Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Samantha Cayto 2016. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.
“Here he is now, your toy for the weekend. I’m sure you’ll find Carter quite enjoyable.”
Carter suppressed the shudder running down his spine. He heard the warning in his master’s voice. Be a good boy or suffer the consequences. It terrified him as it always did. But being afraid and showing it in front of his master never got him anywhere except a trip to a new and more horrible circle of hell. After three years of living with the man, Carter now understood that the sadist enjoyed such showings of weakness and the chance to exploit them. Carter briefly tightened his grip on the leash he held, the only sign of emotions that he allowed himself. He’d get through this weekend as he had all of the others. It was either that or die, and while he knew that his inevitable death lurked nearby, he still had enough will to live not to hasten it.
He stopped in front of his master and the other man, head bowed, body deceptively relaxed, and stared at the two sets of feet in front of him. To his left were his master’s Italian loafers, buffed to a high shine and costing far more than the average person’s monthly wage. To his right was a surprisingly different type of footwear. Instead of equally expensive and high-toned shoes, he saw two gigantic black boots, the kind you’d see on bikers. Shitkickers. Jeans replaced designer slacks and, just within the periphery of his downcast gaze, larger hands hung on either side of thick thighs. Another shiver tingled at the base of Carter’s spine. This business associate of his master’s was different from the others, and not in a good way.
“Turn around, boy,” his master barked out.
Carter obeyed instantly and gracefully, the way he’d perfected over the years. He heard a grunt of surprise and couldn’t help smiling quickly and ruefully to himself. He knew what the guest saw—a newly done corset piercing running from between his shoulders down to the small of his back. A black silk ribbon had been laced through it, the strings of the bow dangling to the beginning of the cleft of his ass. He wore his matching black silk lounge pants low on his hips, allowing the swell of his butt to peek out.
Knowing his role well by now, he looked over his shoulder to give the stranger a coquettish smile. He dared, as well, to glance up through his lashes at the man who’d have command of his body for the weekend. What he saw in that moment made his blood freeze. Tall and broad, clad in a leather jacket and black T-shirt, the guy dwarfed Carter’s master and the goons he surrounded himself with. Although he’d caught the merest glimpse of the man’s face, he’d seen plenty. Despite the lure of the man’s rugged good looks, he also scared the crap out of Carter. This might be the man to end Carter for good.
The ice in his master’s glass clinked as he took a long swallow. “I told you he was as pretty as a girl.”
Carter couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on his already made-up cheeks. He’d been told to use cosmetics, something else he’d been forced to learn in his life as the sub of a viciously controlling man. Sometimes the men his master lent him out to preferred girls to boys, so he needed to make himself even more ‘pretty’ than he naturally was. Nothing too obvious—everything from his barely there eyeshadow to his slash of lip gloss was done in earth tones. He still hated it. Not that he spent too much time on that emotion or on regret. He’d made decisions that had led him to this terrible place, and he was stuck with it. At least he’d die living more authentically than he had the first eighteen years of his life. Here he was a gay submissive, his true self, even though he really lived more as an unwilling slave. No one tried to make him into something he wasn’t.
So, he played his role as best he could, batting his eyelashes a bit and licking his lips in silent invitation to have a cock shoved past them. And he knew it would be that way, hard, fast and brutal, the cock choking him. It always was. He focused his gaze on the guest’s crotch and saw the outline of the man’s dick against the worn fabric of the jeans. Oh, yeah, like everything else about the guy, the dick looked supersized. He’d survive a face-fucking, though, having had the gag reflex trained out of him. It was the other things his temporary master could do to him that stabbed his guts with fear.
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