velvet mace


Roy walked stiffly through the impressive double doors that marked off the Furhers Central office. He tried not to wince too much. Yesterday he'd been assigned to Haruko. For a family man, he was awfully rough. So far of all the military brass he'd come to appreciate General Omar the best. The quick, no nonsense older man would often be done with his business within fifteen minutes, leaving Roy most of the day to wander about the city and try to find some peace of mind. Today he would be assisting the Fuhrer, and Roy had no doubt that it would be a difficult and long session. His heart sank and he stared at the marble floor as he walked past the first set of outer offices, down the hall towards the Fuhrer's inner sanctum.

"Colonel," came a quiet voice. He looked through one of the open doors. Riza sat there at her desk. Her brow as always was peaked. "Good morning. Are you okay?"

He managed a smile. It was for her sake he did this. It would all be for nothing if he let on what sacrifice he was making for her and the rest of his men. "I'm fine. Is—is the Fuhrer treating you well?"

"Yes sir," she said. "Though I miss—"

"Me, too."

The door to the Fuhrers office itself banged open. "Mustang, get in here." Bradley's voice was gruff and irritated.

Roy flinched a little and walked the rest of the way down the hall—to his fate. No, today would not be easy.

The heavy polished doors closed behind him sealing his fate. He dared glance up at Wrath's face. "You are late," the Homunculus said.

"Forgive me, Sir."

"Well," said Bradley, standing in the middle of the large room, drumming his fingers impatiently against his thigh. "Don't just stand there. Strip."

Roy turned to make sure the door was indeed shut. His face burned with humiliation. "Sir. Don't you think—don't you think it's been enough?"

Bradley crossed the room in four long strides. Roy winced even before he felt the mans open palmed hand smack his cheek. "Our business with each other will be over when I say it's over." The hand returned, this time caressing the stinging spot on Roy's cheek with a deceptively tender touch. "And don't you tell me that you haven't come to like this job. Hmmm?"

Roy dared look up at Wraths face. The man was smiling with his mouth. His single eye though was as cold as ever. There would be no mercy here. "Sir, I will do what I have to save my people."

"And they are safe now. Even though I have no doubts you've blabbed about my condition to them. Accept your fate like a man Mustang. You gave your body away to be my slave, and in return your people walk free and unharmed. You continued enslavement ensures their freedom. I'd say it was a fair trade. Wouldn't you?"

Roy looked down again. "Yes, sir."

"Then stop complaining and strip."

Roy sucked in a deep breath and began removing his clothes. The jacket and gloves first. The Fuhrer always took the gloves and put it in a safe place, in case, during the course of the games, Roy might allow his emotions to get the better of him. Then the shoes, socks. He removed his pants and shorts last, folding them neatly and placing them on the couch. He would at least have the dignity of walking home in clothes that weren't rumpled. It was something.

"There is paper on the desk. You may begin."

Roy grabbed a pen from the cup, and sheet of letter head and with a shaking hand, drew the array.

"The raw materials are here," said Bradley pushing forward a flag, it's metal pole gleamed.

Roy pressed his hand to the array, and soon the symbol of patriotism and nobility was transformed into ugliness itself. Metal rings, and chains, handcuffs, ropes, and the one piece that brought Roy a shred of relief—a gag, so that at least when his screams came (as they inevitably would) Riza wouldn't hear them.

The Fuhrer insisted that Roy install everything himself, while he sat back in his leather chair and watched. The rings were implanted into the heavy wooden desk and the floor. These would be for later. With all the toys ready, Roy waited to be told what to do next.

"Very good," the homunculus purred. "Now, I'm going to need you to assist me about the office a bit.

Roy glanced up and met his eye.

Assisting was the one thing he hadn't actually done in his days as a slave, except if one considered helping his supirior officers achieve orgasm to be "assisting." Roy felt a bit nervious. What did the Fuhrer have in mind?

"Put on the cuffs," Bradley ordered, nonchalantly.

Roy reached for the gag, but Bradley smacked his hand. "That's not what I told you to do. Do as I order. The cuffs only."

Roy reached for the cuffs and reluctantly put them around his own wrists. They shafed a bit against already abraded skin. Yesterday Haruko had used ropes. The coldness of the metal, on the other hand was not so bad. Soothing almost. Roy guessed that Bradley planned on putting the rest of the equipment on him later. Some of his "masters" had done that. It shouldn't have come as a surprise.

When the second bracelet snapped into place around his wrist he stood and waited again. "Very good, boy," Bradley said. "Now I need you to go in the cabinet and fetch me some supplies.

Immediately, Roy knew the game. He reddened again, but obeyed. Walking across the long room. He crouched down and put his mouth on the cold knob of the cabinet, clumsily turning it with his lips and pulling it outward. "Get me the alligator clips. They are on the second to the top shelf."

For this Roy had to stretch onto his toes to reach. Manuevering the box off the ledge using only his nose and mouth was a hard task. In the end, the box slipped from his lips and fell on the ground. Roy then had to kneel and use his teeth to grab it again. Meanwhile Bradley sat in his chair and chuckled.

He brought the clips back to the Furher's desk. The man then casually opened the box and took out two of the small black holders. Roy hissed. He knew what was coming and he wasn't disappointed. "Stand still," Bradley said, thumbing Roy's nipples in a gentle way before placing a clip on each one.

The pressure was intensely painful and Roy couldn't help but give out a muffled cry. He looked longingly over at the gag. "Please, sir."

"Not yet," Bradley said. "It doesn't do for a slave to be impatient. We'll get there. I have more I need you to get. The rubber bands are on the first shelf. Bring them to me."

It was a repeat of the first exercise only this time with every step the weight of the clips tugged at his tender nipples. Roy clenched his teeth until he reached the cabnet. The box of rubber bands was larger than that of the clips. In the end, he simply couldn't hold it in his teeth properly. It slipped twice on the journey back to the desk. Finally, Roy managed to tuck it under his chin and carry it that way. By the time he reached the Furher, he was shaking with anger. To be humiliated this way—after dedicating his life to the army. It wasn't fair.

The Furher ignored Roy's glare and opened the box. "Stand still," he ordered. Roy did, but only through great willpower. Bradley selected out the thickest of the rubber bands and then grabbed Roy's limp cock and looped them on the base.

Roy hissed. It was uncomfortably tight. His bodies reaction was immediate and embarrassing. Roy refused to look down, but he could feel himself swelling and growing more sensitive. He was not turned on by this. Nothing could convince him that he enjoyed this treatment.

"One last trip, and I'll let you rest a bit," said the Furher.

Roy groaned. Again he walked across the room, now not only did his nipples pull with each step but his cock bobbed as well. It was quite a show, he imagined. At least it was a private one. Still he couldn't help but think of what Riza would think of him if she should walk in on them. The door was not locked. There was no guarantee of privacy.

This time the Fuhrer wanted cotton string from the lowest shelf. For this Roy had to go down on his knees, as though kowtowing to a piece of furniture. He was still figuring a way to wrap his teeth around the rather thick ball of sting when he felt a sting against his left buttock. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Fuhrer had snuck up on him.

"You look very good like this Mustang," the homunculus said in an amiable voice. "Go on, don't let me stop you."

Roy reached for the string again, this time managing to somehow dig his teeth into it. He then awkwardly staggered to his feet. Although the Fuhrer was right next to him, he did not offer to help in any way. Roy tried not to be curious about what the Fuhrer had in mind for this. He'd find out soon enough.

At the desk the Fuhrer unwound the string and looped it quickly through the tabs on the alligator clips, then bringing them down to his cock. Suddenly the weight of his own manhood pulled at his nipples, and every small movement he made caused his bruised chest to be further yanked and tormented.

"There, I think we can give you your gag now," the Fuhrer said.

Roy breathed a sigh of relief. The Fuhrer strapped the gag on tighter than Roy would have. Roy simply relaxed and went with it, relieved that he could finally give in to his own need to scream and moan. The Fuhrer noticed him relaxing and laughed. "One of these days, we'll try this without the gag, what do you say? You don't really need this crutch do you?"

Roy moaned, which made the Furher laugh some more. Bradley then slapped his back amenably. "You know the drill, Mustang. Over the desk."

Roy tottered over to the desk with as slow and gentle steps as he figured he could get away with. One of the clips threatened to pull free of his nipple. He didn't want that. Even if it were an accident, the Furher would no doubt find some way to punish him for it as though he had done it deliberately.

The Fuhrer looped the chain around Roy's neck threading it through the ring buried in the desk, and then back around to his cuffed wrists. Movement would tighten the chain around his neck, choking him. Roy knew better than to make much movement. His legs were secured the rings in such a fashion that he was spread open and accessible. Roy did his best to relax into the situation. Although he felt an urge to brush his hard cock against the wooden desk and relieve the needy pressure that built there, he knew better than to try. And if his own self-control weren't enough the clamps on his nipples added even more incentive to keep his hips still.

He was not at all surprised to feel a slick finger probing at his entrance. It was something of a relief, in fact. It meant that perhaps the game playing was over and the Furher was ready to get down to business. Roy's experiences with the rest of the brass had lead him to expect that once they came to orgasm, they frequently wanted nothing more to do with him and would soon after dismiss him.

But what entered him was definitely NOT a penis. Whatever it was, it was cool, and quite thin.

"Now Mustang, I have some work to do, and you are going to be assisting me in it. It is absolutely vital that you not let that pencil fall out. Hold it tight."

Roy moaned again. The games were not over yet. He rocked his forehead gently against the hard desk. It figured that Bradley would drag this whole Slave thing out.

Then to his utter horror Bradley picked up the phone and called out. Roy risked turning his head until he could see the Fuhrer's expression. He was smiling, his eye as well as his lips this time. Roy's heart fell.

"Yes, could you bring my paper work in now."

No—. not someone else. The fuhrer couldn't mean for Roy to be seen like this—not to his underlings. Roy writhed a bit in his bonds but stopped the moment the chain tightened about his throat. Roy started to choke helplessly.

"Really, Mustang," Bradley chastised, hooking his finger under the chain and pulling it loose again. "I thought you were better disciplined than that."

The door opened and a leutenant walked in. Roy jerked involuntarily, then forced himself to be still. At least it wasn't Riza.

"Here are the papers you asked for," said the aide handing over a shief of small slips to the Fuhrer. The Leuitenants eyes were all over Roy, naturally, but he didn't say anything. Just smirked a little.

"Dismissed," said the Fuhrer easily taking the papers back to the desk. The man left them, closing the door reassuringly in his wake.

For a while nothing happened and Roy began to relax again. He wondered why he'd been asked to hold the pencil in his ass. Perhaps it was only to degrade him. But just as Roy had reached that conclusion, the Fuhrer took a square of paper and speared it on the pencil in his behind.

Suddenly Roy became acutely away of the soft breeze coming from the air vent above his head. The small slip of paper flapped in a ticklish way against his ass. Roy couldn't help but squirm. He glared at the Furhrer, who utterly ignored him.

Roy couldn't ignore the sensation. It was just enough to drive him utterly nuts. He tried to wiggle his bottom and some how dislodge the paper. That was, naturally fruitless, but it did succeed in pulling the cord around his nipples tight enough to yank one of the clips free.

Roy felt instant, heady relief. Not only was the pressure completely off one nipple, but it had lessened the pain in the other one as well. The sudden cessation of pain was intensely erotic and Roy couldn't help but to rub his abused chest against the smooth wooden desktop. It felt wonderful. His hips brushed his cock against the cold desk drawer. He could feel a cold handle brush against the tip. God, it was marvelous.

Then Roy realized what he was doing. He froze, glancing the Fuhrers direction. Had he noticed yet? No. He was still busy looking threw his paper work, but this was a temporary reprieve at best.

Soon though the flapping against his butt drove all worries about the Fuhrer's options for punishment out of Roy's mind.

He was tempted to push the pencil out. It would be easy, but it would also guarantee punishment. Roy wondered if it really matter though—he'd already lost the clip. He was going to be punished anyway, would this really be worse.

Of course it would be. Roy sighed. Still, he couldn't bear the constant brush of that damn piece of paper. He tried to reach his fingers down to pull it away.

That was a mistake. The chain around his throat constricted again. This time the Fuhrer didn't notice right away. Roy writhed with increasing desperation, as the skin of his face grew cold and dots began to form in front of his eyes. Even in this, his body betrayed him, growing even harder as he felt his life edging away.

Finally, just as he was starting to grey out, Bradley reached out and tugged the chain loose again. "Really, once was a surprise, but twice? I'm beginning to doubt your intelligence, Colonel."

He speared a second sheet onto the pencil.

Roy tried to hold still, but he couldn't, finally giving into his need to writhe. "You are being rather distracting," said the Fuhrer with a growl in his voice. "Do calm down please." He then continued his work.

Time dragged on slowly. The only relief to be had was when at last enough sheets had been added to the stack that they no longer fluttered. By then Roy was sweaty and exhausted. He wondered how long this would continue. With aching slowness the Fuhrer picked through his paper work. Roy sucked in a deep breath through his nose when the final page was dropped in the out box.

The Fuhrer picked up the phone again. No. moaned Roy, his eyes shutting. Not more paper work. But this time when the same Leuitenant came in, it was merely to pick up the stack that the Fuhrer had finished.

Again Roy reddened under the scrutiny on the underling. Bad enough to be made a slave, debased and debauched in private by men who had a vested interest in keeping things quiet. It was quite another to know that an outsider had witnessed degradation. Who knew how far the stories of his sexual servitude would spread. Worse than the inevitable stares and chuckles in the hall would be the horror on Riza's face when she realized what had been going on during all the "meetings" Roy had claimed he had to attend.

The Fuhrer, ignoring his own underling reached over casually to stroke Roys buttocks. Roy winced a little as Bradley's fingers slid down to the crack and teased the pencil lodged within. "You've done a good job holding it in."

The Leutenant's face broke at that and he snuffled a bit with laugher into his sleeve. "You are dismissed," Bradley said to him.

Once again Roy relaxed when the door closed. Bradley continued to fiddle with the pencil for a bit, pushing it deeper in before withdrawing, and tossing it, and the papers attached into the metal trash can by the side of his desk. Roy allowed himself the luxury of wondering if it were almost over.

Bradleys fingers kept moving, sweeping gently over Roy's thighs. "You are a good soldier, Mustang," he said after a bit. "Very noble, sacrificing yourself for your men. It would have been easy for you to just walk away from all this, and abandon your people. You don't know, after all what I would do to them. Are you at all curious, what I have planned?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could do the same for his ears. He'd already given in. If the Fuhrer could do this to him, Colonel, it was only natural that Fuery, Falman, and all the other could be put in even less tenable situations. His ship had sunk, it was his place to go down, but he didn't want to have to dwell on what could be if he were less willing to sacrifice for those who relied on him the most.

"I see. Well, it's probably best you don't know. Maybe you'll never find out. Besides, I don't think you find this all that bad, now do you." Bradleys hand wandered back up, briefly cupping his balls before finding his cock.

Roy moaned again as the Fuhrer stroked him in a lazy slow manner. Once up, once down and then pausing. Roy sniffed a breath in as he realized what had caused the homunculus to pause. The string tied to his cock tugged twice, gently but unmistakably.

"I see you aren't completely cooperative after all," the anger in Wrath's voice was unmistakable. Roy felt his arms being pushed painfully upwards towards his head, then suddenly they were released and the chain rattled slackly across his shoulder. Wrath then grabbed his hair and pulled him up onto his feet.

Roy look downward and saw the string still looped slackly through the tab of the clip then running down over his belly to his cock then back up again. The second clip slid down and rested against Roy's erection. The nipple was clearly bruised with two parallel purple lines marring the Roy's pale complexion.

Roy longed to use what reason he had to soothe his supirior, but the gag for once worked against him. He could only try with his body language to prove he had been cooperative—as cooperative as he could possibly be under the circumstances.

"Such defiance," growled Wrath, "Can't be tolerated, surely you know that."

He pushed Roy back down against the desk again. Roy braced himself as best he could, knowing what was coming. The early slaps the Fuhrer had given him were really no more than love taps. A bit of sting, easily forgotten. The spanking that the Fuhrer laid into him now was something else entirely.

Roy screamed against the gag, biting his teeth deep into the roll of fabric, unable to keep himself from counting out each loud stinging smack. At sixteen, it ended so abruptly that Roy continued to tense and jerk even when the promised blow never arrived.

A voice carried through the doorway. "Sir? Is everything okay in there? I'm coming in."

It was Riza's voice. Roy's eyes widened. She must have heard through the thin walls.

Thankfully, the Fuhrer also didn't seem to want Riza to be in on their tryst. He crossed the floor to the door amazingly quickly, and before it could push in he cracked the door and peered out at her through it, his body blocking her view into his office. "Everything is just fine Leuitenant," he said. "Go back to your work."

"Yes, sir," she said. The Fuhrer then closed the door.

The Fuhrer resumed molesting Roy as if there had been no interruption. Hard calloused fingers found the tender skin of his behind and kneaded the muscle roughly. Roy moaned in pain, but held still. Still squeezing with one hand, the Furher moved back to Roy's cock again, this time squeezing and jerking it in a much more purposeful way. He was already held hard with the rubber bands, but now he was becoming actually needy.

Roy rationalized his reaction out. He was only doing what he had to. If this was what the Fuhrer wanted, and it kept his men safe, then even this humiliation was acceptable.

It wasn't a surprise when the Fuhrer's finger's, paused, disappeared, then returned again this time slick with oil. Roy let himself give into the sensation. He knew from past encounters that the Fuhrer wouldn't move on to the final step until he'd given in. He was so darned close. So close. So close—

Gradually realization struck Roy. He wasn't going to come, not as long as the rubber bands bound him so tightly, squeezing him off. Surely the Fuhrer knew this, but if he didn't—Roy began writhing frantically. Again he regretted the gag, but there was nothing to do for it now.

The Fuhrer chuckled. "Having a little trouble are you?"

Roy grunted in admission.

"You understand now, that you are my slave—If I want you to come, you will. If I want you to feel pain, you will. You have no say in any of this. Do you understand?"

Roy nodded. He didn't truly believe it. Deep in his heart he was still his own man, untouched. This situation was temporary, he assured himself, even though it had gone on now for over a month. But for now, he'd play the part, and if the Fuhrer wanted him to agree, he'd agree.

"I think you are ready for me."

</i> More than ready </i> thought Roy. The oiled finger was back at his anus again and he dared feel some hope that he was reaching the end of the ordeal. Sure enough, with slippery but firm motions it prodded him. A second finger joined the first, prying him apart, stretching him. Roy relaxed instinctively, he'd been through this many times before in the past weeks.

The Fuhrer acknowledged his reactions with a chuckle. "You are really turning into quite a little slut, Colonel. I see you are already ready for me, and I've hardly even touched you."

Roy grunted softly when the fingers were replaced by the hot hard thickness of the Fuhrer's cock. He listened with a mixture of disgust and bitter pride at the sound of Wrath's pleasured groans. It burned to know that his misery was providing another with pleasure, and yet, knowing that he could do this, he could take everything he was given and still stand at the end helped. With luck, in a minute or two it would all be over and Roy would be allowed to go home and shower and prepare himself, mentally and physically for whoever was scheduled to have him for the next day.

At least that was the theory. It became clear after a few minutes that the Fuhrer was in no rush to end his own pleasure. Roy began pressing back against the trusts, hoping his participation would be enough stimulus to drive the other over the edge.

The results were immediate and positive. The Fuhrer sped up, and once more resumed stroking Roy's cock. He mouthed Roy's ear, probing that entrance with a wet tongue and warm breath. Once again, Roy found himself approaching the edge.

Roy tensed as the Furhers fingers dug into the base of his shaft, driving under the tight rubber bands. One by one he pulled until they broke. One slipped and snapped back painfully against the underside of his penis and Roy screamed into the gag, as involuntary tears filled his eyes. Wrath merely dug his finger under it again and pulled.

The relief of pressure, combined with his need and even the sting of pain from the rubber bands all combined to push Roy up over the top. Wrath milked him along with firm strokes until the last spasm had finished, and then beyond, even as Roy began to protest and squirm away.

"Good soldier," murmured Wrath, driving into him with renewed enthusiasm. Roy clenched his teeth again through the final minutes until the homunculus came, and at last released Roy's soft, sperm sticky cock.

"Now if you don't mind," said the homunculus. "I'm going to visit the restroom now." His hand once more played across Roy's tender back side, sliding down between his thighs. "Now don't make a mess of yourself, Colonel. Hold what I gave you in until I get back. When I'm back I'll release you, and you can go home and clean yourself up. Tomorrow you will report to General Peirce."

Roy nodded and watched the Fuhrer leave.

Far too soon after the door closed it opened again. Roy jerked and stared. His heart dropped to the floor.

"You could have told me," Riza said walking over to the desk. She knelt and released the chains binding his ankles. "You didn't make me have to guess."

Roy shook his head. No. She had to leave him. If the Fuhrer caught her in there.

But Riza just continued. "Don't you think I could have helped you, Sir? Don't you think we ALL would have helped you. If you'd just told me. I'd have freed you long ago. But you didn't. And now you are like this."

Roy felt her work the catch on the handcuffs. First one bracelet slid loose, then the other. Roy stood up and looked at her sadly. He felt horribly shamed to have her see him this way, but he felt even worst knowing that now it was all for nothing.

"It really hurts to know you didn't trust me." She reached back and undid the gag, pulling it free from his face. "Why didn't you trust me."

"The Fuhrer—he'll hurt you. Riza, he's going to hurt all my people."

"No he's not," said Riza. "I've gotten them all out."

Roy gaped. "They are?" His heart beat hard.

"Waiting for you. If you can walk that is. You were the last, but if I'd known—Never mind, we better get going."

When the Fuhrer returned and idly picked up the chains that had once bound Mustang. He sighed. Well, honestly, it had been too good to last long. But it had been fun while it lasted. Yes, indeed it had.