Sedition

Sedition

Demoted
Book Two

Alicia Cameron

ForbiddenFiction
www.forbiddenfiction.com

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Fantastic Fiction Publishing
www.fantasticfictionpublishing.com

Disclaimer

This book is a work of fiction which contains explicit erotic content; it is intended for mature readers. Do not read this if it’s not legal for you.

All the characters, locations and events herein are fictional. While elements of existing locations or historical characters or events may be used fictitiously, any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.

This book depicts fictional BDSM; it is not intended to be used as an instruction manual. It contains descriptions of erotic acts that may be immoral, illegal, or unsafe. The characters are not models for the Safe, Sane and Consensual forms embraced by most current practitioners of BDSM. The authors take license with the use of BDSM for dramatic effect. Do not take the events in this story as proof of the plausibility or safety of any particular practice.

This book is written in fond memory of the Sexy Trailer in the Woods and upstate New York in general—without that year, I would never have been miserable enough to torture the boys so much!

Chapter 1
Companionate

When I bought Sascha, I never expected that I would come to like him. Hell, when I first saw him at the brothel, dirty and beaten nearly beyond repair, my first desire was to get as far away from him as I could so he wouldn’t dirty my shoes. He was a burden, a reminder of my failed debut into the world of re-education centers and Demoted slaves, an annoying little thorn in my side who did nothing but challenge me.

Somewhere along the way, I thought the best way to respond to his challenges would be to scare him. At my worst, I tried to threaten him sexually, to make him shy away from me like he had shied away from everyone else who tried to touch him. Except he wasn’t scared of that.

I continue to be surprised by how much he responds to me, how perfectly we fit together.

Since I first made a move on him, he’s grown increasingly bold. He’s hesitant while we work during the day, but at night when we’re alone, the barriers drop and his eyes flash up at me. I think of him as a companion of sorts. What sorts, I don’t always know, but I enjoy his company and his touch as much as he does mine.

“Cashiel,” he whispers in my ear, waking me up. I trust that he’s ensured that whatever he’s planning for us will have plenty of time to be completed before I head into work for a dull day of financial planning with Dean & Chanu Associates.

“Good morning,” I reply, my hands coming up to stroke along the sides of his lithe body. I’ve got a decade of age on him, but even when I was his age, I was thicker, sturdier. Sascha looks like a strong wind will blow him away, but the years of starvation before I bought him probably contributed to that as much as genetics. He’s healthy now, and he’s beautiful.

“I thought we could play a little bit before you go to work,” he suggests, draping his body over mine and sliding up and down seductively. His hair flops over his eyes, messy from sleep, and he looks more turned on than scared, for once.

“I’d like that,” I agree. I can’t resist reaching out and running my fingers through his hair gently for a few seconds, watching him arch into my touch. Just when he’s relaxed enough that his eyes are starting to close, I grab a fistful and yank him toward me, hard, hearing him whimper a little.

He doesn’t fight me as I pull him in for a kiss, and I can feel his cock growing hard against my stomach. He likes to be hurt, just a little, and I enjoy doing it.

I keep him down, holding his head exactly where I want it. It doesn’t stop him from taking action in other ways. He squirms and wiggles until he has his ass perfectly positioned above my cock, rubbing against it carefully, getting me hard as well. He enjoys being fucked as much as I enjoy fucking him, and that fact never ceases to amaze me. The research I did years ago, the research that destroyed my life, made it so clear to me that few slaves actually enjoyed being used in that way. It shouldn’t have been a surprising result; the Demoted are just like anyone else, just not as successful at passing the test that separates them from free people. They are used as slave labor in almost every industry, but for most of them, life is filled with unwanted sex.

“Cash,” Sascha moans, right next to my ear. “Fuck me? I want to be able to feel you all day.”

It’s all I can do to keep myself from throwing him on my cock right now.

Instead, I reach over and grab a bottle of lube, handing it to him and looking at him expectantly.

He blushes, the coloring spreading quickly over his pale skin, highlighting the scars that were left by his previous abusers. He can beg me to fuck him, but he still gets bashful when I make him do this.

“Go slow,” I order. “I want to watch.”

The coloring on his face deepens and he nods, quickly reaching behind himself with the lube. I hear the slight intake of breath as he touches himself and he turns away, looking back as if he can see behind himself.

I reach up, gently taking his face in my hand. “Look at me,” I command, and his eyes lock onto mine.

He trembles, just slightly, but it makes me want to be more active in this process. I keep one hand on his face, reminding him to whom he belongs. I bring my other up to caress his cock, lazy and careless, like we have all the time in the world. I smile at him, encouraging him as he starts to rock back and forth in my hand. Occasionally, his fingers slip forward, brushing against mine, and I doubt it’s accidental.

He waits for me to make the next move, and once I think he’s adequately prepared, I speed up the friction on his cock.

“Would you like something bigger than your fingers?” I ask, smiling as the suggestion makes him breathe faster. I like to check, even after all this time, to make sure he still enjoys it.

“Yes, master,” he breathes.

I frown. I hate it when he calls me that in bed.

Sascha ducks down, hiding his face against my neck as he giggles. “Sorry, Cash,” he mumbles, his tone playful. “I just got so caught up; you felt so good. I didn’t think about it.”

I smile, my mood quite improved by this confession, not to mention the feeling of his body rubbing against me. Clearly, he’s still interested.

“Maybe a little lesson’s in order,” I suggest, tugging lightly at his hair until he looks at me. “Maybe I should make you scream my name while I fuck you, so you remember.”

“Okay,” Sascha agrees, eagerly pressing against my cock. He smiles when we fuck, far more than he does any other time.

I shift a little, sliding into him easily. He clutches at my shoulders as I do. He’s tight and slick around me, and when I pull out and drive in deeper, he makes a desperate little whining noise.

“Cashiel,” he whispers, rocking his hips to take me in deeper. The sound of my name coming off of his lips turns me on more, and I speed up my thrusts.

“You feel so good,” Sascha says, pressing back hard as I fill him.

I smile, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hear you saying anything but my name,” I warn him. “Over and over again, until you remember.”

There’s a slight look of fear in his eyes, an old habit as he appraises the situation, but it quickly disappears. He says my name again, slower this time, and I reach up and stroke his cock as he rides mine.

We start slow, but quickly build to a fever pitch. He squeezes his legs around my hips, like he’s trying to hold on. I meet him thrust for thrust, pleased as he bounces off my cock. He goes quiet, except for the little moans and gasps every time I thrust deeply.

“Keep saying it,” I order, grabbing his cock. “Every time I thrust, I want you to say it.”

He moans at the order, or at my hand working its way up and down his cock, and he obeys. He repeats my name over and over, at first a quiet mumble, and then louder, building as our excitement builds, and I keep stroking his cock. He starts screaming it, matching my thrusts and strokes with the name, and when he comes close, I start to rake my nails over the sensitive skin on the insides of his thighs. His screams are almost incoherent, but it doesn’t matter. He comes just moments later.

I feel his muscles tightening around my cock, the warm stream gracing my stomach. I join him, wrapping my legs around his body and pinning him to me as I come inside of him, thrusting until it hurts to do so anymore. He collapses on top of me and slithers off of my cock. We are both breathing heavily.

For a few moments, we rest together in companionate silence. Eventually, the mess becomes uncomfortable and I remember I still have work to do, whether in the office, or at home, on the reboot of my research project that will hopefully destroy my mother’s evil empire. Sascha knows that I’m researching, but he doesn’t know about my mother, or her involvement in the matter, or the legal mess that she caused before. I’m comfortable sharing my bed with Sascha, but not the most intimate of secrets. I place a light hand on his side and move him off of me, stroking down his arm one last time before getting out of bed.

During the day, we’re master and slave, maybe coworkers when I allow it. I own him, and my position requires that I maintain the image of a strict slave-owner. Even at home, when we’re alone, I worry about maintaining this image, about maintaining a firm hand with my slave. But at night, I do my best to be gentle and caring with him. I always make sure that Sascha wants to do whatever we’re doing, and I tell him again and again that he can stop it whenever he wants to. Fortunately, he never wants to. I learn his body inside and out. He’s grown to be an expert at giving me head, and I know exactly where to touch and lick and suck and bite to make him lose control. But there’s still a barrier, a fine line keeping things almost platonic for the majority of the day. I’ve always been taught that it’s the proper way to handle slaves, and the proper way for slave owners to handle themselves.

My family controls the biggest re-education center system in the world, the two-year training program for newly Demoted slaves. Sascha is a product of the Miller System, the patented program of abuse and degradation that my mother, Kristine Miller, perfected years before I was ever born. In a way, I am too, although there is no training program for slave owners, just years of indoctrination. It’s easy to forget with Sascha.

As I get to know him better, I realize he is far too smart to ever have been Demoted, much less treated as less than human. I doubt he failed his Assessment. The test that separates the bright from the Demoted would have been a breeze for him, but there are other ways to be Demoted. Kids with juvenile crimes, those who violate norms or refuse to comply, they can be Demoted too. Sascha is challenging enough and cocky enough that I could see this being the case. I couldn’t see him as a true delinquent, but I don’t see him as an activist or protester, either. Whatever his reasons, I’m certain it had more to do with his attitude than his intellectual capabilities.

I’ve lightened up with the cold and calculating orders I gave him when I first bought him, occasionally even deigning to use words like “please” and “thank you.” It’s strange to address a slave as such, but Sascha feels like more than a slave to me. He responds better to full sentences than grunts and demands. I love having sex with him, and he has a beautiful body, but I don’t want to take advantage. He catches me looking at his ass now and again, even when we’re working, but I do little else. I never imagined it, but I have actually grown to enjoy working with him.

There are moments when he seems to forget that he’s a slave; when he brings up bright ideas or suggestions. Sometimes he even dares to challenge me. He had been so severely abused before I bought him, and I’ve added my own share of harshness to the mix. I’ve beaten him just twice, and both times, it was the disappointment and failure that seemed to crush him more than the pain. I’ve neglected him, unable to decide how to handle him. Once he started helping me with work, things got better and more interesting. In some ways, I feel like a seductive boss who is having an after-hours affair with his secretary, although I’m not sure who either of us would be cheating on.