" The faerie took the glass, filled it again, and handed it back.
"On whether you do rotational grazing, or let them wander over a single area, and on what, if anything, you supplement in their diet. I wouldn't graze them on any less that seventy-five acres, but a hundred-fifty, two hundred would be better." Bryan took another swallow. "Does this mean you're going to keep them?" He had assumed the faerie would sell off everything to make room for his unicorns.
"I haven't decided," Mr. Hauvae said, swirling the contents of his own glass before taking one last swallow. "I think I'll leave that up to you."
"To me?" Bryan was shocked that he'd get a say in anything. Then the faerie smiled, a slow, self-satisfied smile, and Bryan's blood ran cold.
"Yes, I've just had an idea," the faerie said. "How would you like to live in your old house, raise your old cattle, appearing to all the world as a free man?" Bryan just stared at him, waiting. "All you have to do is prove to me how much you want it."
"And how would I do that?" Bryan asked, his voice hollow. In answer, the faerie took the glass from Bryan's hands and gathered up the slack in the rope, leading him into an adjacent room--a bedroom. Bryan stopped dead in the doorway, barely feeling the lariat bite into his wrists as he stared at the massive bed, carved posts of pale ash holding up a canopy of sheer gold material. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious," Mr. Hauvae said. "Why else do you think I bought you?"
Bryan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry again.
"Y- you can't--I won't--"
"I can and you will. You forget--I own you. I can do anything I want to you. This is simply a courtesy and a chance--you're only chance--to get something out of the bargain. Should you refuse, I assure you, I'll still get what I want, but you won't."
Not since he had stumbled across a rattlesnake in the pasture had Bryan been this afraid. He was no stranger to sharing his bed with a man, and if Mr. Hauvae had been human, he would have been a little humiliated, but not afraid. He'd never had sex with a faerie, but he had heard...things. Aside from the fact that Bryan didn't know what sort of glamour Mr. Hauvae possessed, faeries were regaled and reviled for their natural skill and abilities between the sheets. They were said to be like a drug--addictive.
But Bryan didn't know what else to do. Either way, he was fucked.
"Fine," Bryan said, feeling nauseous as the word passed his lips. The faerie smiled again and pulled him over to the bed. Bryan watched with growing unease as Mr. Hauvae tossed the lariat over the crossbeam between the tops of the two bedposts at the foot of the bed, drawing Bryan's arms over his head before securing the rope to the post. Bryan's heart raced as he stared at the bed in front of him.
He tensed as arms encircled his waist, deftly unbuttoning his jeans. Bryan stared straight ahead as the faerie slid his pants and briefs down around his ankles. Mr. Hauvae stepped back and Bryan could hear him moving around the room--the soft tread of his boots, the rustle of cloth, the dry scrape of a drawer being opened. This couldn't be happening.
The faerie returned to the side of the bed, where Bryan could see him, and set down a jar of thick, pale blue lubricant on the bedspread. Slowly, his amber eyes never leaving Bryan's face, the faerie began to undress, kicking off his boots, slipping out of his shirt, stepping out of his jeans, until he stood in just his socks, his bronze skin smooth and flawless, his lithe body hard and sculpted by lean muscle. Bryan tried not to stare, but his gaze gravitated downward, to the faerie's cock, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Already partially aroused, the slender shaft was draped with folds of loose skin, giving it a withered, wrinkled appearance. Bryan wasn't sure what he had expected, but he was relieved to find that the rumors had been exaggerated.
Mr. Hauvae picked up the jar and stepped toward him, unscrewing the lid as me moved behind Bryan.
"For your own sake," the faerie said, "don't make this harder than it has to be."
Bryan drew a sharp breath, his entire body tensing, as cool, slender fingers eased between his cheeks, spreading the slippery gel across his entrance. He knew it would be easier if he relaxed, but he'd be damned if he'd give the raping bastard the satisfaction of making him enjoy it. A strangled sound rose up in his throat as the faerie slid a single finger inside him, but he bit it back, clenching his fists as he kept his silence.
"Aren't you the tough one," the faerie murmured, his rich voice low and purring in Bryan's ear. "You think I can't break you? You think you're tougher than all the others?" Others? Bryan didn't like the sound of that. He gasped, trying to pull away as the faerie inserted another finger, rotating them inside him, stretching him. Mr. Hauvae chuckled. "You haven't felt anything, yet, Pet."
Bryan cried out, his body jerking as a shock of pleasure as intense as any orgasm raced through him.
"Wh- What--" he panted, unable to stop himself from trembling.
"Didn't you know?" the faerie asked, his tone smug. "I'm an ainmhain sidhe." Bryan racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd ever heard that word before. Mr. Hauvae leaned closer, wrapping an arm around Bryan's waist and grasping his cock. "I'm a lust faerie."
Bryan moaned, loud and long, as the faerie's fingers began to move inside him, stroking his prostate. A deep, insistent pleasure began to gather inside him, spiking sharply as the faerie ran those long fingers up and down his shaft. He couldn't resist, he couldn't stop it--he was going to come--
It was like running into a wall. A strangled moan escaped him as his body shuddered, caught upon the peak of climax and unable to reach completion. It was like the moment just before release, but the moment just stretched on and on.
"I can do this for hours," the faerie whispered in his ear. "My glamour, my magic, gives me complete control over your pleasure. If you want to come, you're going to have to beg for it."
"Fuck you," Bryan spat, but he howled as another wave of intense pleasure rolled through him. Lights flashed before his eyes and he felt like his nuts were going to implode. "All right, all right--Please; please let me come."
"Too late for that," the faerie said. "You were rude. Now you must suffer the consequences." He inserted a third finger, pressing deeper, and Bryan bucked hard enough to make the bed frame creak.
"I'm sorry!" he cried. "Please!"
"Good Pet," Mr. Hauvae said with a chuckle, and he brushed his lips against the shell of Bryan's ear, making his shiver. "Now say..."
"Please, master, fuck me," Bryan repeated, not caring what he said as long it ended the torment. "I want your cock in me. Fuck me hard." Without another word, the faerie withdrew his fingers and sank his slender cock into Bryan. Bryan groaned and bucked back against him, taking the faerie up to the hilt. He'd never felt anything like it. The loose, fleshy folds had stiffened into taut ridges that rubbed inside him. Grabbing his hips, the faerie pounded into him, and all Bryan could do was gasp and moan, and pray that it would end.
Finally, the faerie cried out and Bryan felt the slick warmth of his seed inside him. His movements slowed, until he stopped, pressed tight to Bryan, his softening cock still buried inside him.
"You learn quickly, Pet," the faerie said, gracing the back of Bryan's jaw with a soft kiss. "You and I are going to have a lot of fun, I think." He reached down, wrapping his hand around Bryan's aching shaft, and with a single stroke, allowed him to climax.
When Bryan regained consciousness, he was lying upon the bed, his hands untied, and the faerie was standing over him, already dressed.
"Clean yourself up," Mr. Hauvae said, gesturing to the right of the bed, where an open doorway looked into a small bathroom. "Tomorrow--if you can walk--you can start re-fencing my new land. I have six new unicorns coming in at the end of the week, and nowhere to pasture them."
"But...but you said--"
"I didn't say you could have all of your land back," the faerie said. "Two hundred and fifty acres will be more than enough for the cattle. I need the rest for my unicorns." He turned and headed for the door, but paused and glanced back. "I also said you had to prove how much you wanted it, and I'm afraid I'm not convinced. Maybe next time."
Bryan watched him leave, a sick, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a moment, he got up, wincing in pain as he pulled his jeans up, and shuffled toward the bathroom.