A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5)
Read A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5) Online
Authors: Darrah Glass
© 2014 Darrah Glass
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a critical review.
Digital ISBN: 978-1626227323
Cover art by Ulvar (
http://littleulvar.deviantart.com/
)
Cover design by D. Glass
Book design by D. Glass
DECEMBER 19, 1900On the Wednesday before the start of the winter holiday, Mr. Ross issued the invitation to his New Year’s Eve party to the entire group of masters as they stood shivering on the forecourt of the school. He then put his hand on Henry’s elbow and gave it a squeeze, saying, “You’ll come, too, won’t you Henry?”
Henry, who was plainly delighted to be singled out, said, “Yes, of course. Thank you, Charles,” and Mr. Ross clapped him on the shoulder, seeming pleased.
“There'll be so much liquor around,” Mr. Ross promised the group. “Last year, even the chambermaids got drunk. All the slaves, really. It was a madhouse. Believe me, we'll be able to get our hands on whatever we want.”
Standing nearby with the rest of the slaves, Martin heard this exchange and was full of questions. Did Henry understand that Mr. Ross’ parties were invariably swapping parties? If he did understand, did that mean he intended to participate? It was surprising, as Henry had given no indication that his feelings about swapping slaves had changed of recent. It wasn’t Martin’s place to question him in any case, but he was
very
curious.
Tom leaned close and in a pressured whisper asked “Did you hear that? You’re coming to a
party
!”
“I heard.” Martin laughed. “Don’t get so excited, Tommy. Mr. Blackwell isn’t going to want to swap.” He was almost confident of this.
“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” Tom suggested. “Maybe he’s wondering what he’s been missing.”
“Maybe,” Martin agreed, “but I doubt it.” He
did
doubt it, but supposed it was possible.
Tom turned to the larger group. “Did you hear? Mr. Blackwell just agreed to go to Mr. Ross’ party.”
All around, boys turned to look at Martin, grinning, their expressions welcoming and interested.
Miles said, “We’ve all been hoping you’d join us one day, you know.”
Stuart elbowed him and said, “It’ll be like old times,” and Martin was suddenly breathless remembering certain pleasurable afternoons spent spread out and pinned beneath Stuart’s weight in his bed at Ganymede. He’d always had a nice time with Stuart.
Tom laughed and said, “You’re blushing.”
Martin felt his face grow warmer still, but shook his head. “Mr. Blackwell isn’t going to want to participate,” he insisted. “He’ll just be coming for the regular party, you’ll see.”
Henry called out, “Come on, Martin.”
Martin broke away from Tom and the rest of his friends and hurried to Henry’s side. He made no mention of the New Year’s party. Today was Little Miss’ birthday and they had plans. “Are you eager to see your sister, Sir? I can’t wait to see what she thinks of her present!”
Henry grinned bashfully. “Me, neither. Plus, there’ll be cake.”
The omnibus was crowded so they both stood in the aisle, and Henry took the opportunity to lean on Martin as the car swayed. Martin murmured an admonishment but couldn’t help smiling at Henry’s audacity. As the car rolled along, Martin considered his options. He could simply ask Henry if he realized it was a swap party, but that would imply that Martin thought Henry wasn’t bright enough to figure it out on his own. Also, Henry might well be aware. After all, Henry could decide to swap Martin at any time, and he was under no obligation to give him any notice regarding his intentions. This did seem unlikely, but he couldn’t rule it out. It was possible, too, that Henry didn’t realize, but that he would come to the conclusion on his own before the date of the party and decide not to attend. Or he might go anyway. He might want to see what he’d been missing.
When Martin had first come to Henry, he’d been eager to participate in swaps, eager to experience the variety, all the new bodies. He loved sex, loved being fucked, loved kissing and touching and all of the things that masters weren’t supposed to do for slaves, and he’d looked forward to receiving that kind of attention from some new group of boys. It had been hugely disappointing to discover that Henry had no intention of swapping and didn’t seem to want to fuck him, either. Martin was so good at sex, such a popular partner amongst his cohort at Ganymede, and he’d been so sure that his master would appreciate everything he could do, but Henry hadn’t touched him.
That first week in school, the slaves had all talked about what they liked to do and how they liked to do it, their classroom filled with a miasma of arousal, and for everyone else this humid, heady cloud dispersed after the first parties of the year, but for Martin there was never resolution on any front, and he felt this difference from the group very acutely.
He’d felt quite despondent during that initial month. It had seemed so unfair to have the master he wanted, but for that master to be indifferent to his charms. It made him question whether he did, in fact, have any charms at all. None of his new friends had reported similar difficulties with their masters. Ganymede had given him no training to prepare for such a situation. He’d thought about asking Mr. Tim’s advice, but was too ashamed to let the senior companion know of his abject failure in his role. Martin hadn’t known how he was going to live without affection, without sex, but asking Henry to give him leave to pursue outside arrangements would’ve been too much like admitting defeat, and he had not been ready to concede.
He’d made wishes, countless wishes, furtively writing them out under the guise of doing homework, and burning them out in the side yard during his dinner hour. The rest of the Blackwell slaves had noted his desperation, but had been kind enough not to question him. Over and over he wished
Let Henry want me
, and when that didn’t have any effect, he begged for scraps:
Let Henry use me
. He had a good imagination; any contact at all with Henry could be enough.
Eventually, of course, Henry had made up for all of that. It had been worth waiting to finally receive the full force of Henry’s affection. Henry had surprised him, so naturally adept and learning everything Martin wanted to teach him with ease. He had a perfect body, and such a beautiful cock, and wanted nothing more than to please Martin, which was a gift Martin felt sure he didn’t deserve. Martin had had sex with a great number of boys and men, but somehow it had never been like this before, never this intense. Perhaps it was just that Henry had needed so badly to be affectionate with someone, anyone; he was a lonely boy despite his friendships, and Martin imagined it had been years since anyone had touched him beyond a handshake or clap on the back.
It couldn’t just be that, though, Martin was nearly sure of it. Martin felt that so many things were shared between them when they fucked, such understanding, and he believed Henry felt this, too. Martin had come to Henry ready to offer his devotion, and with all that had happened between them, it was so easy to give it, to act it out, and it felt reciprocal, as if Henry might care for Martin more than he was meant to. Even if Martin was only imagining things, he could still be happy if his life would only continue like this, just like this. He was crazy about Henry, absolutely crazy. Henry’s looks were a refinement of everything Martin liked in a boy’s face. Henry was delicious like no other boy Martin had ever put his mouth on, and he need only catch a hint of Henry’s scent to become helplessly aroused. He would have never dared hope his master would do the things that Henry did so generously and with such passion. It more than made up for not participating in swaps.
Martin didn’t know how he felt about swapping at this point. If Henry decided he wanted to play, then of course Martin would go along with his decision without complaint, but he wouldn’t look forward to sex with any of the other masters, Henry’s friends. They were apparently all clumsy oafs—with the notable exception of handsome Mr. Ross—but the slaves were another story. Martin never asked for details, but somehow he learned so many anyway—who amongst his own friends had a big cock, who was the best at sucking, who actually preferred men, who was good at fucking or being fucked, who could put on a satisfying show for an audience. He went through his days with this information far in the back of his mind, just trivia, but on the slender chance that he was about to attend a swap party, suddenly these details seemed relevant.
Martin wasn’t sure that Henry even knew what happened at his friends’ parties. Henry never asked questions of either Martin or his own friends, and Martin knew better than to volunteer information. Henry liked to maintain the illusion that his friends were as kind to their slaves as he was to Martin, but of course that wasn’t true. Still, Algonquin parties were said to be both tamer and stricter than parties elsewhere in the city. Martin had heard stories of what boys at other schools got up to, and it sounded like masters elsewhere had more fun at their swaps—or more of what seemed like fun to Martin, at any rate. Boys from other schools weren’t policing one another’s behavior so rigidly. They were more playful, more daring.
The omnibus stopped and they got off with Mr. Briggs and Peter. Martin was looking forward to spending time with Little Miss, and seeing her reaction to the present he’d chosen with Henry, but with all this thinking about swapping, he felt flush with yearning and wished that there might somehow be time for some degree of intimacy before going up to the third floor for cake.
But there was no time. They hurriedly changed their clothes, Henry choosing the bottle green suit and the green-striped waistcoat he’d worn to the auction.
“I do so like you in this,” Martin told him, wondering if Henry remembered that this was what he’d worn when they’d met. Henry kissed him in reply, and it was a kiss that might have easily led somewhere, but Little Miss was waiting and Martin gently pushed Henry away.
The next day at school, the others continued eager and interested in including Martin in swap talk at the meal break, but Martin held back. If Henry had made it clear what he intended, Martin would know what to do, but it was not clear at all, and Martin did not feel he could ask for clarification. If he knew Henry wanted to participate in the swap, then he could feel free to indulge in all manner of fantasies and to flirt with his friends, but if Henry did
not
want to play—which is what Martin suspected—then such fantasies would do nothing but lead to dissatisfaction and disgruntlement. He was so very happy with Henry, but he’d always liked novelty. He’d always liked to show off. He’d always liked being at the center of a pile of boys, crammed full and gasping, hands on every inch of his skin, and he’d never tell Henry that he missed it, but sometimes he did, just a little bit.
