Day 4
Valentines' Advent Master Post
For Sheryl
Chen/Yifan, 2084, NC-17
Warnings: [Spoiler (click to open)]watersports
Jongdae thought it would be impossible to fulfill that one deepest, darkest desire-but apparently not. (slave!au)
Jongdae pulls at the loose collar he’s wearing, uncomfortable with how much skin he’s showing. His personal attendant had told him that this is how most commoners dress, that he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb as long as he dressed down for once, but Jongdae almost doesn’t care now. He adjust the coarse material once more before raising a hand and knocking at the boarded up door.
A panel instantly is pulled aside. “Name?”
Jongdae clears his throat slightly, pulling himself up to his full stature. “Viscount Kim. I sent a messenger this morning.”
The panel slides back into the door and, after a moment, the door is pulled aside and Jongdae is welcomed in. “They’re expecting you on the third floor. You are free to take your time and look at our other wares. They will wait for as long as you need them to, Sir.” The man lowers himself to a bow, closing the door behind Jongdae.
Inclining his head slightly, Jongdae accepts the invitation and starts down the street, ignoring the slight shiver that works its way up his spine. The black market. He can’t believe he’s here. Sure, he knows plenty members of the ministry stop by, has heard personal stories told about exotic creatures bought-everything from tigers, lions, and poisonous fish to… people. Which, as much as he’d like to deny it, is why he’s here.
He had vowed never to purchase a pleasure slave, especially not while he had marriage offers from men and women alike flooding his desks at his estate and work, but that had been before last month. That was when he’d attended a party held by a particularly shameless senator, and Jongdae had prepared himself for the worst. After everyone had arrived, she called them to her-admittedly magnificent-salon. Jongdae had grabbed the nearest glass of champagne and downed it, preparing himself for whatever nonsense was going to happen next. It turned out the woman wanted to introduce her newest pet-she had thirteen, a record for the province, and had even had a child with one of her first. The woman could not care less what people had to say about it. Jongdae wasn’t sure if he was impressed or terrified. But, as she had the small woman perched on her lap, she explained that this new one was unlike any of the others, that she had purchased this one from a special seller who specially trained each slave to fulfill unique needs.
And that was when Jongdae had disregarded his vows.
Because, as much as he’d like to be interested in a normal, simple sex life, he is not. Jongdae has some… untraditional needs. So when the senator names the trainers, he repeats the name in his head all night, until he can write it down. In the morning, he hands the name to his personal attendant, orders him to contact the agency with his request. Wisely, the man doesn’t even blink at the request, just nods and leaves, which explains why he’s been working under Jongdae so long. The man is secretive to a fault.
He only has to wait a week before his correspondence is returned in the form of a formal letter that states they have what Jongdae is looking for. He sends his attendant to the place of business-evidently somewhere inside the walls of the black market, and the man comes back with a simple, it’s a man. He seems like he’d fit your tastes.
That had been a week ago.
Jongdae would have run out and bought him the very next day, but there was a meeting he’d had to attend in the city and then papers he’d had to organize and send. As soon as all that was done, he was planning his trip, asking his attendant for tips if he wanted to go in alone and undetected, and the man humored him.
Finally inside the illegal trade district, Jongdae tugs his hat down a little more to hide his face, and pulls on his collar once more in vain. He’s just going to have to deal with the exposed skin for the moment. He doesn’t bother with any of the other wares-he makes for the stairs and bypasses the second floor completely before pausing on the landing of the third floor.
He can’t believe he’s doing this.
But, he’s wanted this ever since he first discovered the craving, and if embarrassing himself will accomplish that then he’ll just have to go through with it. He steps forward, knocking on the only labeled door. The rickety thing opens and he’s swiftly pulled inside, door shut behind him.
“Viscount Kim, I presume?”
Jongdae looks up and stands a little straighter. There are three others in the room; a spindly man, a beefy man right behind him, and a woman with long hair standing in the corner with her back to them. “You are correct,” Jongdae manages when he’s sure his voice won’t quaver, and he’s led to a plush chair in the center of the room, watching as the muscled man disappears behind a curtain.
The smaller man grins, showing two rows of rotten, yellowing teeth. “Your slave has been training for seven years. Three of those were spent focused on his more unique talents. We hope that you will thoroughly enjoy him.”
Jongdae is silent as the curtain shifts and the beefy man returns, dragging a man who almost matches him in height, if not in the gentle swell of muscles visible even as far away as Jongdae is sitting. The sla-man, Jongdae reminds himself, he’s a man and Jongdae will not fall any lower than he is now-is brought to the center of the room. Jongdae swallows, then stands. He knows that this is the part where he inspects the man from top to bottom, but as it is he has already exceeded Jongdae’s wishes. He does so anyway, running a hand through brittle blonde hair-he’ll work to fix that-and only briefly glances at the flesh between the man’s legs and. God. He’s perfect.
“I’ll take him,” Jongdae says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He hands the sizable bag of money to the woman in the corner, who gives him a lascivious wink and cackles when he colors. Jongdae turns back around to see that the man’s been covered with a thin strip of cloth across his hips and thinks about asking for something a little less revealing, but decides against it. He needs to get out of here. He beckons the man to follow and passes through the door, turning to jog down the stairs and towards the waiting carriage.
As they pass through the front gates, the guard thanks him for his patronage and invites him to return-soon. Jongdae almost gags.
Once safely in the carriage, Jongdae strips out of the loose rags and pulls on the folded suit he has waiting on the seat, fumbling a little as the coachmen starts them on their way. About halfway done, Jongdae becomes acutely aware of the eyes on him. He finishes pulling on his pants and looks across the carriage to see the man sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath him. Jongdae cringes. Right. They’re trained to sit on the floor, he’d forgotten.
“You can sit on the bench, you know.” He motions to the one directly behind the man. He makes no attempt to move. “Please,” Jongdae tries. Still nothing. He frowns, then grits his teeth. “Sit on the bench.” The man immediately heeds the commands and Jongdae’s fingers dig into his thighs. “I will not be ordering you around-I hope that you will make decisions of your own free will.” The man just stares at him, almost uncomprehendingly, and Jongdae sighs. “I hope that… Actually, I never got your name. What am I to call you?”
“You can call me whatever you wish, Master,” is the immediate reply and the voice has Jongdae’s breath stopping in his chest. God, it’s so gravelly and deep and-wait. Jongdae groans.
“I beg you, do not call me that. Please, call me Jongdae. Or, if you wish to be formal, Viscount Kim. Though, I’ve never had a bedmate call me that.” He laughs weakly. “But, I still have nothing to call you.”
The man’s expression-which has remained passive this entire time-wrinkles slightly. In thought? “Before… I was called Yifan. You may use that name, if that is what you wish.”
“Yifan!” Jongdae almost shouts in victory. “Yes, I shall call you that. Now, my estate is quite big so it may take you a while to get used to. We’ll give you a grand tour tomorrow once you wake, I think. Yes, that would be best.” He continues to prattle away for the rest of their ride, nervous for what is coming. As soon as the carriage stops, his stomach drops.
His attendant opens the door. “I trust everything went well, Sir?”
Jongdae nods. “Yes, quite. I thank you for your help.” He makes to step out, catches a glance at Yifan, and quickly changes his mind. “Could you grab a large blanket?”
The man bows, heads inside, and is back in a heartbeat with one of the afghans they keep folded over the living room furniture. Jongdae takes it with thanks, and hands the material to Yifan, who merely stares at it. Jongdae sighs.
“Put it on,” he mimes the motion and watches, pleased, as Yifan pulls the material over his shoulders, hiding the finer details of his body from view. Jongdae nods to himself and disembarks. He orders his attendant to bed once they are inside, and leads Yifan up the stairs to the bedrooms.
He walks past the room he’d prepared for Yifan, feeling awful, but he has to know-he throws open his bedroom door, motions Yifan inside, and locks the door firmly behind him. When he turns back around, he sees that Yifan has shed both the blanket and his meager coverings and he almost moans but no, he’s better than that.
“I’m sorry,” he says, removing his jacket and working at his pants. “I just-I have to know. I’ve never been with someone who-” he breaks off as his hands are gently brushed aside and larger-much larger, God-hands easily undo the clasp and pull the material to his ankles, where Yifan kneels. His smallclothes are pulled down next, and then his half-hard dick is exposed to the air. Jongdae watches with bated breath as Yifan opens his mouth, places Jongdae’s head on the tip of his tongue, then places both his hands behind his back. Jongdae takes one look at those expectant eyes-piercing in the faint sunlight streaming through his window-and he can’t hold back any longer.
He gasps as the first few drops leak out, quickly followed by a steady stream of yellow. Jongdae can’t help but moan as it proves too much for Yifan’s small mouth-trails of yellow lead down his throat, chest, and land on the discarded rags spread by Yifan’s knees. Yifan makes loud slurping sounds until Jongdae runs dry and fuck. Fuck. As soon as he tries to deal with the fact that he’s harder than he can ever remember being, Yifan has two hands around him and is taking him deeper into his mouth. Jongdae’s brain short-circuits. He comes embarrassingly early, holding onto the mattress behind him to stay steady, watching as Yifan swallows his seed. With that mouth. The same mouth that had so eagerly-
Fuck.
“I’m only going to do this this once because this is utterly disgusting,” Jongdae says, voice wavering as he pulls Yifan to his feet and presses their lips together. That’s as far as he goes, pulling back after a long moment to take in Yifan’s nonplussed expression. “But. I know that I enjoyed that but did you? God, you didn’t, did you? They probably trained you using some-” He trails off when Yifan grabs his hand and presses it to his very large, extremely hard dick.
“I enjoyed it,” the man drawls, voice almost as wrecked as Jongdae’s, “very much.”
Jongdae’s very sure he looks absolutely stupid, lower jaw gaping and hand limply sitting atop Yifan’s dick, but he can’t move. He can barely move his head to look up at Yifan, blink, and mutter a heartfelt, “Fuck.”
For Sheryl
Chen/Yifan, 2084, NC-17
Warnings: [Spoiler (click to open)]watersports
Jongdae thought it would be impossible to fulfill that one deepest, darkest desire-but apparently not. (slave!au)
Jongdae pulls at the loose collar he’s wearing, uncomfortable with how much skin he’s showing. His personal attendant had told him that this is how most commoners dress, that he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb as long as he dressed down for once, but Jongdae almost doesn’t care now. He adjust the coarse material once more before raising a hand and knocking at the boarded up door.
A panel instantly is pulled aside. “Name?”
Jongdae clears his throat slightly, pulling himself up to his full stature. “Viscount Kim. I sent a messenger this morning.”
The panel slides back into the door and, after a moment, the door is pulled aside and Jongdae is welcomed in. “They’re expecting you on the third floor. You are free to take your time and look at our other wares. They will wait for as long as you need them to, Sir.” The man lowers himself to a bow, closing the door behind Jongdae.
Inclining his head slightly, Jongdae accepts the invitation and starts down the street, ignoring the slight shiver that works its way up his spine. The black market. He can’t believe he’s here. Sure, he knows plenty members of the ministry stop by, has heard personal stories told about exotic creatures bought-everything from tigers, lions, and poisonous fish to… people. Which, as much as he’d like to deny it, is why he’s here.
He had vowed never to purchase a pleasure slave, especially not while he had marriage offers from men and women alike flooding his desks at his estate and work, but that had been before last month. That was when he’d attended a party held by a particularly shameless senator, and Jongdae had prepared himself for the worst. After everyone had arrived, she called them to her-admittedly magnificent-salon. Jongdae had grabbed the nearest glass of champagne and downed it, preparing himself for whatever nonsense was going to happen next. It turned out the woman wanted to introduce her newest pet-she had thirteen, a record for the province, and had even had a child with one of her first. The woman could not care less what people had to say about it. Jongdae wasn’t sure if he was impressed or terrified. But, as she had the small woman perched on her lap, she explained that this new one was unlike any of the others, that she had purchased this one from a special seller who specially trained each slave to fulfill unique needs.
And that was when Jongdae had disregarded his vows.
Because, as much as he’d like to be interested in a normal, simple sex life, he is not. Jongdae has some… untraditional needs. So when the senator names the trainers, he repeats the name in his head all night, until he can write it down. In the morning, he hands the name to his personal attendant, orders him to contact the agency with his request. Wisely, the man doesn’t even blink at the request, just nods and leaves, which explains why he’s been working under Jongdae so long. The man is secretive to a fault.
He only has to wait a week before his correspondence is returned in the form of a formal letter that states they have what Jongdae is looking for. He sends his attendant to the place of business-evidently somewhere inside the walls of the black market, and the man comes back with a simple, it’s a man. He seems like he’d fit your tastes.
That had been a week ago.
Jongdae would have run out and bought him the very next day, but there was a meeting he’d had to attend in the city and then papers he’d had to organize and send. As soon as all that was done, he was planning his trip, asking his attendant for tips if he wanted to go in alone and undetected, and the man humored him.
Finally inside the illegal trade district, Jongdae tugs his hat down a little more to hide his face, and pulls on his collar once more in vain. He’s just going to have to deal with the exposed skin for the moment. He doesn’t bother with any of the other wares-he makes for the stairs and bypasses the second floor completely before pausing on the landing of the third floor.
He can’t believe he’s doing this.
But, he’s wanted this ever since he first discovered the craving, and if embarrassing himself will accomplish that then he’ll just have to go through with it. He steps forward, knocking on the only labeled door. The rickety thing opens and he’s swiftly pulled inside, door shut behind him.
“Viscount Kim, I presume?”
Jongdae looks up and stands a little straighter. There are three others in the room; a spindly man, a beefy man right behind him, and a woman with long hair standing in the corner with her back to them. “You are correct,” Jongdae manages when he’s sure his voice won’t quaver, and he’s led to a plush chair in the center of the room, watching as the muscled man disappears behind a curtain.
The smaller man grins, showing two rows of rotten, yellowing teeth. “Your slave has been training for seven years. Three of those were spent focused on his more unique talents. We hope that you will thoroughly enjoy him.”
Jongdae is silent as the curtain shifts and the beefy man returns, dragging a man who almost matches him in height, if not in the gentle swell of muscles visible even as far away as Jongdae is sitting. The sla-man, Jongdae reminds himself, he’s a man and Jongdae will not fall any lower than he is now-is brought to the center of the room. Jongdae swallows, then stands. He knows that this is the part where he inspects the man from top to bottom, but as it is he has already exceeded Jongdae’s wishes. He does so anyway, running a hand through brittle blonde hair-he’ll work to fix that-and only briefly glances at the flesh between the man’s legs and. God. He’s perfect.
“I’ll take him,” Jongdae says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He hands the sizable bag of money to the woman in the corner, who gives him a lascivious wink and cackles when he colors. Jongdae turns back around to see that the man’s been covered with a thin strip of cloth across his hips and thinks about asking for something a little less revealing, but decides against it. He needs to get out of here. He beckons the man to follow and passes through the door, turning to jog down the stairs and towards the waiting carriage.
As they pass through the front gates, the guard thanks him for his patronage and invites him to return-soon. Jongdae almost gags.
Once safely in the carriage, Jongdae strips out of the loose rags and pulls on the folded suit he has waiting on the seat, fumbling a little as the coachmen starts them on their way. About halfway done, Jongdae becomes acutely aware of the eyes on him. He finishes pulling on his pants and looks across the carriage to see the man sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath him. Jongdae cringes. Right. They’re trained to sit on the floor, he’d forgotten.
“You can sit on the bench, you know.” He motions to the one directly behind the man. He makes no attempt to move. “Please,” Jongdae tries. Still nothing. He frowns, then grits his teeth. “Sit on the bench.” The man immediately heeds the commands and Jongdae’s fingers dig into his thighs. “I will not be ordering you around-I hope that you will make decisions of your own free will.” The man just stares at him, almost uncomprehendingly, and Jongdae sighs. “I hope that… Actually, I never got your name. What am I to call you?”
“You can call me whatever you wish, Master,” is the immediate reply and the voice has Jongdae’s breath stopping in his chest. God, it’s so gravelly and deep and-wait. Jongdae groans.
“I beg you, do not call me that. Please, call me Jongdae. Or, if you wish to be formal, Viscount Kim. Though, I’ve never had a bedmate call me that.” He laughs weakly. “But, I still have nothing to call you.”
The man’s expression-which has remained passive this entire time-wrinkles slightly. In thought? “Before… I was called Yifan. You may use that name, if that is what you wish.”
“Yifan!” Jongdae almost shouts in victory. “Yes, I shall call you that. Now, my estate is quite big so it may take you a while to get used to. We’ll give you a grand tour tomorrow once you wake, I think. Yes, that would be best.” He continues to prattle away for the rest of their ride, nervous for what is coming. As soon as the carriage stops, his stomach drops.
His attendant opens the door. “I trust everything went well, Sir?”
Jongdae nods. “Yes, quite. I thank you for your help.” He makes to step out, catches a glance at Yifan, and quickly changes his mind. “Could you grab a large blanket?”
The man bows, heads inside, and is back in a heartbeat with one of the afghans they keep folded over the living room furniture. Jongdae takes it with thanks, and hands the material to Yifan, who merely stares at it. Jongdae sighs.
“Put it on,” he mimes the motion and watches, pleased, as Yifan pulls the material over his shoulders, hiding the finer details of his body from view. Jongdae nods to himself and disembarks. He orders his attendant to bed once they are inside, and leads Yifan up the stairs to the bedrooms.
He walks past the room he’d prepared for Yifan, feeling awful, but he has to know-he throws open his bedroom door, motions Yifan inside, and locks the door firmly behind him. When he turns back around, he sees that Yifan has shed both the blanket and his meager coverings and he almost moans but no, he’s better than that.
“I’m sorry,” he says, removing his jacket and working at his pants. “I just-I have to know. I’ve never been with someone who-” he breaks off as his hands are gently brushed aside and larger-much larger, God-hands easily undo the clasp and pull the material to his ankles, where Yifan kneels. His smallclothes are pulled down next, and then his half-hard dick is exposed to the air. Jongdae watches with bated breath as Yifan opens his mouth, places Jongdae’s head on the tip of his tongue, then places both his hands behind his back. Jongdae takes one look at those expectant eyes-piercing in the faint sunlight streaming through his window-and he can’t hold back any longer.
He gasps as the first few drops leak out, quickly followed by a steady stream of yellow. Jongdae can’t help but moan as it proves too much for Yifan’s small mouth-trails of yellow lead down his throat, chest, and land on the discarded rags spread by Yifan’s knees. Yifan makes loud slurping sounds until Jongdae runs dry and fuck. Fuck. As soon as he tries to deal with the fact that he’s harder than he can ever remember being, Yifan has two hands around him and is taking him deeper into his mouth. Jongdae’s brain short-circuits. He comes embarrassingly early, holding onto the mattress behind him to stay steady, watching as Yifan swallows his seed. With that mouth. The same mouth that had so eagerly-
Fuck.
“I’m only going to do this this once because this is utterly disgusting,” Jongdae says, voice wavering as he pulls Yifan to his feet and presses their lips together. That’s as far as he goes, pulling back after a long moment to take in Yifan’s nonplussed expression. “But. I know that I enjoyed that but did you? God, you didn’t, did you? They probably trained you using some-” He trails off when Yifan grabs his hand and presses it to his very large, extremely hard dick.
“I enjoyed it,” the man drawls, voice almost as wrecked as Jongdae’s, “very much.”
Jongdae’s very sure he looks absolutely stupid, lower jaw gaping and hand limply sitting atop Yifan’s dick, but he can’t move. He can barely move his head to look up at Yifan, blink, and mutter a heartfelt, “Fuck.”