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Fwick! Fwoooosh.

The unicorn struck a match along the outside of the box, letting the tip light up before holding it to the cigar he held in his mouth. His dark, stern eyes peered out from beneath the brim of the Muir cap that sat atop his head. A small hole in the leather of the cap allowed his horn to jut out.

“Did you miss me, boy?” His voice was low and authoritative, yet possessed a soothing earthiness to its tone. The thin young human kneeling before him felt an involuntary shiver pass down his spine; still, his blue eyes remained wide and glassy.

“Yes, Master Byron.” The human’s voice was quiet and boyish in its normal state; in the presence of the studly unicorn, it was subdued, dronelike.

Master Byron lowered a gloved hand to the human’s chin, cupping it in his huge palm and craning the boy’s head to look at him. The big purple unicorn studied the human’s gaze, mentally comparing the look in his eyes this week compared to last. Very good-the traces of fear from last week had vanished into a hypnotized acceptance.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The human swallowed. “Thomas Seward, Master Byron.”

Master Byron took a long, savory puff from the cigar in his mouth. Thomas stayed perfectly still, which the unicorn noticed and appreciated; when this all began, the poor thing quivered like a leaf.

Master Byron spoke again. “I want you to stare at the tip of my horn, boy. Don’t look away, don’t blink.”

“Yes, Master Byron,” Thomas said, and stared.

The light was small at first, and dim; at first, Thomas thought that it was just a trick of his vision. But the light grew in size and brightness, starting as an amethyst pinprick in his vision before gradually swelling into a purple will o’ the wisp. He stared at it dutifully, like a child gazing blankly at a television.

“You are no longer Thomas Seward, boy,” Master Byron said. His voice sounded the way pork roasting on a spit smells, or the way a leatherbound book feels on the fingers. “You have no name that I don’t assign to you. If I decide your name is Thomas for a time, your name will be Thomas. If I decide your name is Boy for a time, your name will be Boy. If I decide your name is Asspig for a time, your name will be Asspig. Do you understand me?”

The human nodded. “Yes, Master Byron.”

The unicorn decided to test his new slave, to see how thoroughly he had come into his thrall. “You understand that you’ll never see your family again. Is that right?”

“Yes, Master Byron.” If the human had any feelings about that, they couldn’t be gleaned from the blank monotone of his voice.

“What do you suppose will happen to your family after you’re gone?”

The human thought about this for a moment, in silence. “Mother would be beside herself,” he said. “She’s been half-mad since Stephen passed, and I can’t imagine what would happen if she lost another. Father would have to work longer hours. I’m certain Kitty would become a whore. Eileen, too. Mother would never let Mary become a whore, but she can’t stay idle anymore.”

Master Byron nodded. “And does that trouble you?”

The irises of the human’s eyes had turned from a dark brown to a vivid violet hue. “No, Master Byron,” the human said. “Should it?”

The glow of the unicorn’s horn faded. “No, boy,” Master Byron said. “It shouldn’t.”

That strong gloved hand stroked gently up and down the human’s neck, like an affectionate groom comforting a nervous horse-though, of course, there was nothing in the human that suggested nerves anymore.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” the unicorn said.

The human nodded. “I do,” he said. “May I, Master Byron?”

The unicorn’s thick equine lips gave a smirk. Quick learner. “You may.”

“What’s it like to live forever?”

Master Byron gave a low, rolling chuckle at that question. Of course, the answer depended on who was living forever. Someone like Master Byron had an excellent time living forever; he could enchant a place of his own to exist out of time, step into whatever era he pleased, and enjoy all the world had to offer-indeed, all the world ever had to offer.

Someone like the human kneeling in front of him, however, would have a very different experience. He would be forbidden from leaving the unicorn’s dwellings; he would serve every one of the unicorn’s whims without question; he would be a drone with no mind of his own; he would be transformed and stored for years on end if Master Byron had no use for him. It would be nightmarish, if the human was able to feel anything at all.

Master Byron didn’t say any of that. Instead, he spoke in a warm, paternal tone. “You have the rest of time to find out, boy,” he said. “Now, here.”

The unicorn gestured to a mahogany desk along the wall of his study, papers, books and pens from various ages of history sorted neatly along its surface. Before the desk sat a large black leather chair, with an indent in the seat.

“Kneel in front of the chair,” Master Byron said, “and lean your head back to rest on the cushion.”

The human nodded, slowly. “Yes, Master Byron,” he said. He stood from his knees, walking slowly and automatically to the chair. Falling back to his knees, the human leaned his head back, placing his head in the indent of the seat and getting into position. The human’s pale, freckled face gazed up at the white ceiling, violet eyes placid and unblinking.

Out of his vision, he could hear the creak of wooden floorboards beneath the feet of the amethyst titan. Master Byron soon came into view, gazing down at the human with a sort of divine disconnect-as though the human meant no more to him than an autumn leaf to the Lord.

“Do you like my ass, boy?”

The human may have lost most of his feeling, but not all of it. He nodded vigorously. “Yes, Master Byron. I love your ass.”

The unicorn took a long pull from the cigar smoldering in his mouth. “What do you love about it, boy? Tell me.”

The human swallowed again, his breathing growing deeper. “I love its size,” he said. “I love how it wobbles when you walk, like a plate of jelly. I love how each big fat purple cheek is bigger than my head.” His breathing quickened as he talked. “I love how it swallows my face up when you sit on me. I love its ripe barnyard smell. I love the sweat that smears on my face and gets in my eyes. I love…” The human bit his lip. “I even love it when you rip a hot, nasty horse-fart in my face, Master Byron.”

The unicorn nodded, a smile on his face. “What a depraved little swine you are,” he said. “When you’re underneath me, you’ll be called Asspig. Is that clear?”

Asspig nodded. “Yes, Master Byron.”

“I’ll be preparing for tomorrow, Asspig,” Master Byron said. “It’ll take some time. Are you ready?”

It wasn’t as though he could say no. “Yes, Master Byron.”

When Master Byron turned around and displayed those huge, bare purple ass cheeks, breath caught in Asspig’s throat. Every time he saw it, it was a wonder-the perfect mixture of muscle and fat, it was the ass of a man who worked hard and enjoyed life. Beads of sweat dripped down the fine violet fur on his cheeks, and the unicorn’s tail swished once, then twice.

Master Byron said nothing as he sat down-he didn’t need to. Asspig wasn’t worth talking to at this point-he was nothing more than a seat cushion for the unicorn’s mighty rump. The human gave a muffled, almost involuntary “mmmmrgh” as his face was swallowed in Master Byron’s ass crack, those doughy cheeks resting their weight upon him as his nose was planted deep in that sweaty crevice.

The sound of pen scratching on paper was only faintly audible from beneath those meaty buns. Besides, Asspig was too overwhelmed by butt to pay much attention to what Master Byron was writing-he was serving his own purpose, and that purpose was to huff the unicorn’s beefy ass.

It wasn’t unclean, but the dense cocktail of scents made Asspig dizzy from the first moment he started sniffing. The heavy, earthy scent of natural musk weighed upon Asspig’s nose, shot through with sour notes of the unicorn’s ripe, salty sweat. There were other elements to be found, too-the stale air and scratchy hay of a barn, the warm scent of crisp leather, a subtle bitterness that suggested Master Byron’s bowels. It was everywhere, all at once, and its unavoidable presence made Asspig’s eyes water.

The unicorn, of course, paid him no mind. He was sorting through stacks of papers, paging through correspondences, and thinking about what he would do tomorrow. Perhaps he ought to pay some attention to the mouse lad he picked up from 18th century France. He was so eager to become his slave, after all, and as silly as it sounded Master Byron felt rather guilty about leaving his soul in its jar for fifty-odd years without paying him much mind.

After that (Asspig started to stick his tongue out, gently dragging it up and down the length of Master Byron’s ass crack; he wasn’t instructed to do so, but the unicorn would allow it), he had a dinner date with Alistair and Joseph. Being immortal might make you a little disconnected, but there were still plenty of friends to be found; he made a point to visit them every year or so, catching up with them at some five-star restaurant or another before going back to their place for some fun. The burly Pokemon were among the few that Master Byron was willing to submit to-and, in turn, he was one of the few men who Alistair and Joseph would allow to dominate them.

Asspig’s worship grew needier. He wriggled like a fish beneath the unicorn’s weight, giving muffled little moans of heat and desire as he wrapped his lips around Master Byron’s tight, leathery asshole. Master Byron sighed in relaxed pleasure as Asspig started to make out with his thick puckered star, slipping his tongue in through the opening and thrusting it in as deep as he could. Asspig didn’t need breath anymore, and he took advantage of that-the only breaths he took were short, piglike snorts as he ate Master Byron’s ass.

The unicorn leaned his head back, shutting his eyes and giving a satisfied hum as he was worshiped. Finally, he spoke.

“Get your tongue out,” he ordered. In an instant, Asspig obeyed.

“Wrap your lips around my hole again,” Master Byron said. “I’m giving you a treat.”

The very mention of it made Asspig’s prick twitch. Master Byron’s long horse cock remained flaccid, but there was no doubt that the unicorn relished this.

Asspig opened his mouth, suckling his lips around that tight hole, eyes shut, waiting for what was to come-and finally, it did.

Prrrssscccchhhht. The sound rasped quietly in Asspig’s mouth, a steaming hiss giving way to a rumbling squelch. The flavor burst on Asspig’s tongue like a cherry bomb, immediately subjecting the slave to the raw force of Master Byron’s ripe horse-fart. It was almost unbearably rich, bitter earthiness fighting with sour spice fighting with slimy bowel-stink fighting with the decadent tastes of the morning’s breakfast. It wasn’t anything more than a fart, but the taste was so sharp and violent that Asspig jolted and gagged beneath Master Byron’s smothering weight.

The unicorn just grinned, inhaling from his cigar. It was good to see that the human could still feel things-and he would be made to feel quite a bit more over the years.