Chapter Text
Simon wakes up with a jolt, suddenly hyperaware of the unfamiliar surroundings and—most importantly—the man pressed against his back.
He breathes slowly, not wanting to attract attention to the fact that he’s awake. It’s hard though; as panic starts to flood his brain, he wants nothing more than to kick and claw and get as far away from the bed as possible.
This is not what he expected. Even when he realized what he’s just been bought for, he was sure he was in for a quick brutal fuck and then he’d be kicked out to wherever the other servants were. And he could deal with that, he thinks. Being called to serve whenever the guy gets horny and then left to his own devices. It would suck but he’d adjust. This, though, this undivided attention, it scares him.
Behind him, Martel stirs. He presses even closer and when Simon feels the man’s erection poke against the back of his thigh, he goes rigid.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he mutters sleepily, way too close to Simon’s ear. “Slept well?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon says quietly, his heart jackrabitting in his chest. Frustratingly, it’s the truth, too. Compared to those lumpy, hard cots in the center, the proper mattress feels like heaven.
“Hm,” Martel hums, lazily rubbing his morning wood against Simon’s ass. Then, he moves away, rolling on his back. Simon’s relief at the lack of contact is short-lived though, as Martel says: “Well, I think it’s time you started earning your keep, wouldn’t you say?”
Simon’s stomach lurches in fear but before he can even fully process what exactly that means for him, he’s being grabbed and manhandled with surprising strength until his knees hit the carpet next to the bed. Martel gets up, lazily stretching, and then walks over to a set of drawers by the wall.
Simon stays put, breathing hard as from the corner of his eye he watches Martel come back, something dangling from his hand. The gleam of metal sets Simon’s teeth on edge.
Martel sits on the bed and tugs Simon closer until he’s kneeling between the man’s strong thighs. His erection, straining against his underwear, is just inches from Simon’s face and it becomes very clear where this is headed.
“Have you ever done this before?” Martel asks gently.
Simon scowls, giving a curt shake of his head. He has zero desire to discuss his private life, even though there isn’t much to discuss. A few failed fumbling attempts with guys he barely knew and met at a bar. It just never felt right. Simon didn’t really want a drunken one-night stand, he wanted the first time to matter.
And he’ll never get that, he realizes, and for a moment his heart threatens to shatter. He doesn’t get any time to process the grief, though, as Martel’s hand is Simon’s hair, gripping, and he orders: “Open”
Simon lets his lips part. As soon as he does, Martel shoves something cold and hard in his mouth. It’s a ring, Simon realizes, and it sits snugly behind his teeth, forcing his mouth uncomfortably wide open. Simon makes a miserable sound but Martel deftly buckles it behind his head and there’s nothing Simon can do but glare and pant.
“Now, don’t give me that look,” Martel chuckles. “We’ll work on your pleasuring skills but right now, I just want to blow off some steam and I’m not risking getting my dick bitten off.”
Simon has little time to brace himself before Martel shoves himself into Simon’s mouth. Immediately, his eyes water and he gags but any attempts to pull away are stopped by Martel’s hands in Simon’s hair, keeping him firmly in place.
Martel starts to fuck his face in earnest and Simon tries to empty his mind. All he focuses on is breathing through his nose but it still seems to take forever. By the end, drool drips down his chin and his mind is a mantra of please just come, just finish already, jesus just fucking come already.
Finally, Martel does come with a soft grunt. Simon shudders as he feels the hot, salty seed slide down his throat but he breathes through it too and finally, finally it’s done. Martel pulls out and Simon sags in relief, desperate to get the stupid gag out.
Only Martel doesn’t. He leans back on his elbows, clearly basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. Suddenly, it all feels like too much to bear. Simon’s skin crawls, his heart pounds too fast and he can’t make his breath slow down. And the gag—he needs it out. He needs it out now.
Pleadingly, he looks at Martel and the man’s face softens, the self-satisfied smirk fading away.
“Okay,” he says softly and reaches behind Simon’s head to undo the buckle. He pulls the saliva-coated gag from Simon’s mouth and lets it fall on the ground.
“You’re okay,” Martel says, running gentle fingers through Simon’s hair. He guides him to rest his head on his thigh and Simon does, shamelessly holding on tight to the man until he feels his panic recede and his breath return to a more manageable rhythm.
They stay like this for quite a long time, with Martel gently stroking Simon’s hair. Once Simon’s calm down not to be freaking out of his mind, he grows restless, shifting on his knees as his legs start to go numb. A wave of shame and embarrassment washes over as he realizes he’s still clinging to the man’s leg, like some stupid dog, and he lets go.
Finally, Martel gets up. He tugs Simon up with him and leads him to the bathroom. Luckily, it seems there will be no more embarrassing baths today, as Martel starts the shower. Both of them step into the spacious cubicle and as Martel pushes him under the spray of warm water, Simon can’t help but groan at the amazing water pressure. It’s nothing like the dribble of lukewarm water he had at home and for a few seconds, he closes his eyes and shamelessly lets himself enjoy the hot water beating down his shoulders.
The tiny moment of serenity is cut short when Martel steps into Simon’s space, plastering himself against Simon’s back. He hooks his chin against Simon’s shoulder and his hands snakes down, down.
Simon bites the inside of his cheek as Martel’s hand, surprisingly soft and gentle, wraps around his dick.
“I’m not a selfish man,” he murmurs in Simon’s ear, as he strokes Simon, slowly but firmly. Simon clenches his eyes shut as he inevitably grows hard. “I’m not opposed to giving you pleasure. If and when you deserve it. But I think you’ll find that if you’re good to me, I can be very giving.”
Simon pants, his brain torn between helpless fury and humiliation and the desire to just accept the pleasure and let it take him. In the end, there is no escaping Martel’s skilled hands. He clearly knows what he’s doing and the pleasure builds, bringing him inevitably closer to the edge. Just as about to come, though, Martel lets go.
“Beg,” he orders softly and Simon can’t stop the pathetic little whine that escapes him at the loss of contact.
Hot anger flashes through the fog of pleasure and he gives Martel a glare over his shoulder. Martel cocks an eyebrow and just like that Simon feels his resolve crumble. What even is the fucking point?
Simon painstakingly unclenches his jaw. “Please?” he mutters.
Martel chuckles but his hand is back. “That was pathetic, but we’ll work on that.”
There’s no more teasing. A few moments later Simon comes with a strangled groan. His knees grow weak and it feels like Martel is the only thing holding him up right now.
“Oh god,” Simon groans, suddenly overwhelmed by the whole situation. He just got jerked off. In a shower. By a man he’s known for less than 24 hours.
“You’re welcome, pet. Now let’s get you cleaned up,” Martel says, matter-of-factly, unaware of Simon's internal freak-out.
The rest of the shower passes without incident. Soon Simon is sitting butt naked on the bed, getting the sheets damp, and watches Martel dress himself in another clearly expensive suit. He’s not bad looking, Simon thinks as he studies him from the corner of his eyes. He’s tall and surprisingly fit for his age, with a flat stomach and broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly curly and unruly—he’s currently trying to tame it with his fingers and some product.
His blue eyes meet Simon’s in the mirror, catching him ogling, and Simon quickly looks away, embarrassed.
“Right,” Martel says once he finally deems himself ready and presentable. “Let’s get some breakfast. But first—,” he goes to one of the drawers and produces a thin black leather collar. He attaches it around Simon’s neck and it looks—okay. Decorative almost, thin and simple as it is. That is, until Simon notices the tag in the center that says Property of Peter Martel.
“Can’t have people mistaking you for a common house servant, now can we?” Martel grins when he notices the look on Simon’s face. “I’m hungry, let’s go.”
Simon blanches. “I’m not going out there naked!”
Martel’s face grows dark but Simon doesn’t back down. “I’m not,” he repeats, jutting out his chin, and tags on a quiet: “Sir”.
Suddenly, Martel’s in his face. He grabs him by the nape of the neck and manhandles him to bend over the bed.
“You do not get to decide that,” Martel says and his tone sends icy fear down Simon’s back. With one hand he keeps Simon’s face pressed against the bedding and with the second he lands a few hard slaps on Simon’s ass. It fucking stings and Simon bites off a whimper, once again surprised by how strong the man is.
“You will do what I say and when I say it. If I want to parade you on a leash butt naked around the house then I will, is that clear?”
He punctuates words with more slaps and Simon grits his teeth in pain. His ass is flaming hot and tears burn in his eyes. Great. Now he’ll have to walk around naked and with a red ass on top of that.
“I said is that clear?” Martel lands three hardest hits yet, making Simon grunt in pain and squirm.
“Yes,” he pants. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Martel finally lets go of him and he sags, not daring to move. Martel goes to the tall mirror, adjusts his tie and uses his finger to comb back a few loose strands of hair.
“However,” he says and once again, his voice is completely calm and collected. “I think my sister would have an aneurysm if I brought you down naked, so I’m going to have to find something for you to wear.”
Relief floods Simon and he slowly goes back to sitting on the bed, ignoring his stinging ass, as he watches Martel rummage shortly in the wardrobe.
“Put it on,” Martel throws a simple white t-shirt at him.
Simon does. It’s clearly one of Martel’s. It’s way too big on Simon, ending slightly below his ass.
Martel watches him critically and then shrugs. “Eh, it’ll do for now. I’ll buy you something more appropriate later.”
Simon’s eyes grow wide as he realizes this is all he’ll be wearing. Self-consciously he tugs it down. Martel doesn’t miss it and he grins.
“Just be careful when bending.”
Simon’s face flushes but he has no option but to follow Martel out of the room. They head to what looks like a fancy dining room but before they can enter, Martel stops and Simon, lost in thought as he was, walks into him.
“Shit—I’m sorry, sir, I—”
Martel grabs him by the shoulders, ignoring his apologies, and looks at him seriously. “Now, listen. This is what’s going to happen. I’ll sit at the table and you’ll kneel next to me. My sister will join us soon—you will not look at her, you will not speak to her. You will not speak unless spoken to. I will not feed you—I’ll have something sent up to the room later. Questions?”
Simon blinks. He has not expected that. This is the first time ever since this whole madness began that someone’s bothered to tell him what is happening in the next moments and he can help but feel stupidly grateful.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Ok. Let’s go.”
As promised, Martel sits at the large dining table, and Simon tries to make himself comfortable on his knees next to his chair. Wordlessly, Martel adjusts Simon’s position a little, and then ignores him. Servants come to serve food and a moment later, the clicking of heels announces the arrival of Martel’s sister.
She comes closer to the table and then stops. Simon can feel her stare and it takes all his willpower to stay still and not fidget.
“What is this?” she finally breaks the silence and Simon cringes slightly at her tone.
“This,” Martel reaches down, placing a possessive hand around the back of Simon’s neck, “is Simon. My new pet.”
“Peter! Why would you—you know I don’t like this.”
“It’s okay. He wants to be here. Don’t you, pet?”
Martel’s grip on his neck tightens ever so slightly but Simon hears the warning, loud and clear.
“Yes, sir.”
“See?”
“Hm,” she says, sounding vaguely disgusted. She does sit down, though, and more servants soundlessly appear with food and coffee. “I still don’t like it, though. Do I need to remind you what happened with that last pet of yours?”
Above him, Simon feels Martel go tense. “That won’t be necessary. My memory still serves me quite well, thank you very much.”
“And I don’t want you seen with him anywhere. It’s bad for the press. Keep him inside if you must.”
Martel sighs but it seems the discussion is over. The conversation moves to something regarding some reports and audits and Simon tunes out. All his focus goes to maintaining his position and ignoring the delicious smell of fresh pastry. He’s hungry again and he just prays his stomach won’t betray him by rumbling loudly.
After breakfast, Martel brings him back to the bedroom, for which Simon is kinda glad—he doesn’t think he’d find the way on his own, as huge and confusing as the house is.
“I have meetings and things to arrange today, so you just stay put. I’ll be back at—”
“Sir?” Simon interrupts him, earning himself a warning glance.
“What?”
“What happened to the last pet?” he asks quietly. The question has been heavy on his mind ever since he heard that conversation and he doesn’t think he can keep it in any longer.
Martel studies him for a bit, a contemplative look on his face, and then his lips quirk up. “He displeased me. I had to have him sent away.”
Simon swallows. “Sent where?”
Martel’s smile widens. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours. I’m sure we won’t have the same problem. Now, be good. I’ll see you later.”
With that, Martel leaves and Simon sits heavily on the bed. Suddenly, his stomach rumbles and he groans. Great—the promised breakfast must have slipped Martel’s mind and now he’s going to have to wait until dinner. Hopefully not longer. And then humiliate himself by eating from the man’s fingers.
Never go hungry my ass, Simon seethes to himself. He is fucking hungry right now. And what else was Martel lying about? Was the promise of rewards and extra money for Jay a lie too?
The thought of his sister is like a knife between his ribs. He can’t---he can’t. It hurts too much. Pulling the oversized t-shirt over his knees, he curls himself into a ball, suddenly feeling pathetically sorry for himself.
His wallowing in self-misery is cut short by a knock on the door. Simon jumps up, his heart beating. When nothing happens, he calls out nervously: “Um, come in?”
The door opens and a cart with food is wheeled in. When he sees who’s the one pushing it, his heart flutters painfully.
“Leo?”
Quickly pulling the boy inside and closing the door behind him, he wraps him in a crushing hug.
“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” he breathes out. Then he takes a step back and looks at the boy-he’s pale and clearly terrified. Simon’s relief is quickly replaced by worry. “I mean—are you okay?”
“I was so worried about you,” Leo says, barely above a whisper. “They separated you from us and then I didn’t see you and—”
“No, no, Leo, look at me. I’m okay. I’m fine. He hasn’t hurt me or anything. I’m fine, I swear.”
Reluctantly, Leo nods. He sniffles softly and Simon’s heart breaks at the miserable look on his face.
“And you? You’re in the kitchen? Are they treating you okay?”
Leo shrugs, looking over his shoulder as if someone could be watching them. “I’m fine. The overseer is really strict, he’s—I’m scared of him.”
Simon’s heart sinks. “You have to be good, Leo, okay? Work hard and do everything they say and you’ll be fine.”
Leo nods but Simon can tell he doesn’t believe him. “I’m trying, but—” he shrugs again. “And Tony’s not doing well.”
“What? Is he sick?”
“I don’t know. He won’t get out of bed, he’s just—I’m so worried about him, Simon. I don’t know how much longer they’ll tolerate it. I think he’s just really sad.”
Simon wraps Leo into another hug, feeling how tense the boy is. It’s not fair. A ball of helpless anger coils in Simon’s chest. It’s not fucking fair. He’s too young to be dealing with this shit. How does any of that make any sense?
“I have to go,” Leo whispers. “He’ll be mad if I stay too long. I’ll try to come back again, okay?”
“Okay, but only if it’s safe. And don’t worry about me. I’m fine. And Leo? It’s gonna get better, okay? Just hang in there.”
“Okay,” Leo gives another unconvinced nod and a small terse smile before slipping out of the room.
Simon heaves a long sigh, pacing the room for a bit, feeling more trapped, helpless and useless than ever. Then he remembers the food. He’s not really that hungry anymore but goes eat it anyway, slowly making his way through the eggs and bacon while looking around the boring, bland room for anything to occupy his mind with.
He finds absolutely nothing. It’s going to be a long fucking day.