Chapter Three

Wishbone knew he should be grateful. He had a warm place to sleep, easy duties, and all the scraps he could eat. His face still itched where the brand was healing over, and he couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror, but things could be much worse.

It seemed, however, that certain bodily hungers would not be sated. Sir had first brought him to this house for sex, but did not invite him back to that room upstairs. It tormented Wishbone to know that Sir slept a few doors away and a floor up and never laid a hand on him.

Wishbone had spent almost every night of the past few years getting fucked to the limit of his endurance, and it wasn't for the coin alone. He adored the friction, the pressure, the tastes and smells of men. He missed sailors with their rope-calloused hands and the shy, eager businessmen who snuck off to visit him after their families had gone to bed. He missed the Bremmians who practiced the strange custom of circumcision. The feel of their cocks had intrigued his hands and mouth. There was one customer who paid to watch Wishbone pleasure himself. He gave the biggest tips when Wishbone enjoyed himself the most, and was almost impossible to fool. One peculiar man paid extra for the privilege of stuffing the coins up Wishbone's arse. Another bit him all about the shoulders, like a stallion covering a mare. Some spilled inside him,...