Authors: Varian Krylov
Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica
Copyright ©2008 by Varian Krylov
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Varian Krylov
Lord Melchior © 2008 Varian Krylov eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
"What's wrong, Zaccheus?"
"What? Nothing.” I heard my voice waver as I answered.
Crossing the room we shared, Arif took two glasses and the decanter from the dresser and came back to where I stood, looking out our small window over the garden. He filled one crystal challis and offered it to me. Breathing in the rich, sweet scent, I drew a taste of the warm port over my tongue, then turned back to the soothing vista of night sky and moonlit garden. Arif remained by my side, sipping from his glass.
"Tell me, Zaccheus, what happened on your shift tonight."
I turned from the cool breeze to face him. Arif was grinning with wicked curiosity. Something told me he already had a fairly clear idea of what sort of thing had transpired that night in the master's salon. Arif had been in the master's employ for more than a year, while I had only arrived the week before, on my eighteenth birthday. In the nine days since my arrival Arif had been tutoring me in my various duties, which until that night had been light. Surprisingly so. Little more than attending the master in the evenings as he took his meal at table, staying nearby when he adjourned to the library, fetching his pipe and filling his glass as he read by the fire. But this night had been very different.
Like all those employed in the mansion I had been raised on the property—schooled by the teachers in the master's employ, brought up by parents who had been taught the same lessons in the same little stone building when they had been children. I had been lessoned very thoroughly and very strictly, like all the boys and girls who had grown up with me, on matters of morality and propriety. Then, like all the other souls belonging to Lord Melchior, on my tenth birthday I had left my family and moved into the boys’ boarding school to finish my education.
What I had seen, what I had been made to do that night violated everything I had been taught. Everything except the one rule which was understood to be supreme above all the others: that Lord Melchior was to be obeyed in everything, without question.
I drained the last of the port from my glass and Arif quickly filled it again. As the warmth of the drink spread through me some of my anxiety abated, and as my mind roamed over the images of what I had seen and my body remembered what it had felt, my prick stirred restlessly in my snug breeches. Arif's eyes drifted from my flushed face down to my crotch and his dirty grin widened.
"Sit down, Zaccheus. I have a feeling the story you've got to tell is worth hearing in detail. We may as well be comfortable."
I was still unused to the luxuriant accommodations. The little cottage I had shared with my parents and siblings had only the barest of furnishings. My little cot had served as bed and bench. The boarding school, too, had been austere. But in the room I shared with Arif, we not only had two comfortable beds, but two armchairs, upholstered in rich fabric and very soft to sit upon. And certainly I had never eaten such rich food as we were given here, nor tasted a drop of wine. But our decanter was filled each evening and we were permitted to drink as much of it as we liked once we had finished our evening's work. Now, relaxed by the port I sank down into one chair, and Arif pulled the second just opposite and sat down.
"Come on, let's have it."
It seemed wrong to speak of it, but after all that Lord Melchior had asked of me, of all of us that night, I doubted that I knew any longer what was right and what wrong. I felt terribly confused. Perhaps if I told Arif what had happened, he could help me understand.
"Well,” I began, seeing Arif's mouth spread in a smile now that I was finally relenting, “the evening started out normally enough. I was warned in advance by Jeremy that the master would have company, and though I'd never attended him before in the presence of a guest, it wasn't any more difficult than usual. As always, I merely stood at his elbow, waiting to see if he would need anything from me. The hardest thing for me was keeping my eyes straight ahead, not looking at Lord Eldrich, who was sitting just opposite our master. I could tell from his voice that old Lord Eldrich was terribly nervous, and though I don't really understand such matters, it was clear enough that our master has the old fellow over a barrel on some financial matter between the two of them. It was very strange, seeing a nobleman like the master sweating and trembling with fear, hearing his raspy old voice waver, hearing his obsequious tone each time he made a reply to some question of the master's."
"The other thing that made it strange for me was the large staff in attendance. I'm accustomed to seeing no one but Jeremy. But tonight, because of the guest, I suppose, there were four guards standing at attention along the wall behind Lord Eldrich. From the moment I entered the salon at the master's side those four gave me a fright. Such big, brutish looking fellows, standing at rigid attention, their heavy batons hanging gleaming at their sides. They paid me no mind, though, and only stared straight ahead at nothing as we've all been taught."
"Then there was the girl."
"Ah, so there was a girl, was there?” Arif looked really pleased now, and my feeling of shame at all that had happened, all I was about to tell, rose up in me again with that little smirk of his.
"Yes. I didn't understand why, at first, but instead of Jeremy, there was a young girl waiting on the master and his guest, bringing them small plates of fruit and pastries, filling their glasses with wine. I could not help watching her, though I was careful to follow her only with my eyes, keeping my head facing forward. But I had to look. I hadn't seen a woman since I left home and went to the boarding school."
"What was she like?” Arif asked hungrily, again reminding me of my shame.
"Very young. And so nervous."
"I'll bet!” Arif blurted in a laugh.
"I pitied her. Nervous as I was, I couldn't imagine how frightened she must have been, in that room with all those men. Each time she carried a plate or filled a glass from the decanter it was plain that her hands were shaking."
"What did she look like?"
To me she had seemed incredibly pretty, but then I had only distant memories of my mother and the neighbor women to which I might have compared her. I only knew that when I saw her my insides seemed to melt a little and I was terrified that my prick would get hard and Eldrich or the master would notice.
"...her hair is a deep, glossy auburn, long and wavy. Almost curly. She has big hazel eyes that show her every emotion, and her skin is pale. It has almost no color to it at all."
"And her body?"
Oh, her body. I felt myself blush and Arif laughed at me. He seemed to be enjoying my embarrassment almost as much as the master had enjoyed poor Rasha's.
"Her body is ... soft."
"Perhaps two inches shorter than me."
"Tall for a woman, then. What sort of figure? Was she a straight up and down sort of girl? Or round and curvy?"
"At first, you know, I couldn't see. She wore a long white skirt and a long white shift, and over that a tight vest."
"Of course, right. You tell me about her body later. Just go on with your story."
"Well, the master and Lord Eldrich went on eating their food, drinking their wine, and talking business for a while, the master getting increasingly annoyed with what Lord Eldrich was telling him, and Lord Eldrich getting more and more nervous. It was embarrassing hearing him making excuses and sniveling to the master. I never imagined I'd hear a nobleman talking that way. Finally the master seemed fed up with it and sent Eldrich on his way, bowing and scraping through a humiliating exit. I was feeling rather sickened by the whole thing, and poor Rasha's trembling nervousness just made the whole scene unbearable. I had to hold in a heavy sigh of relief to see Lord Eldrich go, for I was anxious to have the evening done with, to return to the comfort of our room. Rasha, too, looked relieved, as she must have imagined, or hoped, that with Eldrich's departure she would soon be free to leave. But as she stood by the sideboard, clearly hoping for a word from the master that she might make her escape, I saw her shudder with a terrible fear that was far beyond the tense embarrassment she had been displaying all evening as she served. I could not see the master, but stealing a long look at her I felt sure that he was raking his eyes over her."
"What's your name, girl?” Lord Melchior called across the room to the trembling servant girl.
"Bring that decanter over here, Rasha, and fill my glass."
Her disappointment at not being allowed to leave, and her fear of what it mean showed plainly in her face. As she took up the decanter I saw that her hand, which had trembled all through the evening, was now shaking almost violently. Slowly she came forward, toward the master, but as I was right beside him it was like she was coming toward me, so slowly it was like she was wading through the deep water of the great baths. When she was near enough the master lifted his empty glass toward her. With her hand shaking pathetically she filled his glass, the terrible concentration on her face painfully obvious as she tried desperately not to spill any of the wine on the master's trousers. When she was done, clearly relieved and almost in tears, having spilled none of the dark liquid, she turned back toward the sideboard.
"'Wait,’ the master ordered.
She halted, and with a look of miserable dread turned back to face him. I heard the master swallow a mouthful of wine, then the clank of his glass upon the wood of the table at his side.
"Hand me that decanter, girl."
Her arm crossed in front of me and the master pulled the decanter from her grip and set it down on the table.
"Come here, girl. Stand in front of me."
"For pity's sake, Zaccheus, don't stop now!” cried Arif, frustrated with my embarrassment.
"I had no idea what was coming, I truly didn't. And yet my heart was thumping furiously. And..."
"And what, Zaccheus?"
"And my ... my ... I was hard,” I finally managed to whisper.
"Go on,” Arif said coolly, but with a ravenous look.
"The poor girl seemed barely able to move, she was so scared. And without really knowing why, I was scared for her. White as her the blouse under her vest she drifted past me, and stood before the master. There was a long, terrible silence, and I knew he must be just sitting there, torturing that poor girl with his eyes. Her own lovely hazel eyes were soon veiled with tears, though she did not let a single one fall. Then the master spoke."
I was so absorbed in my fear, in the girl's fear, in the strange things going on in my body I didn't understand that he was talking to me.
"Zaccheus!’ His voice was impatient now and I started, and my body, stiff with anxiety, began to tremble."
"Look at me, Zaccheus.” His voice had returned to its usual soft tone.
Standing at his side, I turned my head and looked down at him where he sat in his great chair. I had always been vaguely afraid of him, knowing he has the power of life and death over me, over all of us. But I had never feared him as I feared him in that moment. I half expected him to hand me a knife and tell me to stab that poor frightened girl through the heart.
Even though he was sitting and I was standing, I felt as though he were looking down at me from a great height. Even then I felt his size, his strength. Everything about him—his thick, black, wavy hair, his sharp eyes nearly that same black, his angular features, his large hands resting relaxed over the ornately carved wood of the arms of his chair—made me feel small and soft. Then he smiled the strangest smile. It was ... intimate. When he smiled at me like that I felt my face flush hot and I wanted to tear my gaze away from his penetrating eyes, but I knew I mustn't.