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Spoils of War

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Bryton doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him when he comes to Amora, the city of the elves. He’s caged and shackled in a cart with a dozen other soldiers. They’re wheeled through the city gates from the front lines and brought, still dirty and bloody from the war – a war which they lost – to a large stone complex with walls that rise high above them. They’re pulled from the cart and lined up in the yard. Their uniforms are stripped away, cut by knives that come too close to the skin for comfort. Then they’re showered with torrential streams of cold water and herded into pens like cattle.

One by one, they’re taken away. Elves come and point and look, speaking in a language that Bryton doesn’t know. Few of them do more than glance Bryton’s way, and he’s not sure whether to be happy for it or sad. He doesn’t know what happens to the ones that are chosen. He doesn’t know if their lot is better than those left behind in the cold pens with dirt floors and bread and water for rations.

He doesn’t have long to ponder.

It’s hard to tell night from day in the pens, but he thinks it’s two weeks in when a dark-skinned elf, heavily tattooed, with silver rings running the length of his pointed ears, comes and points at Bryton. The man exchanges words with the elf who runs the pens and then Bryton is being pulled out by his shackles. He’s taken to another room where his shackles are bolted to the center of the floor with just enough give that Bryton doesn’t have to hunch over.

The dark-skinned elf circles him, his expression thoughtful. He reaches forward to touch Bryton’s face and Bryton’s shies away, fearing pain. The touch when it lands is gentle. His face is turned, examined, and then the touch moves on, travelling over his shoulder and down his back. He jumps when the man grabs a handful of Bryton’s ass. Then the touch is gone and there is more talking.

The men go away, leaving Bryton alone in the empty room.

He’s not sure how long he waits before the men come back. The dark-skinned one carries a thin circlet of silver that he fastens around Bryton’s neck like a collar. It’s cold against his neck and he flinches as it audibly snaps in place.

The shackles are unlocked. There are dark bruises beneath from where they’d rubbed against his skin.

“Come with me,” the dark-skinned man says in Bryton’s language.

He hesitates.

“I will not ask again.”

Bryton takes a step forward, towards the man. That earns him a small smile. It’s a strangely nice smile.

He follows the dark-skinned man out of the compound to a waiting carriage. The door is opened by a servant in livery. The dark-skinned man waits by the side of the carriage and holds out his hand to Bryton. Bryton takes it and lets himself be helped up into the carriage.

It doesn’t occur to him to run. There is no where he could run to. He’s in a city full of elves, deep inside their country and far away from his own homeland. He’s not even sure how much of his homeland exists anymore or if it’s all been consumed by the elves.

The carriage door shuts. There’s a rattling behind him as the driver takes his seat and then the carriage jolts into motion.

“What’s your name?” The elf asks.


“I am Elihandramor. You may call me Eli.”

Bryton nods warily. He’s not sure what’s going on.

“I own you now Bryton. Do you understand that?”

He nods. The collar made that clear enough.

“What were you before the war?” Eli asks.

Bryton frowns. “I was just a boy.” He was twelve when the war started, too young for the first draft but not the second.

“You’re young. Are you of age?”

He nods again. He turned eighteen on the battlefield. It feels like his whole life has been spent fighting. They told him he was lucky to survive so long. If he were lucky there never would have been a war at all.

“Do you have any skills beyond that of war?”

He shakes his head.

Eli considers him for a moment. “I will give you a choice. I have many endeavors in this country, two of which you may be suited for. You may work the fields besides your fellow captured soldiers or you may serve in my teahouse.”

Bryton blinks. “Your teahouse?”

“A brothel.”

A flush covers Bryton’s face and he shifts, hands reflexively moving to cover his bits. “S-sex? Me?”

Eli leans forward and places his large hand on Bryton’s inner thigh. “You have the body for it.”

“I… I’ve never…”

Eli’s eyes practically sparkle. “Shall I show you how?” He raps on the roof and the carriage slows to a halt. Eli’s fingers twine in Bryton’s hair and pull gently. “Come.”

Bryton lets himself be pulled to his knees. Eli spreads his thighs and with his free hand he unfastens his trousers. The cock that Eli pulls out is massive, larger than Bryton’s own. Eli pulls, bringing Bryton’s head closer while holding his cock steady with his other hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Bryton does as he’s told, letting the thick member slide between his lips and into his mouth.

“Now close your lips but not your teeth and pretend you are sucking on a particularly good sweet.”

Bryton closes his lips and sucks. It feels odd. His mouth is full and all he can taste is salt and flesh.

“Use your tongue. Lick it.”

He does, tasting the flesh. It’s not a bad taste, but not a good one either.

Eli’s hand moves, pulling at his hair so that his head raises up and then pushing him back down, encouraging Bryton to bob his head.

“Yes,” Eli says, his voice a touch breathless, “suck me.”

Bryton does, as best he can. He bobs his head and sucks and tries to use his tongue. It’s too many things at once, but he thinks he’s doing okay from the way Eli’s breathing goes ragged. His fingers tighten in Bryton’s hair, urging him faster, deeper. Eli’s cock pushes at the back of Bryton’s throat.

Eli groans. “By the gods, you were made for this.” Eli’s hips jerk up and then Eli is holding Bryton’s head down as liquid fills Bryton’s mouth. Bryton swallows, drinking it down to keep from choking and that seems to be the right thing to do from the pleased moan that Eli makes.

When Eli’s hand finally releases him, Bryton sits back on his knees and wipes at his mouth. The taste of Eli fills his mouth.

Eli stares down at him with half-lidded eyes and a pleased smile. “Yes, it’s the teahouse for you.”

Eli raps three times and the carriage starts again.

The teahouse is a large manor house set deep in the woods. Bryton is asleep when they roll up to it. He’s jerked awake by the sudden stop of the carriage. He blinks and sits up just as the carriage door opens. Eli exits first and helps Bryton out. His hand releases Bryton’s and then settles on the small on Bryton’s back as they walk up to the large manor. They’re in a courtyard with a stable to their right and the manor house stretching out in front of them. The ground is hard under Bryton’s feet, nothing like the smooth stone of the city. He’s acutely aware of his nakedness as they walk into the manor and step into a lush parlor. Men and women, both clothed and unclothed, lounge on the many couches, chairs, and pillows in the large room. Several pairs of eyes turn towards him and he shies away, trying to hide himself behind Eli’s bulk.

“None of that,” Eli says with a chuckle, pushing Bryton before him. “You’d best get used to being on display.”

“Ah! Elihandramor!” A woman with flame red hair steps out from behind the bar set in the corner. “What do you have for me this time?”

“A new delivery for the teahouse,” Eli says.

The woman steps right up to Bryton and grabs his jaw, examining him much like Eli had. She’s not an elf but she’s not human either, that much is obvious from the way her hair shines gold in the lamplight and the faint point to her ears.

“Hmm.” She circles him, pinching his sides and his ass as if measuring up a slab of beef. “I suppose he’ll do.”

“No gag reflex,” Eli says with a grin. His hand wanders lower, squeezing Bryton’s ass and making Bryton jump. “Virgin ass.” His words make Bryton flush. He doesn’t have to imagine what interest the woman would have in the state of his ass, not when there’s a man not much older than Bryton getting fucked up the ass on the couch in the center of the room. He seems to be enjoying it at least, judging from his expression, though not nearly as much as the man – more of a thing really, part stone in a human shape – fucking him is. Now that he has a chance to look closer, most of the people in the room are not human, save for the slaves like Bryton.

“Hmm.” Her expression shifts to one of calculation. “I have a few clients who will bid for that.”

“I know.”

She nods then, as if satisfied with Bryton’s appearance. “Well, you are the boss. I’ll take him to Dryden for training.” She snaps her fingers then and points. “Come along.”

Eli’s hand trails over Bryton’s ass once more. “I’ll be back to visit soon.”

Bryton follows the woman with flame hair through a door and into a much plainer hallway. She turns several corners, leading him deep into the bowels of the building before stopping outside a door that looks much the same as many others they’d passed. She knocks once and then pushes the door open once there’s a faint answering noise from inside.

A man and a woman are inside, paused mid-coitus. The woman wears a collar just like Bryton’s while the man has skin like bark and hair like twisting vines.

“Break time’s over, Dryden,” the flame-haired woman says.

“But Eleanor…”

“Save it. We’ve got a new one. You can wear yourself out on him.”

Dryden’s eyes light up and he pulls out of the woman. He smacks her lightly on the ass and she scurries out of the room with her eyes downcast.

“Save his ass for the clients, though. I can get good money for that.”

“Aww.” Some of Dryden’s excitement dies and he turns, his erection still evident between his legs, to size Bryton up. “Come here.”

Bryton steps forward awkwardly. The door shuts behind him and he’s alone in the room with Dryden.

“Okay, let’s go over the basic commands. Down,” Dryden makes a gesture. He looks expectantly at Bryton. “Get on your knees.”

Bryton complies. The position puts him face to face with Dryden’s cock.

“Sit. That means sit back on your heels.”

Bryton does so. Dryden’s fingers comb through Bryton’s hair.

“You sure do have a pretty little mouth. Open.”

He opens his mouth like Eli taught him and is unsurprised when Dryden steps forward to slide his cock into Bryton’s mouth.

“Do you know how to suck cock yet?”

He nods as best he can around the erection in his mouth.

“Show me.”

He closes his lips and sucks, doing what Eli taught him. Lips, no teeth. Use his tongue. Swallow like it’s a sweet. Dryden tastes different than Eli, more earthy. He’s still slick from being inside the woman.

“Good boy.” Dryden’s fingers tighten, stilling Bryton’s head. “Now let’s see how good you are at getting that pretty little mouth fucked.” Dryden’s hips start moving, pushing in and out of Bryton’s mouth. There’s nothing he can do but sit there and take it. It takes him a moment to get the hang of breathing through his nose while his mouth is being filled. He can’t breathe for a few seconds. He wants to suck in big mouthfuls but his mouth is busy.

“Good boy,” Dryden purrs. “Such a good boy.” Dryden’s fingers tighten to the point of pain and then he’s coming, spilling into Bryton’s mouth but not stopping, expecting Bryton to drink it down while he fucks into Bryton’s mouth.

After a moment, Dryden stills and pulls away. His spent cock falls from Bryton’s lips and he releases Bryton’s head. The look he gives Bryton as he stares down at him is appreciative.

“Well, you’ve got the important part down. Now, let’s teach you how to serve tea.”

Bryton is given a bed to sleep in and a room all his own. It’s sparse but comfortable and it’s more than he’s ever had before. Even before the war, he’d shared a room with his brothers. In a way that had prepared him for the war. He was used to not having anything of his own. They don’t give him clothes, but it’s warm enough that he doesn’t need them.

He serves tea, embarrassed by his own nakedness as he does so, but he somehow muddles through. They don’t ask him to do more, not like the other slaves who flirt with the customers and have sex wherever they will. Some of the customers eye him, and some touch him tentatively, but nothing more comes of it.

All of that changes when the man with cat ears and a tail walks in the door.

Bryton is serving tea when the man arrives. Eleanor steps out from behind the bar and greets the man with the same kind of fanfare she’d used with Eli. The man has a small retinue of cat-eared folk with him. They filter into the room amidst calls of greetings and take up with the other slaves almost instantly. Their leader converses with Eleanor.

Then Eleanor turns his way. “Bryton.”

He sets his tray on the bar and scurries over.

Eleanor looks pleased. “Bryton, this is Cheshire. You’re to show him a good time.”

Bryton isn’t sure what that means, but he nods and glances shyly at Cheshire who grins back. Cheshire extends a hand. Bryton takes it hesitantly.

“Come sit with me,” Cheshire says, and leads Bryton over to one of the large lounge chairs, most of which are occupied by Cheshire’s crew at this point.

Cheshire sits and then pulls Bryton down onto his lap. It feels strange sitting on a stranger’s lap while he’s naked and the man was fully clothed, but many things at the manor are strange to him. He’s slowly been getting used to it all.

Cheshire’s hand strays to Bryton’s rear. He runs a hand over Bryton’s ass, one finger dipping low to press against Bryton’s entrance, making Bryton gasp.

“I hear you’re a virgin.”

Bryton nods. Cheshire’s finger rubs against his entrance, making Bryton squirm. Cheshire’s grin widens.

“You’ve never had anyone inside of you?”

Bryton shakes his head. The finger ends in a blunt claw, which Cheshire very gently presses into Bryton, making him gasp.

“Excellent.” Cheshire’s hand draws away and he opens one of the pots that are stationed next to all the seating areas. Cheshire dips his fingers in and they come away slick and shiny. His hand returns to Bryton’s rear and this time the finger is more insistent, pressing against Bryton’s entrance and pushing in.

Bryton gasps. He flinches involuntarily. The pain isn’t bad. He’s felt worse at war, but it’s uncomfortable and it only grows more so as the finger slides in, pushing deeper until he feels Cheshire’s knuckles against his ass.

“Good boy. You took that well.”

Bryton trembles. He feels like he’s being stabbed. Then Cheshire moves his finger, drawing out and Bryton can’t help the way he curls into Cheshire’s chest. His hand clenches in the fabric of Cheshire’s shirt, but Cheshire doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems pleased at the way Bryton clings to him.

“Good boy. You can do it.”

The finger pushes in again, sliding against Bryton’s insides and he shivers as he’s pierced again. Cheshire’s finger moves like that for what feels like ages, slowly pressing in and out while the burn of it fades. Bryton’s just starting to relax into the sensation when the second finger joins, stretching Bryton open as it pushes inside with its mate.

Bryton whimpers and Cheshire’s free hand rubs against his back, soothing. Tears prick at his eyes but they don’t fall.

“You’re doing so good,” Cheshire murmurs in Bryton’s ear. His two fingers press in, wringing another whimper from Bryton. “Tell me where you’re from, Bryton.”

Talking seems like an insurmountable obstacle but Bryton forces his lips to move. “Etheria.”

“What was it like in Etheria, Bryton?”

He shivers as the fingers inside of him move apart, opening slightly inside of him to stretch him wide. “I don’t remember much. Crowded. Dirty. Poor.”

“You were in the war?”

Bryton shudders. He doesn’t like thinking about the war. He still has nightmares about the things he’s seen, and about the things he’s had to do. He nods slowly. Cheshire’s fingers inside of him are suddenly a welcome distraction from his thoughts, even though they make him feel strange.

A third finger pushes in and Bryton hides his face in Cheshire’s shoulder as tears roll down his face. Cheshire croons softly and pulls his face away. He kisses away Bryton’s tears even as his wicked fingers play inside of Bryton, opening him up wider than he’s ever been before.

“Did you like the war?”

Bryton shakes his head. His eyes squeeze close and he has to concentrate on his breathing to keep from panting.

“No, I imagine not. You seem too delicate for it.” Cheshire’s lips kiss a path to Bryton’s ear. He sucks on the skin just below, making Bryton writhe on his lap. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. You’re safe now.”

Tears well again, though this time it’s Cheshire’s words that cause them. He feels something tight inside of himself unwind.

“Good. Such a good boy.” Cheshire’s fingers pull out and Bryton feels almost bereft at their loss. “Open your eyes for me.”

He does, blinking his eyes open in what feels like suddenly harsh light. Cheshire is smiling at him and the way Cheshire looks at him makes Bryton feel safe, just like Cheshire said. Cheshire shifts then and reaches between them to unbutton his pants. His cock is hard when he pulls it out. Bryton wonders if Cheshire wants him to suck it. He’d be okay with that.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” Cheshire asks.

Bryton nods.

“I want to fuck you, Bryton. Can I do that?”

He hesitantly nods again. He’s seen the other slaves get fucked and they all seemed to enjoy it.

Cheshire grins and helps Bryton to his feet. Then he turns Bryton so that he’s facing away from Cheshire and pulls him back down onto his lap. He feels the blunt head of Cheshire’s cock press against his entrance. Cheshire pulls on his hips, forcing Bryton down onto his cock. The head of it pierces him and Bryton moans as it slowly fills him, stretching him thicker than his three fingers. It burns but Bryton can ignore the pain. He focuses on the way it fills him, inching inside of him and stretching him at his core.

“Good boy. You can take it.”

His head falls back against Cheshire’s shoulder once he’s fully seated. Cheshire nuzzles at his face and then plants more kisses around the collar on Bryton’s neck.

“Can you move for me?”

Bryton shivers as he sits up. He braces his arms on the sides of the chair, plants his feet, and shifts forward until Cheshire starts to slide out of him. Cheshire’s hands settle on his hips, guiding him up and then back down. The effort of moving has Bryton trembling. He moans each time Cheshire fills him. He’s almost reluctant to sit up and pull away, but he does it because he knows it will be immediately followed by the feeling of sinking down onto Cheshire’s cock.

“Look at you. So pretty. Such a natural at taking cock. You love it, don’t you?”

He nods because that’s the answer he knows Cheshire expects. And it’s not a lie. He does like the feeling of Cheshire’s cock filling him up.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nods. He could get used to doing this every day like the other slaves do. It feels so good having Cheshire inside of him.

“You’re going to be a star here. Look at the way they’re watching you. Everyone wants a piece of your ass.”

Bryton looks up, surprised to find more than a dozen pairs of eyes staring back at him. He gasps. His cock twitches and he nearly comes on the spot.

“You like that, don’t you?”

One of Cheshire’s hands slides forward to play with Bryton’s cock, fingering it lightly before wrapping around and stroking him once. Bryton’s hands grip the armrests tight and he gasps in pleasure.

“Yes, look at you. You’re taking it like a champion. Going to come real soon, aren’t you?”

Bryton whimpers and nods. He bites his lip to keep from coming. He knows better. They’d told him guests come first. He needs to make Cheshire feel good before he can. Bryton shifts his grip and speeds up as much as he can, bouncing himself on Cheshire’s lap. Cheshire groans and clenches his hand on Bryton’s hip.

“Oh, you are a good boy. Going to make me come first?”

Bryton nods. “Please.”

“As you wish.” Suddenly the hand on his cock is gone and Cheshire is standing, turning them while still inside of Bryton and then pushing Bryton down so that Bryton is face-first into the chair. Cheshire’s hands tighten on Bryton’s hips and then Cheshire is fucking him, hard and fast, just like Bryton had seen the other slaves get taken.

It’s perfect. Bryton screams and clenches his fists in the fabric of the chair. Cheshire is moving so fast, all Bryton can feel is the inexorable push and pull inside of him. He’s going to come. He can’t. He bites his lip and grips the chair tight, holding on with all of his might to keep from coming. Cheshire’s hips spike forward. His pace stutters and then he’s spilling into Bryton. Wet seed rolls down Bryton’s legs and Bryton lets himself come with a shout. White light explodes behind his eyes and the rest of the world disappears in a cacophony of static.

When he comes back to himself, his forehead is pressed to the seat of the chair. He’s shivering and panting. His legs ache. Cheshire is still inside of him. From behind him, Bryton can hear Cheshire making soothing noises while he strokes Bryton’s back.

“Good boy,” Cheshire says, over and over. Those words are becoming Bryton’s mantra. It means he’s doing something well.

After a long moment, Cheshire moves, pulling out with a wet pop that makes Bryton groan. Strong hands pull him back until he’s kneeling on the floor and staring up at Cheshire. Cheshire grins down at him and then turns to Eleanor.

“I’m taking this one for the night,” Cheshire says. He extends a hand down to Bryton.

Bryton takes the extended hand. He has a feeling he’s going to like working at the teahouse.