Page 48 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

It was almost comforting, really. For all that things changed, even in the House of Onyx, they were still roughly the same. People moved in and out, but their fondness for gossip and drama remained. Relationships shifted, but the doors opened at the same time every night, and they went through the same little rituals, the same morning brunches and whispers in the kitchen, day after day.

“We’ll be opening the door soon,” Laurent said, now, stroking Sabre’s hair. “You want this?”

“Yes. I need it.” Sabre pressed his mouth to the bulge of Laurent’s cock through his trousers, then trailed lower. “Do you want to use me first?”

Laurent let Sabre tease him for a few seconds before dragging him back by the hair. “I think I’d rather hear you beg for it after the rest of them are through with you. It won’t really be enough until I have you, will it?”

“Never,” Sabre said, and moaned faintly as Laurent pulled his hair.

“Good.” He leaned down to kiss Sabre. “Now, let’s put you in your mask. No one else gets to see how much you’re going to love this.”

Sabre almost moaned again at that, and let Laurent drag him to the stocks. He blushed when Laurent took note of his cock, already growing hard as he locked him in, and shivered as the mask slid over his eyes. The only thing anyone else could see of his face was his mouth and chin, and Sabre could see nothing at all. He tried not to fidget in anticipation, but the minutes dragged by, and Laurent said nothing else to him after putting on the mask. He shivered when Laurent ran a hand over his back and along the curve of his ass, but then Laurent was walking away, leaving Sabre aching, wondering if he shouldn’t beg for Laurent to take him first after all.

* * *

“You’re sure you’ll handle this all right?” Charon asked, for the third time, as Laurent sipped his wine and settled in his chair across from where Sabre was bound. “It’s been some time since the last one.”

That it had, which likely had more to do with their schedules, Laurent’s as the house lord and in his position over the council governing the pleasure districts, to which Adrien had appointed both Sabre and Laurent. While he hated it, he understood it was both an honor and a chance to make sure that what had happened to Sabre never happened to anyone else, along with a host of other indignities suffered by courtesans who didn’t happen to be dukes. Sabre was busy with Adrien, learning spycraft from Isiodore and standing grim-faced at Adrien’s side while the newly-crowned king cheerfully tossed over tradition like broken pots in need of sweeping up. Sabre, of course, was the lucky man holding the broom.

But things were getting better for commoners, slowly but measurably, and the nobility weren’t grousing too loudly, and the court was taking the summer off so that Adrien and Isiodore could escape from the heat of the city to visit Emile’s country estate. Margritte was with them, as she was in talks to be their surrogate for the heir to the throne of Staria. Laurent was still getting used to the idea, but Sabre had told him that she was beautiful and clever, as well as being just odd enough to produce a proper de Guillory.

Tonight, it would be a small group of trusted regulars, vetted and approved by Sabre and Laurent both for their discretion and their ability to make Sabre scream as he needed. Charon was one of them, given his sadism and talent for aftercare, and Laurent would see to Sabre both at the end of the evening and the next day, wherein Sabre would be hopefully under and pleasantly relaxed.

“I’m sure,” Laurent said, with a nod to Charon. He was wearing his favorite work ensemble, a pair of trousers and boots and a simple undershirt, dark hair in braids, dark eyes lightly rimmed with kohl to make them even more pronounced. His voice and dominance always put Laurent in the mind of distant thunder, the kind that moved with the storm away from you so that you knew the danger had passed and clear skies were on their way.

At the moment, he was playing host, wearing an elaborate bull mask that Yves had made when the House unanimously declared that birds really didn’t work for Charon. The bull mask was black with curved horns, and behind it, Charon’s eyes were black and shadowed, the horns slick and shining. “The first guest is here, m’lord.”

Laurent smiled and sipped his wine, and he winked at Charon when he heard Sabre’s soft inhale, heard him shifting restlessly in the stocks. “Then by all means, show them up.”

The first guest wasn’t really a guest, per se. It was Simone, who entered the room in a beautiful silk robe embroidered with flowers, with a harness and one of Margritte’s custom toys in her hand. She nodded at Laurent and Charon, then turned to Sabre with a speculative look as she set the toy and the harness down on a small cushion, then untied her robe and handed it to Charon, who stepped up to take it from her. They were all naked often around the house—whores had little use for modesty unless it was a calculated act for a client—but Laurent didn’t often see them at work. He’d given up supervising them in the secret hallway after he married Sabre, letting the others handle that as part of their duties now.

“Charon, darling,” Simone said, running her fingers through her short, dark hair, “would you mind fetching me my dragon gloves?”

“Fuck,” Sabre said, in a dreamy voice, as if Simone had just asked for expensive wine and premium chocolates to feed him.

“Of course.” Charon turned to the neatly-organized armoire in the corner, took out the requested item, and brought them back. “Might want to get that harness on before you put these on, though.”

“Darling,” Simone purred, fluttering her lashes at him. “It’s not my first day.”

Laurent laughed, watching as she stepped into the harness, affixed Margritte’s toy and slicked it with oil. Then, she put on the black leather gloves with spiked tips used for scratching, which could be relaxing or agonizing depending on the pressure applied. Laurent had no doubt it would be the latter, given Sabre’s preferences, and he knew how much Simone liked using them, especially on masochists. It would be a good warm-up for Sabre and he watched her lean down to whisper something in Sabre’s ear.

“You won’t need one,” Sabre said. It must have been Simone asking for his safeword, which Laurent knew better than anyone that Sabre had never used.

“I’d still like to know, beautiful boy.”

Sabre squirmed a bit, and Laurent had a feeling she was just doing this to prolong the start, drag it out and make Sabre suffer the torment of anticipation.

“Asa,” Sabre said, which was his childhood nickname for Adrien. “Ma’am.”

Simone smiled, then settled behind Sabre and started to use the gloves on his back. She was acquainted enough with his limits, or lack thereof, not to require Laurent’s eagle-eyed scrutiny, so he could sip his wine and watch her work him over. She scratched his back and the backs of his thighs, laughing in delight as Sabre twitched and kicked, moaning when she dragged the tips down hard enough to draw the slightest bit of blood. Laurent thought about smacking his own gloved hand down Sabre’s back, and shifted in his seat as his blood heated from the thought.

Simone threw the gloves to the side when she fucked Sabre, her face flushed with exertion and her short hair damp with sweat, but she was murmuring to him as she fucked him with the toy, enjoying herself. It likely wasn’t enough to really hurt, but Sabre would enjoy the sensation of being fucked while his back burned from the scratches.

“He doesn’t get to come, even if he begs,” Laurent said, setting his wine glass down and crossing one leg over the other. He didn’t think Sabre was in any danger of begging to come just yet, and he was in a cock ring, just in case, but he liked the way Simone’s smile when sly and wicked and she reached around to stroke him, the way Sabre stiffened and gasped at the sound of Laurent’s command.

“Good little slut. Look at you take that cock,” Simone said, and her dominance was different than Laurent’s, a bit subtler, more like a fast-acting poison than a blade. “Having fun, then?”

“Oh, yes ma’am,” Sabre breathed, and the look on his face when Simone slammed into him, hard enough to shake the stocks, was positively blissful.

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