Maison de la Dominateur (aominecchi)

[Rumpleteaser]

In the west end of Hummington Station, three stations west of Central Station, there were five sub-subterranean platforms that had once been used as bomb shelters in the Great War. They had gone mostly unused since then, until one wealthy entrepreneur had purchased them and set them up as an auction house of a most curious kind. It sold not trinkets, curiousities, furniture nor antiques. It sold living flesh. Men, women and children of all sorts and all species were on offer to the rich and famous. Some came from as nearby as Hummington's poor and underclass, some as far away as the Eastern Continent and Van Deiman's Land to the south. These were not ordinary slaves, however. These were unique, exceptional, exotic and highly prized wares far better than any could purchase at a mere slave market or warehouse. Many weren't even human!

 

The first thing a prospective buyer had to have to even enter la Maison le la Dominateur was money - lots and lots of money. They could be nouveau riche, titled or old money but they had to have a bank vault in the least. The second thing they had to have was a social status and reputation befitting a private gentleman's club, as the Dominateur claimed to be. Very few knew about it, let alone its real function. The third, and most important thing, was an invitation. Nobody came wondering in off the streets. They had to apply for entry and be sent a special invitation. That invitation was verified against their papers upon entry.

 

La Maison le la Dominateur was decked out in a rich affair of royal hues and silky blacks. Everything was made of smooth silks and velvets that shone beneath the candlelit chandeliers. Everything was of the finest quality, no doubt the owner had an eye for detail. The decor was immaculate and the furniture perfectly positioned for ease of movement. There were lounges for stretching out on, poles for slaves to dance around, a bar for refreshments and a stage at one end for slaves to perform for the guests. Fine crystal beads sparkled overhead and reflected against the thick drapes and tunnel walls of Platform One. Platform One was the main chamber of the auction house, the others being used for private audiences and slave storage. It was the largest of the platforms and could easily fit three-hundred people without feeling crowded. There were never that many people there though, the Dominateur only let one-hundred clients in at once, in addition to the matrons and the slaves on offer.

 

Tonight the Dominateur had something unique on offer, the first of its kind in the warmer climes of the Kingdom of New Fellyx. It was a talk, slender albino with long, dead straight hair and pale blue eyes. Currently the slave was decked out in nothing but gold hand cuffs behind its back, shackles and collar with a matching thin, gold chain that was far stronger than it looked. There was nothing masking its long, narrow member, something the slave was quite embarrassed about.

 

It, a male of its kind, kept its head in a neutral position and gaze firmly down at its feet. The asvang wasn't looking through its eyes though, it was paying far more attention to its sense of hearing as it tried to gauge the area around it and seek any opportunity to escape. Its breath came in short, shallow pants and it flinched at the very touch of its handler. A tug of the thin, gold chain was all it took to make the creature jump. It was clearly very nervous about what was happening to it though kept its composure for the most part.

 

Vivian dor Vellin, as he'd been known before he'd been convicted to slavery, knew exactly what was happening to him and the type of "master" he was likely to be purchased by. There was a binder book with all the slaves' profiles in it and his mentioned that he could heal from almost any ailment or injury. Previous masters had tested this and abused this ability, leaving the slave to regrow entire limbs. It took a year to regrow a limb but it was possible.

 

Please, let me be wrong, the slave silently prayed to himself. He didn't want to think about what his new master would be like. He had to get away before he found out. He had to listen for doors, walkways and staircases in case they led back up to the surface. Oh, the surface. How long had it been since he'd seen the sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, even for a minute? His previous master had kept him locked up tightly in a cellar below their mansion and only ever came to "play" with him. An involuntary shudder ran through the slave as he thought of it.

[aominecchi]

Money, power, control; Three words that any man alive seeks to achieve. However, it is often difficult to have them all. Money brings power. Power brings control, which is not enough to restrain the mass. One day they may revolt, one day they may bite back. Thus, it is important to keep the balance in between. Alistair has been taught this since his early days by his Father - Earl Pentaghast.

 

Always lavished with gifts and presents from both his parents, family friends and strangers in hopes of pleasing the Earl. Alistair could not complain, he had everything within his reach, even before he knew he desired something. It's almost memorable how everyone within the main estate bid to his will, never letting him feel hunger or discomfort.

 

Though, boredom came quickly after.

 

Isolated in the North Wing, Alistair grew tired of wandering around the same walls and corridors as he was forbidden from entering the West Wing. Of course, the servants were careful with their words around the young heir, but inevitably one or two sentences were spurted out. And, one of them stood out the most;

Father's collection.

 

That sentence alone piqued Alistair's interest, as he had never witnessed his father partake any other activities than those of diplomacy, which included dinners, banquets and the like. Therefore, what could this 'collection' of sorts include? It wasn't long till the young Heir had found a way to sneak out his chambers and navigated towards the forbidden wing. Oddly enough, it led to a basement which resembled a prison, rather than a wine cellar or perhaps an apothecary.

 

Perhaps, it is the most unpleasant if not terrifying memory he can remember from his childhood; Only fourteen to witness prisoners being subjected to both pain and pleasure. To be treated like dogs, filth. Trash. And his Father, naked alongside the company of other collared men. Simply recalling this memory sickens Alistair, as he were too young to understand what was happening back then. A few years passed and the Earl introduced to his son his 'collection', though Alistair wished to not take part in this.

 

Till the death of his father at least.

 

The Earl was found dead, naked and bound to the wooden bed's post. Stripped of any characteristics that could pronounce him a male. The ones responsible? It not needed be said. Turns out, the Earl was an evil,

sadist man that took great pleasure into harming others against their will, and, he had the wealth to buy and cage any pets that he could find on the market. Especially those with no family, forgotten and un know. They were the best prey.

 

At the age of twenty one, Alistair was annotated the new Earl and decided to release the remaining -

captured - slaves of the revolt. Disgusted with his Father's life, Alistair knew he had to make it right. Be a benevolent leader that people can trust. Hopefully, with the vast inheritance he's left, he can succeed.

 

Only that the circles of wealth aren't keen to change.

 

 

It is a trend nowadays to own a pet, as it is a must have for the rich to show off their fortune. Actually,

expensive pets were subject to better upbringing, with their features and manners carefully crafted.

Others preferred rough pets, wanting to train them themselves. From Far Eastern beauties, to children picked right off the slums, the pets were ranging from one end to the other; fit for any need.

 

Alistair swore he would not live his Father's life. A promise to himself that could not be kept, as it seemed the fortune the previous Earl left wasn't this big. In fact, everything had withered away, with only a few coins left and a title, which comes with fame. Hence, to uplift his name, Alistair had to follow the trends.

 

He had to buy a pet.

 

+++

 

The sky had darkened from the ominous clouds, filling the air with static. It signaled the end of a season, as indicated by the light rain that started to sprinkle shortly afterwards. The carriage stopped in front of a dark alley and a male servant stepped out first before opening the door for the young noble to step out.

 

"Is this the right place Cullen?" The voice called out in disbelief upon setting a foot on the ground. Truly, for what was advertised, the place seemed more of a landfill, with the horrible smell included. It had occurred to Alistair that perhaps they took a wrong turn but on the other hand, the instructions written in the invitation on finding the place were very specific, leading to think that this may be nothing but a curtain.

 

"Yes M'Lord."

 

"It is... garbage." Alistair complained while motioning his discomfort. However, the servant proceeded to guide the Earl further inside, to a long set of stairs that led underground. "Oh, not suspicious at all. Entering a place void of light. For all we know, this could be a trap." He continued, with a hint of sarcasm that was followed by a chuckle.

 

"I am afraid not M'Lord. They have used some old bomb shelters, dating back to the Great War, as their base. It is the right place, though I am utterly sorry for walking you into through these dirty corridors." The servant shook his head negatively.

 

Yeah, lovely. Alistair wanted to reply but hold his thoughts for now. It really makes someone think what kind of illegal place they are stepping onto. At least they are not any spiders. Gods, he hates those.

 

It isn't long till the end of the corridor is illuminated, revealing the grandiose of its design. Silks hanging from the ceiling, or at times hung on the walls in colors of blue, red and gold - fit for royalty. He hadn't even entered further down the entrance and Alistair was already speechless, carefully examining the great attention to detail that was given to each ornament and furniture. In the meanwhile, Cullen had gone to the entrance and politely handed the invitation. "May I announce Earl Alistair Pentaghast, of House Pentaghast." The servant said while tipping his cane and then attempted to signal Alistair to walk closer, and perhaps let him know as to not be obvious by his amazement.

 

Indeed, not even the main estate had been so carefully crafted. Alistair only wished he had the coin to do so.

 

"Maison de la Dominateur M'Lord." Cullen slightly bowed and allowed for the Earl to enter first. "I shall find us a proper seat, in the meanwhile, please do find your associates and try to... ahem... Mingle. As a Pentaghast, you should be proud."

 

"Thank you Cullen." Alistair thanked the servant and then reached for the golden pin on his coat, unclutching it. "What are our funds currently? I hope it is enough to buy us a pet that will grant as influence." He added, with a hint of sarcasm in his last sentence, as the servant attempted to remove his coat and fold it.

 

"I'll take that M'Lord." Cullen replied. "Not enough is the answer I am afraid but your name holds great power, so does your title. We can contact a few close friends and ask for a few favors or small loans. But please, don't let that cloud your mind. We can afford their sole attraction."

 

"Right..." Alistair gulped, feeling his confidence fade away. Were they really in such a horrid state? At any rate, he lingered for a while, his eyes glued on stage and at the main attraction of the Maison; an albino male. Fragile and scared. Alistair could sense the boy's primal instincts, as he needed not be a psychic. Anyone restrained like that would want to escape.

 

He almost felt pity.

 

Minutes later, Cullen reappeared with empty hands and guided the Earl towards the book which contained all of the attractions' features. "This way." The servant instructed and then handed the book of profiles to his master. "Oh... They even have their characteristics written, as if I am ordering food. Look, there is even a Far Easterner in here. Trained or not." Alistair chuckled, finding the whole ordeal absurd. Had his Father been here before? Did he, as well, buy pets based on this binder?

 

"Focus M'Lord. We are aiming for the main attraction." Cullen dared to flip to the proper page with a soft sigh. Such an airhead sometimes his Lord is.

 

"Fine, fine. I was just... Interested. Anyway, let's see..." Upon reading the magical qualities of the albino, Alistair suddenly gasps in surprise as he had never seen such a creature from up close. "Oh..." He exhaled with an arched brow and then shifted his gaze towards the stage, pointing towards the creature. "THAT thing?"

 

"That thing indeed M'Lord. Now let us find our seats, the bidding will start soon."

[Rumpleteaser]

As the slave was taken up to the stage, he was stopped by one of the lordlings who'd eyes he'd caught. The man slipped his hand down the slave's arse and gave it a slap to see how it giggled. The slave jumped a little but said nothing. His arse was tight and taut with no jiggle, which disappointed the man. He sighed and shook his head before leaving the slave and handler alone.

 

The handler continued to pull the asvang up to the stage. The slave dared a quick glance to the side and flushed pink at being put on display like that. The handler whispered orders to him as the shackles, cuffs and collar were removed. The slave nodded but said nothing. It understood what would happen to it if it misbehaved. There were guards everywhere, hidden at the corners of the room, ready to beat him if he did anything that could be frowned upon. The slave took a slow breath and started to formulate a plan.

 

With a little nudge, the slave walked forward and bowed low and proper to a woman standing on stage. The woman was a slave with bright red curls and natural looking make up. She curtsied to him and they took their places. The slave kept his hand respectable high on her waist and smiled to her softly. She didn't look at him. The handler moved the pin on the gramophone and music started to play. The slave couple waited until the melody started and began to dance. The slave was nervous and rigid at first but began to relax and even enjoy the dance. He smiled and hummed along to the music. Soon his eyes were alight with delight and he danced beautifully. It was obvious he was well trained. With his upbringing, it was expected.

 

Suddenly, completely out of the blue, the slave let go of his partner and bolted to the door. He easily dodged the guards. One managed to grab him but he swung around, shoved the man with all his strength and scrabbled for the door. Two guards came up behind him and he cried out as he felt their hands on his naked body. He had to get away. There was no turning back now. The slave managed to get the door open, get through it and slam the door on his captor's hands. He wasted no time in spinning around and bolting up to the air above. He had no chance to enjoy that first breath of fresh, although putrid, air though. He had to get away. The slave ran as fast as he could, bare feet slipping on the slimy cobblestones.

 

However, the slave didn't make it far. A few minutes later he was being marched down through the same way he'd come. All the lords and ladies in Platform One would see him walking in shame, eyes downcast. His wrists were gripped tight, though he still tried to pull away weakly. He knew it was hopeless but he still hadn't given up. He was halfway through the platform when he managed to break away again. This time they were ready for him and threw him to the floor.

 

'Ah! Please! No!' he cried out.

 

'Silence, slave. Don't make it worse for you,' the guard on top of him hissed.

 

'How can it get any worse?' the slave laughed.

 

The guards yanked him up by his shoulder-length hair and he groaned as he was dragged to his feet. This time his handler hurried over to cuff, collar and shackle him. He stood up straight and composed himself - head held high with eyes gazing down. As he was marched away, only his messed-up hair and the way the guards were holding him hinted at the escape attempt that had just transpired.

 

Another of the lords, Earl Hemmingway, came up to the slave with an amused smile on his face. He was known for loving the slaves who struggled and needed to be beaten into submission. He loved breaking unruly slaves and curbing them to serve him obediently. He often became bored of them when they were broken and submissive, selling them on to others to tend their mental wounds.

 

'Stop there, guards. I wish to speak to him,' he announced, resting a hand on the slave's shoulder. The slave didn't respond. 'That was very brave of you, brave or foolish.'

 

'Even a dog would run from a cruel master,' the slave answered.

 

'You compare yourself to a dog?' the man asked with some amusement.

 

'The analogy fits,' replied the slave.

 

The earl moved between the guards and their captive. He came up to rest his left hand on the slave's hip and his right in the slave's hair. He moved the slave back and shoved him up against the wall. The slave looked down as his hair was grasped and his head forced back to look up at the man.

 

'You're a very naughty boy,' purred the older earl. The slave said nothing.

 

The slave tensed as he felt that hand slip up his thigh and grip his cock. They were going to do it here?! The slave glanced at the handler for help but the woman seemed accepting of it. The asvang had no help as the man leaned over and nibbled at his ear. The slave tried to close his legs but to no avail. The man was gripping hard and the slave was already starting to respond. Hemmingway's lips travelled lower and he bit at the slave's neck.

 

'NO!' the slave cried. He struggled harder and sank down to his knees. He couldn't stand having his neck touched.

 

'Yes, slave! You will obey me!' the earl hissed, trying to yank the slave back by his hair.

 

'Don't touch my neck,' he said, still crouched down.

 

'I'll touch any part of you I want,' he said. 'You, handler! I want fifteen minutes alone with this slave.'

 

'Of course, sir. I can book you in-'

 

'Now!'

 

'Yes, Earl Hemmingway.'

 

The slave was yanked to his feet by the two guards and brushed off. The slave stood, breathing a little heavier than before. He made one glance back over his shoulder and got struck over the head as a result. He promised himself he would find another opportunity before he became the older earl's slave.

 

Earl Hemmingway followed behind the slave, the handler and the two guards. He was taken to one of the private rooms on the other platforms where walls had been built along with soundproofing. They were rooms for testing out the slaves before the auction commenced.

 

--- --- ---

 

'Forgive the commotion, Earl Pentaghast,' said one of the matrons, curtseying low. 'That slave is normally very placid. This is the first we've had any trouble from him.'

 

'I see you are looking at his profile. Would you like to learn more about him? Perhaps you would like to meet him,' she offered. 'Of course, we do have other slaves, though none as exotic as that one.'

 

The matron waved over one of the servers, who brought over refreshments. There was red wine, champaign and an assortment of amuse bouche. They all looked so lovely and delicate, set out on the silver platter.

 

'Please, enjoy yourself while you are here. Perhaps I can bring over a lovely little lady to please you while you wait,' she offered. 'Tell me, what is it you are interested in? Lady or gentleman? Tamed or untrained? Plain or exotic?'

[aominecchi]

Quite honestly, Alistair preferred to not attend most of the social gatherings he's invited to as this kind of lifestyle does not suit him. Unlike the former Earl, Marric, Alistair wanted to live a quiet life, rid of all the pretentious nobility that always act upon their interests. Perhaps the gravest mistake Marric committed, was to not teach his son arrogance and lust. Words that if used right can be proved fatal against his enemies.

 

Only that Alistair does not play the game.

 

Partially, because he never understood the need to lie in order to gain favor among the strongest.

 

His thoughts linger for some while, as Cullen leads him towards their seats, mainly wondering whether it was actually a marvelous ideas to attend, or not. They couldn't afford even the cheapest attraction, how could they aim for the top one? Though the albino did seem peculiar, if not interesting. Alistair swears he had not seen anything similar before and many others would agree.

 

Before he could gather his thoughts and think of a way to buy the pet, given their economic status, a forceful slap on the left shoulder distracted him while his glance instantly turned towards the source of malice. Turns out, there wasn't any bad intentions in the gesture. It's just that Count Frey cannot calculate the strength he is giving into his hand.

 

And again, he reeks of alcohol.

 

"Alistair!" The man with an obvious difference in mass loudly called out with a smile and then proceeded to hug him. The servant interrupted them with an intentious cough, maybe even saving his master from certain suffocation. "It is Lord Pentaghast." He then swiftly and coldly corrected before excusing himself, deciding to head back towards the reception to inquire about the main attraction. Meanwhile, Lord Frey simply laughed and then took a sip of his cup. "You must forgive me. It's hard to imagine you a Lord." Alistair's eyes shot up in a confused yet insulted state but was not given the time to reply. "You were this tall when I last saw you. Cute and small. Always looking for your mother's tit to nimble." Yeah, talk about an awkward conversation. The Count points just a few inches above his knee, summing up Alistair's height back then, though hardly a baby is that tall.

 

Oh well.

 

Alistair decided to comply and laughed alongside the count, feeling the awkwardness cringe inside of him.

That must have been his most forced smile but what else can be done? The Count is a good man despite his weirdness. "I hope you have been well. Well... Ugh..." Eyes had already started gathering upon them, mainly due to spotting Lord Pentaghast outside his mansion - a rare event. Or perhaps, simply because the Count could not keep his voice down, making distant laughter ensue. "I must apologise I am afraid but I had a... thing to attend with my ah... Servant, over there. We can continue our delightful conversation some other time." He continued to smile brightly and then attempted to make a few small steps towards freedom,

only to be pulled back to his place again.

 

"Where are you going boy? If it's bidding you wanna do, it hasn't started yet. I haven't seen you for ages,

I bet you have tales to share." At this point, Alistair wanted to cry, and for a moment he really would.

Alas, only an almost inaudible whimper escaped out his lips while his eyes frantically searched for Cullen,

to summon him for the rescue. "I can assure you, there are no tales of grandeur to share. I am the Earl of Summerford now. Inherited my parents' wealth and have been wasting it all on poison ever since." Ah, there was a hint of sarcasm somewhere in that sentence. Perhaps he should add a smirk or a nudge in order to deliver the sentence as intended.

 

Thankfully he received an awfully long and loud laugh from Count Frey, which was cut short moments later as he started to watch the Count wobble. "Um... Count Frey?" Alistair called out in worry, assuming it was the whole barrel of beer that the Count may have consumed that cause the clumsiness.

 

No.

 

It was something worse; a wild pet running around and causing ruckus, inevitably knocking over the Count, who fell on the ground, on top of Alistair like a watermelon from a table. Just curse this moment, Alistair thought as he groaned in pain and then shifted his attention towards the albino that was dragged back inside before disappearing out of sight to somewhere more private.

 

He gulped upon witnessing the violence acted upon the pet and proceeded to help the Count stand back on his feet. "Damn that pet!" Count Frey yelled in frustration. "They should lock them all up until they are properly trained." Many others agreed to his words but Alistair remained silent. Alright, mistreatment wasn't unexpected in this short of place, but to experience in beforehand... Something had turned in him.

 

He took advantage of the commotion and seeked out Cullen before being greeted by a matron. "Ah." He exhaled, feeling bad they had to apologise for a behavior that seemed normal given the circumstances. "It is alright. I suppose he needed better handling." Alistair smiled and he really did not mind. If anything, the pet's revolt made the party less boring. Not to say he was saved from Count Frey's non stopping rambling.

 

As soon as he finished talking and was instead bombarded with questions regarding his preferences to be accomodated, Cullen stepped and coughed once more. "My Lord is utterly disappointed by the security of this place. Had you restrained the pet better, he wouldn't have endured all this. Just look at his shirt! It is, well... Was of high quality but it is now crooked. We demand an apology from this establishment. Is that how you treat the Earl of Summerford? By offering your second rate leftovers? My Lord is only going to accept the best. Your best. We want that albino. Now."

 

Err, yeah.

 

Cullen always had a way with using words.

 

And Alistair did not disagree, nor did agree to be fair but decided to blindly trust his servant since birth. After all, what's wrong with claiming what is his? His funds may be lacking but the name Pentaghast still holds great power. Though if he had spoken, his words would certainly be softer and kinder.

[Rumpleteaser]

'Forgive me,' the matron said, taken aback. She blinked and looked from Cullen to Lord Pentaghast, wondering which she ought to address. She ended up looking to the master rather than the servant. 'I say again, the slave in question is normally placid. We did not expect him to try to run off like that so did not believe he needed restraining like many of the others. Be reassured, it will not happen again.'

 

The woman sighed but refrained from shaking her head. Some people were just too demanding. She glanced at the servant again to see if he would interrupt then continued her conversation with the master.

 

'I assure you, all our slaves are of the finest quality. Any lord or lady would be pleased with any of them. None of them are "second rate leftovers". It is merely a matter of preference. We have sylvan, anthronians, humans, werefolk and even a few vampires. We don't bring the vampires out on display though unless someone requests one beforehand,' she explained.

 

'I'm afraid I cannot give you the asvang now though. He is, er, busy with another client. I can see if I can fit you in next, if it pleases you,' she said, then added. 'He will be thoroughly cleaned between uses. So, is it just him or are there others you'd like to sample while you're waiting?'

 

The matron reached out and flipped through the book to another page. When it was open to a man's profile with with sharp, black hair, she pinned her finger down on his picture and turned the book to face the earl. As well as a picture of the man, there was a picture of something that looked like an oversized cat with tufts coming from its pointed ears. It was stretched out on its back in a playful manner and there was a ball of yarn tangled around its back legs.

 

'If you're looking for a male, I can recommend the werecat. He's got a bit of fight in him but he isn't too much of a challenge for a first-timer. He'd make an excellent pet and his diet is less restrictive,' she offered. 'Asvang only drink blood, you know.'

 

*** *** ***

 

Vivian was thrust through the doorway and deep into the room. He stood there quietly as his handler held tight to the lead. There was no chance of escape now so why even try? The slave just remained quiet and didn't struggle, though he shifted uncomfortably at the way Earl Hemmingway was looking at him.

 

'Do you wish me to take the ropes off?' the handler asked.

 

'No, leave them on for now. He looks good in ropes. I might retie them myself,' Hemmingway said. He was already starting to undo his tie.

 

Hemmingway nodded when the handler gave him the rope. Like a predator, he watched the guards and handler leave before turning to stare at the slave standing in the corner of the room. The slave remained stationary as the earl took of his shirt and tossed it onto the lounge chair. Vivian caught whiff of arousal and something darker, something predatory and cruel. He knew then the next fifteen minutes were going to be hell.

 

'Now... you...' Hemmingway said in a heavy tone. 'Bend over.'