By Forever Frost

Note this is an original fiction, all of the characters and places come straight from my twisted little brain.

Summary: (yaoi) A daring outlaw rescues a beautiful (but male) pleasure slave from the cruel Duke of Danderbain, now they're on the run . . .

Warning: Yaoi, slash (m/m romance and sex, for those that don't know) there is also rape and abuse and violence, master/slave themes, etc. The R rating is serious.

Chapter One

A grin that seemed to shout smugness and self-assertion spread across Baran Lock's swarthy handsome face as the duke's knights approached him. They were four to one, and the knights were clad in thick sheets of steel armour held in place with nails, imposing visors dropped over their eyes giving them the appearance of heartless metal statues, and their swords were drawn and ready for him. Baran, on the other hand, was clad only in his regular clothes—flashy and fashionable though they were—a brightly coloured gold and black chequered blouse, thick leather gloves, a wide buccaneer hat decorated with several billowing plumes. After all, when one is a wanted criminal, a daring lawbreaker, a scandalous rouge--bandit, if you will—one does try to look one's best.

With that thought in mind, Baran Lock, legendary rouge of Danderbain Forest, threw back his heavy wool cloak and drew his sword from its scabbard. The grin still shining on his handsome face, the daring outlaw leapt fearlessly into the approaching fray.

The clash of metal rang out clearly as he locked swords with the first knight, sending shivers of excitement rippling through Baran's muscular, well-toned limbs. His sky-blue eyes sparkled mischievously, he would never grow tired of this game . . .

One of the other armed men circled in behind the bandit, slashing at him with his sharp sword. Baran expertly dodged the strike, moving too swiftly and precisely for the frustrated soldiers to land any serious blows. The sharp metal tore through a piece of his cape, the sound of fabric tearing only heightening the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"Baran Lock, you are under arrest for counts of treason and thievery. Conspiracy against his lordship Duke Slade of Danderbain, and stealing horses from the company of knights entering Lornenshire a fortnight ago—"

Baran just flashed the knight a wicked grin, leaping out of the way of the other swords, he tackled one of his adversaries with a sharp elbow in the ribs, kicked the feet out from under him, and then jauntily made a mock-bow to his wood-be captors. "You'll have to catch me first, fellas. You'll have to catch me first."

"You, slave, come here," Lord Slade snapped sharply, gesturing impatiently with a jewel-covered hand, his long grey-white hair falling thickly around his stern, clean-shaven face.

Kalonice had no choice but to obey. Shivering beneath his thin and tattered tunic the youth stepped timidly towards his master. Thin cuts and scratches marred the otherwise smooth and soft flesh of his delicate pale, porcelain limbs. His entire body was slight, slender, long thin limbs and waist that curved in an all-too feminine manner. Kalonice was too beautiful to be a slave, too beautiful to be a boy, but it was hardly a cause for celebration in his case. He shivered again.

The duke took a long moment to admire his favourite plaything. When Kalonice had first been brought before him he had thought the boy was a girl, but it hardly mattered—he was beautiful, and the terror in his large blue eyes added a delicious sadism to Slade's violations. The duke smiled, it was not a pleasant sight.

Kalonice's aqua-green hair fell in long thick waves, cascading in a thick sea over his small thin shoulders, trailing down his thin, emaciated chest and ribcage. Slade, like his previous masters for as long as he could remember, did not allow him to cut his hair. They wanted him as pretty—as feminine and vulnerable looking—as they could have him. The seventeen-year-old winced under his lord's scrutinizing gaze. The slave's eyes were large and baby blue, his eyelashes thick and curling, his skin soft porcelain white with lips like delicate rose petals. His slender and starved limbs trembled violently as he bit back his tears. Why did his master have to prolong the torture? The humiliation?

"Enough," Duke Slade commanded. "Come here."

Kalonice felt his heart catch and sink into the cold black pit of his stomach, the violent chill arrested his slender body as he moved forwards. He walked to his master slowly, every step was difficult—as though he were forcing his weakened body to move through ice-cold water. His heart was racing painfully in his chest, his hands trembled at his sides, the heavy iron shackles biting into the torn flesh of his wrists.

Slade snatched the cold chain leash that hung from Kalonice's collar and yanked the slave down with such force that Kalonice's knees slammed painfully into the hard stone floor. A whimper flew out of his lips before he could suppress it. Slade smirked with the usual sadistic glint dancing in his eyes.

"Now, now, my pretty little whore, I'll give you something to really whimper about," the duke hissed through tightly clenched teeth as he grasped the boy's face in a painfully sharp grasp. The other calloused hand tugged at his belt.

"Sir!" a guard interrupted, banging loudly on the door to the lord's private chambers.

Duke Slade growled, his cold grey eyes flashing angrily. "What is it?" he roared in a voice that made Kalonice shake and cringe. "This had better be important."

"Yes sir, it is," the knight came in, he was still wearing his heavy layers of dirt and blood streaked armour, but his helmet and visor were tucked in the crook of his arm and he strode in with a definite air of importance so that the duke looked up at him, dully interested, then turned his gaze back to the slave.

"No one told you to stop," he growled, the back of his hand stinging the side of Kalonice's face so that tears welled in the youth's large blue eyes.

The guard appeared not to take any notice of the slave, as though the half-naked young man kneeling between his master's thighs was simply invisible. Well, a slave is just a thing, an object, a possession, after all.

Kalonice wrapped his mouth around the duke's thick organ, he could feel the gnarled fingers digging painfully into his scalp, tugging at the long waves of blue-green hair, forcing him to continue.

"Your lordship," the soldier was saying, completely ignoring the spectacle, after all, he had probably seen it before. Slade had probably made Kalonice service him and every other guard in the palace at one point or another anyways, oh how he loved breaking his toys.

"Continue," Slade told the guard, his grey eyes not even glancing to the pleasure slave that serviced him. "I'm listening."

"Of course, my lord. The company of knights dispatched to Danderbain wood a fortnight ago, in hopes of finally apprehending that outlaw who robbed Lady Tessa's carriage on her way through—"

"Yes, yes, I know the man you speak of—Baran Lock," the duke's lip curled in disgust.

The guard nodded. "They have captured him, sire. They are holding him in the main hall now, awaiting your orders, my lord."

The duke snorted. "It's about time, too."

Tears were pricking in the corners of Kalonice's tightly shut eyes as Duke Slade's hand drilled painfully into his scalp, tearing at his hair and forcing him against the his master's thick, hardened sex. The duke was hot and lengthening, throbbing against the back of Kalonice's throat, gagging him. He wanted to pull away but the hand, like a steel claw, held him painfully in place. A strangled whimper rose from somewhere in Kalonice's throat, and the tears slid from his eyes as his master erupted in his mouth in a thick revolting mess. The slave tried to pull away but his master's hand still dug viciously into the back of his head. The message was clear.

Whimpering, Kalonice swallowed the cum and dutifully licked his master clean, his small body trembling and shivering uncontrollably as the tears fell from his eyes. When he finished, he was rewarded with a sharp blow to the side of his head. There was a deafening crack as stars and spots leapt before his eyes and he felt himself falling, his heart quickened, and he flailed his arms out in panic, momentarily blinded by the sharp blow. A sharp boot kicked into his ribs, causing his breath to catch and a blinding pain to shoot through his small body like a hot bolt of fire. A second later he crashed to the cold stone floor, pulling his trembling limbs up to his chest and whimpering.

They could always do this to him. Break him, destroy him, degrade him to something that was less than human, so much less, a whimpering, begging little whore. But it hurt, the pain was overwhelming, the aqua-haired slave trembled in dread as he heard the heavy footfalls of the soldier ringing out across the cold stone floor as the man approached him.

Sounding very stretched out and far away, he heard his master say: "take the whore back to his cell," his master paused for a moment by the door, arranging his heavy cape and jewelled gauntlets. "And teach him a lessen, will you? Servicing me should be a treat, the most merciful and rewarding aspect of his pitiful existence. Make him realize that."

Kalonice could not see his lord's face, but he knew that he was sneering. He shuddered once more, closing his eyes for the moment, pressing his weak body against the hard stone tiles as though if he pressed hard enough he would be able to sink right through them and escape.

Escape . . . no, there was no escape, there was nothing in his universe but wave after wave of pain and humiliation. He cringed as the soldier's hard grasp—the chain mail gloves he wore tearing Kalonice's delicate skin—tightened around his arms, dragging him up. A loud crack sounded in his ears and then he felt the side of his face burning, he knew he'd been struck again.

But it was always the same, day in and day out, nothing ever changed. His master's words rang in his head, 'teach him a lesson' as though the guards raping him would be some new form of punishment? Kalonice knew that his master was well aware of their routine violations of their most beautiful captor. The duke even ordered them to take turns using him for his amusement on more than one occasion.

The guard dragged him from the chambers, they walked swiftly, without looking at the man's face, Kalonice could feel the lustful stare boring into him. He knew it far too well. He practically fell down the narrow stone steps, the dank damp air of the cold dungeons rising up and smouldering him as the guard forced him down into the black shadows of his cell.

As soon as the knight shoved him into the small, dark cell, Kalonice fell, scrapping his hands and knees on the rough cold rock ground. The guard slammed the iron barred door closed behind him and was on top of Kalonice in a matter of seconds. He ran his hands up the shredded tunic the slave wore, tearing away the old tattered pair of shorts beneath it and grasping the slave's sex in grip so furious and hungry the boy cried out in pain and fear even before the guard entered him.

He must have heard the clanking noises of the heavy armour being, for the moment, shorn aside, and the guard's heavy belt being unbuckled, but the raw pain driving through his body as the guard mercilessly pinned him to the ground was all Kalonice could concentrate on. He tried to send his thoughts away, tried to think of something else, anything else, but he couldn't, his heart was lurching around painfully, as though it would jump out his throat, and he screamed as the guard drove into him.

With one of his large hands, the guard dug into Kalonice's thigh, pulling the boy's body upwards with each brutal thrust, the other grabbed the slave's sex, pulling and pumping it as though he were trying to break it off. Kalonice screamed, trapped in the blinding storm of pain, he felt the hot tingle of blood stinging the inside of his thighs as the thrusts grew deeper and harder, driving into him faster until the pain overwhelmed in a thick blinding sea of blacks and reds and his mind went blank into darkness.