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The slave auction was the height of the festivities on Friday night. There had been throngs of leather-clad men and women in the streets all day, flocking to stages and booths to purchase and demonstrate various restraints and implements of pleasure and pain. But on the first day of the three-day affair, everyone's attention was on the main stage, checking their watches for the appointed hour.
Manfred von Karma did not loiter, did not indulge himself, and did not admit anything so weak as a paraphilia or a fetish. But he still had a physical body which craved release. And while he had tried many things in the past, he'd found it most effective to take time to fully indulge himself.
Hence, the leather scene. Hence, the slave auction.
He stood in the shadows near the edge of the stage. As the opening of the auction approached, more and more bodies filled into the room, but Manfred's body language and his glare forced a small circle of space around his body. He had already signed the contract that would govern his conduct on winning, securing his admission and a bidding paddle thick enough to be used as the real thing. The organizers tried very hard to keep the illusion intact. He appreciated the efficiency their thoughtfulness bought.
The emcee, a tall and muscular man in a leather harness and little else, took to the stage. The spotlights turned on and the crowd hushed. Manfred tuned out the inane babble welcoming them to the event, instead watching the carpeted dais where the slaves were to be displayed.
"And with that, we would like to start with our first slave up for auction," the emcee said, and the crowd cheered.
From the wings, a tiny woman with a high ponytail dressed in a full leather catsuit led in the first slave on a leash. Manfred looked the man up and down as he took to his knees and mentally dismissed him. He was a large brute, wearing a leather hood and handcuffs, all muscles and bulges. As he took his knees the emcee rattled off a list of his qualifications and interests, but Manfred had already gone back to ignoring him.
The next few possibilities were just as disappointing. A woman in pony gear. Another man in a full mask, skinny and sweating. A man already covered in clothespins. Manfred checked his watch and sighed.
The emcee waved off the clothespin masochist into the arms of his purchaser, and then gestured his assistant to lead on the next slave. The young man stepped into the light, and Manfred's breath caught.
He was young. Of legal age, certainly, but skin unblemished, milky and glowing with the energy of youth. He strode calmly, proudly, even though he was naked aside from the white leather around his wrists, ankles, and throat. He stepped onto the dais and knelt, thighs spread, back straight, hands behind his head, and stared out at the audience with calm grey eyes.
He was perfection, and Manfred should know. He'd trained his mind, after all. It was unsurprising that his body had been perfectly molded as well.
Miles Edgeworth waited patiently as the emcee started the bidding at a thousand euro.
Manfred waited until the bidding had thinned to two competitors before raising his paddle. He paid no attention to the numbers, only fixated on his goal. Winning. In the end, the other bidders dropped out, and the emcee declared him the victor.
It was only when he approached the stage that Miles' gaze flicked up to him, and his eyes widened. He stayed frozen as Manfred made out his check and handed it over.
Manfred bent down to meet Miles' gaze. His protege looked terrified, but didn't look away.
Manfred smiled, then clipped a lead to the ring at the front of Miles' collar. "Come along," he said, and tugged Miles to his feet.
He was expected to keep his slave inside the area of the festival, but his hotel room was within bounds. He wrapped Miles in a coat as a concession to the public nature of the space, but otherwise ignored passersby as he led him along. Miles balked only slightly at the elevator, following meekly at Manfred's heels until they were in his darkened room.
Manfred turned on the desk lamp, leaving the curtains drawn and the main lights off. "On the bed," he ordered, pulling the coat off Miles' shoulders and leaving him bare again. "Kneel up."
Silent compliance. Miles climbed smoothly onto the blanket and knelt, thighs spread, hands behind his head, in a slightly more tentative version of his auction block pose.
Manfred walked over to his side. Miles was breathing hard, eyes wide and focused on the far wall. The black leather leash hung down his front, over the soft muscles of his chest and stomach, lying alongside his half-heard penis. Manfred took his chin between finger and thumb and pulled his head toward him.
"Miles Edgeworth," he said softly. "You came into my household as a child."
It was a way out, if the boy wanted to take it. He would be clever enough to figure that out.
Miles' tongue slid over his lower lip, leaving it glistening. "Sir, I'm not a child any more."
He couldn't help but smile. "Very good."
Miles closed his eyes as Manfred removed the lead. He turned to put it in his bag, taking the time to look over some of his other tools.
When he returned to the bed, he clipped a spreader bar between Miles' ankles. "Hands behind your back," he ordered, and clipped the manacles to each other, then attached them to the first bar with another solid piece. Miles waited until he had finished before testing the limits of his motion.
Manfred watched him stretch slightly, then nod. He smiled to himself and stepped close, finally allowing himself to touch Miles' body. He brushed his fingertips over Miles' collarbone, down his chest, until he reached his nipples. Miles gasped and the soft bumps stiffened in arousal, hardening into tiny straining points. Manfred enjoyed teasing him for a minute, watching as he shivered, flush of arousal spreading down his chest.
Manfred smirked and turned around, taking his time selecting a pair of nipple clamps from his bag. He returned with a pair of wicked-looking serrated clamps separated by a chain. "Here," he said, holding up the pincers. "What do you think?"
Miles swallowed. "They look like they would hurt, sir."
"Hmm." Manfred licked his index finger, then traced over Miles' nipples, enjoying the shiver of anticipation. "Would you enjoy them?"
"I-ah..." Miles blushed. "I don't know if I can take that much pain there, sir..."
"Oh?" Manfred leaned in closer. "You will."
Then he snapped the first clamp on.
The manacles rattled as Miles jerked in pain, hands curling into fists, shaking his head. Silent, completely silent, even as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes and his breath came in heaves. Manfred watched in no little pleasure as his thrash of pain ended, as he collected himself, as he knelt back up on trembling thighs. The second clamp dangled on its chain, and Manfred tapped it with his fingers until it swung, pulling and making Miles hiss in pain.
He waited for a long moment before reaching out and picking up the second clamp. He held it up in front of Miles' face, waiting, until Miles' eyes focused on it, fully present and anticipating.
He held the clamp up to Miles' nipple, and just before he snapped it on, gave the connecting chain a tug.
Miles whimpered, high and pure, eyes squeezing shut again, and Manfred grinned and snapped the clamp closed.
He stood back and watched as Miles wriggled, pulling against his manacles, arching his back. His cock was fully hard now, red and leaking. He collapsed back onto his heels, arms pushed up awkwardly behind his back.
Manfred reached out and tugged on the chain, making him moan again. "Up."
More slowly now, Miles pushed himself back to his kneel. His thighs were trembling. His breath was coming in pants.
"Look at you," Manfred said, returning to his bag. "Already coming apart."
Miles took a gasping breath. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, sir."
"On the contrary." Manfred pulled out a black box and a small bottle of lubricant. "I'm quite interested in seeing your reactions."
When he turned back, Miles' eyes were closed, but his kneel was perfect. A sheen of sweat was on his skin, but he had stopped shivering.
Manfred set the box down on the bed behind him and opened it. Nestled in a rich purple fabric was a gently curved object in stainless steel, heavy and imposing. The plug had an oval handle and a slight kink in the center, the better to put pressure exactly where it would be most effective.
He drizzled a couple of drops of lubricant onto the head, then leaned over and put his hand on the curve of Miles' ass. The young man twitched, then relaxed; Manfred slid his hand down until he could aim the tip of the plug at his asshole.
"Nnng--" Miles said as the cold tip of the steel probed him. He took a deep breath, then canted his hips to help the bulb slide inside him. He made a tiny noise as it settled the full length. Manfred gently stroked the handle and Miles gasped.
"Enjoy that," Manfred said.
"Yes... sir..."
Manfred chuckled. He reached down, between Miles' legs, and cradled the soft flesh of his testicles in his hand. For a moment he just enjoyed the sensation. Miles' pubic hair was curly enough that it was still soft, and the skin was warm and pliant. Miles shifted, shivered, tried to keep still.
He smiled and watched Miles' face as he pulled and twisted, slowly. First a gasp and his back arched, which only made the twisting worse. He spasmed, twitching, teeth bared, injured keening noises coming in sobs from his throat. Manfred squeezed his fingers tighter, and Miles shrieked, tears leaking from his eyes, shaking.
Manfred opened his fingers and Miles fell sideways onto the bed with a boneless thud. He twitched, manacles rattling, breath heaving.
"Ahhhhh," Manfred said, dragging his fingers up Miles' flank. "How exceptional. A masochist with no pain tolerance whatsoever." He reached back to toy with the handle of the plug and Miles' cock, gone limp from the torture, twitched helplessly.
Miles sucked in short, desperate breaths. "I--" he wheezed. "Sir--"
"Shh." Manfred pushed his hand through that silver-black hair, feeling the strands part in his fingers like smoke, the soft pulse under his scalp. He allowed his fingers to catch and jerked Miles' face up, and slid his cock into the young man's mouth.
Miles twitched, and gagged, and coughed, and swallowed, and swallowed. Only the second time Manfred pressed forward, he felt the eager application of a tongue, the hollowed suction of cheeks. After a few gentle motions, he thrust deeper, and this time felt the spasm of throat, furnace-hot and slick. He rocked back and forth, pushing deeper, rolling his hips and letting the searing pleasure build.
At the last moment he jerked his hips back, leaving Miles mouth-open and gasping. He fisted his cock and reached out to grab the chain of Miles' nipple clamps.
Viciously, he yanked back on the chain. The clamps jerked off of Miles' nipples with sharp clicks and Miles cried out, thrashing, crying, sobbing, as Manfred gave his cock a few quick strokes and came all over his face.
Miles moaned and closed his eyes, mouth wide and panting for breath. Manfred loosened his grip on his prick and felt a last dribble of come slide down the side of his hand.
Oh, Gregory, he thought. If you could only see your boy now.
He straightened up, rearranged his clothing. Stroked the boy's hair. Miles whimpered, and a shudder went through his body. Manfred sighed. He continued stroking Miles' hair as he disrobed, laying his clothing casually on top of his suitcase instead of putting it away. He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag, then climbed onto the bed behind Miles.
He put his arms around Miles' body, tucking his manacled arms between them. He pressed his lips to Miles' temple and murmured, "Good boy."
Then he brushed his hand over the head of Miles' cock, smiling in satisfaction as the boy came in his hand.
He raised his hand to Miles' mouth and after a moment felt the broad, soft strokes of his tongue cleaning him off. When he was satisfied, he unclipped Miles' wrists and ankles, pulling him back and upright, gently holding the bottle of water to his mouth.
Miles sipped, gingerly, reached up to take the bottle from his hand. "Shh, rest," he chided him, keeping ahold; Miles' arm collapsed a moment later.
He rested there, getting his own breath back, slowly feeding Miles sips of water. He held the young man against his chest so he wouldn't have to look in his eyes, wouldn't have to see his reaction to the knot of scar on his shoulder, covering the bullet that still ached--
So he wouldn't have to stare down at that perfect, delicate face and think, I hate you, Miles Edgeworth, I hate you with every sinew and fiber of my being, I will forge you into a perfect weapon against everything your father stood for, I hate you, I hate you--
He pressed his lips to Miles' head and murmured, "Very good," and felt Miles relax with a sigh.