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simeon_josueWaking next to Josué was starting to become a familiar experience. In those first, hazy moments when his mind struggled out of sleep, Simeon felt nothing but pleasure and comfort: a warm body next to him, an arm slung around his chest, regular, soft breathing that lightly stirred a strand of his hair.
Then, slowly, memory returned, and with it the awareness that it wasn’t Philippe next to him, the only one with whom he'd shared such closeness, but Josué, who'd collared him and put a chain on him to keep him where he was.
But then, it didn't take a chain to keep Simeon in Josué’s bed. He’d made that choice willingly last night. He'd have to give in if he ever wanted a chance of escape, but even so...
Shame heated his face as he couldn't help but remember the sensation of Josué's cock hot and hard between his thighs. It should have felt threatening--Josué could have taken what he wanted at that moment--but instead, his body had responded to Josué's closeness and arousal and to those skilled fingers that knew how to play his body.
No, Josué wouldn't even leave him the illusion that he'd been taken by force, that he hadn't wanted any of what Josué did to him. Simeon had wanted it, and Josué knew.
Defeated, Simeon closed his eyes, listening to the regular sound of Josué's breathing.
Maybe he’d lose interest once Simeon had given in. That was the way it went with such men, wasn't it? Used to being obeyed, the merest hint of rebellion would cause fury. That was how it had been with Lieutenant Caron, and although Josué's methods were more subtle, Simeon couldn't help but feel that he was like the grey mare. His unwillingness was nothing but an obstacle to be conquered, his rebellion what intrigued Josué. Once Simeon had fully surrendered, Josué would lose interest. Simeon would be nothing but another tool for the army to use then, just like that little mare.
And once Simeon ceased to offer entertainment, once Josué thought that he’d at last broken him, he’d stop keeping Simeon in his bed or his tent.
Josué would want him to be useful. Simeon would rejoin the men camped outside, starting at the very lowest rung. They'd be watching him, at first, but if he kept up the act--there'd be an opportunity for escape eventually. There always was. During the chaos of battle, during the celebrations after a victory, during the long, boring stretches between engagements with the enemy…
And of course, there were the mountains. If all went well, Simeon wouldn't even need to plan for the long term. All he had to do was convince Josué that he'd broken his spirit sufficiently to take him across the pass, and perhaps even to take the leash off him.
"Good morning, Lieutenant."
It was Bibeau's as ever cheerful voice that roused Josué from his slumber.
Reluctantly, Simeon opened his eyes when he found Josué's arm tighten around him in what in another might have been an affectionate squeeze.
"The fire's very low. I hope you weren't too cold tonight, sir."
"Not at all," Josué said as he stretched and then slipped out of the bed, still naked, his body glowing in the light of the stove when Bibeau added new wood. "I was pleasantly warm tonight."
Bibeau chuckled in appreciation as he heated water.
Once Josué had begun to wash and shave, Bibeau headed back outside for Josué's breakfast. Simeon found himself watching Josué at his ablutions, glancing at the firm curve of his shoulders, the slim, supple limbs. With an instinctive shiver he remembered the sensation of Josué's cock rubbing against him.
It would happen sooner or later, Josué had left no doubt of that. And perhaps Simeon had been wrong to fight it for so long. The less he resisted, the less interesting he'd be to Josué.
Maybe tonight Josué would ask him once more if he wanted to sleep in his bed, and Simeon would say yes. He'd press himself against Josué and kiss him and let him take what he wanted.
Maybe it wouldn't even be so bad. Josué had been exceedingly gentle with him so far. More than other men would have been.
Josué turned back around to smile at him, as if he somehow knew what Simeon was thinking. Simeon swallowed, but forced himself to meet Josué's gaze.
"I'll have to think about what to do with you today," Josué said. "I think it's time I allowed you to be more useful. Would you like that?"
Simeon found his eyes drawn downward, lingering on Josué's cock for a moment--soft and smaller than his own, it was true, but still not entirely unthreatening. A good size; despite Josué’s taunts, he had no reason to be ashamed of his own body.
It would be far more to take than his fingers. But then, what did it matter if it ached? How many floggings had Simeon survived? A few minutes of discomfort were nothing, surely, especially if they bought Josué's trust.
Smiling a little, Josué dried himself, droplets running down his chest and firmly muscled legs. At last, Simeon had to swallow again before he could speak, forcing his eyes back up to Josué's face.
"I would."
"Good," Josué said warmly and began to dress.
Moments later, Bibeau reappeared, placing Josué's breakfast on the table and tut-tutting as he helped Josué to finish putting on his uniform.
"That's my job, Lieutenant," he said in disapproval as he closed polished buttons, fastened Josué’s belt and straightened his epaulettes with pride. "Soon enough we'll be who-knows-where in that forsaken Gabrada, sleeping in the mud when they aren't shooting at us from every corner, and there'll be no time for niceties."
Josué exhaled, amused enough, it seemed, to let his orderly prattle on without reprimanding him for taking liberties.
It was a good sign--Josué was in a good mood. Perhaps he'd realized how close he was to having everything he'd wanted.
Simeon's stomach twisted with apprehension once more. Maybe he was wrong to give in so quickly. Maybe they'd leave for the mountains in a day or two—and if he managed to put Josué off long enough, he might escape before it was too late. After all, he already knew how dangerous Josué was. Even the smallest surrender was one too many. Josué wouldn't stop until he possessed Simeon’s soul as well as his body.
Simeon had hoped that Josué would let him share his breakfast again. He hadn’t yet forgotten the deep humiliation of having to ask for every scrap of food and every drink of water. As much as he didn’t want to give Josué the surrender he wanted, he didn’t want a return to his days in chains either.
As it turned out, the morning held an even worse surprise for him.
Bibeau had only just finished dressing Josué when a soldier stuck his head into the tent.
“A visitor, Lieutenant,” he announced. “The Colonel sent—”
“Send him in.” Distracted, Josué turned towards where Bibeau had arranged his breakfast—the soft, white bread reserved for the officers’ table, pale goat’s cheese, boiled eggs and a jug of milk.
Simeon’s eyes were on the table, noticing with relief that Bibeau had set out a second plate and that Josué, when noticing it, had not asked Bibeau to remove it. Perhaps he would indeed be allowed to feed himself once more.
Simeon only turned his attention back towards the new arrival when the man had taken a few steps into the tent, and by then it was too late.
Simeon had expected the arrival of one of Josué’s sergeants, who’d often come by to report to Josué and receive new orders. After the days Simeon had spent in chains, naked and exposed to anyone who entered Josué’s tent, he’d grown resigned to their presence. While it might be even more humiliating to be found chained in Josué’s bed, at least he was currently covered by a blanket.
But the man who stopped in the center of the small tent wasn’t Sergeant Lamar, nor did he wear the white-and-gold of Litesia.
It was a man Simeon knew very well, and who was currently staring at him with an expression of utter shock.
Allard.
Simeon met his eyes, blood rushing to his cheeks. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, his chest tight as mortification washed over him.
Then Simeon averted his eyes, but it was already too late. Allard had recognized him. Of course he had—why wouldn’t he? They’d known each other for years. And knowing Allard, he’d spent every moment since they’d last seen each other worrying about him.
He’d probably imagined Simeon whipped for his crimes, made an example of for the men. Instead he’d found Simeon in his enemy’s bed, naked beneath the covers.
There could be no doubt about what Simeon was to Josué. And there could be no doubt in Allard’s mind that Simeon, whom he’d thought he knew so well, had chosen to be Josué’s whore rather than face the punishment due a deserter.
“Allard, isn’t it?” Josué’s voice was smooth, but Simeon could hear a trace of derision in it. “To what do I owe this honor? The colonel sent you, I hear?”
Simeon couldn’t bear to look up, but there was a moment of silence before Allard spoke.
“He sent me to talk to you about the paths we’re taking.” There was suppressed fury in Allard’s voice. Simeon knew him too well note to take note. “Though I’m starting to think the treaty was a mistake.”
“Something wrong?” Josué still sounded calm, but Simeon knew him well enough by now to hear the quiet amusement beneath the words.
And why shouldn’t Josué be amused? Here Simeon had been clinging to the hope that once they were on the move, he’d find a way to slip away, counting on Allard and his friends to help him. But why would Allard help him, now that he’d seen Simeon for what he was?
Only a few days had passed since he’d last seen Allard, but it felt like an eternity.
Perhaps he’d been a fool to think he could play Josué’s game. Only a few days, and here Simeon was, naked in Josué’s bed—a choice he’d made all on his own. Surely Allard could see that. There were no marks on Simeon, no bruises. The welts from the flogging had faded. It had taken Josué no force to get him where he was.
Simeon felt sick. He swallowed against the bile threatening to rise, his hands clenching around the sheets. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, as loud as thunder, drowning out all other sound as he fought against the shame and panic rising inside him.
Even if he managed to escape... would this home be closed to him now as well? He’d always known that he could never go back to the life he’d known in the mountains, but he’d hoped to find assistance—food, clothes, hiding places to help him avoid Josué and his men.
Without the friendship of Allard and the others, he was truly all alone in the world. Over thirty years he’d lived, and what had he to show for it? Nothing but the chain at his throat and the scars on his skin.
“Simeon? Are you well?”
Shock at being addressed made him raise his head, although he regretted it as soon as he met Allard’s eyes. There was concern in them and a strange, stunned expression he hadn’t seen before.
It wasn’t entirely unknown in the mountains for a man to choose to live with a companion instead of finding a wife. Among the rebels, who spent so much time hiding in the mountains, there had been two or three whose closeness had guiltily reminded Simeon of the dreams he’d once had about Philippe. Perhaps, had he been brave enough to tell Allard about Philippe, Allard would have understood and no longer hoped to marry Simeon to one of his cousins.
But to think of Philippe was to think of that terrible moment when Simeon had knelt in the dust, the sun high above him, and Philippe’s blood had spread on the ground, a pool of red that had reflected the blazing sky.
It was easier to make himself think of other things until that memory was almost gone. Easier to keep himself apart, easier to never let anyone touch that wound deep inside him.
He hadn’t lied to Allard. He’d kept many things about his past a secret; that was true. Still, he’d always thought that this was one omission that would never hurt anyone, until it was so long in the past that even he himself had all but forgotten about that night, the warmth of Philippe’s breath against his neck and the gentleness of his touch.
Perhaps, if he’d told Allard, Allard would have been able to understand. But all he’d see now, all he’d take away and tell the men who’d once been Simeon’s friends, was that Simeon had chosen to spend his days in Josué’s bed instead of facing whatever punishment should have been rightfully his.
“Don’t worry about him,” Josué said. Simeon didn’t have to look up to know the smile that was on his face. “He’s been doing rather well for a deserter, all things considered. But I always knew he would see sense.”
Sense. Simeon bit back a bitter laugh. That was one way of calling it. Cowardice was another.
He hadn’t wanted to die. Even now he didn’t want to die. Perhaps he should have wanted to die rather than surrender to Josué—but the truth was that even doing everything Josué asked of him was better than death.
Simeon wanted to live. He still wanted to live, to walk beneath a blue sky again, to explore forests and mountains, to find a quiet place where he could live.
The collar moved slightly when he swallowed, and he imagined Allard watching it.
“Now, let’s get back to business. What is it you want?”
“I want nothing from you,” Allard said.
Simeon could hear the tension in his words. Allard was furious—because of Simeon’s mistreatment? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was merely the fury of embarrassment at having to witness a former friend turned whore.
“But I want peace and prosperity for my family, and I’m told I can’t have that without the likes of you. The sooner you’re out of our mountains, the better.”
“I agree,” Josué said coolly. “And we’ll be out of the mountains much faster if you give us the support we have been promised.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Allard’s word were laced with bitterness. “Are you?”
Josué laughed softly. Then, to Simeon’s great horror, he heard him step closer. Simeon was forced at last to look up and found that Josué had come to stand before the bed, looking down at him with a strange mix of possessiveness and pride. He’d looked that way when he’d watched the little mare, too.
“Let’s ask Simeon,” Josué said. “Am I a man of my word, Simeon?”
Simeon thought back to all of their interactions—to rewards and punishments promised to him, all of which had been delivered swiftly and without fail. He closed his eyes and swallowed again.
“You are,” he said roughly. “Though I don’t see how my opinion would matter to you.”
“There, you’ve heard it yourself. I’m to be trusted.”
“I trust no man who needs to chain another to his bed,” Allard said.
For a moment, Simeon held his breath. He knew Allard too well—the last time he’d sounded that tense, he’d broken the nose of a trader who’d insulted one of his cousins who’d lost use of one of his legs.
Then Josué laughed again. “Neither would I, but these are hard times. And something tells me you wouldn’t be too happy had you found him in my bed without any chains or ropes to hold him there. In any case, you didn’t come for him. Let’s get to work. What is it you’re here for?”
There was a moment of silence. Simeon held his breath. If Allard’s temper made him stomp out of Josué’s tent now...
Then, reluctantly, Allard began to speak. “We’ve been helping your men scout this side of the mountains. Your colonel wants us to take you up towards the pass next. Says that you’re responsible for the pack animals.”
From the corner of his eye, Simeon saw Josué suddenly draw up at those words. He hadn’t really taken note of it before—but Josué didn’t much like the responsibilities he’d been given, did he?
Did Allard know that, or had he merely fired a shot into the unknown and struck a weakness?
“That is one of my responsibilities,” Josué said coldly. “Among others.”
“Yes. I can see what your other responsibilities are.” This time, Allard didn’t bother hiding the derision in his voice. “Well, if you can tear yourself away from your bed, there are brave men out there eager for a look at the terrain. I wouldn’t blame you, of course, if you prefer your soft bed to enemy country.”
Allard had done it now—Josué was furious.
Simeon was surprised that he’d allowed himself to be goaded—Josué had never reacted to anything Simeon had said. But then, of course, with Simeon Josué had always been in power, and they both knew it. Allard, on the other hand, was untouchable, unless Josué wanted to endanger the fragile peace that had only just been negotiated.
“You show a great deal of interest in my bed.” Josué’s voice was full of scorn. “I wonder why that is. Am I encroaching? And here I was told that he’d saved himself for me—”
Allard took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a familiar fury. Simeon had seen him angry before, many times—but one of the reasons why Allard had been so respected and risen to a position of leadership in the mountains was that he knew how to control his temper, and how to channel anger into more useful outlets.
Starting a fight with Josué would achieve nothing. Not here, not in the middle of the camp. Even if Allard was angry enough to take Josué by surprise and kill him, the guard outside would raise the alarm within seconds. Getting into a fight here, now, would be incredibly foolish, not to mention what such an act would mean for the rest of Allard’s men and their families.
Even so, just for one fraction of a heartbeat Simeon prayed that he would. He half rose from his position on the bed, the blanket slipping off his naked body, unless he reached a sudden end of his freedom. The jerk of the chain connected to the bed was a harsh recall to reality.
At the jingle of metal, both men had frozen and turned towards him. Shame rushed through Simeon. His face heated when he found himself so exposed to Allard—naked but for the collar and the manacles of iron. All of a sudden he couldn’t bear it anymore.
Simeon didn’t care what happened to him. Let Josué do his worst. But if Allard left this tent convinced that Simeon was a coward, that he’d eagerly made a deal to be Josué’s whore in exchange for his life…
“Allard’s a good man.” Simeon realized dimly that he was trembling—whether it was anger or fear he couldn’t say. He clenched his hands into the sheets, but even that couldn’t stop the words that broke free. “He has no need for chains—unlike you. You chain me because you know that I’m not yours. I’ll never be. Do you know why that is? Because you’re a coward. You’d do anything at all to get ahead, and your men know it. You told me you have no need to force me because you have enough men out there who’d be grateful to share your bed—but if that’s true, where are they? There’s only me, and I’m only here because you’ve chained me. And that’s all you’ll ever know. Your men are loyal to Archambeau—but they’ll never be loyal to you. They know you for what you—”
Furious, Josué came forward. Simeon had known what would happen. In truth, he was distantly surprised that he’d been allowed to speak for as long as he had. Perhaps Josué had been too surprised by the sudden outburst—or perhaps he’d merely wanted to give Simeon enough time to make it worse. To make him earn what was to follow.
“Stay where you are,” Josué barked at Allard, who’d taken an instinctive step forward.
Allard’s hand went to the sheath holding his knife just when Josué reached the bed.
“Don’t,” Simeon gasped when Allard’s fingers touched the knife.
I’m not worth it, Simeon thought, but what he said out loud was, “He’s not worth it!”
It had been calculated to rile Josué up further, and it worked, although Josué had to know what Simeon was doing.
But then, in the end Simeon was doing both of them a favor.
Simeon didn’t want Allard to come to harm, and Josué didn’t want their tenuous treaty with Allard’s people dissolve into nothing when so much depended on it. Josué’s own career depended on it, from what Simeon had pieced together. He’d counted on the fact that Josué would be more than happy to accept Simeon as a scapegoat.
“I see I’ve treated you too well lately.” Josué’s eyes were blazing, his brows tightly drawn together. His hands went to his belt.
Simeon managed not to flinch at the sound of leather pulled free. A heartbeat later, Josué pushed the blanket that had covered him off the bed, then swiftly pushed him over onto his stomach.
“You have no right—” Allard began.
Simeon had never heard him sound that furious before.
“Don’t, Allard,” Simeon managed to force out, “don’t—”
He gasped when Josué manhandled him over his knees with brutal efficiency.
“You’re welcome to watch,” Josué said, his voice sharp with triumph, “or wait outside for me, just as you please. I will be with you in a moment. As soon as I’ve dealt with this.”
Simeon couldn’t say what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. Another flogging had seemed likely, as well as a return to chains—but not to be put over Josué’s knee like a child, with Allard to watch this final humiliation.
Josué gave him no time to prepare himself. With one hand, he grabbed hold of Simeon’s wrists and held them pressed against the small of his back so that Simeon felt himself pinned in place. Then he struck.
The bite of his belt forced a cry from Simeon, as much from shock as from pain. Another strike followed, agony searing Simeon’s skin so that another cry broke free. Furiously, he struggled against Josué’s grasp, but all he achieved was that Josué pinned his thighs with one of his legs before delivering another harsh blow with his belt.
Gritting his teeth against the sob that wanted to escape, Simeon turned his face away. He buried his burning face in the sheets in the hope that at least he’d be spared the shame of Allard seeing his tears.
Josué didn’t let up. The belt struck, again and again. Despite the fury Simeon had seen on his face his chastisement was delivered with cold precision. The belt covered his backside with stripe after stripe until it felt as if his skin was on fire all the way down to the curve on the underside where his buttocks met his thighs.
No matter how much Simeon writhed beneath Josué, he couldn’t break free. Instead, Josué’s belt kept falling and falling, biting into his skin to draw new lines of fire until he was so sensitive and aching and his skin burned so fiercely that the belt must have drawn blood.
Eventually, long, painful minutes after Simeon had ceased his useless struggle, Josué stopped.
Simeon found himself panting into the sheets, his face wet, his shame burning nearly as fiercely as his backside. To be flogged was one thing. He’d expected it. But for a man his age to be punished like this—and to have Allard witness it, to see him pulled over Josué’s knee as if he was no more than a child...
“You only have yourself to blame,” Josué said. The bastard didn’t even sound out of breath. “But I think you know that. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
One of Josué’s hands curved around an aching buttock, and Simeon found himself breathlessly gasping a curse. The punished skin was so sensitive that even the light touch hurt. His skin was so raw and hot even a gentle caress felt like nails dragged over skin burned by the sun.
Josué made an amused sound. This time, his voice was low and intimate when he spoke, vibrating with blatant pleasure. “I hope you still remember that I told you I’m going to enjoy every opportunity to put you in your place. Because I am enjoying this.”
Then his hand came down, and Simeon, who had thought that his punishment was over at last, found himself crying out again.
Josué’s hand was not as brutal as the belt had been. But even so, Josué was a soldier, his hand firm and his arm seemingly untiring, and Simeon’s backside so sore that Josué’s hand did what the belt hadn’t—it forced a sob from him
Josué’s thumb paused to caress a welt. Then his hand struck again, connecting with Simeon’s skin with a resounding slap. He felt the impact run through his body like a wave of fire. Hoarsely, he gasped for breath, his eyes burning and his throat tight, but no matter how deeply he dug his fingers into the sheets and how desperately he told himself that he’d lived through pain much worse, he couldn’t stop the tears from running down his face.
The shame of it was unbearable. To be pulled down and punished like a child despite his age—and to have Allard witness it...
“You’ll never get what you want,” he choked out through his tears, squirming again, but Josué was still gripping his wrists so tightly that it was impossible to tear free.
The next time Josué’s hand came down, it fell right onto another burning welt on the inside of a buttock where his skin was the most sensitive. Simeon moaned at the pain, unable to bear the thought of Allard seeing him like this. How would Allard ever be able to respect him again?
Allard had only ever known him as a man he could trust with his life—a man he’d taken with him onto the mountain paths countless times to defend their home. Allard had thought him a man. Yet here Simeon was, punished like a boy, and crying about it like a child when surely any other would rather die than bear the shame.
Simeon groaned as he bucked beneath Josué’s grip. For a moment he thought that he’d managed to throw him off—but then Josué tightened his hold on Simeon’s wrists and twisted them against his back, leaning forward over him until the pain in his arms made Simeon stop.
“You really want to make sure I teach you this lesson today, don’t you?” Josué sounded breathless at last, but even so, what difference did it make?
Hot tears of furious shame ran down Simeon’s cheeks as Josué forced him back into position. Then he continued, every open-handed strike falling with the same merciless precision. By the time Josué stopped, Simeon had at last surrendered to his fate, his body limp and unresisting in his position over Josué’s knees.
It felt as if it had gone on for hours, although surely it could only have been minutes. Simeon’s eyes were blurry with tears, his body in agony. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could pull a blanket over himself and pretend that nothing of it had happened. But he’d already proved himself enough of a coward today, and so, instead, he used what strength remained to lift his head and finally meet Allard’s judgment—only to find the tent empty except for Bibeau.
Again Simeon had to fight tears, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Finding himself unable to help him, Allard had given him the one thing he had left to give—he’d let Simeon keep his dignity.
"I enjoyed that." Josué's hand gently squeezed a burning buttock, sending another wave of agony through Simeon, before he helped him off his lap.
With another groan, Simeon collapsed, although Josué refused to leave him in peace.
"Now look what you've done. How am I going to get through whatever asinine venture your friend has planned for me?"
Simeon gritted his teeth against the pain as he turned his head. It was no surprise to find that Josué was hard, his cock pressing firmly against his uniform trousers.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to punish you for that." Josué laughed. "Though if you were a wiser man than I fear you are, you'd spend your day thinking about how to make it up to me. But you haven't learned that lesson yet, have you?"
Simeon struggled with himself. A part of him--the part that was exhausted and aching and sick with shame--wanted to relent and give Josué whatever it was he wanted. Anything to make sure this wouldn't happen again.
Another part was still furious and heartsick with yearning for the simple life in the mountains, where no one had told him what to do.
"I'll give you some time to cool off and think about what you've done. And about what you want your life here to be in the future."
Josué's hand ran over Simeon’s shoulders, stroking him soothingly--just as he'd stroked the little mare once he'd known her safely subdued, Simeon assumed. Because that was all he was to Josué.
Then Josué rose, and from the sounds of it resumed his breakfast. Simeon refused to look at him. It was easier to press his burning face against the cool sheets and wait for the pain to fade.
"Get him chained in the corner again," Josué said a moment later. "And then go and get me some ginger."
New shame welled up at the reminder that Bibeau had been in the tent all along, watching his humiliation--no doubt enjoying it just as much as Josué. Bibeau had to be delighted by the new gossip he now had to share.
Simeon clenched his teeth tightly when Bibeau came and unchained him, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out again.
"Turn him around. His backside facing the entrance."
Simeon was still hurting too much to even think of protest. Shame was bitter on his tongue him when he followed Bibeau meekly. Every step caused heat to pulse through his body, the pain a fierce, agonizing throb. He was almost grateful when Bibeau gestured at the ground in his accustomed spot, the chain connected to his collar once more.
"Thank you, Bibeau. I can take it from there."
"As you say, Lieutenant," Bibeau said cheerfully.
He hadn’t attached any chains to the manacles. Simeon doubted that Josué would leave him like that. Still, he was grateful to be allowed to collapse onto the floor and grateful for the chill of the ground against his flushed cheek, waiting for the agonizing throb of his backside to dull. He’d know soon enough what Josué had in store for him.
Simeon was given a few minutes of rest during which he could hear the sounds of Josué finishing his breakfast. He didn’t bother to look up at him, and it seemed that for once, Josué wasn’t in need of a captive audience for his gloating.
Now that his temper had been given a chance to cool, Simeon realized how foolish he’d been. Moments ago, he’d been in Josué’s bed, held only by one thin chain—and perhaps even that chain might have vanished in time. Now he was back on the tent’s floor, soon to be secured by collar and manacles, out of reach of whatever tools Josué might forget near his bed.
His situation hadn’t improved at all. Still, it had felt good to push back, even if it hadn’t lasted long.
Bibeau returned only a few minutes later. Josué seemed to have finished his breakfast; Simeon ignored the sounds behind him as Bibeau cleared away plates.
He hadn’t been given anything to eat this morning, but it didn’t matter. He was in too much pain to feel hungry, and Josué had fed him well yesterday. A missed breakfast would do him no harm. Once Josué returned from his excursion, he’d probably enjoy a return to those days when he’d made Simeon ask for every scrap of food.
Then there was the sound of steps coming towards him. Simeon took a deep breath and raised his head a little. What he saw didn’t surprise him; Josué had indeed come to check on the chain connected to his collar. Then he nudged Simeon to raise himself to his hands and knees. It still hurt to move, but Simeon did as he was told.
He hated the way Josué now chained him in that position, but no doubt that was why Josué had done it. What better way to enjoy his triumph than by chaining Simeon with his glowing ass on display for everyone who entered the tent? And there would be people entering the tent. Not just Bibeau, but no day went by without at least a handful of messengers delivering missives and reports.
At least the welts of the flogging had been earned honorably. This was different. Everyone who entered would see immediately that Josué had chosen to punish him as one punished a child.
“I don’t know how long your friend will keep me busy,” Josué said when the chains had been attached, Simeon firmly secured once more, “but I assume it will take a few hours at least. You’ll be bored, so I’ll give you something to keep you busy.”
Resentfully, Simeon turned his head. He didn’t trust Josué, and what he saw next only increased his alarm.
Josué took out a small knife, smiling at Simeon. But instead of threatening him with it, he then began whittling away at a small piece of gnarled wood.
No, not wood… Simeon recognized the sharp scent. Ginger—the ginger Josué had asked Bibeau for. Was that his punishment? Ginger to chew on instead of bread?
“Have you ever been to a horse fair?” Josué asked lightly.
Simeon hesitated, then shook his head a little. The village he’d grown up in was too small for fairs, and here in the mountains, men had other concerns.
“I thought so.” Josué continued to whittle away at the ginger. He was peeling it, Simeon realized when small pieces of the skin fell away to the ground, revealing the yellow flesh beneath.
“There’s many a cunning merchant who will employ little tricks to sell an old nag to unsuspecting buyers. Here’s one that’s very effective. Take an old horse that’s too tired to lift its hooves. Take a piece of ginger and peel it. Put the ginger up the horse’s ass, and your tired old nag will prance with the energy of a yearling before the eyes of your buyers.”
With sudden shock, Simeon realized what Josué’s plan was. Before he had time to protest, Josué’s hand was on him, carefully spreading his buttocks open. Simeon squirmed, new tears brimming in his eyes at the sudden touch to raw, reddened skin, but then the ginger pushed against his hole and for a moment, he forgot about the pain.
The freshly peeled ginger was slick with its pungent juices and slid in easily despite his protest. A shocked sound escaped Simeon at the sensation, although it wasn’t painful. The root was about the size of one of Josué’s fingers, and just like that penetration, there was an uncomfortable, unexpected pleasure to the pressure within him.
“There.” Josué’s thumb teased gently against his clenching hole, and Simeon found himself squirming again despite himself. He felt strangely warm inside. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
“I’m not going to prance for you,” he bit out, his voice still hoarse, and Josué laughed again.
“We’ll see about that.”
Simeon lowered his head, breathing shallowly when the pleasant warmth within him increased to a slight tingle. Josué’s hand curved around his hips, patiently stroking his skin. Heat rushed to Simeon’s face when the tingling intensified.
“Be good while I’m gone,” Josué murmured. He reached down to adjust himself in his trousers. Simeon’s flush intensified when his own cock gave a traitorous, answering pulse. “And think about what I told you.”
Then Josué rose and left. Simeon found himself alone in the tent as the tingling slowly turned to heat and then to fire, his body helplessly clenching around the finger of ginger, which only served to increase the sensation.
Within minutes he was arching, his hips shifting back and forth, but nothing he did would alleviate the burn. All it did was make it worse. Gasping for breath at the pressure inside him, he didn’t even realize that he’d hardened until he could feel his cock slide against his stomach every time he arched, burning and trembling and so sensitive that the slightest shift in position sent waves of searing heat through him.
Then, slowly, memory returned, and with it the awareness that it wasn’t Philippe next to him, the only one with whom he'd shared such closeness, but Josué, who'd collared him and put a chain on him to keep him where he was.
But then, it didn't take a chain to keep Simeon in Josué’s bed. He’d made that choice willingly last night. He'd have to give in if he ever wanted a chance of escape, but even so...
Shame heated his face as he couldn't help but remember the sensation of Josué's cock hot and hard between his thighs. It should have felt threatening--Josué could have taken what he wanted at that moment--but instead, his body had responded to Josué's closeness and arousal and to those skilled fingers that knew how to play his body.
No, Josué wouldn't even leave him the illusion that he'd been taken by force, that he hadn't wanted any of what Josué did to him. Simeon had wanted it, and Josué knew.
Defeated, Simeon closed his eyes, listening to the regular sound of Josué's breathing.
Maybe he’d lose interest once Simeon had given in. That was the way it went with such men, wasn't it? Used to being obeyed, the merest hint of rebellion would cause fury. That was how it had been with Lieutenant Caron, and although Josué's methods were more subtle, Simeon couldn't help but feel that he was like the grey mare. His unwillingness was nothing but an obstacle to be conquered, his rebellion what intrigued Josué. Once Simeon had fully surrendered, Josué would lose interest. Simeon would be nothing but another tool for the army to use then, just like that little mare.
And once Simeon ceased to offer entertainment, once Josué thought that he’d at last broken him, he’d stop keeping Simeon in his bed or his tent.
Josué would want him to be useful. Simeon would rejoin the men camped outside, starting at the very lowest rung. They'd be watching him, at first, but if he kept up the act--there'd be an opportunity for escape eventually. There always was. During the chaos of battle, during the celebrations after a victory, during the long, boring stretches between engagements with the enemy…
And of course, there were the mountains. If all went well, Simeon wouldn't even need to plan for the long term. All he had to do was convince Josué that he'd broken his spirit sufficiently to take him across the pass, and perhaps even to take the leash off him.
"Good morning, Lieutenant."
It was Bibeau's as ever cheerful voice that roused Josué from his slumber.
Reluctantly, Simeon opened his eyes when he found Josué's arm tighten around him in what in another might have been an affectionate squeeze.
"The fire's very low. I hope you weren't too cold tonight, sir."
"Not at all," Josué said as he stretched and then slipped out of the bed, still naked, his body glowing in the light of the stove when Bibeau added new wood. "I was pleasantly warm tonight."
Bibeau chuckled in appreciation as he heated water.
Once Josué had begun to wash and shave, Bibeau headed back outside for Josué's breakfast. Simeon found himself watching Josué at his ablutions, glancing at the firm curve of his shoulders, the slim, supple limbs. With an instinctive shiver he remembered the sensation of Josué's cock rubbing against him.
It would happen sooner or later, Josué had left no doubt of that. And perhaps Simeon had been wrong to fight it for so long. The less he resisted, the less interesting he'd be to Josué.
Maybe tonight Josué would ask him once more if he wanted to sleep in his bed, and Simeon would say yes. He'd press himself against Josué and kiss him and let him take what he wanted.
Maybe it wouldn't even be so bad. Josué had been exceedingly gentle with him so far. More than other men would have been.
Josué turned back around to smile at him, as if he somehow knew what Simeon was thinking. Simeon swallowed, but forced himself to meet Josué's gaze.
"I'll have to think about what to do with you today," Josué said. "I think it's time I allowed you to be more useful. Would you like that?"
Simeon found his eyes drawn downward, lingering on Josué's cock for a moment--soft and smaller than his own, it was true, but still not entirely unthreatening. A good size; despite Josué’s taunts, he had no reason to be ashamed of his own body.
It would be far more to take than his fingers. But then, what did it matter if it ached? How many floggings had Simeon survived? A few minutes of discomfort were nothing, surely, especially if they bought Josué's trust.
Smiling a little, Josué dried himself, droplets running down his chest and firmly muscled legs. At last, Simeon had to swallow again before he could speak, forcing his eyes back up to Josué's face.
"I would."
"Good," Josué said warmly and began to dress.
Moments later, Bibeau reappeared, placing Josué's breakfast on the table and tut-tutting as he helped Josué to finish putting on his uniform.
"That's my job, Lieutenant," he said in disapproval as he closed polished buttons, fastened Josué’s belt and straightened his epaulettes with pride. "Soon enough we'll be who-knows-where in that forsaken Gabrada, sleeping in the mud when they aren't shooting at us from every corner, and there'll be no time for niceties."
Josué exhaled, amused enough, it seemed, to let his orderly prattle on without reprimanding him for taking liberties.
It was a good sign--Josué was in a good mood. Perhaps he'd realized how close he was to having everything he'd wanted.
Simeon's stomach twisted with apprehension once more. Maybe he was wrong to give in so quickly. Maybe they'd leave for the mountains in a day or two—and if he managed to put Josué off long enough, he might escape before it was too late. After all, he already knew how dangerous Josué was. Even the smallest surrender was one too many. Josué wouldn't stop until he possessed Simeon’s soul as well as his body.
Simeon had hoped that Josué would let him share his breakfast again. He hadn’t yet forgotten the deep humiliation of having to ask for every scrap of food and every drink of water. As much as he didn’t want to give Josué the surrender he wanted, he didn’t want a return to his days in chains either.
As it turned out, the morning held an even worse surprise for him.
Bibeau had only just finished dressing Josué when a soldier stuck his head into the tent.
“A visitor, Lieutenant,” he announced. “The Colonel sent—”
“Send him in.” Distracted, Josué turned towards where Bibeau had arranged his breakfast—the soft, white bread reserved for the officers’ table, pale goat’s cheese, boiled eggs and a jug of milk.
Simeon’s eyes were on the table, noticing with relief that Bibeau had set out a second plate and that Josué, when noticing it, had not asked Bibeau to remove it. Perhaps he would indeed be allowed to feed himself once more.
Simeon only turned his attention back towards the new arrival when the man had taken a few steps into the tent, and by then it was too late.
Simeon had expected the arrival of one of Josué’s sergeants, who’d often come by to report to Josué and receive new orders. After the days Simeon had spent in chains, naked and exposed to anyone who entered Josué’s tent, he’d grown resigned to their presence. While it might be even more humiliating to be found chained in Josué’s bed, at least he was currently covered by a blanket.
But the man who stopped in the center of the small tent wasn’t Sergeant Lamar, nor did he wear the white-and-gold of Litesia.
It was a man Simeon knew very well, and who was currently staring at him with an expression of utter shock.
Allard.
Simeon met his eyes, blood rushing to his cheeks. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, his chest tight as mortification washed over him.
Then Simeon averted his eyes, but it was already too late. Allard had recognized him. Of course he had—why wouldn’t he? They’d known each other for years. And knowing Allard, he’d spent every moment since they’d last seen each other worrying about him.
He’d probably imagined Simeon whipped for his crimes, made an example of for the men. Instead he’d found Simeon in his enemy’s bed, naked beneath the covers.
There could be no doubt about what Simeon was to Josué. And there could be no doubt in Allard’s mind that Simeon, whom he’d thought he knew so well, had chosen to be Josué’s whore rather than face the punishment due a deserter.
“Allard, isn’t it?” Josué’s voice was smooth, but Simeon could hear a trace of derision in it. “To what do I owe this honor? The colonel sent you, I hear?”
Simeon couldn’t bear to look up, but there was a moment of silence before Allard spoke.
“He sent me to talk to you about the paths we’re taking.” There was suppressed fury in Allard’s voice. Simeon knew him too well note to take note. “Though I’m starting to think the treaty was a mistake.”
“Something wrong?” Josué still sounded calm, but Simeon knew him well enough by now to hear the quiet amusement beneath the words.
And why shouldn’t Josué be amused? Here Simeon had been clinging to the hope that once they were on the move, he’d find a way to slip away, counting on Allard and his friends to help him. But why would Allard help him, now that he’d seen Simeon for what he was?
Only a few days had passed since he’d last seen Allard, but it felt like an eternity.
Perhaps he’d been a fool to think he could play Josué’s game. Only a few days, and here Simeon was, naked in Josué’s bed—a choice he’d made all on his own. Surely Allard could see that. There were no marks on Simeon, no bruises. The welts from the flogging had faded. It had taken Josué no force to get him where he was.
Simeon felt sick. He swallowed against the bile threatening to rise, his hands clenching around the sheets. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, as loud as thunder, drowning out all other sound as he fought against the shame and panic rising inside him.
Even if he managed to escape... would this home be closed to him now as well? He’d always known that he could never go back to the life he’d known in the mountains, but he’d hoped to find assistance—food, clothes, hiding places to help him avoid Josué and his men.
Without the friendship of Allard and the others, he was truly all alone in the world. Over thirty years he’d lived, and what had he to show for it? Nothing but the chain at his throat and the scars on his skin.
“Simeon? Are you well?”
Shock at being addressed made him raise his head, although he regretted it as soon as he met Allard’s eyes. There was concern in them and a strange, stunned expression he hadn’t seen before.
It wasn’t entirely unknown in the mountains for a man to choose to live with a companion instead of finding a wife. Among the rebels, who spent so much time hiding in the mountains, there had been two or three whose closeness had guiltily reminded Simeon of the dreams he’d once had about Philippe. Perhaps, had he been brave enough to tell Allard about Philippe, Allard would have understood and no longer hoped to marry Simeon to one of his cousins.
But to think of Philippe was to think of that terrible moment when Simeon had knelt in the dust, the sun high above him, and Philippe’s blood had spread on the ground, a pool of red that had reflected the blazing sky.
It was easier to make himself think of other things until that memory was almost gone. Easier to keep himself apart, easier to never let anyone touch that wound deep inside him.
He hadn’t lied to Allard. He’d kept many things about his past a secret; that was true. Still, he’d always thought that this was one omission that would never hurt anyone, until it was so long in the past that even he himself had all but forgotten about that night, the warmth of Philippe’s breath against his neck and the gentleness of his touch.
Perhaps, if he’d told Allard, Allard would have been able to understand. But all he’d see now, all he’d take away and tell the men who’d once been Simeon’s friends, was that Simeon had chosen to spend his days in Josué’s bed instead of facing whatever punishment should have been rightfully his.
“Don’t worry about him,” Josué said. Simeon didn’t have to look up to know the smile that was on his face. “He’s been doing rather well for a deserter, all things considered. But I always knew he would see sense.”
Sense. Simeon bit back a bitter laugh. That was one way of calling it. Cowardice was another.
He hadn’t wanted to die. Even now he didn’t want to die. Perhaps he should have wanted to die rather than surrender to Josué—but the truth was that even doing everything Josué asked of him was better than death.
Simeon wanted to live. He still wanted to live, to walk beneath a blue sky again, to explore forests and mountains, to find a quiet place where he could live.
The collar moved slightly when he swallowed, and he imagined Allard watching it.
“Now, let’s get back to business. What is it you want?”
“I want nothing from you,” Allard said.
Simeon could hear the tension in his words. Allard was furious—because of Simeon’s mistreatment? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was merely the fury of embarrassment at having to witness a former friend turned whore.
“But I want peace and prosperity for my family, and I’m told I can’t have that without the likes of you. The sooner you’re out of our mountains, the better.”
“I agree,” Josué said coolly. “And we’ll be out of the mountains much faster if you give us the support we have been promised.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Allard’s word were laced with bitterness. “Are you?”
Josué laughed softly. Then, to Simeon’s great horror, he heard him step closer. Simeon was forced at last to look up and found that Josué had come to stand before the bed, looking down at him with a strange mix of possessiveness and pride. He’d looked that way when he’d watched the little mare, too.
“Let’s ask Simeon,” Josué said. “Am I a man of my word, Simeon?”
Simeon thought back to all of their interactions—to rewards and punishments promised to him, all of which had been delivered swiftly and without fail. He closed his eyes and swallowed again.
“You are,” he said roughly. “Though I don’t see how my opinion would matter to you.”
“There, you’ve heard it yourself. I’m to be trusted.”
“I trust no man who needs to chain another to his bed,” Allard said.
For a moment, Simeon held his breath. He knew Allard too well—the last time he’d sounded that tense, he’d broken the nose of a trader who’d insulted one of his cousins who’d lost use of one of his legs.
Then Josué laughed again. “Neither would I, but these are hard times. And something tells me you wouldn’t be too happy had you found him in my bed without any chains or ropes to hold him there. In any case, you didn’t come for him. Let’s get to work. What is it you’re here for?”
There was a moment of silence. Simeon held his breath. If Allard’s temper made him stomp out of Josué’s tent now...
Then, reluctantly, Allard began to speak. “We’ve been helping your men scout this side of the mountains. Your colonel wants us to take you up towards the pass next. Says that you’re responsible for the pack animals.”
From the corner of his eye, Simeon saw Josué suddenly draw up at those words. He hadn’t really taken note of it before—but Josué didn’t much like the responsibilities he’d been given, did he?
Did Allard know that, or had he merely fired a shot into the unknown and struck a weakness?
“That is one of my responsibilities,” Josué said coldly. “Among others.”
“Yes. I can see what your other responsibilities are.” This time, Allard didn’t bother hiding the derision in his voice. “Well, if you can tear yourself away from your bed, there are brave men out there eager for a look at the terrain. I wouldn’t blame you, of course, if you prefer your soft bed to enemy country.”
Allard had done it now—Josué was furious.
Simeon was surprised that he’d allowed himself to be goaded—Josué had never reacted to anything Simeon had said. But then, of course, with Simeon Josué had always been in power, and they both knew it. Allard, on the other hand, was untouchable, unless Josué wanted to endanger the fragile peace that had only just been negotiated.
“You show a great deal of interest in my bed.” Josué’s voice was full of scorn. “I wonder why that is. Am I encroaching? And here I was told that he’d saved himself for me—”
Allard took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a familiar fury. Simeon had seen him angry before, many times—but one of the reasons why Allard had been so respected and risen to a position of leadership in the mountains was that he knew how to control his temper, and how to channel anger into more useful outlets.
Starting a fight with Josué would achieve nothing. Not here, not in the middle of the camp. Even if Allard was angry enough to take Josué by surprise and kill him, the guard outside would raise the alarm within seconds. Getting into a fight here, now, would be incredibly foolish, not to mention what such an act would mean for the rest of Allard’s men and their families.
Even so, just for one fraction of a heartbeat Simeon prayed that he would. He half rose from his position on the bed, the blanket slipping off his naked body, unless he reached a sudden end of his freedom. The jerk of the chain connected to the bed was a harsh recall to reality.
At the jingle of metal, both men had frozen and turned towards him. Shame rushed through Simeon. His face heated when he found himself so exposed to Allard—naked but for the collar and the manacles of iron. All of a sudden he couldn’t bear it anymore.
Simeon didn’t care what happened to him. Let Josué do his worst. But if Allard left this tent convinced that Simeon was a coward, that he’d eagerly made a deal to be Josué’s whore in exchange for his life…
“Allard’s a good man.” Simeon realized dimly that he was trembling—whether it was anger or fear he couldn’t say. He clenched his hands into the sheets, but even that couldn’t stop the words that broke free. “He has no need for chains—unlike you. You chain me because you know that I’m not yours. I’ll never be. Do you know why that is? Because you’re a coward. You’d do anything at all to get ahead, and your men know it. You told me you have no need to force me because you have enough men out there who’d be grateful to share your bed—but if that’s true, where are they? There’s only me, and I’m only here because you’ve chained me. And that’s all you’ll ever know. Your men are loyal to Archambeau—but they’ll never be loyal to you. They know you for what you—”
Furious, Josué came forward. Simeon had known what would happen. In truth, he was distantly surprised that he’d been allowed to speak for as long as he had. Perhaps Josué had been too surprised by the sudden outburst—or perhaps he’d merely wanted to give Simeon enough time to make it worse. To make him earn what was to follow.
“Stay where you are,” Josué barked at Allard, who’d taken an instinctive step forward.
Allard’s hand went to the sheath holding his knife just when Josué reached the bed.
“Don’t,” Simeon gasped when Allard’s fingers touched the knife.
I’m not worth it, Simeon thought, but what he said out loud was, “He’s not worth it!”
It had been calculated to rile Josué up further, and it worked, although Josué had to know what Simeon was doing.
But then, in the end Simeon was doing both of them a favor.
Simeon didn’t want Allard to come to harm, and Josué didn’t want their tenuous treaty with Allard’s people dissolve into nothing when so much depended on it. Josué’s own career depended on it, from what Simeon had pieced together. He’d counted on the fact that Josué would be more than happy to accept Simeon as a scapegoat.
“I see I’ve treated you too well lately.” Josué’s eyes were blazing, his brows tightly drawn together. His hands went to his belt.
Simeon managed not to flinch at the sound of leather pulled free. A heartbeat later, Josué pushed the blanket that had covered him off the bed, then swiftly pushed him over onto his stomach.
“You have no right—” Allard began.
Simeon had never heard him sound that furious before.
“Don’t, Allard,” Simeon managed to force out, “don’t—”
He gasped when Josué manhandled him over his knees with brutal efficiency.
“You’re welcome to watch,” Josué said, his voice sharp with triumph, “or wait outside for me, just as you please. I will be with you in a moment. As soon as I’ve dealt with this.”
Simeon couldn’t say what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. Another flogging had seemed likely, as well as a return to chains—but not to be put over Josué’s knee like a child, with Allard to watch this final humiliation.
Josué gave him no time to prepare himself. With one hand, he grabbed hold of Simeon’s wrists and held them pressed against the small of his back so that Simeon felt himself pinned in place. Then he struck.
The bite of his belt forced a cry from Simeon, as much from shock as from pain. Another strike followed, agony searing Simeon’s skin so that another cry broke free. Furiously, he struggled against Josué’s grasp, but all he achieved was that Josué pinned his thighs with one of his legs before delivering another harsh blow with his belt.
Gritting his teeth against the sob that wanted to escape, Simeon turned his face away. He buried his burning face in the sheets in the hope that at least he’d be spared the shame of Allard seeing his tears.
Josué didn’t let up. The belt struck, again and again. Despite the fury Simeon had seen on his face his chastisement was delivered with cold precision. The belt covered his backside with stripe after stripe until it felt as if his skin was on fire all the way down to the curve on the underside where his buttocks met his thighs.
No matter how much Simeon writhed beneath Josué, he couldn’t break free. Instead, Josué’s belt kept falling and falling, biting into his skin to draw new lines of fire until he was so sensitive and aching and his skin burned so fiercely that the belt must have drawn blood.
Eventually, long, painful minutes after Simeon had ceased his useless struggle, Josué stopped.
Simeon found himself panting into the sheets, his face wet, his shame burning nearly as fiercely as his backside. To be flogged was one thing. He’d expected it. But for a man his age to be punished like this—and to have Allard witness it, to see him pulled over Josué’s knee as if he was no more than a child...
“You only have yourself to blame,” Josué said. The bastard didn’t even sound out of breath. “But I think you know that. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
One of Josué’s hands curved around an aching buttock, and Simeon found himself breathlessly gasping a curse. The punished skin was so sensitive that even the light touch hurt. His skin was so raw and hot even a gentle caress felt like nails dragged over skin burned by the sun.
Josué made an amused sound. This time, his voice was low and intimate when he spoke, vibrating with blatant pleasure. “I hope you still remember that I told you I’m going to enjoy every opportunity to put you in your place. Because I am enjoying this.”
Then his hand came down, and Simeon, who had thought that his punishment was over at last, found himself crying out again.
Josué’s hand was not as brutal as the belt had been. But even so, Josué was a soldier, his hand firm and his arm seemingly untiring, and Simeon’s backside so sore that Josué’s hand did what the belt hadn’t—it forced a sob from him
Josué’s thumb paused to caress a welt. Then his hand struck again, connecting with Simeon’s skin with a resounding slap. He felt the impact run through his body like a wave of fire. Hoarsely, he gasped for breath, his eyes burning and his throat tight, but no matter how deeply he dug his fingers into the sheets and how desperately he told himself that he’d lived through pain much worse, he couldn’t stop the tears from running down his face.
The shame of it was unbearable. To be pulled down and punished like a child despite his age—and to have Allard witness it...
“You’ll never get what you want,” he choked out through his tears, squirming again, but Josué was still gripping his wrists so tightly that it was impossible to tear free.
The next time Josué’s hand came down, it fell right onto another burning welt on the inside of a buttock where his skin was the most sensitive. Simeon moaned at the pain, unable to bear the thought of Allard seeing him like this. How would Allard ever be able to respect him again?
Allard had only ever known him as a man he could trust with his life—a man he’d taken with him onto the mountain paths countless times to defend their home. Allard had thought him a man. Yet here Simeon was, punished like a boy, and crying about it like a child when surely any other would rather die than bear the shame.
Simeon groaned as he bucked beneath Josué’s grip. For a moment he thought that he’d managed to throw him off—but then Josué tightened his hold on Simeon’s wrists and twisted them against his back, leaning forward over him until the pain in his arms made Simeon stop.
“You really want to make sure I teach you this lesson today, don’t you?” Josué sounded breathless at last, but even so, what difference did it make?
Hot tears of furious shame ran down Simeon’s cheeks as Josué forced him back into position. Then he continued, every open-handed strike falling with the same merciless precision. By the time Josué stopped, Simeon had at last surrendered to his fate, his body limp and unresisting in his position over Josué’s knees.
It felt as if it had gone on for hours, although surely it could only have been minutes. Simeon’s eyes were blurry with tears, his body in agony. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could pull a blanket over himself and pretend that nothing of it had happened. But he’d already proved himself enough of a coward today, and so, instead, he used what strength remained to lift his head and finally meet Allard’s judgment—only to find the tent empty except for Bibeau.
Again Simeon had to fight tears, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Finding himself unable to help him, Allard had given him the one thing he had left to give—he’d let Simeon keep his dignity.
"I enjoyed that." Josué's hand gently squeezed a burning buttock, sending another wave of agony through Simeon, before he helped him off his lap.
With another groan, Simeon collapsed, although Josué refused to leave him in peace.
"Now look what you've done. How am I going to get through whatever asinine venture your friend has planned for me?"
Simeon gritted his teeth against the pain as he turned his head. It was no surprise to find that Josué was hard, his cock pressing firmly against his uniform trousers.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to punish you for that." Josué laughed. "Though if you were a wiser man than I fear you are, you'd spend your day thinking about how to make it up to me. But you haven't learned that lesson yet, have you?"
Simeon struggled with himself. A part of him--the part that was exhausted and aching and sick with shame--wanted to relent and give Josué whatever it was he wanted. Anything to make sure this wouldn't happen again.
Another part was still furious and heartsick with yearning for the simple life in the mountains, where no one had told him what to do.
"I'll give you some time to cool off and think about what you've done. And about what you want your life here to be in the future."
Josué's hand ran over Simeon’s shoulders, stroking him soothingly--just as he'd stroked the little mare once he'd known her safely subdued, Simeon assumed. Because that was all he was to Josué.
Then Josué rose, and from the sounds of it resumed his breakfast. Simeon refused to look at him. It was easier to press his burning face against the cool sheets and wait for the pain to fade.
"Get him chained in the corner again," Josué said a moment later. "And then go and get me some ginger."
New shame welled up at the reminder that Bibeau had been in the tent all along, watching his humiliation--no doubt enjoying it just as much as Josué. Bibeau had to be delighted by the new gossip he now had to share.
Simeon clenched his teeth tightly when Bibeau came and unchained him, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out again.
"Turn him around. His backside facing the entrance."
Simeon was still hurting too much to even think of protest. Shame was bitter on his tongue him when he followed Bibeau meekly. Every step caused heat to pulse through his body, the pain a fierce, agonizing throb. He was almost grateful when Bibeau gestured at the ground in his accustomed spot, the chain connected to his collar once more.
"Thank you, Bibeau. I can take it from there."
"As you say, Lieutenant," Bibeau said cheerfully.
He hadn’t attached any chains to the manacles. Simeon doubted that Josué would leave him like that. Still, he was grateful to be allowed to collapse onto the floor and grateful for the chill of the ground against his flushed cheek, waiting for the agonizing throb of his backside to dull. He’d know soon enough what Josué had in store for him.
Simeon was given a few minutes of rest during which he could hear the sounds of Josué finishing his breakfast. He didn’t bother to look up at him, and it seemed that for once, Josué wasn’t in need of a captive audience for his gloating.
Now that his temper had been given a chance to cool, Simeon realized how foolish he’d been. Moments ago, he’d been in Josué’s bed, held only by one thin chain—and perhaps even that chain might have vanished in time. Now he was back on the tent’s floor, soon to be secured by collar and manacles, out of reach of whatever tools Josué might forget near his bed.
His situation hadn’t improved at all. Still, it had felt good to push back, even if it hadn’t lasted long.
Bibeau returned only a few minutes later. Josué seemed to have finished his breakfast; Simeon ignored the sounds behind him as Bibeau cleared away plates.
He hadn’t been given anything to eat this morning, but it didn’t matter. He was in too much pain to feel hungry, and Josué had fed him well yesterday. A missed breakfast would do him no harm. Once Josué returned from his excursion, he’d probably enjoy a return to those days when he’d made Simeon ask for every scrap of food.
Then there was the sound of steps coming towards him. Simeon took a deep breath and raised his head a little. What he saw didn’t surprise him; Josué had indeed come to check on the chain connected to his collar. Then he nudged Simeon to raise himself to his hands and knees. It still hurt to move, but Simeon did as he was told.
He hated the way Josué now chained him in that position, but no doubt that was why Josué had done it. What better way to enjoy his triumph than by chaining Simeon with his glowing ass on display for everyone who entered the tent? And there would be people entering the tent. Not just Bibeau, but no day went by without at least a handful of messengers delivering missives and reports.
At least the welts of the flogging had been earned honorably. This was different. Everyone who entered would see immediately that Josué had chosen to punish him as one punished a child.
“I don’t know how long your friend will keep me busy,” Josué said when the chains had been attached, Simeon firmly secured once more, “but I assume it will take a few hours at least. You’ll be bored, so I’ll give you something to keep you busy.”
Resentfully, Simeon turned his head. He didn’t trust Josué, and what he saw next only increased his alarm.
Josué took out a small knife, smiling at Simeon. But instead of threatening him with it, he then began whittling away at a small piece of gnarled wood.
No, not wood… Simeon recognized the sharp scent. Ginger—the ginger Josué had asked Bibeau for. Was that his punishment? Ginger to chew on instead of bread?
“Have you ever been to a horse fair?” Josué asked lightly.
Simeon hesitated, then shook his head a little. The village he’d grown up in was too small for fairs, and here in the mountains, men had other concerns.
“I thought so.” Josué continued to whittle away at the ginger. He was peeling it, Simeon realized when small pieces of the skin fell away to the ground, revealing the yellow flesh beneath.
“There’s many a cunning merchant who will employ little tricks to sell an old nag to unsuspecting buyers. Here’s one that’s very effective. Take an old horse that’s too tired to lift its hooves. Take a piece of ginger and peel it. Put the ginger up the horse’s ass, and your tired old nag will prance with the energy of a yearling before the eyes of your buyers.”
With sudden shock, Simeon realized what Josué’s plan was. Before he had time to protest, Josué’s hand was on him, carefully spreading his buttocks open. Simeon squirmed, new tears brimming in his eyes at the sudden touch to raw, reddened skin, but then the ginger pushed against his hole and for a moment, he forgot about the pain.
The freshly peeled ginger was slick with its pungent juices and slid in easily despite his protest. A shocked sound escaped Simeon at the sensation, although it wasn’t painful. The root was about the size of one of Josué’s fingers, and just like that penetration, there was an uncomfortable, unexpected pleasure to the pressure within him.
“There.” Josué’s thumb teased gently against his clenching hole, and Simeon found himself squirming again despite himself. He felt strangely warm inside. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
“I’m not going to prance for you,” he bit out, his voice still hoarse, and Josué laughed again.
“We’ll see about that.”
Simeon lowered his head, breathing shallowly when the pleasant warmth within him increased to a slight tingle. Josué’s hand curved around his hips, patiently stroking his skin. Heat rushed to Simeon’s face when the tingling intensified.
“Be good while I’m gone,” Josué murmured. He reached down to adjust himself in his trousers. Simeon’s flush intensified when his own cock gave a traitorous, answering pulse. “And think about what I told you.”
Then Josué rose and left. Simeon found himself alone in the tent as the tingling slowly turned to heat and then to fire, his body helplessly clenching around the finger of ginger, which only served to increase the sensation.
Within minutes he was arching, his hips shifting back and forth, but nothing he did would alleviate the burn. All it did was make it worse. Gasping for breath at the pressure inside him, he didn’t even realize that he’d hardened until he could feel his cock slide against his stomach every time he arched, burning and trembling and so sensitive that the slightest shift in position sent waves of searing heat through him.
