Part 73 (1/2)

All you have to do is take hold of him, snugly enough to provide a friction surface but not tight. The eroticine will make him take care of the rest.”

”That sounds simple enough.” Keith reached for the prisoner.

He grasped slippery flesh, pleased when the man winced and tried to pull away. That should be a good sign. He followed the flinch, keeping the snug hold his thakur had recommended--and she was right, the prisoner began pumping, almost immediately accompanied by cursing and moans. For a bit, Keith remained still, getting used to the feel and rhythm. This was all he had to do, she'd said, and Keith was sure it would have the desired effect--but she wanted the man to suffer as much as a human could. Sure that there had to be a way to elicit more pain on the way to its peak, he tried modifying his grip, going with the prisoner's movements, kneading gently at the end of each thrust.

He was rewarded when moans grew louder and curses became incoherent cries. He wanted to turn, see if his thakur was pleased, but he didn't allow himself the distraction, contenting himself instead with a brief smile. He was surprised at the ease with which he'd been able to make even this sort of s.e.xual contact with another man, but his primary emotion on that subject was grat.i.tude; since his thakur clearly had no objection to man-loving, even seemed to actively approve, he had to do so as well, and it was kind of the G.o.ds to make such a drastic change so easy for him.

He was less surprised, though still a bit so, by his unexpected enjoyment of a painmaster's role, since Sandeman did have some circ.u.mstances where such was appropriate, though it had no professionals. That was a fortunate turn, since it saved him another adaptation--though if he were to serve his thakur properly in this capacity, he really ought to get some training; a true painmaster should be getting at least some screams by this time.

The prisoner's movements became faster, more urgent, and Keith smiled again. A few more seconds . . . yes, good! The prisoner convulsed, thras.h.i.+ng as wildly as his bonds would permit, but warrior reflexes let Keith keep his grip while the man climaxed in a prolonged series of spasms, his screams eloquent testimony to his agony. Keith felt a sense of accomplishment at that, a deep pleasure that didn't end even when the climax was over, the flesh in his hands softened slightly, and the prisoner sagged, going limp but kept from fainting by the algetin.

Keith turned to his chosen lady. ”Was that satisfactory, Thakur?”

”Most satisfactory,” Cortin said with unconcealed admiration. ”You've just given me--all Inquisitors, once I get it published--what promises to become an extremely useful standard technique, especially with rapists. I'll see you're given full credit, of course.” She smiled at Keith. ”You've also changed my plans for him. That degree of pain, administered repeatedly, can be lethal--and I can't think of a more fitting end for a rapist. We'll let him drip overnight, then give him a fresh dose and see how many times he can take what he forced on others. What do you think?”

Keith was flattered that she asked his opinion, but . . . ”I don't share your expertise, Thakur, so my opinion may not be valid. Still, it sounds appropriate to me.”

”So be it, then.” Cortin smiled at him, approvingly. ”Would you like to help? You seemed to enjoy yourself as much as an Inquisitor would, and Mike doesn't have that particular quirk; he helps because he loves me, not because he likes the work.”

Keith hesitated briefly before answering. ”It surprises me, Thakur, that I did enjoy it. But I would not displace Captain Odeon from something that brings you two close.”

Cortin looked at her second in command. ”What do you think, Mike?”

”If he wants it, he's got it,” Odeon replied promptly. Turning to the Sandeman, he went on. ”As she says, I don't have the mental quirk that lets me like hurting people; I'd be glad to get out of the job.”

”It seems I do,” Keith said. ”At least since she wants this one to hurt, I took a great deal of pleasure in causing him as much pain as I could.”

”It's all yours, then,” Odeon said promptly. ”With my thanks, by the way--which I'll demonstrate later, if you want.”

”In the meantime,” Cortin said, ”I'm hungry. Let's go up to supper.”

Return to main storyline: 31. Explanation

31a. Tattoo

To Keith's amus.e.m.e.nt, the artist did his work after using a topical anesthetic, saying it was to prevent a flinch from spoiling the design.

Remaining still and with no more than minor sensations of pressure on his face, though, seemed to be making him more receptive to what had to be his thakur--the things he was feeling certainly couldn't have had their origin in a properly-raised warrior!

For one thing, the idea of the Family's s.e.xual activity no longer bothered him, even with the certainty that it would include man-loving.

His thakur's approval and enjoyment of watching such things meant he should as well, and he seemed to be making the adjustment. He might not be able to take part himself just yet, though the men on his thakur's team were beginning to seem more desirable . . . It was generous of the G.o.ds, he thought, to make even such a drastic change to his thakur's values and standards so easy for him.

Eventually the artist was finished, and handed Keith a mirror. ”What do you think?”

Keith studied his cheek for a moment, then nodded. ”Your skill is worthy of my thakur. I thank you.”

”You're quite welcome.” The artist turned, bowed to Cortin. ”By Your Excellency's leave?”

”Granted; Lieutenant Degas will take you to your home or your studio, as you prefer.” She turned to Degas. ”Tony, give him his fee--plus a bonus for the house call and inconvenience. Double should be about right.”