Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Taking over the company was proving to not be as hard as he had thought it would be. Alfred's father had always been pretty strict about how everything was done, and Alfred was doing his best to run it as closely to his father's standards. He'd been running the business all on his own, only for about a week now, and was starting to feel the strain of it, but he was doing his best. Tonight there had been a big dinner, and Alfred had been glad to get away from it, he'd only listened half heartedly as his father informed him there was someone waiting for him in his room, a gift of sorts, so when he opened the door, already pulled his tie loose from where he was nearly strangling him, he was rather surprised to find someone actually waiting for him.
So here he was. On his knees on a stranger's bed. Wrists bound with a ribbon that he was not allowed to remove. But this had been a long time coming. Ever since he had been sold off, he'd been told that he was property from that point on. He'd been so prideful once. That had been the first thing stripped from him. No one wanted a prideful slave. The brand was still fresh across his shoulder blade, but since Arthur wasn't wearing anything, he at least had nothing to put pressure on the burn. He didn't know what to feel at this moment. Anger seemed pointless. So did self-pity. He just felt… hallow. And a bit apprehensive. He had been put through everything during his training, the roughest training legal so that he would be able to withstand whatever his new owner would expect of him. But being prepared didn't mean that he looked forward to it though. As the door creaked open, he glanced up, just over his eyelashes so that he would not raise his eyes, to see the young man that he assumed was his new owner. He looked strangely surprised. So… he was a gift then. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse. He shifted, lowering himself submissively, as he had been taught to do when a superior entered the room. Which meant when anyone entered the room.
Alfred hesitated for a moment, before he moved further into the room, dropping his coat and hat onto one of the side chairs, before he went to the edge of the bed. He had to admit, his father was flashy. Tilting his head a bit, he stared at the young man on his bed, he could see the shiny red of blistered skin where the slave had been recently branded. Didn't need to get on to know what the brand was of. Clucking his tongue, Al lifted his leg up to rest it on the bed so he could lean a bit closer, reaching down to grasp the man's chin and tilt his face up to get a better look at him. Alfred had never professed much interest in personal slaves before, he'd always been far more consumed with his studies and social life to think much on them. But his father had always had good taste, and Alfred wasn't disappointed. "Not the type of gift I'd expected." He stated offhandedly, pulling his hand back, and moving back off the bed. Alfred slid off his glasses, setting them on the table by the bed, "You may sit up." He finished pulling his tie off, watching the blond on the bed observantly, trying to decide what it was he wanted to do.
He didn't dare look the man in the eye, even as the other tilted his head up by the chin. He averted his eyes to the side instead, where it was safer. He was being summed up, judged for worthiness. He hoped he made the cut… He'd already been branded. If he went back to the slave keeper, he would officially be used. Used slaves ended up getting sold off cheaply to low lifes. Used in shows or simply for breeding. The type of seedy thing that wasn't talked about in the sort of place he was in now. At least, he hoped that was the case. It would be really bad luck if he ended up getting sold to high level customers who ended up being seedy anyway.
This man, the new master, did not seem to be particularly interested in him. Almost bored. Arthur humbly rose back up to his knees when told to, and kept his face lowered. He did not want to be passed back. Not so soon after being sold. His only purpose was to please his owner, and if he failed in that after just a night, then he would be doomed to being resold, a failure even as a toy. He cast his eyes lowly to follow the other's movements. Following his training, he spread his legs a bit, perhaps to intrigue his master and show that he knew his purpose well. His bound hands, pressing close to his chest and removing all obstruction that would block his lower half from sight.
He didn't miss the way the slave's eyes followed him, or the way he moved, purposefully enticing. Alfred toed off his shoes, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, undoing the clasps at his wrists and rolling his sleeves up to the elbow as if he were getting ready to take apart an engine. His gaze drifted momentarilty to the night table he'd placed his glasses on, a bottle that hadn't been there when he'd left the room this morning sitting nonchalantly beside the lamp, he nearly laughed. Alfred picked up the bottle, and popped it open, pouring some of the cool sweet smelling oil onto his hand, before setting it back down.
Resting his knee on the bed again, he rubbed his hands together, and let his eyes slid over the slave appreciatively. In truth, Alfred was tired and could have easily just gone to sleep, but it was such a waste to not at least give the creature on his bed a spin. He wouldn't be surprised if the slave was already prepared, but better safe then sorry, so as he leaned closer, one hand reaching down to take a loose hold of the slave's cock, the other hand slid around him, tracing from his hip to the small of his back, "Do you have a name?"
He heard a bottle snap open and chanced a glance upwards, for a fraction of the second, and saw the familiar label in the man's hand. He was grateful for it in multiple ways. Firstly, it meant the man was at least going to give him a try. Secondly, it seemed that this man was the type to bother with lubrication and preparing. Not all masters did. Arthur had been taken enough times without such kindness to be accustomed to enduring it, but it was doubtlessly better with the aid of lube. He tensed just slightly as the man leaned upon the bed again, but as soon as the hand took hold of his member, he relaxed, programmed to so in order to ease the action, and gave a little gasp. He leaned back, displaying more of himself, and began to moan, his hips thrusting up shallowly. His voice was timid and humble as he stuttered out an answer. "Ar…. Arthur, sir…."
He offered a smile, something genuine, though small. He'd never been good at names, so knowing the slave had one, and gave it made things easier. Alfred gave a soft nod, but didn't say anything else, as he slid his other hand down, letting his fingers slide along the crack of Arthur's ass, before spreading his cheeks and probing at his entrance. He watched the other closely, slipping a finger inside as far as it would go, pressing against the walls of Arthur's asshole, his other hand releasing the slave's dick, instead resting on his thigh, idly rubbing circles against his skin with his thumb. Alfred knew that personal slaves were more often then not trained to react like this, to be ready at a moments notice for sex, and could behave in any way that their owner wanted them too. But Arthur was newly bought, so his reactions were not adapted yet, and there was something interesting seeing that, in wondering how the other's behavior would change in time.
Alfred pulled his hands away, reaching up to unwrap the ribbons holding the slave's hands together. He fingered the deep green ribbon, noting that it matched the slave's eyes quite well before dropping it. Pulling away a bit, Alfred wiped his oil slick hands on his slacks, knowing he'd have to oil them again to really prepare the slave, "Alright, Arthur." Alfred stood up, and motioned for the slave to come to the edge of the bed, "Help me undress."
He was quick to get hard. Years of conditioning will do that. With just a few more strokes from his new master, and the added sensation of the hand feeling up his ass, he was fully erect. He shuddered with the sudden arousal, heat rising in his cheeks and his hips continuing to buck shallowly, enough to show his eagerness to continue, but not enough to look like he was trying to be assertive. Personal slaves had to walk a very fine line, particularly when they did not know what their master liked yet.
"Ah-! Ahhh…." he moaned softly as the finger pushed inside him, feeling him out, and the hand was mournfully removed from his cock, which twitched in its absence. He didn't dare complain aloud though. Some masters wanted the begging, some wanted silence, and until he knew which was desired, it was safer to go with silence, lest he appear needy or demanding. Instead, he focused on the finger probing him, clenching his muscles around it to make himself seem all the tighter and entice the man further. His cheeks a deep red, Arthur glanced over his shoulder to watch the master's hand at work, or at least as well as he could.
Resisting complaint was harder when the man took both hands away, but Arthur remained silent, fidgeting a bit in his place but showing no other outward signs of need. He merely watched as the ribbon that bound his hands was untied and discarded. The order was given, and Arthur nodded, still keeping his eyes humbly lowered as he brought his legs in front of him and scooted to the end of the bed. The master was tall, so Arthur had to stand to be able to do as ordered. He stood before the other and reached long, nimble fingers up to begin undoing the buttons of the man's shirt. He reached the last one, and gently tugged the dress shirt from where it had been tucked into the trousers. No accidently, his fingers brushed against the man's bare skin as he worked, only to keep the contact and hopefully keep the man enticed.
He didn't shy away from the touch of Arthur's fingers, didn't feel the need to chastise him for the move either, though he knew there were those that would have. He watched though, the way Arthur's fingers moved, the rhythm of his breathing, and every now and again, Alfred's gaze fell down to look lower, taking note of the other's obvious arousal, though he made no motion to do anything about it. Once his shirt was pulled from his trousers, Alfred shrugged out of it, for now, tossing the shirt to the side onto one of the chairs, one hand lifting to rest lightly on the slave's shoulder, though he made no other moves, waiting to see if those small touches would stay once his pants had been discarded. Somehow, he didn't doubt that they would, Arthur had clearly been well trained.
Arthur began to chew on his tongue as he progressed to undoing the man's pants, well aware of the eyes that were focused upon him. But it was out of nerves because he was dealing with a new, unfamiliar master, not out of any particular embarrassment. He was used to being looked at like a piece of meat. He was used to being aroused and left wanting. Some masters were into denying their slaves satisfaction, and being denied improved endurance, so Arthur had much experience with it. The organization which had trained him was very good at covering their bases so that the slaves they produced could please most anyone. The owner himself had designed the training program, and it was his mark that was permanently scarred into the bottom of his foot – a wide "H" or a sideways "I", Arthur was never sure. It was the mark given to those who would be sold and it was subtle, concealable. The slaves who were to be kept had a different marking – a simple snowflake with that same symbol in the center. Many of those who had trained him had born that mark.
He took the weight on his shoulder as a sign to get on with it, and did so, snapping open the button of the man's pants, and lowering the zipper. He slipped the trousers off of the man's hips and eased them down the man's noticeably muscular thighs. At the knee, he let gravity lower them the rest of the way, and stood up, fingertips very lightly tracing the man's leg on the way up, all the way to the waistband of the underwear. He hesitated just a moment, waiting to see if an order would be given to stop there, and then slipped his thumbs under the underwear and lowered it as well.
He let the slave be, forcing his breathing to come out normal despite the urge to suck in breath as the blond's barely there touches slid up his leg. He noticed the pause Arthur had, but didn't hurry him along, just waited, watching. He waited until his underwear was on the ground with his pants, before stepping out of the both, and patted Arthur's shoulder gently. He pressed a quick kiss to the slave's forehead, trying to decide what position was best. It was a hard decision to make- not because Alfred was lacking in ideas, he knew of quite a few, and picking out which he'd like to try wasn't hard. But it was late, he had work in the morning, and as much as he would like to stay up and give Arthur a proper fucking, really see what he could handle (which Alfred was sure was more then he could dish out), he didn't think it was a very good idea now. Deciding on something that would be simple for him, and not cause irritation to burn on Arthur's shoulder, Alfred grabbed the bottle on the nightstand.
"Something easy for tonight," He stated coolly, motioning to the bed, "Hands and knees, Arthur." He took off his socks, throwing them into the pile of his slacks and kicking those aside, before opening the bottle again to get more of the oil, his gaze locked on Arthur as he oiled his hands again.
He found the kiss odd. It wasn't possessive or demanding… or like any kiss he was used to, for that matter. He was not even sure how to describe it. Maybe he was just still getting used to Arthur and so was testing the waters himself to see what he liked? Arthur watched as the man grabbed the bottle of lube again, his cock twitching once more in anticipation of what that meant. He nodded once at the order and climbed back onto the bed, getting on his hands and knees and presenting himself to his new master. All the while, he wondered what was meant by "Something easy for tonight." Did it mean the master wasn't that interested? Or that he didn't have the time? Did "for tonight" mean that he was satisfied with Arthur enough to keep him? Everything was so uncertain in this early stage of things. He glanced back to watch what the other was doing, his face growing flushed with arousal once again as he watched the lube being spread over the man's large, strong looking hands. He bet those hands would leave such marks on him, if spanked or slapped or bruised.
"Nnnghh…." He could not help but moan at the very thought, and he bit his lip to silence himself once more.
Alfred arched a brow as the slave moaned, lifted his gaze from where Arthur's spine curved naturally, to the slave's face, and grinned a little bit, amused. Alfred moved to the edge of the bed, one hand moving to slip his fingers back into the slave's ass, pushing two in, and rubbing at the tight heat he found there, his other hand taking hold of his own cock, spreading the oil over it, making sure he'd be as slick as he could be, as his fingers moved. He thrust them in and out, an imitation of what he planned to be doing himself in just a few short moments, his eyes locked on the way Arthur reacted. Saw muscle jump beneath his skin, listened to the sounds he made, and slid a third finger inside, spreading his fingers wide and twisting his wrist. Resting a knee on the bed, Alfred rubbed his thumb over the tip of his own cock, feeling the building pressure, the growing want as it built up inside him. Moving further onto the bed, he pulled his fingers free and took a tight hold of the slave's hip, holding him still while he pressed the head of his cock against the other's loosened anus. Pushing in slowly, savoring the feel of the other, Alfred held his breathe until he was in fully, letting it all swoosh out, his other hand resting on Arthur's free hip, "Nnn.."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then drew back, pulling out half way, and snapping his hips forward, more roughly then he meant too.
His breathing took on a ragged, stuttered quality as the fingers penetrated him again, spreading and massaging against his walls to loosen him up for what was to come. He turned his head back to face forward, staring down at the pattern on the bedspread and trying not to get too aroused, too quickly. It was another one of those fine lines a personal slave had to walk. You had to get turned on quickly, but you also had to be able to last, unless your master wished otherwise. As the fingers began to thrust into him more quickly, Arthur permitted himself to moan, though it was low and hushed, the sound one might make if they were afraid of being overheard. His ass clenched around the fingers again, drawing them in, pressing tight all around them. He did this rhythmically, following the pace set by the master and letting him know just how skilled and practiced Arthur was. Pleased masters most often made life easier.
He glanced back over his shoulder again and saw the man stroking himself, touching and rubbing and god he was quite the healthy size. Arthur had had larger of course, all part of the training, but the sight of the master's thick cock and the thought that it would soon be inside him was causing Arthur's own length to twitch and leak. He moaned again, louder, but still restrained, and thrust back shallowly against the invading fingers. And then they were gone and he was empty, and he felt his stomach sink in disappointment at that fact, though he knew more was coming. His hips stilled under the master's firm hand and his fists clenched in the bedspread as he felt the other push in. He whimpered and tightened around the cock as much as he was able to without impeding its progress or hurting himself too much. The man's hips snapped, flesh slapping against flesh, and Arthur was finding it harder to keep quiet. "Nnnghh~!" came the have stifled cry, his legs spreading wider, inviting the master to take him deeper and harder.
He couldn't help the moans that slid through him as Arthur's insides clenched around him, tight and equisite. He wrapped one arm around Arthur's middle, and leaned over the slave's back, mindful of the burn, as he held the slave tight, quick to take on a quick, rough pace. He pressed a few kisses along Arthur's undamaged shoulder, and dug his fingers into the man's hip and side, enough that he knew there would be marks left there, let his nails drag against his skin, "F-Fuck," He bit at his lip, rested his forehead on the slave's shoulder, and closed his eyes to focus on the feeling. Arthur was warm beneath him, sweat beginning to slicken his skin, Alfred could smell it mixed with the scent of the oil and sex. He loosened his hold on Arthur's side and moved that hand down to curl it around around the man's cock, feeling the precum, the hard length as it twitched in his hold.
Alfred knew most owners were perfectly content to let their slaves go without getting off. Some even got a kick out of ensuring they couldn't, but he wasn't much interested in doing that. It didn't seem quite as fun if the one under him didn't reach orgasm as well, certainly wouldn't say much for his skill if he couldn't even get a slave trained to be aroused at a moment's notice off. So he gave sharp pumps to match his rhythm, pressed his thumb against the leaking head, "Nnn," He bit lightly at Arthur's shoulder, and licked at his ear, "Cum, Arthur."
He began to gasp and pant as the master's pace picked up, rough and quick and deep and Arthur could feel the pleasure swimming inside of himself. It felt good… really good. In his training, pain and pleasure had so often been mixed that Arthur knew no greater satisfaction than a rough fuck. The sweat that was beading on his skin from the heat of their two bodies was causing his burn to sting and the larger man's strong, bruising hold was so possessive. Arthur could smell the sex in the air, the sound of their skin slapping against each other was echoing in his ears, and every bit of him aroused him further. For years, he had been trained to center his life around sex, and to center sex around pleasing another. To hear his master's sounds of enjoyment meant that he was doing a good job and he was grateful that the master was using him so. The man's body was so hot, so commanding of his own, and he pressed closer than Arthur was typically used to. He was waiting for a lick, or a bite… hoping for the later really, in some darker corner of his mind that he was not fully aware of. But there were just kisses and gentle pressure. Not a bad thing, really, just not what Arthur expected. Perhaps just the one possessive mark was enough to satisfy the master for the time being.
He was not expecting the hand around his cock either. When the master said this would be quick, Arthur had taken it to mean that he was not going to worry about the slave's climax and just quickly reach his own. He was glad of it though, and rocked his hips back and forth, into the man's hold and back against the cock that was ravishing him from behind. He worked his muscles in time to the thrusts, relaxing when the master pushed in and tightening as he pulled out, so that he could give the master as much pleasure as possible. As turned on as he was, Arthur could have gone on like this for some time, up to an hour or longer, if desired of him. His trainers had denied him and worked him passed the point of exhaustion on numerous occasions. But then, as soon as he stopped expecting it, the bite came, light, but enough to send a flash of pleasure-pain down Arthur's spine. It was a weakness of Arthur's, as pain made him want to cum. He bit his lip, trying to focus on his own self-inflicted and therefore less arousing pain instead, in order to hold off his climax. But the command came, and fighting it became pointless and following the order became top priority. He let himself indulge in the man's touch, in the feel of himself being taken, in the wash of animalistic impulses that he had been conditioned to feel, and let himself go. He let out a long, low cry, arching his back and letting his cum spill into the master's hand. His muscles rhythmically spasmed and his mind went blissfully blank, lost in waves of pleasure.
Alfred's eyes squeezed shut as the other came, feeling him arch, and the way his body clenched. The sticky heat of the slaves cum as it coated his hand. The sensation was delicious, and Alfred rode it out with quick thrusts, pressing close to the slave's back, the arm on his hip moving to cross over his chest and hold him tight. His own climax didn't take long for him to find, not with all the stimulus from the slave. He pressed his face against the slave's shoulder and let out a low moan as he came, the hand slick with Arthur's cum clutching at the slave's hip, and the arm around his chest holding him close, tight. The heat and pleasure that washed over Alfred kept him distracted for a few moments, he didn't feel himself leaning on Arthur at first, but when he did he slide away and rolled to lay on his back for a moment, panting, eyes closed.
He laid on the bed for a few minutes, to catch his breathe, then sat up slowly. If there was one thing Alfred had learned in his life, it was that going to bed dirty was just a hassle. The bed was a bit of a miss now, so he didn't hesitate to wipe the cum off his hand and onto the comforter near the foot of the bed. He patted Arthur on the thigh, then moved to the bathroom that was connected to his room to grab a pitcher of water. He cleaned himself off with a wash clothe and the sink, then took the pitcher and another clothe, as well as bottle of ointment from when he'd burnt himself a few weeks ago, and returned to the bedroom. Setting the pitcher on the night table, he slid his glasses back on, and moved the bottle of lube into the drawer, "Come over here, Arthur."
He dazedly felt the other's hold on him tighten, felt the larger man's weight press down on him, and he bore it without complaint. He continued to rock back, though his own end was met, until he felt the distinctive final thrusts that indicated the master had reached his own climax. He was sure he could actually feel the release inside of him, could feel the larger man's cum painting his insides, though he might have been imagining that part. He was sensitive, yes, but perhaps not that sensitive. The master smeared Arthur's released seed onto the slave's hip, leaving a sticky mess, but Arthur was used to worse and hardly even noticed it in the glowing aftermath of orgasm. He surrendered himself to the master's hold, completely and utterly his and content with the fact. The hope that this master was pleased with him and would keep him fluttered though his mind amid the haze of sex.
He panted, trying to catch his breath, feeling the man's weight press heavier on him. It was a bit more difficult to remain on his hands and knees like that, for he was temporarily weakened with after-sex lethargy, but he continued to bare it until the master rolled off of him and onto the bed and Arthur himself was able to flop offer, lying on his side on the spot and trying to take up as little space on the bed as possible while his limbs rested. He felt warmth spread through him at the pat to his thigh. That meant a job well done, right? The master was satisfied with his performance. That was reassuring. With no orders to do otherwise, Arthur remained where he was, listening as the master went to clean up. Arthur figured he would probably get a chance to do the same in the morning and was actually confused when the master returned with water and a washcloth, though he was obviously already clean himself. But of course… this was a much fancier place than the slave training quarters. The master would not want him messing anything up and making the place smell like sex and sweat. He ignored the protest of his limbs and slide off the bed to stand beside his owner as commanded. One did not presume he had permission to sit if his owner was standing.
Arthur moved quickly enough, and Alfred was pleased with that. Alfred, himself, had never owned a personal slave, he didn't know how most people were supposed to treat theirs, and could only go by what he'd seen. He knew some people, some business associates of his even, who were very rough and cruel to their slaves, and others who pampered them completely. Regardless, Alfred took very good care of what was his, and he had no intention of treating Arthur poorly in any regard. He wet the clothe, twisted it so it didn't drip too much, then began to clean the mess that had been left over the slave's thighs, first in front, then turning him slowly to clean along his back as well. He pressed a soft kiss at Arthur's shoulder, and cleaned the mess he'd left on the slave's hip. He rinsed the clothe off, and when it came back clean, he very, very carefully cleaned the burn, barely touching, just trying to get the sweat off of it.
"In the morning, you can take a bath," He stated coolly, dropping the clothe into the water, and picking up the bottle he'd brought with him. The ointment was cool and had a strong medicinal smell, he spread it over the burn carefully, but liberally, making sure that it covered every bit of blistered and pink skin, "And one of the others will help you tend to this, so it won't hurt so much."
He was fully prepared to be instructed to clean himself off, and thus was surprised when the master began doing it himself. He tried to find the motivation behind it. Perhaps it was something the master enjoyed, or maybe it was part of some fantasy of intimacy. In any case, it was the only unfamiliar thing they had done thus far and it brought a blush to Arthur's face that was, for the first time, embarrassment and not arousal. It was so odd for a master to be treating him so gingerly, with such care. And the soft kiss that came with the cleaning, even though the sex was over… It was bizarre and Arthur could not understand it. But he still tried to be obedient, and moved as he was instructed, spreading his legs so that the other could more easily work and turning when urged to do so, all the while his lips pressed to a tight line. He could not help but cringe a bit, before regaining his composure, when the master began cleaning the burn, and again, when the cold ointment was applied. It hurt at first, mostly while it was being touched, but after the master pulled his hand back, Arthur found it did not hurt as much as before. He found it hard to believe that the master would waste good medicine on him. He could still function and it wasn't like he was sick in a way that could spread to others. This master was an odd one… but not in a bad way at all. He blushed a bit more and nodded his acknowledgement of the man's words. And he believed he should probably express his gratitude as well. "Thank… thank you, master…"
He had noticed the blush, and had to admit he liked the way it looked. He knew it wouldn't be something easily brought out, but he liked knowing he'd caused it and not with sex. He closed the bottle, making a note to buy some tomorrow before coming home. He wasn't sure what the rooming situation was supposed to be, he knew one of his friends slept in the same room with his slaves- (but Francis was... well, French.), his own father's personal slave had had his own room, who he'd been kept in whenever they weren't out. Alfred didn't much like that idea, for tonight, he thought, he'd take a note from Francis, and figure out the rest in the morning. "You'll sleep here for tonight." He motioned to the bed again, "Get comfortable."
Alfred picked up the pitcher, and bottle of ointment, taking them back to the bathroom. Pouring the water out, he rinsed the pitcher, and left the clothe in the sink to be dealt with later. He washed his face one last time, stared at his reflection for a long moment, as if he could find the answer for some question he didn't know there, before returning to the room.
Sleep here? On the bed? He blinked, almost sure he had heard wrong. Slaves didn't share beds with their masters… at most they might sleep on a cot or floor bed in the same room. Slaves were summoned when their master had an animalistic need, and were sent away when it was satisfied. That was how it was supposed to work, that was what he had been told to expect. Stories of masters that fell asleep with their slaves in the same bed were only the subject of jokes. Talking about sad old widowers or those who couldn't find or keep a wife. They weren't supposed to be like this man, with his odd kindness and good looks and strong sexual prowess. None the less, an order was given. Arthur nodded with another "Thank you, master," and slide onto the bed as the man left the room. Figuring that the master probably slept on the side closest to the nightstand, Arthur slide over to the other side and pressed close to the edge, again, trying to take up as little space as possible. He stayed on top of the covers and rested his head lightly on the pillow, as if at any moment, the master might come in, laugh at him for thinking he was serious, and order him off.
Alfred came back into the room, and moved around to the side of the bed with the night stand. He took off his glasses off for the second time that night, and left them on the nightstand. He pulled the blankets on the bed back a bit, "You can get under the covers Arthur." He stated, watching the slave, lips pulled into an amused grin. This seemed to really confuse Arthur, so Alfred made a note to have a room made up for him tomorrow. There were plenty of rooms, and only the master bedroom they were in now was occupied on this floor. The room beside his could be easily made up for Arthur, which would keep him close, which Alfred felt was better for now. He sat on the bed, and waited a moment longer before turning the light off. He pulled the blankets in his hand up over his front, and settled.
He was not told to move. He was not told to get off the bed. All of this so went against everything he had expected from ownership. Was it going to stay like this? Was this just the master getting used to the idea of having a slave around? It was nearly overwhelmingly confusing. After a moment's hesitation, he slipped under the covers so as not to seem rude or ungrateful for the master's generosity. He had not laid in a bed like this since…. Well, ever. Even when he had lived as a free person with his family, his bed had been little more than a crudely stuffed mattress with a patchwork blanket. This was the exquisite bed of a very wealthy person, and just being in it when no sex was expected made Arthur feel very out of place. "Thank you, Master…" he said again, and curled up on the bed's edge as the light flicked off, his behind angled up so that he would not leak the master's seed onto the sheets. He could not really settle down, though, comfortable though the bed was. He just felt he didn't belong there and that any moment now, the master would realize that too, and push him off to his proper place.
Even with as small as Arthur tried to make himself, it was odd to sleep on the bed with him. Not that it was particularly different from sleeping alone. The slave seemed so determined to be as small as possible, to not even be there, that Alfred had to wonder if he was even breathing. He understood why Arthur was doing it, that was no guess, but it was still odd. Even so, Alfred fell asleep easily enough, having been exhausted before he'd even gotten to his bedroom at all that evening. He slept rather easily, for once in his life didn't toss and turn, as if having another body in the bed made him stay mostly still.