Trafficking in Pleasure

It was the rainy season and Kyriliah was in a foul mood when he returned home, damp and frazzled. Children rushed to greet him at the door, removing his coat and shoes to give him a warm robe and dry slippers, but it wasn't nearly enough. His business transaction hadn't gone well and the weather only served to further aggravate his mood. He needed a drink and some special attention.

“Master Kyriliah, would you like a glass of wine?” a young boy asked, his oddly colored blue and green hair pulled back in two braids and his head bowed. He stood in the doorway to Kyriliah's study, a wine bottle set next to a wine glass on a silver tray that he carried carefully; magenta eyes focused on the bottle and glass as if willing them not to tip over.

“Hmm, let me see what you brought me,” the man replied, motioning the boy over to the settee he sat on. Behind him was a young girl, standing on a stool as she gently brushed his long blond hair, drying it with a towel every now and then before brushing again; she would continue this until his hair was dry and smooth as silk.

Shakily balancing the tray with the wine glass on it in one hand, the boy picked up the wine bottle in his other hand, holding it up for his master to inspect. One of the master's preferred boys, he had taken the time to memorize the little things, like which wines the master preferred for which days and moods; it was an valuable skill he had picked up that made him one of the more pampered of the children.

“Yes, good choice, Andy,” Kyriliah murmured, easily pulling the cork from the bottle and filling the wine glass, setting the tray on the table by the settee so he could put the bottle on it. “Why don't you stay here and keep me company? Genevieve cannot be distracted from her task to speak a word to me.”

The girl flinched ever so slightly; that was a warning. Andy was liked by most of the children, so they never overlooked a chance to talk to him. Obviously, this one of those chances.

“Yes, Master,” the boy, Andy, said quietly, sitting primly on the edge of the settee until a delicately strong clawed hand pulled him further back on it. His legs hung over the edge, feet dangling off the floor; he was so tiny! He didn't mind except for times like these. He didn't like the feeling of not having his feet off the floor; not around Master Kyriliah, at least. It brought to mind memories of being violated against his better judgment, of being strung up and milked of the venom his kind produced until nothing was left and his mouth ached, of his short-lived relief when the master had rescued him from his prison where he hung from shackles by his wrists only to find himself in an equally dangerous situation. Andy wanted for nothing on Master Kyriliah's estate, save for freedom, and he should have been happy with his new life. He had been rescued from a life on the streets, struggling to survive, and eventually being captured for thievery and put in shackles and hung from a wall, dangling several feet above the ground. He would have died there, starved to death while hanging from his shackles, forgotten and uncared for, had Master Kyriliah not appeared one day with the constable, pointing at Andy and demanding his release. He couldn't remember much else clearly from back then, but he remembered the day he met Master Kyriliah clearly—after all, he had been the boy's savior. When he remembered that, he could forgive everything he went through to please his master; it was the least he could do for being given a new chance at life.

Kyriliah pulled Andy in to his arms as they sat there, making Genevieve's task a bit more troubling as he leaned over to nuzzle the boy's silken locks of hair, clawed fingers running along his bare arms. “You should bathe tonight,” he murmured, brushing his lips against the boy's ear and sending a chill down his spine. “You have such nice skin, you must take care of it. There is a big event coming up and I want you to be in your best shape as you represent the other children.”

“Yes, Master.” He wanted to ask what the event was, but he knew better. The event was probably just another show before interested men who would purchase a child to take home for whatever they saw the child suited for. He had never been in the shows himself—Kyriliah wasn't quick to give up Andy's type unless the price was too good to pass up or the contact would prove useful in the future. Some customers, he knew, could have anyone they wanted; these people were brought straight to the mansion and the children were lined up before them. He had attracted attention a few times, but had never been chosen. Although Andy wasn't in any hurry to leave Kyriliah, he wondered if there wasn't something wrong with him that no one ever chose him.

“And I need you and a group of others to get another bedroom ready. I am going out to pick up a few new arrivals tomorrow and to see if there are any street urchins of any worth. Have the bathroom ready for them, as well. I'm leaving first thing in the morning and will be back by lunch. I will let you and the usual see to their bathing so I may eat lunch and they may join the rest of you for lunch after they are clean and dressed. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Andy hesitated before asking, “And how many will we be expecting?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Kyriliah said with a shrug, sitting up from where he his head was resting atop Andy's and almost knocking Genevieve off her stool. She thanked the heavens that she was used to him ignoring her and had learned to stay aware of his every movement while tending to him. “I would say five at the least and eight at the most, possibly more depending on if I find anyone on the streets.”

“Yes, Master. I look forward to meeting them.”

“You should!” Kyriliah said with a surprisingly friendliness, giving the boy in his arms a light squeeze. “I know you don't get along with the other incubi since they were here before you and don't like the special treatment a newcomer receives, but one of the boys I've been guaranteed is an incubi as well and I'll make sure you meet him before the others. That should give you a chance to make a good impression on him. You could use a friend of your own kind.”

“Wh-what is he like?”

“Oh, I don't know, I haven't met him. The constable picked him up off the streets where he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms and said his appearance reminded him of you and so he contacted me at once. He sounds quite lovely, but I've been warned he's a wild one. He's been put in shackles and in a cage. I'm picking him up last, needless to say.”

Now Andy wasn't quite so sure. It was exciting to think he might be able to make friends with this new incubus and have someone to commiserate with after being milked, but a wild young incubus? One who was suffering withdrawal? It didn't sound too promising. Even when he was living on the streets, Andy had never encountered drugs. He had led a sheltered life with an older woman who lived in a shack made of driftwood until she died, however, so he hadn't had too much time in the year between then and when Kyriliah found him. That year had felt like a lifetime to him, though. He felt like he had been alive so terribly long—yet at the age of fourteen years he was practically an infant still by the standards of the immortality. He almost wished to stay with Master Kyriliah his whole life, if only because it would be easier to remain enslaved to him than become attached to another human and watch them die before him. Even if the human lived a long life, he or she would inevitably wither and die before Andy; that was the hardship of being immortal. He often wished he had been born a normal human like many of the other children. Weren't they lucky! He likely wouldn't have even survived on the streets in he were human, however; most the children on the streets weren't human. Times were too hard for children to survive on their own, human children were dying all the time. Some of the luckier of Kyriliah's wards were adopted off to become children, but most of them became sexual servants or sacrifices to the strange cults that had become so popular recently.

Kyriliah had been talking while Andy thought, he realized, and he quickly backtracked in his mind to realize what he had been saying. He had been talking about the other children he was picking up, but Andy wasn't too interested in them right now. He'd be meeting them tomorrow no matter what, anyways. He was more interested in what Kyriliah was now saying.

“Not that the wildness of any being matters. He won't be able to overpower me, so I can easily tame him. There are many methods to use and he will succumb to one of them eventually,” he went on. Knowing their faces could not be seen, both Andy and Genevieve frowned. Neither of them had suffered it, but they had heard the cries of the children who had remained obstinate in Kyriliah's care. He was not afraid to use violence to get the obedience he desired. They would warn these new children and hope that they would listen, even though the headstrong ones never did.