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Bird in a Gilded Cage - Chapter 1	By : tutyfrty Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > Crossovers Views: 1180 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or represent any of these celebrities. I make no profit from this, nor do I claim anything herein as the truth. It is purely fictional.

Chapter List
- 1-Bird in a Gilded Cage
- 2-Chapter 2 The Cage is Built for Gackt
- 1
- 2
PS I made up a new first name for him for this fanfic.

The Caged Bird

Summary: This is a fanfic about Gackt and his career if he lived in Iason and Riki's time and world. I spent hours today watching musical videos of him and hunting for pictures. So beautiful but seemingly so sad underneath, in his photos. I decided to write about that mystery.

He was a bird in a gilded cage. The cage was here in his suite only it was steel gray not gilded gold, and he wore the plumes of exotic birds when he performed. His concerts were where he wore such outrageous outfits but often for a show, he was covered more than the Pets who accompanied their Master to see it. The comparison made his usual leather and silks even more unique and intriguing.

He had his share of less conservative costumes, some even more revealing than those the most daring Pet would wear but he could only wear those when he was not heavily marked with the signs of violent lovemaking. His fans seemed to prefer more rather than less. They preferred imagination as a frill of reality, they found what was hidden, only half seen, more provocative because of the imagination they had to use to see what was underneath the barrier of his clothing.

In a while they would come for him, he was supposed to perform tonight. He didn’t want to be caught off guard when they came so instead of sitting in a corner of his cage as usual, he was in there with his back to the door so they couldn’t open it without him knowing when they came if he happened to doze off.

He never really slept soundly when he was in the cage, it was too cold. They liked to keep it almost icy when he was imprisoned as an additional punishment for being a bad boy, for being rebellious and defiant. They had to put the Mongrel in his place, under their feet, licking as many boots as he could before the punishment was over. It was never over soon enough for him.

And of course, they kept him nude so that the fans could watch him shiver continuously on the monitors positioned outside the room and from signals sent to the Vid Viewers in homes across the world of Amoi. When he was a boy, first put in this cage, he would crouch in a corner in a tight ball trying to hide all his revealed parts against the spying of cameras.

But he'd lost his modesty long ago and now he would sprawl on the hard cold concrete of the cage or huddle in a more relaxed ball to get as comfortable and warm as he could, not caring what was revealed, to the delight of those watching for just such a moment.

Then his fans and the one’s who coveted him, could watch the entertainment in the comfort of their own home, because if he was in the cage again, he was not performing and therefore not as entertaining to watch so comfort to view his on going indignity was essential.

His master gave his fans something to watch between concerts, to insure that their interest never waned, usually it was Vids of his oldest concerts or an occasional glimpse of his private life. Or him in his gilded cage, again. With Gackt there was no such thing as overkill or over exposure, his fans couldn't get enough of him.

The broadcasting of his times in the cage, these punishments were a sop to the demands of the fans to see his Master's creation all the time. The view of his complete nudity, the goosebumps covering his shivering body titillated their senses, their imagination, their fantasies. When he was bad, it was enough for them to see his nude body locked in that damn cage, occasionally to see him cry from the cold and the humiliation but he didn't do that often.

Some of them preferred him to act up and be punished like this or whipped soundly. The sadists who loved him, and there were thousands, sent him presents (bribes really) and letters begging him to be bad more often and even more unruly than he usually was to elicit even harsher punishment, which made him want to deny them all their desires but sometimes he just couldn’t help it.

At first, when he started giving concerts at the age of ten, because of his facial beauty and exotic look, his owner tried to keep him soft and womanly by limiting his physical activities. But the physical effort needed to give a concert meant that he needed strength and stamina. Those were necessary to give him the ability to give a good performance.

Early on, when he was first placed in the cage he defied the bastard who was his Master by doing what he later learned were called isometrics, pitting muscle against muscle or muscle against the bars of his cage. As a child he had tons of untapped energy and when in the cage, what else was there to do except exercise, when he was locked up all day and all night, maybe for days until the next performance?

Besides it took his mind off of his hunger and it warmed him up until the sweat on his body chilled when he stopped and then he was even colder.

Despite the drawbacks it worked well, instead of being soft and slightly rounded in the right places he was slender hipped, with a flat stomach. His chest and abs were hard and sculpted but not bulky. All his muscles were defined despite the fact that they didn’t feed him enough when he was in his cage.

As his body slowly took on definition and a pleasing musculinity contrasting with the femininity of his face, his fans begged for him to be allowed to keep the new physical look. So he was allowed to exercise and take Martial Arts classes and do all the physical activities that he desired as, long as there was time for it.

It proved to be another incentive to behave. He began to need that muscle burn and activity to keep control, to maintain some semblance of tranquility when he wasn’t in the cage.

But he wasn't allowed to do any intense weight lifting. His master didn’t want that kind of bulky, muscled look. A long willowy look of lean muscle and long lean sinews and tendons, a swimmers body of slim hips and broad chest and shoulders but still thin. He swam whenever he could, doing laps up and down for hours.

Enough food, it was another of his Master's incentives to be good but sometimes it wasn’t enough of a reward, not even with the physical activities. He would rebel and his owner would order him into his cold, hungry, iron world. It was happening less and less often, though.

He wondered just what that meant, was he giving up because he was tired of the fight and felt defeated by his growing attraction for his master or was it that he just didn't give a damn anymore? Was he getting used to it and to his life. Or was it what he feared the most, was it to please his Master, finally? He hoped it wasn’t the last one, if it was then he was lost.

He couldn’t allow himself to love this man, to give in to him sexually. This Master, who was so unfeeling and cruel, who beat him and applied Accelerator to heal his whip marks with no thought of how much it hurt, who used his face and his talent to feather his own nest just because he owned him .

The man who made his heart beat faster was his only up-close example of the society that caused his mother's death. He was the example of a world full of selfish Blond bastards and other Elite who never gave a thought to the people they crushed to maintain their world. He could never live with himself if he loved this man. It would betray the memory of his mother.

He let his head fall back against the flat bars that made up his hell. His long black braided hair fell back past his shoulders and revealed his beautiful face. Even without the makeup he was beautiful, his eyes were almond shaped or sloe eyed as some of the fan magazines liked to call it.

Sloe eyed and exotic looking because he was Asian, half Japanese, his mother was Japanese from the world of Nihon or as some called it, Nippon. It was a world mostly settled by Asians, each continent having a different language and culture as if they came from different origins but all were rumored to be from Terra.

Terra was also called Old Earth, which was rumored to be the original home of many of the inhabitants of the worlds of this Galaxy. The main question of these speculations about the origin of humanity in this Galexy, was it real, Old Earth, or was it a story to tell children, no one knew. All the inhabitants of Nippon no matter which continent, had these strange almond shaped eyes, slightly different for each land mass but still that distinct almond shaped and almost all of them had black hair, not a disadvantage there, but the rule.

But he was different because his almond shaped eyes were a strange pale blue. It made him even more exotic looking and that's what his Master saw when he was being auctioned off as an addition to some Blondies harem. The damn Blondie who purchased him saw his physical potential. In a jaded world filled with “the exotic” he was amongst the most exotic of creatures who did not originate from a Pet Academy.

A blue eyed, black haired, Asian half breed Mongrel with the face of an angel. An angel of unparalleled beauty and that strange look of male/female and all the intriguing sexual imaginings and implications that the look conjured up. Then the Blondie read his papers before the bidding began and saw that he was picked up on the street for creating a disturbance as he sang for coins, he asked for him to sing, it sealed his fate.

****

Four years ago…

He was twelve, out on the streets of Ceres panhandling by singing on corners. He was standing in the growing dark, cold and very hungry. He wasn’t having much luck and it was getting darker by the minute but he couldn’t go home until he had enough money to buy he and his mother some food. He determined that if he didnt get enough in another hour he would take what he had and buy food for her, then he would lie when she asked where his share was and tell her that he had eaten on the way home because he was too hungry to wait. He had done it before and after swearing to her on his grandmother's grave that he was not lying. He figured that his dead Gran would not have minded that little white lie to insure that her daughter ate when she was so ill. His mother had eaten while he swallowed copious amounts of saliva and lots of water.

She was very ill, terminal he feared tho he tried not to believe it or tell her and she was growing weaker. But there was no where he could take her for medical help even if they had the money. There was practically no medical help available for a Mongrel especially if he or she lived in the worst part of Ceres. The only free clinic was too far away, on the other side of the slum, he could never get his mother there safely he wasn't physically strong enough to try though he had once.

He'd put her on a makeshift stretcher and tried to drag her across Ceres but he'd only gotten a block when she cried for him to take her back, the wolves were gathering, scenting a weak member of the pack.

He had bundled her up to disguise the fact that she was female, but the bastards seemed to sense it anyway and he barely got her back to their lean to in order to defend it against the scum who would rape a seriously ill female.

It was only when he called out that she was taboo, sickened by a disease which was highly contagious, ultimately fatal and a particularly nasty way to die did they leave them alone. He only wished he was lying.

He had stayed up the next three nights clutching a jagged piece of pipe, to guard against any skulkers who might decide to take her anyway. Now, the best he could do was try to keep food on the table of their ramshackled lean to and often he couldn’t even manage to do that.

He had promised his mother that no matter how bad it got he would never resort to the last option, selling his young body. She said that it would break her heart and she would make sure that there was no need for him to do such a thing if he ever gave her even the slightest hint that he was going to do so, just to take care of her. She meant that she would kill herself rather than let him do such a thing to feed and care for her. Then came the night the choice was taken away from him.

A crowd of Elites exiting from a Pet Show had passed by ignoring him, his singing, and his jar for contributions. The cheap bastards wouldn’t even spare a small coin to help him. He was a Mongrel, which meant that he was invisible but not invisible enough. Someone had passed him by and then called in a complaint because he was too close to the edge of Ceres and Apthia where it seemed to be safer to stand and sing for money and not be robbed, mugged or otherwise harmed.

But it also meant that he was closer to the grey area between safety from the police and alternately attracting the unwanted attention of law enforcement or other official groups for the containment of Mongrels. Before he could prevent it by running, he was thrown into the Orphan Collection air van and hauled off to Midas Orphanage to be processed for admission.

It was the few coins he had collected during the day that proved to be his undoing. He just couldn't leave them lying in the jar at his feet. He had to try to take them with him and in that instant pause to collect those precious few coins, they caught him. If he could do it all over again he would drop everything and run for safety. He was frantic, trying to explain to anyone and everyone that he wasn’t an orphan, his mother was waiting for him at home. No one gave a damn and he was processed and marked as a special child for his beautiful face and small build, thin but with a little fattening up a perfect little body. He was tagged as a possible harem fucktoy and locked up with the other unfortunates for training before he could escape somehow. He knew that his mother's life depended on his escaping.

When they asked him what special thing he could do he answered, “I can sing,” He wasn’t thinking clearly because he was so worried about his mother or he would have never volunteered the information. The rule in Ceres and Midas was, "never tell the bastards anything they don’t already know."

After three months training he knew what his future was to be and he knew by now, that his mother was dead. As sick as she was, with no one to care for her, she had surely died within days when he didn’t come home.

His eyes still filled with tears when he thought of her dying alone wondering when he would come home and when he didn't, worrying herself even more sick about him until she died, “Mother, I'm so sorry.”

****

Now…

The door to his apartment opened slowly, he opened his eyes turning slightly to look back through the bars, to be ready for what ever was to come. He scrambled to the other side of the cage when they unlocked it and stood shakily awaiting them, he was weak with hunger.

He raised his hands in a defensive guarding position even though he knew it was no use. His guards were more skilled in Martial Arts than he. They would only let him progress to a certain Black Belt level and then no farther with formal training. He watched Martial Arts vids all the time to sharpen his skill on his own. He hated to lose in anything, to anyone. He was driven to be the best; that was what made his concerts so good.

But in Martial Arts there would always be someone who could overcome him unless he got very lucky and he knew that would never happen. Even if it did, where would he go? He didn’t think they would harm him, he had a concert tonight he kept telling himself but he never really knew for sure if he was safe from abuse or not.

The temper of his Master was always an unknown and the orders he gave his guards. They might come in and beat the shit out of him just on general principles. Or to teach him a lesson in keeping his place as a Mongrel.

When he began training and exercising, he was surprised to find out that he was a natural athlete and almost everything he tried, came easy to him. He was allowed to do almost any training or athletics he wanted to do, several days a week if he wasn’t scheduled to work.

Now again...

They were early, very early. He wondered if they were going to change his hair color again, so far they had dyed it red, dark auburn, a two layered, two tone auburn and brown, Platinum Blond, honey blond, streaked it shades of purple and left it its natural color, shiny raven's wing black.

He’d had short hair, long hair, variations of long hair, falling straight down to his waist or curly or braided and clubbed at the back of his neck. Right now they favored the all braided look with cornrows covering his scalp, ending with braids tipped with beads and then there were thin, long braids over each temple with more ornate, expensive beads at the tips.

When he hung his head down it was like a bead curtain shielding his face but now his head was up, watching for what they were going to do to him. After ordering him out of the cage they shoved him toward the bathing hall and into a warm shower. In the first few seconds it felt like boiling water because he was so cold.

He uttered a loud yell of surprise and pain at the shock of his chilled body being pelted by seemingly very hot water and his attendant was knocked to the floor for it. One of the guards snarled, “Be careful with him.” They didn’t like him to vocalize his torment, it might harm his vocal cords and damage his beautiful voice.

When he was younger and he screamed for them to let him go or when he was particularly upset and screamed for his dead mother, they put a gold choker on his neck. It would emit a small warning jolt of G waves to keep him quiet and only took it off when he was singing.

Now that he was famous, and his owner very wealthy, he had dozens of jeweled choker collars to keep his voice safe from his “tantrums” as they called them, when he lost control as he always seemed to eventually and would start screaming uncontrollably.

He had finally learned to never do it when being looked after by his latest furniture after too many attendants were punished and sold for hurting him while trying to restrain him from his tantrums.

Now when he was not out in public he spoke softly, barely loud enough to be heard and only rarely, only when a reply was required by his guards, or his teachers or the Master. He was a beautiful, quiet ghost in the home of his Master

He was given singing lessons and was taught to master many different instruments which enable him to accompany himself while he sang in his room for his own amusement.

Finally understanding the mechanics of music, he could compose his own songs now. He liked that about his life, that he could write songs and put the music to them himself and he knew they were good since they were what made up his concerts these days. All the vocals and the music arrangements were his creation. The music room was a room of delights for him.

Almost every day he was given language lessons. The master required that he be proficient in at least a dozen major languages. Speaking, reading and writing in all of them, was what his master required him to do as well as a native citizen. Now he was concentrating on pronunciation, to speak and sing his songs in each language without an accent. It was so he could sing his songs and do his concerts in those worlds or countries in the language spoken there.

It made him even more popular, that he had taken the time to learn how to speak and sing the language of the world or country his next concert was in, as if it was his choice. He never asked why, never realizing just how much more revenue his proficiency produced, he just did as he was required to get by and be left alone as much as possible.

But his privacy and solitude was a rare commodity when his Master required him to dine with him almost every night when he was not on tour or his master was home at the same time he was, like tonight.

They had come for him early to get him ready for a photo shoot, they gave him broth and crackers and several glasses of orange juice and a piece of fruit and some toast when he asked politely. He would get something more substantial after another few hours of satisfactory work, and a little more food before the concert. The promise was the carrot held in front of the beast of burden or the hungry prisoner, to make him sing for his supper.

They covered his face, neck and chest with a golden tan make up, did his eyes to accent them, such a strange pale blue. He usually covered them with dark or colored sunglasses in public, even indoors to not be so noticeable and to follow his master’s inexplicable orders.

After that, they lined his lips with a dark plum liner and then applied the dark violet lip gloss to his sensual full lips and then to finish they put dark mascara to accent his eyes. All the while, they were giving him a manicure and pedicure, painting his nails the dark color he preferred. It was about the only choice he had left in his life.

They left his hair in the cornrows and braids. Thought he had complained days earlier that the style made his head ache, they just applied a temporary lavender color to the tips and left him with the dull throbbing pain of those tight cornrows. He mentally shrugged; he was used to giving a concert while in pain.

When he looked back at himself in the mirror, there was that androgynous face again, looking back at him. The one that looked more female than male, but still if you looked past the makeup and the jewelry and the clothing, a masculine face. All together a breathtakingly beautiful face, male or female.

He hated it. It was one of the reasons his mother, all the family he had in the world, had died when she did. He was alone, no one knew the real him anymore. Sometimes he wished that he had at least one person left who knew him from before. Someone who knew his name was Christian not Gackt, someone besides his Master.

He was dressed in his first change of clothing for the shoot, a decidedly feminine silver metallic shirt with just the hint of his male persona, tight black leather pants and black leather boots to his thigh, his shirt was open to his navel and pulled loose a little from the pants to give a glimpse of his gold nipple ring.

They briefed him on what he was to do for the photo shoot and for the concert later tonight. Afterwards, there was to be dinner with his master and his friends. He was to stay in costume and wear his makeup. He hated that, his master often let his friends handle him intimately to find out for themselves if he was male or female.

He had been groped more times than he could remember; it seemed that there was always someone's hand at his crouch, If not his master's friends then a fan who broke through the guards shielding him, just to touch him. They always want to touch him "there" and afterwards would run away or be dragged by his guards toward the waiting crowd yelling that he did or he didn't have "one" depending how much or how little of a feel they got before being pulled off of him.

Even when he poised shirtless and it could be seen that he didn't have a woman’s body, when they could see the nipple rings hanging tight to his chest, it didn't satisfy them. He was too beautiful to be a man they would cry. They wanted him to have both, breasts and no penis or a manly chest and that one other item to mark him a man, to make his beauty even more unique. An androgynous creature, distinctly male and female at the same time, changing his body as needed, everyone's dream fucktoy.

It was a constant source of speculation in the media and among his fans. Which was he, a man or a woman? Did he have "one" or not? “Who the Hell's business was it but his....and his Master's?” Everything about his life was his master's business, everything including his dreams. He was never free of his master even in his dreams. He wondered if he would ever stop dreaming of the man and didn’t know if he hoped for it to end or for it to never end.

At these dinners the only thing the Master would not allow was anything that would permanently damage his Pet or seriously bruise him. Once, years ago one of the master’s guests got carried away, bruising and cutting his lip while kissing him hard and after dinner the man had been taken out and beaten senseless for damaging the Master’s property. That was how he treated his friends and guests when they touched him too violently no matter where the bruise might be, but there were different rules for the Master.

As long as his face and all visible skin was untouched, unblemished, the Master treated him like the harem fucktoy he had been slated to be at that pet auction. If only his concert audience knew what the rest of his body looked like at some of those shows. But then a lot of them would like it, to see whip marks, bruises, love bites, signs of bondage and restraints. He was grateful that the Master kept that part of his life secret, private just for him.

No one but his guards, his latest furniture, the concert stage performers who worked with him to present an impression of being a Band, Claire (before she left him) and of course the Master himself knew how he had to work through the pain and move without showing that he was beaten and bruised under those beautiful clothes and costumes.

But except for himself and the Master, no one knew that it happened because he tried to be unresponsive to his Master’s sexual advances and his disturbing whispered persuasions. No one knew how he tried to deliberately distance his body from his mind when the Master took him anyway even though he didn’t respond to those suggestive whispers.

It always seemed worse after one of these special dinners as if the Master blamed him personally for what was done to him by those friends. He knew that Claire would have tried to prevent it. Thinking of Claire made his heart ache, she never came back to see him as she promised. He wondered if the Master prevented it. He was capable of that cruelty, of any cruelty if pushed far enough.

He didn't even know where she lived so that he could at least call her once in a while or send her credits if the Master allowed. Claire was the person who applied makeup to his face for that first audition and for several years after she was the only one who did his makeup. She was there at the beginning of his success, when he was just a child. She was his only friend and a surrogate mother when he needed her so badly. And then because he couldn’t stop whimpering when the master fucked him, she left. His knew it was his fault, not hers.

She'd come into his life like a butterfly in the spring and left it when winter set in three years later. "God, he still needed Claire." He decided to ask the Master if she was OK, he would know, even now almost four years later. He knew that if she were still here then tonight would not happen, he might be able to sleep alone. But she was gone and it would happen.

When he made himself stop thinking of Claire he shuddered to think what would happen when those so called friends left after dinner. Sometimes he wanted to throw himself on the mercy of one of them and beg to be rescued but he knew it was no use, the Master owned him, body and soul. He would never sell him and would take his share of him tonight no matter what.

He was sitting in the dining room, his eyes trained on his half empty plate. Half empty even though he was still hungry, the sexual tension in the room kept him from eating anymore. It was all he could do to keep from throwing up. Everyone was waiting for dessert which was usually him. He was grateful for the fact that there were women present tonight.

There wouldn’t be any being passed around like a tempting after dinner treat, after all, that’s what he thought at first, so he relaxed his guard on his emotions. There had never been any women at these dinners before, he thought he was safe for awhile at least. As the table was being cleared they all went into the study, even he, thought he wished to go upstairs to pretend to hide from what was to come in the night, in the Master's bedroom.

The study, a funny name for that room, since the only thing studied was him, by curious men who wanted him to be both male and female for their perversions. Tonight he would learn that there were women who were perverse too, he would learn the hard way when as the door closed one of them leaned over to his Master and begged.

“Tell him to strip, I want to see if he really has one. I just don’t believe you. I want to hold it in my hand, and make him look into my eyes while I touch him.” The other woman chimed in, “Oh yes, please before he takes off his briefs, if he is wearing any," she giggled nervously,"I want to touch it through his clothing and then I want to see if that bulge is real. Make him strip now, pleeese.”

His heart sank, his anxiety level rose, panic over came him. When he leaped up and rushed to the door, pulling frantically on the locked knob, they all laughed as if he had performed some clever trick for their amusement. “Oh God NO! Let me go, let me out! I don't want them to touch me,' he thought in a panic.

The Master called his name, “Gackt! Come over here and sing for us before you strip to let the ladies handle you for all of our enjoyment.”

“Gackt,” such a hard name, his name was Christian, named by his mother for the ancient God she believed in.” His master named him Gackt, a harsh name to contrast with his beauty and only his master ever used his real name, it was his secret name of love for his creation.

He screamed silently, “My name is Christian! I’m no one’s fucktoy.” If only it were true, he realized the helplessness of his position again and slumped against the door. “It’s no use. I’m imprisoned in this invisible cage, with monsters,”he thought in dispair.

He glanced down, looking at the thick rug with its cream colored background and the pale lavender and green oriental floral pattern, wishing he could sink into its thickness and disappear behind the pale forest of flowers. He took a deep breath letting it out in a soft sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he moved into the middle of the large room, away from groping hands and pinching fingers.

The Master put on a disc, one of his shows and he began to lip sync it, doing all the movements keeping that mysterious, aloof smile on his face and performing as if there were thousands in his audience before him instead of only eight people.When he performed or had a photo shoot, no one ever saw behind the pensive look in his photos and the sad, solemn look on his face in person when he wasn't forcing himself to smile and speak to his fans and interviewers. No one ever looked underneath that false look he reflected so often when he performed before an audience or the camera. Everyone saw the lost look and never recognized it for what it was and never realized the smiles he forced, to hide such despair. No one ever saw how false those smiles and looks of shy, aloof mystery were.

They all thought his life must be perfect even with those tantrums that landed him in the cage, which everyone saw in him as artistic temperament and the cage as a just, fair punishment by his master for misbehaving.

Because of that solid steel cage of punishment, no one saw the real cage that surrounded him and smothered him. Since he looked like a woman most of the time he figured he was like the heroine in the classic old play, Phantom of the Opera with the masked master in the background whispering “sing, sing for me.” Only his master was ready to kill him for not obeying as he was whispering, ”fuck, fuck for me,” in his dreams and in real life.

“Gackt! Pay attention to what you’re doing.” His master’s voice, he would know it anywhere, it was melodious and smooth, the soft, pleasing voice of a monster, he opened his eyes so that his Master could see them. behind his dark glasses. Like the bitch who was going to touch him without his permission, his master loved to see those eyes and made him wear the sunglasses all the time except when he was performing or not out in public to keep them private from his fans, only for him.

“My name is Christian!” The cry echoed in his mind. There was a remote look on his face, the same look that he tried to keep on his face when his master took him. It was almost that time, just the rough handling, pawing under his clothing and thrusting tongue when they kissed him, to endure before the main event, when he would be thoroughly sucked and fucked in the privacy of his Master’s bedroom.

As he stripped, the women giggled and whispered excitedly. The one who asked first cried out, “Me first, I asked first.” When he moved over to her to let her handle him, he closed his eyes and she complained, “Make him look at me, and take off those glasses, I want to see his beautiful eyes.”

Without even being ordered to, he opened his eyes. Removing his sunglasses, letting them fall to the carpet, he gazed into her excited eyes as she touched him between his legs, murmuring, "he's lovely," caressing soft and hard, running her hand up and down his shaft and grasping his balls to caress them and then suddenly squeeze them.

He winced and moved his legs farther apart to encourage her hands to roam so that she would not concentrate on inflicting minor pain in just one area. She ordered, “Sing for me, Pet! a love song,” he glanced to his master and saw the slight nod and began to sing softly in Japanese as she slid one hand up the front of him to touch his nipples, tickling softly and then twisting cruelly between her finger tips, digging her nails in to the nub.

He flinched but managed to continue singing without missing a note, it was a song of lament but she wouldn’t know that. Though his Master did, he had taken the time to learn his language to be able to whisper words of love to him that only they understood. It almost made him want to forget his mother's language.

The bitch before him liked to inflict pain with her sharp nails, he flinched and paused his singing to moan softly, barely able to resist biting his lip bloody to separate and lessen the pain. She moved her hands to his buttocks to caress his shapely butt tenderly with her fingernails, moving down his long firm legs and then back up slowly, suddenly with a bite to those sharp nails that didn’t break the skin but left angry red lines the length of his legs up to the entrance of his portal wnere she paused looking intently into his eyes.

He couldn’t help it, he flinched in anticipation, then without warning she jammed two fingers into him to their full length, looked up with pupils enlarged with excitement and whispered “how I wished it were a penis to fuck you with rather that just my fingers darling, I would make you moan and cry with such pain and pleasure.” She was a bitch, she knew how to hurt him and perhaps escape punishment, there would be no wound to pay for, only invisible pain deep inside from her sharp nails..

“Too late.” He thought, “I already have someone to do that, to fuck me deep and make me cry out. He is a master at it, making me moan and cry and want him against my will.”

It was over, the special friends were finally gone and with them, the memory of their touch washed away in the warm shower with his lover for another night. He was nuzzling into his Master’s shoulder. The man whispered in his ear, “Did she hurt you Baby? Shall I make her pay for it?”

“No, please forget her, it was nothing, promise me you won’t do anything to her.” He pleaded, he didn’t want anyone to suffer because he couldn’t hide his pain all the time. He shook his long wet hair in denial of what his master planned to do to the stupid bitch. "Please Master don’t hurt her."

He was being kissed all over, it made him dizzy, he was trembling with want. He felt sharp teeth on his shoulder and winced. That is the only pain he was allowed to feel, only pain from his Master. “I don’t like the way she touched you Baby, what will you give me to not punish her?”

“My love, Master I’ll give you my love for tonight.” He said it reluctantly knowing it was the only thing that would divert his master from taking revenge on the woman for hurting him.

The mouth coming down hard on his lips, paused and whispered “Christian, I love you, you know that don't you?”

He whispered back. “Yes I know, and I….I love you too, Master.”

A whisper sounded, “Call me Hyde, call me by my name.”

“Yes Hyde, I’ll love you for tonight. But tomorrow I’ll hate you again.” He closed his eyes and sighed at the pleasure he would allow himself to feel tonight, but tomorrow ……… well, he would think about tomorrow, then. In a breathy voice, he murmured. “There, touch me there.” Leaning into the man he loved, to take the pleasure he knew Hyde would give him and to give it back.

This one time.
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Bird in a Gilded Cage - Chapter 1