Lucren Ch. 01

I knew I was in for trouble upon seeing the eagerness of the demon boy to train me. I had hoped that nobody would want me because I was not trained. Having been captured by the demon slave hunters two weeks ago, I had violently resisted anything they tried to do to train me, so they eventually gave up and decided to get rid of me as soon as possible, auctioning me off at a lower starting price. My looks must have made up for my lack of training, though, because I got many more bids than I figured and ended up being sold for the starting price of a trained slave to a tall, pale demon with long, black hair. I had tried to escape during the transition time when all the paperwork was being signed, but one of the cage guards caught me and I was immediately bound and secured until the demon was ready to take me home. On the ride in the carriage, where I was informed of my purpose as a gift for the demon's son, I managed to get slapped once because of my insubordinate attitude. This worried me because in the forum they tended to ignore my insubordination, seeing as they would make money off me either way, but now that I had been purchased, I could be seriously injured or even killed, if my owner wished it.

While the demon lord who purchased me spoke to his son for whom I was purchased, I cautiously assessed my new owner. He was shorter than me by a few inches, but I knew that because of his full-demon heritage he could overpower me any day. His pale skin was offset by his blood-red eyes and hair, which was cut short and choppy. Complementing his hair and eyes was a dark red dress shirt, the kind with the baggy sleeves and cuffs, and he had on a pair of black slacks that fit him nicely around the hips and backside. Around his neck was a silver necklace with a black stone pendent on it; a black sapphire. I thought it unwise that a stone of such rarity and value was around the neck of a teenage boy, even a demon lord's son, but then again, it wasn't my place to pass judgment, was it?

Suddenly I found myself being jerked out of my thoughts by my new owner, who was pulling me gleefully up the stairs with that damned leash on that damned collar that only my master could remove. I heard his father warn him about being rough on me, a warning to which he responded to with agreement, but I could tell it went in one ear and out the other. This did not bode well for me. I managed to keep from falling as he dragged me up the stairs, down a long hallway and into one of the several doors that lined it, thrusting me into the room and throwing the black bag onto the bed. While he closed and locked the door, I glanced around the room. It was nice, I guess, with tan walls and a very large window that, aside from it being three feet off the ground, covered the entire far wall. It must be very cheery in here during the day; now, the half moon occasionally showed through the drizzle that pattered against the glass. The furniture was all black and included a tall dresser and a large hanging mirror on the left side of the room, a long bench with red cushions under the window on the far wall, and on the right, a four-post wrought-iron bed, two nightstands on either side of it, and a chest at the foot of the bed. The bed had white sheets, red pillows, and a black comforter, and the floor was dark wood.

As I stood contemplating the room I might be living in for the rest of my master's infatuation with me, I didn't really notice said master looking at me from behind. I quickly found out, however, when a cool hand came to rest on the small of my back, just above the waistband of the sarong I wore. I tensed; the thought of him touching me irked me. But I didn't move, even as it traced up my spine and onto my left shoulder; he then walked around me with his hand on my shoulder to stand in front of me. I stared at him, straight at his eyes, refusing to look down. I wanted him to know that I wasn't afraid of him, and that I wasn't going to succumb to his every whim without a fight like any trained slave would. When his intense eyes actually met mine after what I thought must have been a rather thorough roaming of my body, he stared back at me for a long time. He must have been judging my gaze correctly, because after a few moments he spoke.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?"

I fear I was a bit quick to answer, "No."

It must have been in a tone too stern to be tolerated by my master, for he grinned and replied, "Well, we're going to have to work on that, aren't we?" Then he backhanded me so hard I almost fell to the floor; almost. As it were, I leaned heavily in the direction in which he had slapped me, and he grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him again, "You'll learn to fear me, and you will do as I tell you," he growled.

Again, my quick tongue spoke before my mind could tell it not to, "It will take much more than that to make me fear and follow orders." I did not regret saying it, anyway. But, as I almost expected, I was backhanded again from the other direction, and this time I did fall, partially onto the bed. As I crouched on the floor, leaning against the bed and holding my cheek, he slowly approached me. I kept my gaze on the floor so that he couldn't see the pain in my eyes. He stood over me for a moment before taking hold of my left horn and hauling me up, to which I immediately reacted with a gasp and a struggle to make him let go, grabbing his wrist with my bound hands and trying to brace my feet on the floor. God, I hated it when anyone grabbed my horns; it gave them too much control. It must have been evident I didn't like it, for he smiled and pulled me over the side of the bed with ease, despite my struggles. He moved me so that I was laying on the bed with my knees bent, legs hanging over the side of the bed while he stood between them, hovering over me like a hawk coming in for the kill. Easily prying my hands from his wrist, he held them above my head with one hand, placing the other beside my chest.

Smirking at me, he asked, "What is your name?"

"I didn't know a fuck toy needed a name," came my growled response. He chuckled, amused by my continued hardness towards him. I swear a part of me must be suicidal. Sighing, he raised his free hand so I could see the claws that were unsheathing themselves at his fingertips.

"Feel like telling me now?"

My eyes widened, but I said nothing. I knew he would get my name eventually, but I wanted to make things difficult for him, no matter how stupid and/or painful it was.

"Have it your way," he said, smirking as he dug his claws into the flesh just below my collarbone. Gritting my teeth, I managed to ebb the threatening scream into just a grunt of pain as I felt my skin splitting. It wasn't deep, barely even to the muscle, but that didn't stop it from hurting like hell. I could take it, though. When he raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Well?" I glared daggers at him. Then he dug his claws in deeper and dragged them down my chest, and I couldn't hold back the small yelp that escaped or the arch in my back. Okay, maybe it was time to stop being stupid. A name is just a name, and if he planned on calling me by my name, then it would most certainly be better then many other things he could call me.

"Lucren."

He grinned at me and said in a triumphant tone, "My name is Marcus, and you may call me as such. If you are disinclined to use my name, you may also call me Master." Of course, I scoffed at him, which earned me another inch of broken skin continuing now down my stomach.

"Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to tie you down in order to use both my hands?"

To this, I had nothing to say. I was hardly expecting a choice in the matter, though to me, there really wasn't one. My answer was attempting to struggle against his grip, and he responded with an amused look as he reached for the black bag beside us, lifting it up with one hand and dumping the contents across the bed. I turned my head to look the items over and paled; whips, chains, shackles, various bottles of god knows what, and a few other items that I didn't even want to think about their uses. Marcus plucked three pair of shackles and a short whip with a leather tassel at the end from the pile. Using one pair of the shackles on my hands, he closed one on my right wrist before dragging me across the bed so that I was lying in the middle at the head of the bed, threading the chain through the wrought iron curls that made up the headboard before closing it on my left wrist. While he was doing this, I desperately tried to push him off me with my legs, but he kept his body close to mine, so I couldn't get my legs underneath him. He then proceeded to shackle my ankles to either of the posts at the foot of the bed, and he did so quite easily, despite my struggles.

Once he was finished, he picked up the whip and, straddling my hips, said playfully, "Let's play a game, shall we? I'll do whatever I want, but if you do anything I don't like, I'll use this," pointing to the whip that he had placed conveniently beside him.

What a child he was. Boy, this was going to be fun; and worse, knowing my stubborn and insubordinate nature, it was probably going to be a long time before I was released from these shackles, which were biting into my wrists and abnormally shaped ankles. A slew of, well, lovely responses came to mind, and I of course chose the most eloquent. "Fuck you," I stated frankly while glaring daggers up at him.

He smiled as he reached for the whip, bringing it down hard across my chest. I didn't expect to feel such an intense stinging that I arched my back and grimaced, much to my chagrin and I'm sure his delight. Then he bent down and leaned over me to whisper in my ear, "No, I'm quite positive it's you who's going to be fucked tonight."