The One and Only Sami Chapter 39

Only after feeding him until the boy’s very breath carried the tart scent of the fruit did Razard move on to the final step: wiping his own fingertips, now stained crimson with juice.

It was called “wiping,” but in reality, it consisted of Razard rummaging through Sami’s narrow mouth with his fingers. He would softy rub the tongue and the mucous membranes inside the cheeks, urging Sami to suck on them until they made wet, smacking sounds.

“Mmph… hic…”

After playing with him to his heart’s content, Razard would hold out his fingers as if showing them off. Barely suppressing the coughs that threatened to burst out, Sami would take a towel with reddened eyes and clean the man’s hands. It was humiliating beyond words to have to meticulously wipe, with his own hands, the very fingers that had just finished mocking his mouth, still slick with proof of his submission.

In front of others, Razard treated Sami strictly like a plaything. He laced his actions with just enough sexual harassment to make it a public spectacle of shame. Yet, his attitude was entirely different from how one would treat a favored concubine.

It was always like this—feeding him by hand, carrying him around like one might cuddle a cat, or sitting him on his lap to toy with him until he was flustered.

It was clear he was fond of the boy, but it wasn’t the way one treated a human being.

“I’m literally just a pet to you, aren’t I?”

Sami seemed deeply embarrassed by the way he had been fed that pomegranate in front of everyone earlier.

On the bed—vast enough to fit the lion and leopard Harut kept with room to spare—Sami sat hunched in a corner, hugging his knees. He wore a thoroughly grumpy expression, but his rounded knees and tightly pressed lips were insufficient to truly convey his displeasure.

“Isn’t that exactly why I brought you here?”

Sami scowled, but no rebuttal came to mind. Just as Razard said, his position was that of a pet human. A possession where the emphasis was placed heavily on “pet” rather than “human.”

“I know that, but still…”

Sami pulled his legs even closer to his chest. Huddled in the corner of the bed, he looked like a small, round ball of misery.

Perhaps sensing his gloomy mood, Razard called out to him in a low, coaxing tone.

“Sami.”

Pulling the incense burner—which was sending up clouds of sweet fragrance—closer to the bed, Razard sat down beside him.

After mocking and toyed with him so thoroughly in public, he would often turn around and act this gentle in the privacy of the bedroom, trying to win him over and soothe him.

“I’ve stopped forcing wine on you, haven’t I? Because you hate it. Hmm?”

“…”

A master who was jealous, fickle, and wanted what he raised to follow only him.

Razard played that role to perfection.

His whims were impossibly selfish.

The nature of his harassment changed day by day based on his mood. On days he was feeling good, he’d play by hand-feeding Sami things he liked; but on bad days, he would sometimes force things upon him that he didn’t want at all.

Last time, he had made him drink a potent liquor from a small cup.

Sami had never even encountered alcohol before, and with that stinging, pungent smell right in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to part his lips. Razard gazed steadily at Sami’s lips, which remained clamped shut as the boy watched him warily. The man’s lukewarm gaze was better described as “cooling” rather than “temperate.”

Razard pressed the rim of the cup against Sami’s plump lips until they were indented, but Sami stiffened his neck and resisted. It was a bout of stubbornness born from the shock of the unfamiliar smell and taste, a momentary lapse in remembering his place.

How had Razard looked then, watching his pet human refuse to open up, shivering while shaking his head?

In Sami’s memory, the man had smiled. He’d lowered his eyebrows as if finding the situation quite a dilemma.

Razard pulled the cup away and leaned in instead. He took a kiss by force. His hot tongue forced its way between those tightly shut lips.

Caught off guard, Sami squirmed in surprise, the sound of their front teeth clicking together echoing a few times before they eventually meshed with practiced ease. At the same time, a large hand gripped Sami’s jaw and forced it down, wedging the rim of the cup between his now-parted lips.

Sami could still hear the voice that had whispered into his ear, meant for him alone.

‘The wine is just practice, Sami. There are far more things you’ll be taking into that cup. I’ll stop with just the wine for today.’

Terrified and unable to even blink, he had ended up gulping down every drop in the cup. His small Adam’s apple had bobbed clumsily, much like the first time they had kissed and he had swallowed the man’s saliva.

‘Cough, hic…’

‘You drank it well, even though you hated it.’

Only after confirming that Sami was teary-eyed from finishing the cup did Razard praise him.

“Good boy.”

Yes, it had been like that then.

Just as it was now.

Stroking his hair and kissing his forehead.

Smoke continued to billow from the incense burner Razard had pulled close. Because of it, his vision blurred white, as if a veil had been draped over everything.

“…I hate the wine.”

“Just the wine?”

“Even if I mention other things… you won’t listen to me anyway.”

Back when he was a scribe’s servant, he was often praised for being quick-witted and knowing what needed to be done for his elders before they even spoke. But with this man, that talent was completely useless.

In fact, Razard was so headstrong it made Sami wonder if the man was acting more violent and fickle specifically to mock his perceptiveness. …Though that was likely just an overthought.

Sami tilted his head slightly away. It was a passive gesture, but combined with his usual demeanor, it appeared remarkably stubborn.

“So, I’m not going to say anything.”

Hearing the resigned murmur, Razard gave a light shrug. The way he draped a gentle arm around Sami’s shoulders and idly toyed with his hair made him look like a husband soothing a pouting wife.

The reality, however, was entirely different.

“Don’t be like that. At least you’ve gotten close with Ratun and Akum thanks to me.”

True, there had been a time like that. He didn’t know what had bothered the man’s temper that day, but despite Sami saying no, Razard had placed him on the back of the massive white lion.

Normally he would have shaken his head in protest, but he was so terrified then that he couldn’t even manage a proper scream. He had remained frozen in the exact position Razard had placed him until the lion finished a full lap around the palace.

From that point on, whenever Sami showed signs of being stubborn or resisting his mischievous teasing, Razard would sit him on the back of the beasts. Sometimes, it was simply to see the boy’s restless, tearful face.

It worked well for the first ten days. After a ride like that, Sami would lose all his spirit for hours, sitting meekly in the man’s arms no matter what Razard did.

Naturally, the well-trained lion and leopard never harmed the small human on their backs, and eventually, Sami grew comfortable. The prank stopped once Sami began hugging the predators’ necks and petting them without hesitation.

“That’s all for today, so get some rest.”

Razard gave Sami a light kiss on the cheek. His skin, which had been washed regularly with rose water lately, was much softer and smelled better than before.

As Razard lingered, Sami buried his face deeper into his knees, but Razard didn’t seem to mind at all, pressing a loud kiss right against the corner of the boy’s eye.

Sami squeezed his eyes shut and huddled his legs closer. Lately, whenever Razard approached like this, his body felt strangely ticklish. His chest would tingle, or the back of his knees would twitch. It was as if he were expecting more touch. It was a response he found shameful upon reflection, so he curled up even more defensively.

And Razard knew that reaction all too well. Yet, he never backed off gracefully. Instead, he would cling even closer, idly stroking the boy’s hair one more time or pressing his lips against him.

There was a clear difference between the nature of the torment involved in forcing wine or food in public and the kissing in the privacy of the bedroom. To Sami, however, it was likely all the same suffering. Regrettably, Razard didn’t bother to differentiate.

He was, of course, aware that he was tormenting the boy.

Before Sami could pick up on his mood and try to please him, Razard treated him with a cruelty and a kindness that was impossible to predict. He handled him roughly and sometimes even drew tears.

He never explained to Sami that the reason he was being tormented was precisely because he was a precious existence who could accurately distinguish the scent of the ‘Marut.’

It was a pity, but it was an unavoidable process until he was firmly established in the eyes of the palace staff as ‘just that kind of plaything.’ He had to keep the boy by his side constantly, but he had to mask any signs of truly treasuring him.

And so, the method he chose was torment.