Re: Holding Pens - Hermes and Carrick
Carrick watched impassively as the slave climbed down with lithe grace to stand in front of him. His attention was caught. Although he was a strict disciplinarian of his slaves, and of his bed slaves in particular, there was something about this boy that intrigued him, quite aside from his delicious scent.
He didn't require abject submission every single hour of the night from the boys he took to bed - at the right moments, he'd found that a properly cheeky slave boy could be a true delight. Back in Sparta, his education had included learning to respond in conversation with characteristically pithy, blunt statements that skirted the line between truth and rudeness. After he had been turned and his duties had come to include assisting with the training of new soldiers, he'd let more than one boy off a beating if they'd been able to respond in the proper amusingly Laconic fashion.
Carrick gave a faint smile. "What's your name, little songbird?"