Cordillair (3/~10 Kurtbastian)
Some time ago I took this prompt on the GKM and thought to myself, "I can do this. I can make this world." I took it to try to deal with my feelings on Klaine breaking up, and I took it to stretch my writing wings. If Kurtbastian isn't your thing, let me assure you - Kurtbastian doesn't happen for many, many chapters. And this is DEFINITELY not canon. It's a completely different world, with OCs and only three canon characters in name - Sebastian Smythe and Kurt and Burton Hummelod (Hummel-ODD). Maybe take a chance on me and I'll take you on an adventure.
Part: One // Two //
WARNING for this chapter: non/dub con HET sex, abuse with kicking/whipping, NC-17
___
Sebastian has a lot of time to think and consider on the journey to Cordillair. He’s bound, his shoulders pulled back and aching, fingers numb and curled in on themselves as he contemplates the evening’s events.
After the scene in the war room things had gone downhill fast. Sebastian had learned quickly that if he shut up and cooperated he wouldn’t get hit - like the first time he tried to speak - and he would find out what had transpired. Apparently his father’s reign had had more cracks than even he could see. Never his father’s greatest supporter, Sebastian found himself among a surprisingly large group of his own countrymen - all of whom detested his father and thus had brought about his demise. With a little help from Cordillair.
Cordillair.
Growing up, Sebastian had seen little of their neighboring kingdom and heard even less. What he had heard, however, was always good. ‘In Cordillair, you are paid for your services’ and ‘In Cordillair you can marry who you wish’ and the strangest of all, ‘In Cordillair the king honors all his countrymen’. Sebastian hadn’t been raised this way, he had been raised in the shadow of his father, acutely aware of what his drinking and anger could bring, and so he was blind to the rising anger of his people. Blind to the problems bubbling below the surface until it was too late, until he was in the here and now, bound for Cordillair and all it could bring.
All at once he’s overwhelmed, angry, and...relieved. Relieved that he will not inherit his father’s mistakes. Angry at losing his station despite the relief, and overwhelmed with not knowing his future.
He tries to move his fingers, get some of his blood moving to them, but they are asleep and he knows it will be painful to move them by the time they get to their destination. However long that will take.
Sebastian settles back against the wood plank walls of the carriage and watches the night speed along above him. The moon is full and it’s actually quite warm with spring beginning to bloom in the darkened trees.
He lets himself hope a little that wherever he goes they will respect that he is still, in fact, a prince, and thus does not deserve such treatment. A chill goes over him, though, because he knows that this isn’t how things work. That he may very well be swiftly speeding toward his death or - even worse - a life of slavery. He shudders at the thought. How could he, Sebastian Smythe, be a slave? The idea of it is so very laughable that Sebastian feels almost sick when he realizes that that is most likely what will happen.
He steels his jaw and makes himself calm down. How bad could it be?
***
Lord Amsterdam prides himself on his ability to think and plan.
For instance.
When he won his wife it was after careful consideration as to what ladies in the kingdom were worthy of his name, which ones would look the best on his arm, and who would be the most likely to obey both in society and in the household; which ones would revere him...almost as much as he revered himself.
He had felt that he had chosen well in Catherine. A fine specimen of a woman with a regal forehead, a long neck and strong frame. Her hair was golden brown and ran in ringlets down her back and her honey eyes beckoned to all who looked upon them. She was, in fact, the perfect catch. She was the envy of all who saw her and was perfect while at court as well as in the bedroom. Ever the doting wife, she pleased him to the best of her abilities whether they be running a banquet or down on her knees and she never complained. Not once.
But.
There was something else that the Lord wanted. Wanted but could never have as buying slaves is forbidden in Cordillair and what he wanted was too much for a paid slave - who could leave at any time - to do. Too much for someone to know his secrets unless he owned the man, could make him do whatever he wanted.
So he waited. And planned. He himself had planned the attack on Lagou at the King’s bidding, his presence of mind well known in the kingdom. Weeks of stealth meetings with the leaders of Lagou’s resistance. Weeks of planning the perfect timing for getting into the castle on the sea. Hours of planning the merger of their two great kingdoms.
It would be a lie to say that Lord Amsterdam didn’t count Lagou as his own and thus the spoils of said raid should come to him. And so, without the king’s permission, he had planned and worked hard so that he could have a human slave. A human slave to do with whatever he wanted.
One he could control with pain if needs be.
When he had learned of Sebastian, King Smythe’s young son, it had been perfect. The perfect prize for all of his hard work and planning. The perfect thing to present to his wife.
The perfect thing for his needs.
Lord Amsterdam found himself waiting, nothing if not patient, on the lawn at the front of his grounds, two horses beside him, his wife inside in preparation.
His erection strained at his breeches just thinking about what was to come for the evening, and the hastily built cabin behind his house was all ready for Sebastian’s arrival.
It was hours before it came, the carriage from Lagau. The Lord has heard of his mission’s success the night before, and he hoped that Sebastian could come to him in good condition. Upon seeing the carriage on the long road before him he sent his manservant to prepare the bath; Sebastian’s clothing.
Nothing but the best for his wife.
***
Sebastian felt it when the carriage finally slowed, his arms, tied in front of him since the stop in the morning to finally, finally relieve his body of its waste, are asleep again despite his best efforts to keep moving them. When the carriage comes to a stop and he falls forward on them he can’t help but hiss, the pressure too much on his numbed hands.
“What is he tied up for?” a harsh voice demands and Sebastian can’t help but look up. The man is quite elegantly dressed, his breeches and top coat a matching shade of the palest green, his eyes alight with anger. “I never asked that he be bound! I’ll strip you both of most of your pay for this inconvenience!”
The men in the front start to object, regaling the man with tales of Sebastian fighting against them in the castle (partially true), and spitting on them (completely true) before the well-dressed man comes into view again, a smile painted on his noble face.
“I’m so sorry that you were treated so harshly, Sebastian. Here, let me help you out of the carriage.”
Sebastian smirks at him, wondering what the man’s game is.
“Honestly, I don’t need your help. And it’s ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Sebastian’, please.”
The man’s face clouds for a moment before a salacious grin spreads across his face, making Sebastian want to recoil.
“Oh no, my dear boy. Not anymore. Here I am your lord and master. Here you address me as ‘sir’. I think you’ll find things will be much, much easier if you simply comply. I don’t want to have to hit you. You wouldn’t look so lovely with a black eye and I already have to clean you up for Lady Catherine.”
Sebastian’s heart sinks. So much for the epic tales of Cordillair, where you cannot own another person and people piss rainbows. Of course they had been lies. He wonders to himself if the tales of the coup were even true or if Cordillair had simply taken over when he finds himself being hauled out by his shoulders and hips by the two drivers, his feet planted harshly and unsteadily in front of the Lord.
“I am Lord Amsterdam - James - but to you I am Sir or Master. You shall address Lady Catherine as Lady or M’am unless otherwise directed and I have plans for you this evening. Right now you will be taken to the manor and cleansed. You will then be dressed and fed before being taken to your quarters. None of this is negotiable as you smell like horse feed and look like horse shit. Any questions, Prince?”
Sebastian wanted to lash out, to tell this man to fuck off, but he didn’t. Not yet. Not until he learned more about his place in this kingdom and what he could do to earn his freedom back.
“Yes.”
“Yes...” Lord Amsterdam lead, smile scornful.
“Yes, sir.” Sebastian spit, the word feeling dirty in his mouth.
“Very good. Away with you then.” Sebastian watches the lord wave over his footman, a horse’s lead held fast in his hands, and finds himself astride the horse in moments, the lord at his side.
“G’up!” Lord Amsterdam exclaims, and they’re off, speeding toward the manor and Sebastian’s new life.
***
A few hours later Sebastian is quite sure he can get used to this life as he’s been cleaned, fed, and clothed in fine linens, ushered out to a small building outside of the manor and laid out on downy bed, a real fur carpet on the wood floor with a fire licking out of the grate.
If this is what being a slave in Cordillair is like, he will take it any day of the week.
There is a knock at the door and before Sebastian can reply Lord Amsterdam is entering the space, a stunningly beautiful woman at his side.
Damn, Sebastian has time to think, f I were straight she would be the most fuckable thing around. But as it is his dick is flaccid and uncomfortably stuck to the side of his thigh by the breeches he’s dressed in. As he’s making a mental note to remedy that, Lord amsterdam begins to speak.
“Catherine, sit down on the bed please.” Sebastian notes that it’s a command and not a request and he’s not the only surprised one in the room.
“James, I-” The poor woman looks scandalized, her soft eyes darting quickly between her husband and Sebastian.
“Catherine. Sit.” Lord Amsterdam’s - James’’ voice is kind but sharp, commanding his wife to listen. Sebastian knows he will not ask again, and he wonders at the path they are on.
This time the Lady crosses the room and sits, the long length of her dress getting in her way at first. She had clearly not dressed for the occasion of sharing a bed. Sebastian looks to her shoes, with their multitude of buttons and snaps, and realizes he’s not alone in his confusion.
Well, there’s that at least he thinks and then James is speaking again.
“Catherine, this is something I want. I- I’ve wanted it for so long and now, with Sebastian here, I can have it. And you,” he motions to Sebastian, his fingertip pointing, face stern, “You will do as I say or I will not hesitate to use this.”
Sebastian watches, his eyes widening, as the Lord produces a small riding whip, the kind Sebastian himself kept in his riding bag for times when Essy was too high spirited to be controlled with just his boot heels. He notes, however, that the end has been modified, a lead ball bearing at the tip, which would sting and bruise more quickly than not.
He knows that the Lord does not expect a response and for this he’s glad, as he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to feel. What exactly is the Lord wanting from him that he may require a whipping from?
“And-” the Lord continues, “-if you feel the need to tell anyone about this, prince, you shall receive this tenfold...and much more. You don’t need skin to be a slave.”
Sebastian holds his ground, his eyes boring into the Lord’s as he feels the bed move beneath him and realizes with a jolt that Catherine is shaking.
“My lord,” she says, eyes tilted toward the ground, “How can I please you?”
Sebastian looks between James and his cowed wife, realizing that he is alone, alone in a fight anyway, and knowing he needs to make it through this. It can’t be that bad. Maybe the Lord even wants to be fucked...that he can do. Old Catherine can watch as her husband gets his ass plowed out by a prince. He almost smirks, almost and then his face falls, registering what the Lord is saying now.
“-and he’s going to fuck you, Catherine. And I want you to love it and tell me how much better he is than I am because he’s a prince. I want you to-”
“I- I can’t do that, James, I love you and I-” Catherine tries but it’s no use, the Lord’s face is set and he shushes her.
“You will do this for me, Catherine. You will do this for my pleasure. I want him to take you and have you and you will love it and let him. For me.”
Catherine just looks at him, mouth open and eyes filled with tears as Sebastian fights every instinct he has to recoil. The idea of doing...what the Lord wants done is repulsive to him. Yes, the lady is beautiful but he doesn’t want...can’t imagine putting his mouth on...won’t be any good at...”
He realizes the Lord knows this when he looks at him, the smirk spread wide across his lord’s face. He’s setting Sebastian up for failure. He wants to hit him.
What a sadistic FUCK, Sebastian thinks as Catherine begins to move beside him. She reaches down and begins to unsnap her boots, her fingers shaking like autumn leaves, tears falling off her nose and onto the bedspread.
“Here,” Sebastian says, thinking of his mother, how she would never want to see him make a lady suffer like this, “Let me help with that.”
He does, unbuttoning, unsnapping, and unlacing until both delicate boots are laid gently on the floor, Lady Catherine’s ankles exposed to Sebastian’s touch. She is wearing white stockings and a bluebird colored dress, all lace and satin ribbons, and finds himself drawn to protecting her even as his cock lies still and soft between his legs.
How is it that I want to protect her, he has a moment to think, Sebastian Smythe, protector? Bullshit.
He doesn’t dwell, though, can’t with James pulling up a chair noisily and watching Sebastian’s every move, watching as his fingers slide up Catherine’s thighs and find the tops of the stockings before pulling each one down to her delicate toes and off, starting a pile on the floor.
“Yes, good, boy.” James chokes out and Sebastian looks over to see him palming at his cock through his fine breeches, his erection solid and bold amidst the tension saturating the room. Sebastian licks his lips and hopes he can do this right, do it without hurting Catherine or embarrassing himself. “Pull on her bodice-” Catherine gasps and her hands fly to her chest but the Lord ignores it. “-it’s alright, I’ll buy you a hundred more, let him do it and like it, dammit.”
Sebastian sees her stiffen and then let go - he literally sees her become someone else, some woman who won’t care, can’t care in the face of this request.
“Touch me, boy,” she commands, “Touch me like he can’t.” She points to her husband and James groans, his hand pushing at his breeches.
Sebastian can’t quite wrap his head around what’s happening, can’t find a way to make any of this alright, the idea of being used as a toy for these two, the fact that he’s just a pawn for their pleasure. Anger and bitterness rise within him as he tries again.
He reaches out and pulls on her bodice, the fine lace and ribbons ripping as he pulls, her pale breasts exposed in the firelight. He can see her want, now, her breath coming in little pants as her body responds to his touch and his stomach rolls, not wanting this, never wanting this as he makes his hands touch, explore, pull at her nipples as she whimpers.
“Yes, come on, let’s put that perfect mouth to good use,” she says, and he realizes he needs to say something, anything.
“I-” Sebastian tries, but his voice cracks on the lie he’s about to tell, but it technically is true. “I’m a virgin, m’lady.”
She pulls back, wide-eyed and stunned before gazing at her husband.
He snickers from his seat on the side, pushing them on.
“He’s not lying, darling, it is his first time with a woman.” He says this last part very pointedly and she looks back to Sebastian, cheeks pink.
“Oooh,” she purrs, running her fingers through Sebastian’s hair, “This is going to be so much fun.”
He sees the challenge in her eyes and looks away, the guilt and shame of this act eating at him until movement pulls him back.
The lady of the house is lying back and pulling off her underskirt, layers of lace and ruffles unceremoniously dumped on the floor until it’s her thin, tattered dress and nothing else. He watches as she leans back on the bed, pulling the material up her long legs until it whispers against her thighs, making her sigh, and then all the way up, exposing herself to him.
It’s the first time he’s seen a lady’s sex. The first time he’s even been expected to perform for one. He’s only ever been with dicks and asses and, honestly, Sebastian couldn’t feel more out of his element than at this moment but he’s going to try. Try to avoid that whip.
“What do I do, m’lady?”
The Lord roars with laughter beside him and Sebastian realizes that no matter how much shame the Lord wants for himself he wants just as much for Sebastian. It makes him burn with hate and fury and ache for just yesterday when he was in his own bed; his own world.
Catherine glances at her husband, a small shadow of worry across her features, before reaching for Sebastian’s hands, pulling him up. She settles him on top of her and pulls his head down, her lips at his ear.
“You can do this, we can do this together, trust me?”
No, Sebastian doesn’t. At all. But he needs to try.
“Yes, M’Lady,”
“Stop calling me that, it’s Catherine right now or it’s nothing. I can’t be your lady and do this. I can’t. You need to lick me. I will guide you with my hands, listen to my voice, my breathing. You’ve done this with men, right?”
Actually, no, Sebastian thinks ashamedly. He’s never cared to listen to, well, any of their needs. Ever. Had he pleased them like it was so important to please her now? Probably not, he admits to himself.
She lets go then, soft lips on his own and then her tongue pushing, pushing, pushing its way into his mouth, so different than a man’s, though not entirely unwelcome. He can feel himself relax a little, small ribbons of heat below his skin for a moment before she's pushing at his head and they disappear into an anxious fog, her dress pulled high, pussy in his face.
“Taste it,” she commands and forces her fingers into his hair, pushing his face into her pelvis. He can smell her, the sharp tinge of her sex filling his nose and, while not unpleasant, it still does not make his own sex stir. He pushes his head forward tentatively, his tongue moving out to lap slowly between the exposed folds of Lady Catherine, and she bucks, the touch long awaited.
“Yes, up higher,” she commands, her hands rough and pulling at his hair.
He moves higher, his tongue lodged in her slit, until he bumps into a raised area, flush and red and she squeaks as she thrusts against his face.
“Y-yes, there, right there,” she says and he licks and laps, her taste pooling on his tongue as he works her over, closing his lips lightly over the hardened nub and suckling a bit, making her cry out his name.
“Sebastian!”
It’s the first time a woman’s ever cried out for him, and the first time anyone has at all, really, without him asking for it. None of the men had seemed nearly so keen to say it when he was buried in them, their bodies rigid and hard. He realizes now this may be because he went too fast, didn't’ listen, didn’t care, really.
He keeps licking at her, mindful of the wetness pooling on his chin, the way her thighs are starting to shiver and the breathy moans she’s letting out getting higher and higher. She pulls her fingers out of his hair and reaches blindly for his hands, smacking the bed until he gives them to her, his eyes raised in question until he places them solidly on her breasts, her fingers making him pinch her nipples harshly.
He gets into a rhythm then, his tongue matching the pinches, her soft cries and the subtle tilt of her hips telling him what he’s doing is alright until she’s silent, her hips driving up and into his face, forcing him to push harder, his steady rhythm pushing her further until she’s crying out and panting his name patched together with yes’s and oh my oh my’s. She comes for what seems like eternity and then pushes him away roughly, her pelvis still shaking, folded in on herself and moaning.
“So...” she begins, her hands on her face as Sebastian wipes his own on his shirtsleeves his whole face smelling like CatherineCatherineCatherine. “That was the best...the best I’ve ever had.”
He looks up into her eyes and is blinded with the fact that she’s telling the truth. He feels mighty proud of himself until he looks over at James, having forgotten he’s been there at all until this moment, and sees the fury in his face.
Sebastian is surprised, his skin prickling with fear. Isn’t this what he asked for? What he wanted? he thinks and then-
“Fuck me, Sebastian. Give me that cock.”
His gaze snaps back to Catherine, surprised that such foul language could come from her pretty little red mouth, and he sees James do the same.
Fuck, I am so screwed, he thinks as she’s pulling at his clothes, his shirt unbottoned and ripped off, his breeches torn and on the floor. He can’t quite believe what’s happened until he’s naked, laid out on the bed and-
“Soft? Still?” Catherine’s voice is frustrated, needy. She grinds her wet slit against him but he pushes her back, the feeling abhorrent to him. Sebastian feels lost, unable to comply because he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be inside her at all but-
“You will fuck her, boy.” James is sitting up again, watching his wife with rapt attention, his cock hard and full. “Or you’ll regret it.”
“Oh, because whipping me is going to make me hard?” Sebastian snas, not giving one fuck about the consequences. It’s the truth and James needs to hear it.
“Oh, do you need help?” James asks, voice dangerously low. Sebastian glances at him and wonders where he’s going with this. What he’s thinking. “Because I can tell you what I’d let you to do me.
Sebastian, despite himself, feels the tingle of arousal below his skin and he closes his eyes, imagining himself with the whip, himself fucking into the Lord and wiping that stupid fucking scornful grin off his face, making him come from being fucked expertly by Sebastian’s cock. He starts to get hard.
“Oh, so you like the idea, don’t you, you disgusting boy. Alright then, keep your eyes closed and picture it.”
Sebastian does, and pictures the boys he’s fucked, the way their asses clenched around his dick and the way he felt when he came inside them. He tries not to hear Catherine as she climbs closer, tries to ignore her words of encouragement and her exclamations of his size.
(“So fucking big, going to be so good inside me, oh my god, the biggest cock I’ve ever had.”)
And he knows she’s being truthful by her voice and he doesn’t dare look up at her husband before she’s climbing on his lap and lowering herself onto his cock, her wet warmth enveloping him and sinking straight down, taking him all the way before stopping and settling in his lap.
He can’t help it now, settling into that wet heat. He keeps his eyes closed and pictures Steven, his tight little ass around Sebastian’s cock and he whimpers as Catherine lifts herself off of him and fucks back down, taking him hard and fast, her steady whimpers becoming begging, begging him to fuck her harder, more.
He opens his eyes, his cock cooperating and staying hard enough to grab her hips and pound himself up, entering her again and again while her breasts sway and her nipples peak. He feels himself start to lose it, the breasts and the situation taking its toll again and so he closes his eyes and goes back to Steven, the way his back felt against Sebastian’s chest, the rough stubble of his cheek as Sebastian fucked into Steven’s mouth. He’s rigid again in seconds and he can only hope she’s close.
“Come inside her, fill her up if you’re so much better than I am at fucking her,” he hears James growl and Sebastian opens his eyes and turns his face to James, whose cock is out, his right hand moving quickly over the swollen length. Sebastian is bigger. A lot, actually, and he can see what James wanted and why. But the precome glistening at its slit, the way James can’t keep his eyes off of Sebastian’s dick where its’ fucking into his wife, and the look on James’ face as he’s about to come bring Sebastian to the edge. Catherine screams, her pussy grabbing and pulsing against his cock and he’s pushed over, filling her up and groaning out James’ name.
It’s silent then, as all three of them come down, as Sebastian softens and pulls out of Catherine’s spent slit and she rolls toward the fire, her shoulders slumped and shaking. He knows she’s crying but he doesn’t know why and before he can even register what’s happening James is upon him, his pants already buckled and pulled together, the whip in his hand. He pulls Sebastian, naked, from the small building, across the back field and to a small lean to filled with straw, a small pit in the corner and water in a jug against the wall. There is a door with a latch that James has thrown open and suddenly Sebastian realizes the other building is not his home. More than likely this is and he begins to fight.
He pushes and pulls at James’ strong arms, tries to bite and scream but James hits him across the collarbones with the whip and he doubles over, blood running freely from his opened skin.
“Did you like the fuck, fancypants?” James is yelling, hitting Sebastian’s hipbones with the butt of the whip, drawing bruises from the flesh. “Was she a good lay, Prince Sebastian?” James is laughing now, pushing Sebastian to his knees and kicking him with heavy boots. Sebastian loses his fight and braces his body for the beating, knowing now it was always coming.
He loses track of time as James turns him, whips him, the small lead ball biting at his skin, the edge of the whip opening him up and staining him red. He’s had people whipped before. More times than he can count, but he’s never seen it. NEver seen what happens or how it works and now, now he understands even though he doesn't’ want to.
James never hits his face, but Sebastian feels as though everything else has been hit, whipped, bitten by his boots. James is careful not to break anything in him but he might as well have, the way Sebastian feels at the end.
“Who told you you could fuck my wife?” James sneers as he leave Sebastian’s quarters, “Not me, that’s for sure. You’re no better than a common slut, you are. Clean yourself up, slut, and put on some clothes. No one wants to see you this way.”
With that he bolts the door and leaves, whistling.
Sebastian lays there for what feels like hours, feeling his body gingerly with delicate fingers, wincing and hissing when he finds places where flesh is bruised and skin is broken. He drags himself to the pit, willing himself not to cry, not to beg for help, and finds a tub of salve and clothes to put on.
He tends to his wounds and then dresses, shivering despite the warm night, before mounding up some straw and falling into a restless sleep.
Part: One // Two //
WARNING for this chapter: non/dub con HET sex, abuse with kicking/whipping, NC-17
___
Sebastian has a lot of time to think and consider on the journey to Cordillair. He’s bound, his shoulders pulled back and aching, fingers numb and curled in on themselves as he contemplates the evening’s events.
After the scene in the war room things had gone downhill fast. Sebastian had learned quickly that if he shut up and cooperated he wouldn’t get hit - like the first time he tried to speak - and he would find out what had transpired. Apparently his father’s reign had had more cracks than even he could see. Never his father’s greatest supporter, Sebastian found himself among a surprisingly large group of his own countrymen - all of whom detested his father and thus had brought about his demise. With a little help from Cordillair.
Cordillair.
Growing up, Sebastian had seen little of their neighboring kingdom and heard even less. What he had heard, however, was always good. ‘In Cordillair, you are paid for your services’ and ‘In Cordillair you can marry who you wish’ and the strangest of all, ‘In Cordillair the king honors all his countrymen’. Sebastian hadn’t been raised this way, he had been raised in the shadow of his father, acutely aware of what his drinking and anger could bring, and so he was blind to the rising anger of his people. Blind to the problems bubbling below the surface until it was too late, until he was in the here and now, bound for Cordillair and all it could bring.
All at once he’s overwhelmed, angry, and...relieved. Relieved that he will not inherit his father’s mistakes. Angry at losing his station despite the relief, and overwhelmed with not knowing his future.
He tries to move his fingers, get some of his blood moving to them, but they are asleep and he knows it will be painful to move them by the time they get to their destination. However long that will take.
Sebastian settles back against the wood plank walls of the carriage and watches the night speed along above him. The moon is full and it’s actually quite warm with spring beginning to bloom in the darkened trees.
He lets himself hope a little that wherever he goes they will respect that he is still, in fact, a prince, and thus does not deserve such treatment. A chill goes over him, though, because he knows that this isn’t how things work. That he may very well be swiftly speeding toward his death or - even worse - a life of slavery. He shudders at the thought. How could he, Sebastian Smythe, be a slave? The idea of it is so very laughable that Sebastian feels almost sick when he realizes that that is most likely what will happen.
He steels his jaw and makes himself calm down. How bad could it be?
***
Lord Amsterdam prides himself on his ability to think and plan.
For instance.
When he won his wife it was after careful consideration as to what ladies in the kingdom were worthy of his name, which ones would look the best on his arm, and who would be the most likely to obey both in society and in the household; which ones would revere him...almost as much as he revered himself.
He had felt that he had chosen well in Catherine. A fine specimen of a woman with a regal forehead, a long neck and strong frame. Her hair was golden brown and ran in ringlets down her back and her honey eyes beckoned to all who looked upon them. She was, in fact, the perfect catch. She was the envy of all who saw her and was perfect while at court as well as in the bedroom. Ever the doting wife, she pleased him to the best of her abilities whether they be running a banquet or down on her knees and she never complained. Not once.
But.
There was something else that the Lord wanted. Wanted but could never have as buying slaves is forbidden in Cordillair and what he wanted was too much for a paid slave - who could leave at any time - to do. Too much for someone to know his secrets unless he owned the man, could make him do whatever he wanted.
So he waited. And planned. He himself had planned the attack on Lagou at the King’s bidding, his presence of mind well known in the kingdom. Weeks of stealth meetings with the leaders of Lagou’s resistance. Weeks of planning the perfect timing for getting into the castle on the sea. Hours of planning the merger of their two great kingdoms.
It would be a lie to say that Lord Amsterdam didn’t count Lagou as his own and thus the spoils of said raid should come to him. And so, without the king’s permission, he had planned and worked hard so that he could have a human slave. A human slave to do with whatever he wanted.
One he could control with pain if needs be.
When he had learned of Sebastian, King Smythe’s young son, it had been perfect. The perfect prize for all of his hard work and planning. The perfect thing to present to his wife.
The perfect thing for his needs.
Lord Amsterdam found himself waiting, nothing if not patient, on the lawn at the front of his grounds, two horses beside him, his wife inside in preparation.
His erection strained at his breeches just thinking about what was to come for the evening, and the hastily built cabin behind his house was all ready for Sebastian’s arrival.
It was hours before it came, the carriage from Lagau. The Lord has heard of his mission’s success the night before, and he hoped that Sebastian could come to him in good condition. Upon seeing the carriage on the long road before him he sent his manservant to prepare the bath; Sebastian’s clothing.
Nothing but the best for his wife.
***
Sebastian felt it when the carriage finally slowed, his arms, tied in front of him since the stop in the morning to finally, finally relieve his body of its waste, are asleep again despite his best efforts to keep moving them. When the carriage comes to a stop and he falls forward on them he can’t help but hiss, the pressure too much on his numbed hands.
“What is he tied up for?” a harsh voice demands and Sebastian can’t help but look up. The man is quite elegantly dressed, his breeches and top coat a matching shade of the palest green, his eyes alight with anger. “I never asked that he be bound! I’ll strip you both of most of your pay for this inconvenience!”
The men in the front start to object, regaling the man with tales of Sebastian fighting against them in the castle (partially true), and spitting on them (completely true) before the well-dressed man comes into view again, a smile painted on his noble face.
“I’m so sorry that you were treated so harshly, Sebastian. Here, let me help you out of the carriage.”
Sebastian smirks at him, wondering what the man’s game is.
“Honestly, I don’t need your help. And it’s ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Sebastian’, please.”
The man’s face clouds for a moment before a salacious grin spreads across his face, making Sebastian want to recoil.
“Oh no, my dear boy. Not anymore. Here I am your lord and master. Here you address me as ‘sir’. I think you’ll find things will be much, much easier if you simply comply. I don’t want to have to hit you. You wouldn’t look so lovely with a black eye and I already have to clean you up for Lady Catherine.”
Sebastian’s heart sinks. So much for the epic tales of Cordillair, where you cannot own another person and people piss rainbows. Of course they had been lies. He wonders to himself if the tales of the coup were even true or if Cordillair had simply taken over when he finds himself being hauled out by his shoulders and hips by the two drivers, his feet planted harshly and unsteadily in front of the Lord.
“I am Lord Amsterdam - James - but to you I am Sir or Master. You shall address Lady Catherine as Lady or M’am unless otherwise directed and I have plans for you this evening. Right now you will be taken to the manor and cleansed. You will then be dressed and fed before being taken to your quarters. None of this is negotiable as you smell like horse feed and look like horse shit. Any questions, Prince?”
Sebastian wanted to lash out, to tell this man to fuck off, but he didn’t. Not yet. Not until he learned more about his place in this kingdom and what he could do to earn his freedom back.
“Yes.”
“Yes...” Lord Amsterdam lead, smile scornful.
“Yes, sir.” Sebastian spit, the word feeling dirty in his mouth.
“Very good. Away with you then.” Sebastian watches the lord wave over his footman, a horse’s lead held fast in his hands, and finds himself astride the horse in moments, the lord at his side.
“G’up!” Lord Amsterdam exclaims, and they’re off, speeding toward the manor and Sebastian’s new life.
***
A few hours later Sebastian is quite sure he can get used to this life as he’s been cleaned, fed, and clothed in fine linens, ushered out to a small building outside of the manor and laid out on downy bed, a real fur carpet on the wood floor with a fire licking out of the grate.
If this is what being a slave in Cordillair is like, he will take it any day of the week.
There is a knock at the door and before Sebastian can reply Lord Amsterdam is entering the space, a stunningly beautiful woman at his side.
Damn, Sebastian has time to think, f I were straight she would be the most fuckable thing around. But as it is his dick is flaccid and uncomfortably stuck to the side of his thigh by the breeches he’s dressed in. As he’s making a mental note to remedy that, Lord amsterdam begins to speak.
“Catherine, sit down on the bed please.” Sebastian notes that it’s a command and not a request and he’s not the only surprised one in the room.
“James, I-” The poor woman looks scandalized, her soft eyes darting quickly between her husband and Sebastian.
“Catherine. Sit.” Lord Amsterdam’s - James’’ voice is kind but sharp, commanding his wife to listen. Sebastian knows he will not ask again, and he wonders at the path they are on.
This time the Lady crosses the room and sits, the long length of her dress getting in her way at first. She had clearly not dressed for the occasion of sharing a bed. Sebastian looks to her shoes, with their multitude of buttons and snaps, and realizes he’s not alone in his confusion.
Well, there’s that at least he thinks and then James is speaking again.
“Catherine, this is something I want. I- I’ve wanted it for so long and now, with Sebastian here, I can have it. And you,” he motions to Sebastian, his fingertip pointing, face stern, “You will do as I say or I will not hesitate to use this.”
Sebastian watches, his eyes widening, as the Lord produces a small riding whip, the kind Sebastian himself kept in his riding bag for times when Essy was too high spirited to be controlled with just his boot heels. He notes, however, that the end has been modified, a lead ball bearing at the tip, which would sting and bruise more quickly than not.
He knows that the Lord does not expect a response and for this he’s glad, as he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to feel. What exactly is the Lord wanting from him that he may require a whipping from?
“And-” the Lord continues, “-if you feel the need to tell anyone about this, prince, you shall receive this tenfold...and much more. You don’t need skin to be a slave.”
Sebastian holds his ground, his eyes boring into the Lord’s as he feels the bed move beneath him and realizes with a jolt that Catherine is shaking.
“My lord,” she says, eyes tilted toward the ground, “How can I please you?”
Sebastian looks between James and his cowed wife, realizing that he is alone, alone in a fight anyway, and knowing he needs to make it through this. It can’t be that bad. Maybe the Lord even wants to be fucked...that he can do. Old Catherine can watch as her husband gets his ass plowed out by a prince. He almost smirks, almost and then his face falls, registering what the Lord is saying now.
“-and he’s going to fuck you, Catherine. And I want you to love it and tell me how much better he is than I am because he’s a prince. I want you to-”
“I- I can’t do that, James, I love you and I-” Catherine tries but it’s no use, the Lord’s face is set and he shushes her.
“You will do this for me, Catherine. You will do this for my pleasure. I want him to take you and have you and you will love it and let him. For me.”
Catherine just looks at him, mouth open and eyes filled with tears as Sebastian fights every instinct he has to recoil. The idea of doing...what the Lord wants done is repulsive to him. Yes, the lady is beautiful but he doesn’t want...can’t imagine putting his mouth on...won’t be any good at...”
He realizes the Lord knows this when he looks at him, the smirk spread wide across his lord’s face. He’s setting Sebastian up for failure. He wants to hit him.
What a sadistic FUCK, Sebastian thinks as Catherine begins to move beside him. She reaches down and begins to unsnap her boots, her fingers shaking like autumn leaves, tears falling off her nose and onto the bedspread.
“Here,” Sebastian says, thinking of his mother, how she would never want to see him make a lady suffer like this, “Let me help with that.”
He does, unbuttoning, unsnapping, and unlacing until both delicate boots are laid gently on the floor, Lady Catherine’s ankles exposed to Sebastian’s touch. She is wearing white stockings and a bluebird colored dress, all lace and satin ribbons, and finds himself drawn to protecting her even as his cock lies still and soft between his legs.
How is it that I want to protect her, he has a moment to think, Sebastian Smythe, protector? Bullshit.
He doesn’t dwell, though, can’t with James pulling up a chair noisily and watching Sebastian’s every move, watching as his fingers slide up Catherine’s thighs and find the tops of the stockings before pulling each one down to her delicate toes and off, starting a pile on the floor.
“Yes, good, boy.” James chokes out and Sebastian looks over to see him palming at his cock through his fine breeches, his erection solid and bold amidst the tension saturating the room. Sebastian licks his lips and hopes he can do this right, do it without hurting Catherine or embarrassing himself. “Pull on her bodice-” Catherine gasps and her hands fly to her chest but the Lord ignores it. “-it’s alright, I’ll buy you a hundred more, let him do it and like it, dammit.”
Sebastian sees her stiffen and then let go - he literally sees her become someone else, some woman who won’t care, can’t care in the face of this request.
“Touch me, boy,” she commands, “Touch me like he can’t.” She points to her husband and James groans, his hand pushing at his breeches.
Sebastian can’t quite wrap his head around what’s happening, can’t find a way to make any of this alright, the idea of being used as a toy for these two, the fact that he’s just a pawn for their pleasure. Anger and bitterness rise within him as he tries again.
He reaches out and pulls on her bodice, the fine lace and ribbons ripping as he pulls, her pale breasts exposed in the firelight. He can see her want, now, her breath coming in little pants as her body responds to his touch and his stomach rolls, not wanting this, never wanting this as he makes his hands touch, explore, pull at her nipples as she whimpers.
“Yes, come on, let’s put that perfect mouth to good use,” she says, and he realizes he needs to say something, anything.
“I-” Sebastian tries, but his voice cracks on the lie he’s about to tell, but it technically is true. “I’m a virgin, m’lady.”
She pulls back, wide-eyed and stunned before gazing at her husband.
He snickers from his seat on the side, pushing them on.
“He’s not lying, darling, it is his first time with a woman.” He says this last part very pointedly and she looks back to Sebastian, cheeks pink.
“Oooh,” she purrs, running her fingers through Sebastian’s hair, “This is going to be so much fun.”
He sees the challenge in her eyes and looks away, the guilt and shame of this act eating at him until movement pulls him back.
The lady of the house is lying back and pulling off her underskirt, layers of lace and ruffles unceremoniously dumped on the floor until it’s her thin, tattered dress and nothing else. He watches as she leans back on the bed, pulling the material up her long legs until it whispers against her thighs, making her sigh, and then all the way up, exposing herself to him.
It’s the first time he’s seen a lady’s sex. The first time he’s even been expected to perform for one. He’s only ever been with dicks and asses and, honestly, Sebastian couldn’t feel more out of his element than at this moment but he’s going to try. Try to avoid that whip.
“What do I do, m’lady?”
The Lord roars with laughter beside him and Sebastian realizes that no matter how much shame the Lord wants for himself he wants just as much for Sebastian. It makes him burn with hate and fury and ache for just yesterday when he was in his own bed; his own world.
Catherine glances at her husband, a small shadow of worry across her features, before reaching for Sebastian’s hands, pulling him up. She settles him on top of her and pulls his head down, her lips at his ear.
“You can do this, we can do this together, trust me?”
No, Sebastian doesn’t. At all. But he needs to try.
“Yes, M’Lady,”
“Stop calling me that, it’s Catherine right now or it’s nothing. I can’t be your lady and do this. I can’t. You need to lick me. I will guide you with my hands, listen to my voice, my breathing. You’ve done this with men, right?”
Actually, no, Sebastian thinks ashamedly. He’s never cared to listen to, well, any of their needs. Ever. Had he pleased them like it was so important to please her now? Probably not, he admits to himself.
She lets go then, soft lips on his own and then her tongue pushing, pushing, pushing its way into his mouth, so different than a man’s, though not entirely unwelcome. He can feel himself relax a little, small ribbons of heat below his skin for a moment before she's pushing at his head and they disappear into an anxious fog, her dress pulled high, pussy in his face.
“Taste it,” she commands and forces her fingers into his hair, pushing his face into her pelvis. He can smell her, the sharp tinge of her sex filling his nose and, while not unpleasant, it still does not make his own sex stir. He pushes his head forward tentatively, his tongue moving out to lap slowly between the exposed folds of Lady Catherine, and she bucks, the touch long awaited.
“Yes, up higher,” she commands, her hands rough and pulling at his hair.
He moves higher, his tongue lodged in her slit, until he bumps into a raised area, flush and red and she squeaks as she thrusts against his face.
“Y-yes, there, right there,” she says and he licks and laps, her taste pooling on his tongue as he works her over, closing his lips lightly over the hardened nub and suckling a bit, making her cry out his name.
“Sebastian!”
It’s the first time a woman’s ever cried out for him, and the first time anyone has at all, really, without him asking for it. None of the men had seemed nearly so keen to say it when he was buried in them, their bodies rigid and hard. He realizes now this may be because he went too fast, didn't’ listen, didn’t care, really.
He keeps licking at her, mindful of the wetness pooling on his chin, the way her thighs are starting to shiver and the breathy moans she’s letting out getting higher and higher. She pulls her fingers out of his hair and reaches blindly for his hands, smacking the bed until he gives them to her, his eyes raised in question until he places them solidly on her breasts, her fingers making him pinch her nipples harshly.
He gets into a rhythm then, his tongue matching the pinches, her soft cries and the subtle tilt of her hips telling him what he’s doing is alright until she’s silent, her hips driving up and into his face, forcing him to push harder, his steady rhythm pushing her further until she’s crying out and panting his name patched together with yes’s and oh my oh my’s. She comes for what seems like eternity and then pushes him away roughly, her pelvis still shaking, folded in on herself and moaning.
“So...” she begins, her hands on her face as Sebastian wipes his own on his shirtsleeves his whole face smelling like CatherineCatherineCatherine. “That was the best...the best I’ve ever had.”
He looks up into her eyes and is blinded with the fact that she’s telling the truth. He feels mighty proud of himself until he looks over at James, having forgotten he’s been there at all until this moment, and sees the fury in his face.
Sebastian is surprised, his skin prickling with fear. Isn’t this what he asked for? What he wanted? he thinks and then-
“Fuck me, Sebastian. Give me that cock.”
His gaze snaps back to Catherine, surprised that such foul language could come from her pretty little red mouth, and he sees James do the same.
Fuck, I am so screwed, he thinks as she’s pulling at his clothes, his shirt unbottoned and ripped off, his breeches torn and on the floor. He can’t quite believe what’s happened until he’s naked, laid out on the bed and-
“Soft? Still?” Catherine’s voice is frustrated, needy. She grinds her wet slit against him but he pushes her back, the feeling abhorrent to him. Sebastian feels lost, unable to comply because he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be inside her at all but-
“You will fuck her, boy.” James is sitting up again, watching his wife with rapt attention, his cock hard and full. “Or you’ll regret it.”
“Oh, because whipping me is going to make me hard?” Sebastian snas, not giving one fuck about the consequences. It’s the truth and James needs to hear it.
“Oh, do you need help?” James asks, voice dangerously low. Sebastian glances at him and wonders where he’s going with this. What he’s thinking. “Because I can tell you what I’d let you to do me.
Sebastian, despite himself, feels the tingle of arousal below his skin and he closes his eyes, imagining himself with the whip, himself fucking into the Lord and wiping that stupid fucking scornful grin off his face, making him come from being fucked expertly by Sebastian’s cock. He starts to get hard.
“Oh, so you like the idea, don’t you, you disgusting boy. Alright then, keep your eyes closed and picture it.”
Sebastian does, and pictures the boys he’s fucked, the way their asses clenched around his dick and the way he felt when he came inside them. He tries not to hear Catherine as she climbs closer, tries to ignore her words of encouragement and her exclamations of his size.
(“So fucking big, going to be so good inside me, oh my god, the biggest cock I’ve ever had.”)
And he knows she’s being truthful by her voice and he doesn’t dare look up at her husband before she’s climbing on his lap and lowering herself onto his cock, her wet warmth enveloping him and sinking straight down, taking him all the way before stopping and settling in his lap.
He can’t help it now, settling into that wet heat. He keeps his eyes closed and pictures Steven, his tight little ass around Sebastian’s cock and he whimpers as Catherine lifts herself off of him and fucks back down, taking him hard and fast, her steady whimpers becoming begging, begging him to fuck her harder, more.
He opens his eyes, his cock cooperating and staying hard enough to grab her hips and pound himself up, entering her again and again while her breasts sway and her nipples peak. He feels himself start to lose it, the breasts and the situation taking its toll again and so he closes his eyes and goes back to Steven, the way his back felt against Sebastian’s chest, the rough stubble of his cheek as Sebastian fucked into Steven’s mouth. He’s rigid again in seconds and he can only hope she’s close.
“Come inside her, fill her up if you’re so much better than I am at fucking her,” he hears James growl and Sebastian opens his eyes and turns his face to James, whose cock is out, his right hand moving quickly over the swollen length. Sebastian is bigger. A lot, actually, and he can see what James wanted and why. But the precome glistening at its slit, the way James can’t keep his eyes off of Sebastian’s dick where its’ fucking into his wife, and the look on James’ face as he’s about to come bring Sebastian to the edge. Catherine screams, her pussy grabbing and pulsing against his cock and he’s pushed over, filling her up and groaning out James’ name.
It’s silent then, as all three of them come down, as Sebastian softens and pulls out of Catherine’s spent slit and she rolls toward the fire, her shoulders slumped and shaking. He knows she’s crying but he doesn’t know why and before he can even register what’s happening James is upon him, his pants already buckled and pulled together, the whip in his hand. He pulls Sebastian, naked, from the small building, across the back field and to a small lean to filled with straw, a small pit in the corner and water in a jug against the wall. There is a door with a latch that James has thrown open and suddenly Sebastian realizes the other building is not his home. More than likely this is and he begins to fight.
He pushes and pulls at James’ strong arms, tries to bite and scream but James hits him across the collarbones with the whip and he doubles over, blood running freely from his opened skin.
“Did you like the fuck, fancypants?” James is yelling, hitting Sebastian’s hipbones with the butt of the whip, drawing bruises from the flesh. “Was she a good lay, Prince Sebastian?” James is laughing now, pushing Sebastian to his knees and kicking him with heavy boots. Sebastian loses his fight and braces his body for the beating, knowing now it was always coming.
He loses track of time as James turns him, whips him, the small lead ball biting at his skin, the edge of the whip opening him up and staining him red. He’s had people whipped before. More times than he can count, but he’s never seen it. NEver seen what happens or how it works and now, now he understands even though he doesn't’ want to.
James never hits his face, but Sebastian feels as though everything else has been hit, whipped, bitten by his boots. James is careful not to break anything in him but he might as well have, the way Sebastian feels at the end.
“Who told you you could fuck my wife?” James sneers as he leave Sebastian’s quarters, “Not me, that’s for sure. You’re no better than a common slut, you are. Clean yourself up, slut, and put on some clothes. No one wants to see you this way.”
With that he bolts the door and leaves, whistling.
Sebastian lays there for what feels like hours, feeling his body gingerly with delicate fingers, wincing and hissing when he finds places where flesh is bruised and skin is broken. He drags himself to the pit, willing himself not to cry, not to beg for help, and finds a tub of salve and clothes to put on.
He tends to his wounds and then dresses, shivering despite the warm night, before mounding up some straw and falling into a restless sleep.