Madlin never walked again. What’s worse, the damage to her spinal tissue left her in perpetual pain. Dr. Mekat had left him with some drugs that deadened her pain, but also deadened her senses. She was often left staring ahead of her, barely aware of her surroundings. He’d set her by the window, brushing her hair. He took out all the mirrors in the place, as it often sent her into hysterics to see the scarred ruin of her face. So he tended to her, applying her make up and telling her that she was getting better, all lies. It was up to him to come up with their livelihood now…and Dr. Mekat again proved helpful.

Miklos waited on the chair in the small room he’d been assigned to. He looked up at the lights above him, anticipating the chime. Dr. Mekat’s words rang in his ears, "If you keep this man happy, you’ll have enough money to keep Madlin in a state of oblivion for the rest of her life." A wave of fear washed over him. This estate was huge and luxurious. Miklos had to be smuggled into this section of the city in order to be smuggled into this extravagant mansion. He didn’t doubt that the man who owned this could keep Madlin happily drugged forever.

But it was obviously a Military household, and that sent a chill down his spine as he remembered the soldiers. He didn’t know if he could do that again.

His hands started to shake as he waited. Time and again, he wanted to get up from the chair and pace the room nervously, but he’d been told to sit there and he had a feeling that he was being watched. So he sat, sweating, dreading, hoping.

When the chimes sounded, he nearly leapt to his feet. He stood for several moments, shaking, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. "I can’t…I can’t…" he whispered. The chimes sounded again, impatiently, and lifting his suddenly heavy feet one after the other, he went to the door on the opposite side of the room, and pressed the control to open it.

Miklos paled, his breath caught and a terrifying chill went down his spine as he saw the opulent room he was entering held four military officers. Three Guls, and one Legate. The Legate smiled as he noticed the young man standing still in the doorway, and casually he reached over to a console on his desk and pressed a control. The doors slid shut behind Miklos like death passing behind him. His eyes begged the men to let him be, but his body responded with well-trained obedience. He stood, and waited for a signal.

The Guls were looking him over appreciatively. One turned to the smiling Legate. "Soral! Where do you find them?"

The Legate’s smile widened as he refilled his glass of Kanar. "Now, now…I can’t divulge my secrets or you’d stop coming to visit me--and where would I be without your charming company?" The Legate motioned to Miklos to come into the room as he sat down in a plush chair.

Miklos stepped forward, to the center of the room, finding himself surrounded by the three other men. He startled as one reached out to touch him. The Legate chuckled. "What’s your name, boy?"

"M…Miklos, sir." He caught his breath as one of the men ran his hands over Miklos’ neck ridges.

"Miklos, eh?" the Legate watched as the other men circled the younger man, his wistful smile never fading. "Miklos what?"

Miklos found it hard to concentrate over the caresses he was receiving from the Guls. "Uhhh…" his voice was shaky and thready. "Just…just Miklos, sir…" he gasped as one man planted his lips on his neck. There was a low chuckle behind him.

"Just Miklos? How did that happen?" the Legate continued.

Miklos almost didn’t hear him, caught up as he was with hands running over his body, men kissing his face, nipping his neck. He was beginning to feel weak and warm, his terror as present as ever but lessening in degrees of arousal. The overall confusion was broken as one of the men stepped back.

"Get him undressed…"

Suddenly the hands were rougher, more insistent. At first, he resisted, but was roughly pulled back into line. He felt his shoes being tugged off, his shirt was pulled up over his head and in the momentary blindness, his pants were undone.

"Careful…careful…" he could hear the Legate’s voice. The rough tugging of the hands grew gentler, and he yielded to the remainder of his stripping down. Soon he was completely bare and open to view. The three men stepped back momentarily, and the Legate’s smile widened. He sipped his Kanar, motioning that they continue.

In that brief respite, as Miklos was spared a few moments free of the other men, the fear came back full force as he realized his vulnerable state. He shook, and was starting to back away, and the three men circled him, pack like. As he backed into one man, he felt hands on his backside, on his buttocks and thighs, lips on his neck. He gasped, and stepped forward, out of that man’s reach and into another one’s. This time he fell against the man, who held him gently by the nape of the neck, planting kisses on his lips as he explored Miklos’ thighs with his free hand. Miklos fell away, to the third man, who felt like heat as he pressed in to pin Miklos to the first man. It went thus for a long time, each man passing him onto the next, exploring and feeling, gently but firmly guiding Miklos between the three of them. Miklos ceased any struggling, allowing them to touch every part of him, taking in their scents and heated breath, wet kisses. He started responding to them, breathing heavily, his fear slowly smothering under a heated passion that their touches were creating in him. Finally, he was lowered to his knees, and one of them pressed himself against his lips.

Miklos froze, frightened again. He wasn’t quite sure what to do…but he’d seen Madlin do it hundreds of times. He opened his mouth in imitation of her, slightly surprised by the salty flavor dripping from the man. The man groaned appreciatively as he took him in, his lips wrapping around the long shaft. Very slowly, he started moving, putting his hands on the man’s thighs to steady himself. He sucked gently, earning more groans and growls from the man, and let his tongue explore the texture of the man in his mouth. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he imagined it would be. One of the others knelt down behind him and began tugging on his hips, pulling him onto all fours.

Miklos held onto the man in front of him, his hands tightening painfully in fear on the man’s thighs. He shut his eyes tightly, imagining Madlin--imagining her scarred, pain stricken face, the way she wailed at her legs when they refused to respond. He made a small, protesting sound of fear as he felt the man press against him.

"No," the Legate’s voice rang out.

The man behind him paused. "No?"

"No," the Legate’s voice repeated firmly.

The man shrugged, and stood up again. He tugged on Miklos’ arm. "Over here…"

And so it went, Miklos worked from man to man, following the commands "over here" and "now me" as they passed him back and forth. Their commands were punctuated by grunts and growls, low chuckles. He was simultaneously caressed and tugged on, hands guiding his head as they each playfully competed with each other for his attentions. Finally one man shuddered, crying out, and a burst of hot seed exploded in Miklos’ mouth, startling him into spitting it out. No one noticed, however, as he was tugged onto the next man, to feel another burst in his mouth. The third man’s seed hit the side of his face, and he gasped, shaking, his jaw tired and slightly sore. He leaned down on one hand to steady himself as the men laughed among one another. He watched the Legate, who was smiling at him still. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see they were using his clothes to clean themselves, finally handing him the soiled garments to rub his face clean with.

The Legate pointed towards another door. "Go ahead, and wait in there. You can clean yourself, and there’s some fresh clothing."

Miklos pushed himself to his feet with a shaky, "Thank you, sir…" He bundled his clothes around him as he headed towards the door. The men were sitting around on sofas, starting in on relaxed, low conversations. Miklos hurried through the door, closing his eyes as it swished shut behind him. Now, all he had to do was clean up, and get his pay. He opened his eyes to find that he was in a bedroom. It seemed the Legate wasn’t done with him yet. He started shaking. What next?

True enough, there was a room for him to clean up in, complete with a large bath and hot running water to rinse in. He put his clothes into the reclaimator and washed his face and hands free of the other men’s stickiness. Fear was getting the better of him. The more he looked at the bed, at the h‘r‘ok in it’s separate room, the more he wanted nothing more than to leave this place and get as far away as he could. Money could be had in other ways…

Miklos looked around, found the replicator, and tried to order some new clothes, but there was a security lock on the machine. Cursing quietly, watching the door and hoping the Legate wouldn’t come through, he started searching the room for anything to wear. The Legate had said there would be clothing in here…but he found nothing. Only expensive bathroom linens and bed coverings. There were no drapes, he thought absentmindedly, the room had no windows. And one door.

Naked, shaking, he realized he wasn’t going anywhere. The only way out was the way he’d come in, and he doubted they’d let him walk out nude…

With a resigned whimper, he sat down on the bed, and waited.

He’d fallen asleep when he heard the doors swish open. Sitting up, he drew the covers around him, staring at the Legate, who smiled at seeing him there.

"Come out of the bed," the Legate waved to him. Miklos hesitated, the Legate waved again, and Miklos obeyed. Naked, he walked to stand before the Legate, who seemed to have no qualms about studying every inch of the young man before him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he finished his inspection of Miklos with a satisfactory smile, and nodded towards the bath. "Go bathe yourself, Miklos."

The order was so odd, Miklos stared confused at him. "You want to take a bath, Legate?"

The Legate smiled again, his eyes glittering, "I want you to take a bath. Now."

Miklos stepped past him, into the heated waters that filled the huge tub. Less like a tub, more like an indoor hot spring…Miklos thought as he submerged and re-emerged. The Legate was standing near the lip of the "pool", steam drifting up into his grinning face.

"I’d told Mekat I wanted a fresh boy," the Legate stated as he began pacing around Miklos. He kicked in a sponge. "Start washing…" Miklos took the sponge and started scrubbing himself. "Slow down…" the Legate chided. Miklos moved the sponge slower over himself. "You’re somewhat fresh, I suppose…but I have my doubts after that performance out there."

Miklos began to have the eerie feeling that he was somehow in trouble. He didn’t understand, he’d done what they’d wanted, and he’d done it well he thought. He shook his head, "I…I’ve seen it done many times…"

"…But," the Legate interrupted, "You’re fear of penetration makes me wonder. What sort of work did you do before?"

"Vids, sir. I make…edit vids for the skin theatres…"

The Legate chuckled. "Is that so?" he motioned to Miklos to get out of the water. "Mekat has a talent…" he started, and stopped as he handed Miklos a towel. His eyes never came off the younger man. Miklos was too timid under the constant scrutiny to look the Legate in the eye. "Quite a talent…" the Legate gestured towards the bedroom with a friendly smile. Miklos gulped and preceded the Legate into the bedroom.

The room was normal temperature, but Miklos felt hot. Very hot. As he stood sweating, he watched the Legate as he came to stand before him.

"Feel rested?" the Legate seemed genuinely concerned, his smile was friendly. Miklos nodded, then shook his head trying to put off the inevitable. The Legate chuckled. "Gul Tiron frightened you, didn’t he?" He clasped his hands. "Tiron’s tastes do tend toward the more aggressive. I, on the other hand…" his smile widened, "tend to the voyeuristic. And what a performance!" He motioned to Miklos. "Help me undress…"

Miklos stepped forward, helping the Legate out of his armor. The breastplate he set aside, surprised that it weighed less than he’d imagined. Miklos tried to keep his panic under control, tried to force his mind to concentrate on performance rather than thinking about the implications of the upcoming event. He lifted the Legate’s shirt up and over the older man’s head, revealing a heavily scaled and ridged torso. Miklos made a close study of the Legate’s body, all the small details and marks; the battle scars that seemed oddly out of place on this man with the gentle demeanor. The Second Order brand on his shoulder stood out puckered and stretched with age. The Legate sat down and Miklos pulled off his boots one after the other. Every piece of the Legate’s uniform was set carefully aside. As the pile grew, Miklos’ trepidation grew, until finally the Legate was as naked as he was. Miklos’ eyes were drawn up, curiosity getting the better of him, and he snuck a peek at the Legate’s member, still laying inactive against the Legate’s thigh. It didn’t seem very intimidating…

"Awaiting orders?" the Legate’s voice was teasing.

Miklos blushed, stuttering, "Errr…I was…"

"Just do what you were doing out there…" the Legate spoke softly. Miklos felt relieved…this he could handle. He set to work, going through the motions, his hands feeling the roughened scales of the older man’s thighs. The Legate laid back, letting Miklos work for some time on arousing him. Miklos worked quickly, hoping to end this…

The Legate sat up again, running his hands through Miklos’ hair and looking down on him. "Such eagerness…" he murmured. Miklos flashed his eyes up to the Legate, he moved as if to pull away and speak, but the Legate gently held his head in place. "Trying to get rid of me so soon?" the Legate chuckled as he slowly shook his head. "I want you to take a hold of yourself…I want to see you pleasuring yourself…"

Miklos, aware now that this wasn’t going to end quickly, moved a shaky hand to obey. He closed his eyes, imagining Madlin when she was well and working, trying not to force himself to arousal. It took longer to become erect than normal, the Legate watching him like he was. It was all reminiscent of the soldiers…Eventually, however, by concentrating on Madlin, he was able to give the Legate his show. His mouth worked on the Legate, while his hand worked on himself.

The Legate groaned and sighed. "That’s beautiful," he murmured. The Legate pulled Miklos’ head up, his fingers under the younger man’s chin, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. He motioned for Miklos to continue with his hand. Still holding Miklos’ face up, he took himself in his hand, moving with the same rhythm that Miklos was using. "Very beautiful…" he moaned. They stared into each other’s eyes. Miklos felt captivated by the man’s worshipful stare. The mutual pleasuring went on for some time, Miklos was becoming more and more caught up in his physical feelings. He started to shake, his breath coming in gasps. The Legate stopped, and reached down, gently stopping Miklos. As he leaned forward, he kissed the younger man’s ear ridges, and whispered, "Come onto the bed now…"

Miklos rose onto shaky legs, reluctant to climb onto the plush bed, but the Legate gently and firmly guided him, laying down on his back. The Legate leaned down, kissing Miklos with a fervor that reminded him of the other men he’d serviced earlier in the evening. They continued kissing, the Legate’s hands exploring Miklos’ body, sending shivering sensations through him. He felt dizzy, in an odd place between apprehension and enjoyment. As the Legate continued exploring him, he closed his eyes, laying back and letting himself fall into the sensations that the skilled man was evoking from him. He gasped, his eyes flying open, as the Legate took him into his mouth. He settled back down, allowing this new sensation to happen. For the second time, he came close to climax…but the Legate pulled away, leaving him panting. He reached down to finish himself, but the Legate patiently and gently pushed his hands aside.

Miklos jumped when he suddenly felt the Legate’s fingers rub a slightly cold cream onto his anus. He stared up at the Legate fearfully, but the Legate leaned down, "Lay back, Miklos…" Miklos obeyed, allowing the Legate to work the lubricant into him with his thumb. "Relax…relax…" the Legate whispered over and over, and Miklos did his best to comply. The sensations the Legate was giving him were not all that unpleasant, once he started to breath deeply and lose some of the tension he was carrying. The man seemed truly intent on not hurting him…he kept telling himself over and over. The Legate massaged the younger man’s nether hole, while at the same time gently pumping his member with his other hand. Miklos began to moan, finding himself, to his surprise, greatly enjoying what the Legate was doing to him. And then the Legate replaced his thumb with the tip of his member, gently pushing Miklos open, stroking the younger man as he began to enter.

Miklos immediately tensed up, crying out. The Legate stopped, his tip inserted into the younger man, and he leaned down, kissing him, whispering, "Relax, Miklos…don’t fight me…feel my hand on you…" He kissed him again, slowly stroking Miklos until the young man relaxed, then he pushed in slightly further…

Miklos breathed in deeply, concentrating on the Legate’s skillful manipulation of his cock. Each time he pushed in further, he distracted the younger man with pleasure. Miklos felt lightheaded, and felt the Legate’s warm breath on his cheek, on his neck. He felt completely filled by the older man, his body trembling slightly as the Legate nipped and kissed on him, whispering encouragements as he continued the slow penetration. Finally, the Legate stopped pushing himself in any further, and held Miklos as they kissed, tasting one another. He licked the delicate ridging around Miklos’ eyes and cheeks, his hand still teasing the younger man. Miklos found this was nothing at all like the soldier. This was tender, and affectionate…and pleasurable. He groaned, wrapping his arms around the Legate, exploring the older man’s ridges in return. The Legate chuckled softly, and began to withdraw, slowly pulling back. Miklos arched his back, gasping, holding on tightly.

Very slowly, the Legate began thrusting, pumping his hand in the rhythm of his movements. Miklos lost sense of himself, closing his eyes and bucking under the older man. He started to groan, his voice low and primal. The Legate continued, thrusting into Miklos faster, hungrily. He continued his manipulation of the younger man’s member, until Miklos could stand it no longer.

His muscles tensed, his back arched, he cried out with abandon. The first wave of his climax hit him like a force, sending him reeling as the pleasure took complete control of him. The Legate was fucking him at a frenzied pace now, as Miklos’ seed burst out into his hand and on his chest. Miklos continued to cry out, his voice becoming hoarse as the spasms wracked his body, his muscles contracting around the Legate’s member and intensifying his orgasm. It felt like it would never end. Finally, he was spent, and he rolled his head to the side, looking up at the Legate still furiously pounding into him. The older man had a fierce gleam in his eye as he released Miklos’ member and hooked his arms under Miklos’ knees. The feeling of the Legate inside him became more intense as the older man went in more deeply. Miklos clutched the pillows, throwing back his head and shutting his eyes until the Legate suddenly cried out, his thrust slowing by degrees until he lay still on Miklos.

Both men lay still, catching their breath. Gently, the Legate withdrew, leaving Miklos in the wake of several small muscle spasms. The older man looked down at him, his eyes were gentle, loving. Miklos smiled at him. With great affection, the Legate reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a soft cloth to clean Miklos with. When he was done, he laid down next to the younger man and wrapped his arms around him.

"Rest now…" he murmured into Miklos’ ear, kissing it affectionately. Miklos kissed his fingers, holding his hand to his chest. He slipped into sleep almost instantly.

When he awoke, the Legate was gone. There was a bundle next to the bed, his clothes freshly cleaned. He dressed, and when he left the room, he found a servant waiting to take him from the house. As he was taken to the waiting vehicle outside, he was handed a small box. The doors closed, and the vehicle whirred to life, the windows turned opaque to hide the occupant.

He opened the box, which contained a note and a credit chip. The note was simple, on old-fashioned paper in hand written script;

I look forward to seeing you again, dear boy.

Miklos smiled. The experience had been far more pleasant than he’d ever imagined. He sighed and took out the credit chip, running it through the comm on the panel next to him. He gasped when he saw the total.

It was more than he and Madlin had earned in an entire year.