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Subject: {ASSM} The Bargain 3/4 {Maureen Lycaon} (MM+/m, nc, violent, caution, humil, anal, oral, magic, goth, slow)
Date: Wed, 16 Aug 2000 20:10:09 -0400
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THE BARGAIN
@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, August 2000. All rights reserved
under the Bourne Convention, but permission
granted for this to be distributed on Usenet
and archived on the Web, provided that *no*
changes are made to it and that *no* money or
other consideration is charged for
downloading it.
WARNINGS: You know the drill -- all rights protected under
the Bourne Convention, all resemblance to persons living or
dead is solely coincidental and unintentional, nothing here
is intended to advocate any of these acts, etc.
Another warning before you go diving right in for the
naughty bits:
This is psychologically a very cruel story, even though the
physical brutality described is fairly mild. If you're a
survivor of rape, particularly homosexual rape, this might
arouse unpleasant feelings or memories, so think twice
before you read it. I don't want to upset anyone that way.
Really.
Also, think twice if you're the type who considers Harry
Potter books "Satanic", or if you have an aversion to
knives.;-)
This story -- it's a story with spooge in it, not a spooge
story -- takes quite a while to reach the sex part, so
please be patient; the second half *is* mostly spooge. You
may also think the human sacrifice scene is gratuitous, but
trust me, it *does* belong there.
AUTHOR'S BORING NOTES: My thanks once again to Ron, who gave
useful critiquing and encouragement, and also to Partran,
who gave technical advice on medieval matters.
Some of the hints and allusions here may seem mysterious if
you haven't read my earlier story about Raven, "The Price".
You can find it (along with this story as one
whopping big 114K file as well as my other
erotic tales) at Maureen Lycaon's Velan
Archive of Erotica at:
http://velar.ctrl-c.liu.se/vcl/Authors/Maureen/
The Bargain: Part 3
*He is a strong one*, Raven admitted to himself as he
watched Tirnal.
The walk naked through the streets must have been grueling,
but the Archmage had never hesitated or flinched, let alone
had to be forced on. He hadn't spoken, hadn't lowered his
hands from the back of his neck.
Raven's bodyservant, a silent young man with short mousy
hair whose name was Laj, unlocked the bedchamber for them.
Raven turned away to unfasten the baldric bearing his
darksword -- he always did that himself, preferring not to
leave the task up to a servant. He laid it carefully across
the large wooden chest, scabbard and all, then unsheathed
the dagger and laid that on the dresser.
Only then did he motion Laj forward to help him remove his
armor. While the young man did so, he turned and faced the
naked, collared Archmage, studying him again.
Tirnal was as lean as Raven himself, and almost as tall,
though without his well-defined muscles -- let alone the
bulging ones of Zhourn or Algarn. Still, there were bands
of sinew along his arms and legs and his flat belly. He'd
already seen his small, muscular buttocks during the walk.
The mage was looking around the room, perhaps for a clue as
to what forms his degradation would take. Now, as he turned
to face Raven again, he revealed dark nipples and nearly
black pubic hair that encircled his long, pale manhood,
extending up a narrow trail leading to his navel.
Even now, his fear showed only in his pale, serious eyes,
the strain-deepened little crows'-feet at their corners,
and more subtly in the set of his jaw. His hands were still
clasped at the back of his neck.
"Kneel," Raven commanded, putting no harshness into his
voice. There was no need.
Tirnal obeyed, carefully getting down on his knees on the
layers of rugs lining the floor.
Raven simply let him wait, letting his fear build with
anticipation, as Laj finished removing the armor. It didn't
take all that long, not nearly as long as removing plate
armor would have required. When it was done, the
bodyservant turned his attention to the other two men,
helping them with their own armor.
Raven now stood revealed in breeches and shirt as
unrelieved black as his armor had been. He stretched
comfortably, and then looked deep into his captive's eyes,
boring in, commanding his attention.
"Know this, Tirnal: you are in my power, and the Bright
Gods cannot help you now," he told him. "There is no need
to pray for deliverance, because there will be none."
He waited. Tirnal took a deep, ragged breath, then nodded
reluctantly, acknowledging the truth of his words. His
hands stayed locked in position.
"From now until I permit your soul to pass to the Bright
Realm, I am the only god you know, because I hold your life
in my hands and I dictate your fate. I am your lord and
master."
The mage swallowed, but he did not look away.
"Let me hear you say it." Raven held him pinned on his gaze
like a skewered lamb. "Say 'You are my god and my master.'"
Tirnal inhaled deeply, the lines around his nose and mouth
tightening as his jaw clenched, and then he swallowed.
"You are my god and my master." His voice was low and
hoarse, but it didn't break.
Raven nodded. "Good." He paused briefly, then: "If I do
order you to speak, you will call me "Lord" or "Master".
You may call either of my two companions here "Sir". If I
do not command you to speak, you will say nothing at all.
Do you understand me, Archmage?"
Tirnal took in another deep breath, nostrils flaring. "Yes,
Lord."
"Now, come here, kiss my boots. Show me your subservience."
When he started to get up again, Raven corrected him. "No.
Crawl to me. Crawl on all fours."
The mage's cheekbones colored with shame, but he showed no
reluctance, no hesitation. He lowered himself to hands and
knees and crawled across the floor.
Raven savored the feeling of power that welled in him as
his captive reached him and planted a kiss on each of his
boots. He didn't smile; something about this moment was too
deep, too profound, to permit common gloating. It was like
what he felt when making a sacrifice to the Dark Kings.
Already he felt a growing warmth in his groin, his lust
rising more quickly than it ever had before.
He had had more men than he could count at his mercy, many
of them begging and pleading for their lives or to be
spared further abuse or torture. Some had been as naked as
Tirnal was now, and as humiliated.
None of them had affected him in quite this way.
But then, none of them had ever offered themselves freely.
Perhaps this was what the demons felt when they took their
payment from him . . .
He pushed that thought away as he looked down at the
humbled Bright Mage at his feet.
He could never explain his impulse later, but he didn't
question it then.
"Get up now," he ordered Tirnal.
Tirnal began to obey, his hands once again going to the
back of his neck -- but he had no chance to finish before
Raven's arms were slipping around his torso, under his own
arms, pulling him up forcibly to his feet. And then Raven
held his head in both hands, kissing him full on the mouth,
his tongue forcing its way in.
Moments later, he pushed the mage away to stare at him at
arms' length, taking in his expression.
He had expected to see abject shame in his face. Instead,
he found he couldn't read the look in those shadowed hazel
eyes.
Once again he forced himself into the mind behind them,
only far enough to see what the other was feeling. He
sensed Tirnal's humiliation and fear -- but also,
unexpectedly, a tinge of lust mirroring his own, a lust
that was creating still more shame.
A lust that focused uneasily on him.
He smiled coldly. He glanced down between their bodies,
seeing the darkening of Tirnal's organ, the first stirring
of arousal.
He withdrew from the mage's mind, lifted his head, looked
over at his companions.
Algarn was watching with lust and curiosity mingling in his
expression; he sensed something unusual in this rape.
Zhourn's face held only lust -- he lacked the imagination
for wondering.
Laj, crouching to remove Zhourn's leg guards, did not look
back at all.
Raven stared at each of his commanders in turn. *Do not
dare to question me*, his expression said, and they looked
down, away, quickly.
He smiled coldly, feeling the savage possessiveness of a
wolf claiming a fresh kill, and returned his attention to
Tirnal.
He released the mage's shoulders and began to fondle him,
his hands roving up and down that handsome body.
That flesh was exposed, accessible -- vulnerable. He could
explore it as he wished, and he did, slowly and thoroughly.
Tirnal only closed his eyes, his hands still clasped on his
neck; he knew he could do nothing to defend himself, only
helplessly endure the fondling.
Behind him, Raven heard Zhourn order Laj to fetch them some
wine, and then the soft footfalls of the departing youth,
the closing of the door.
Tirnal's skin was delightfully smooth, unmarked by the
scars of physical combat. Raven gently squeezed his
uplifted arms to feel the long muscles underneath that
skin; he ran his fingertips through the dark tufts of hair
underneath the arms, feeling the moisture there, then took
both dark nipples between his fingers and teased them
softly until they stiffened into hard nubbins. He lingered
there for a time, enjoying the reaction and the feel of the
swollen flesh that couldn't help but respond.
Tirnal closed his eyes; his expression was a study in
mingled shame and sensuality, but he endured in total
silence. His hands stayed at the back of his neck.
When Raven felt ready to move on, he took a slow eternity
to run his hands down the ribs. Finally he took a small
step closer and squatted down to reach behind to the
rounded swell of the buttocks, where he squeezed and
kneaded, feeling soft-skinned, resilient flesh with taut
muscle underneath.
Tirnal could control his fear and shame, but not his organ
-- it was darkened and half-lifted, almost touching his
tormentor's cheek.
At last Raven tired of his explorations. When he rose, he
was close up against the other man, feeling his heat, their
bodies almost touching.
Looking into those hazel eyes again, he felt a cruel little
smile form on his lips.
"You enjoy this, Bright Mage? Do you enjoy my touch?"
Tirnal blushed, pink suffusing his face. He closed his
eyes, half-turning his head to avoid Raven's gaze.
Raven reached out one hand, seized his chin, firmly pulling
his head back.
"Answer me," he commanded, his voice low, deadly.
Tirnal swallowed hard. "Yes. My body does, at least," he
admitted.
Raven smiled again. "Good."
He released Tirnal's chin -- and then he squatted down
again before that shameful erection, taking it in his hand,
feeling the enticing heat of it. Slowly, gently, he began
to stroke it teasingly along its length, from root to tip
and back, as he would have pleasured himself.
The organ in his hand warmed, stiffened further. Soon his
efforts were rewarded with a small, barely audible gasp.
Then another, louder.
He glanced up at Tirnal's face. The mage's eyes were
closed, his face suffused with mingled humiliation and
arousal, lips parted.
He released that heated flesh and stood up.
"Open those eyes, mage," he commanded. "Open them." His
voice was soft, caressing -- a lover's.
Tirnal obeyed, unwillingly meeting his gaze.
"You find Those I serve horrifying, do you not? Be honest,
now. Do not try to avoid my anger."
A wary look came into Tirnal's eyes. He took a deep breath.
"Yes. Yes, I do," he said.
"You would never agree to pay homage to them, would you?
No, no need to answer -- I already know the answer you
would give.
"And yet, tonight you will be giving them, and me, a fine
gift."
Raven paused, enjoying the puzzlement in the Bright Mage's
face.
"You see, pain and death are not the only gifts that give
my patrons joy. Those things are indeed their mainstay, but
there are a thousand other ways to honor and delight them.
The shaming and defilement of those who oppose them, for
example."
Tirnal's eyes widened as he half-understood his meaning.
His breath caught. Raven went on:
"Rest assured that your humiliation here in this room does
not escape their notice, any more than will your suffering
later. I had planned merely to rape you repeatedly,
enjoying your flesh . . . but now I see that you can serve
me, and them, still better. And you will.
"Before this day is over, I will have you literally begging
on your knees for the release of your passion. Think of it,
Archmage -- a high mortal servant of the Bright Gods,
groveling at the feet of the Dark Warrior, whimpering in
need, actually pleading for his own violation! That will be
a succulent offering indeed for them."
As horror filled the other man's eyes, Raven felt an
incredible wave of warm, cruel, powerful joy.
He leaned forward and again kissed Tirnal's mouth deeply,
possessively; for a moment, it seemed the mage would draw
back, but then he visibly restrained himself despite his
revulsion, opening his mouth to the blond man's probing
tongue.
Raven's hands roamed his flesh again, teasing up his
nipples, stroking his sides, his flat belly. He thought he
might never tire of touching him, feeling his helplessness,
his submission, and at last his mouth released the mage's
so that he could once again toy with that humiliating
erection.
This time, he did not cease his caresses until Tirnal's
gasps had become open and shameless and his hips began to
flex, body tightening.
When he released him and stepped back, he was once again
all command, staring at him with savage intensity.
Tirnal's face was a study in abject shame and passion, his
eyes screwed nearly shut, color suffusing his cheekbones.
Beads of sweat sparkled on his cheeks and brow.
Raven turned to look at the other two men. "Algarn!" he
called.
The red-haired commander stepped forward, eyes glittering
with hopeful lust.
"Would you like to touch this slut?" Raven asked, a cruel
smile quirking his mouth. Tirnal winced almost
imperceptibly at the last word.
"Yes, sir!" and Algarn grinned.
"Do so, then." Raven gave him a nod and stepped back to
give him room.
Algarn was less leisurely in his explorations than Raven
had been. He did not kiss his victim, only pawed him
roughly, and he paid his maleness no attention. He groped
Tirnal thoroughly and with obvious enjoyment, and then he
stepped behind him, squatted down and fondled and squeezed
his buttocks.
Raven watched, his face impassive again, his arms folded
across his chest.
Tirnal never lost his erection, but the look on his face
said more clearly than words what an effort of will it took
for him to remain still. He stared resolutely straight
ahead, refusing to flinch or move his hands from his neck.
Finally, Algarn looked over at Raven, wanting to do more,
wondering whether he could.
Raven shook his head in refusal. "Zhourn," he called.
Zhourn did kiss Tirnal, but roughly and crudely, licking
his neck, nuzzling. Like Algarn, he pawed him thoroughly.
He felt that swollen erection with equal thoroughness,
savoring its heat, drawing a small moan from him.
Finally he moved to squat behind him as Algarn had done. He
gripped the small, tight buttocks and pulled them open,
taking a closer look at the rear passage.
"From what I've heard, he's no virgin," he commented, "but
he looks like he'll be nice and tight."
Algarn chuckled. Raven smiled tolerantly.
Tirnal's blush turned nearly scarlet, and his hardness
lessened a little, drooping.
"Enough," Raven told Zhourn.
As Zhourn retreated, the mage-warrior stepped in again,
reclaiming the mage's attention.
"Kneel again," he commanded. "Then take your hands off the
back of your neck and open my breeches and pleasure me. I'm
sure you are no stranger to this act."
He looked down at Tirnal's face as he obeyed. The mage's
expression showed his reluctance, but no distaste; clearly,
he'd done this before.
Tirnal began stroking and caressing, fondling Raven's
manhood. The dark-haired man's skill was evident, and the
sensations of those knowing hands slipping up and down his
flesh gave him little jolts of sheer pleasure --
But he had had something else in mind.
He backhanded the mage, casually, the sound breaking the
quiet of the bedchamber. Tirnal jerked back, one hand going
up to his face reflexively. The blow had left a red mark on
his face.
"No, not your hands. It is your mouth I want to enjoy,"
Raven corrected, his tone level, unchanged. "And cross your
wrists behind your back as you work. *Please me*, Tirnal."
Tirnal stared at him, swallowed . . . licked his lips. Then
he visibly steeled himself, fighting down his anger and his
shame in order to obey, moving his hands behind his back as
he'd been bidden.
He leaned forward, and Raven was enchanted by the sight of
his mouth opening wetly, but he began not at his organ but
at his testicles, nuzzling under the already-swollen member
to reach them. He softly, slowly kissed each one before
licking them for long breaths.
*And after I have struck him*, Raven thought. *What
beautiful self-control he has . . .* The mage was indeed
submitting as fully as he possibly could, just as he had
offered.
And then that skilled mouth was slipping around his organ
at last, kissing, then licking all over, up and down --
and, finally, suckling.
Raven gasped at the sweet sensations before he could stop
himself -- he honestly hadn't expected to react so
strongly.
He found a moment to be grateful that Algarn and Zhourn had
long since proven to be utterly trustworthy and discreet,
that this wasn't going to be a source of gossip.
He tilted his head back and gave in to the urge to thrust
his hips into that sucking mouth, its warmth and wetness.
He felt Tirnal gag slightly, but the tongue never wholly
retreated and it quickly resumed its work. He wanted to
thrust harder, to moan and gasp at the pleasure, to seize
Tirnal's head and move it back and forth, but he resisted,
only putting his hands on the mage's shoulders, feeling his
muscles flex with the rhythm his lust demanded.
He was able to keep from crying out as he climaxed, but he
did groan with ecstasy through gritted teeth, eyes tightly
closed, head thrown back. His fingers dug into Tirnal's
shoulders as his seed filled his mouth.
The dark-haired mage showed no reluctance at all -- he
swallowed, then held his relaxing organ gently in his
mouth. At last Raven pushed his head away, with a
gentleness that he wondered at himself.
Tirnal looked up again, licking his lips. That nearly
unreadable expression was on his face again.
"You *are* good at that," Raven allowed, and enjoyed the
renewed blush that brought to his face. "I might not tire
of using you for some time."
He smiled, relishing the languor of satiation as he retied
the dangling laces of his breeches, loosely enough to be
comfortable, leaving his still-slick member exposed.
Then he glanced over at his companions. They stood against
the wall, waiting patiently, as they'd long since learned
to do while he took his pleasure of a victim. Both men
shifted restlessly, faces hopeful as they looked back.
An idea came to him.
"Algarn, bring over the oil, please."
Algarn's eyes lit with anticipation. He went over to the
small dresser to get the small glass bottle.
Raven looked down again upon his captive. The mage
swallowed, closed his eyes for a long moment, opened them,
taking a deep breath.
He wouldn't have been surprised to see Tirnal in tears at
this point, but the dark-haired man did not weep, would not
plead even with his eyes.
"Put your head on my boot," he ordered him.
Tirnal obeyed in silence, lowering himself to hands and
knees, then leaning down carefully to press his right cheek
against the leather of Raven's boot.
Raven gazed down upon him, admiring the long dark hair
fanning out over his boot toe, the lean muscles of the
shoulders and back, the proffered rounded buttocks. His
eyes were closed, as if to remove himself from the
indignity he was suffering.
Algarn stepped up to them and looked down at Tirnal's
exposed form, smirking. When he looked back up at Raven,
his expression was a question.
Raven smiled faintly in return. "Not yet," he said. "Simply
prepare him for us, for later."
"A pleasure, sir!" Algarn's grin broadened still more. He
knelt behind Tirnal, opening the bottle and greasing his
fingers.
Tirnal did not move, even as Algarn's fingers entered his
rear passage. He must have been wishing to die of shame,
but he would not disobey -- or sob. Only once did he make a
small sound, so faint as to be indistinguishable, as those
fingers made obscene squelching sounds inside him. A shiver
ran down his back.
Finally Algarn withdrew, wiping his hands on his breeches
as he got up.
"Would you like to use his mouth as well?" Raven asked.
Algarn's grin seemed ready to split his face, and Raven saw
the crotch of his breeches was bulging. "Oh, yes! Need you
ask, Commander?"
"Then do so. You also, Zhourn. Tirnal, go to your other
masters, please them as you did me."
As the mage began to service Algarn, Raven withdrew to an
ornately carved chair beside the dresser to relax. The
dresser bore a flagon of wine and three goblets, laid there
by Laj before he had departed to leave his master to his
pleasures.
The blond mage-warrior poured himself a drink and sipped
it, sprawling comfortably in the chair, as Tirnal pleasured
Algarn, and then Zhourn.
*No question*, he mused as he watched, *I am going to enjoy
him for all the time I can spare.*
Zhourn actually cried out as Tirnal brought him to his
climax. The mage released his sex, leaving him to sag
against the wall for support, the glazed look of satiation
on his ugly face.
Raven rose slowly from his chair to rejoin them, then
stopped to stand by Tirnal's side and look down at him.
Tirnal looked up at him, putting his hands on the back of
his neck again, ready for another order. He was once again
fully erect, his organ dark and red.
Raven felt a playful cruelty well up in him. He lifted one
foot, touched that swollen organ with the toe of his boot,
prodding it gently.
"Archmage," he questioned softly, "do you enjoy this so
much?"
Tirnal flushed again, but his expression was calmer . . .
almost serene. It wasn't the blankness of withdrawal. He
had steeled himself again, even in the midst of such abject
humiliation, and Raven found himself with curiously
conflicting emotions -- admiration for him, annoyance that
he wouldn't break.
The mage appeared to be pondering his answer, and then he
spoke:
"I suppose . . . a part of me does, lord."
Raven's boot moved slowly, rubbing the side softly along
that stiffened organ.
"How so, then?" His voice was still soft.
Tirnal closed his eyes, opened them again, slowly, as the
rough leather rubbed his manhood. He seemed about to
answer, but then he tensed and shivered, gritting his
teeth, his hips flexing slightly.
Raven's gaze lowered to the swollen erection. A small dark
spot from seeping moisture now glistened on the dark
leather of his boot. He withdrew it.
"Well?" he pressed, and he squatted down beside his victim
to get closer to eye level.
Tirnal breathed deeply, gathering his composure.
And then he surprised Raven with a wry smile.
"I am, as you have said, no stranger to this act, lord."
Raven felt his own smile turn warm, much against his will,
before it faded. "So I see. You're a strong one, mage . . .
Tell me, have you ever been taken from behind?"
Tirnal hesitated, eyes widening slightly, then responded.
"No. Never -- lord."
"Then today I am going to take your virginity. But I am not
yet ready, so first you will awaken my lust again. Slowly."
A delicious sense of abandon welled in the mage-warrior as
he slowly unlaced and pulled off his shirt, dropping it
carelessly to the floor.
"Get up," he commanded. "Face me."
Tirnal's movements as he rose were slow, uncertain. His
hazel eyes searched Raven's face, looking for a hint of
what he wanted.
Raven stepped closer to him, close enough that he could
feel the mage's breath on his face. Close enough to feel
the heat of that naked body over his own bare chest, and
know Tirnal felt his. He felt his own arousal, somewhere
far underground, slowly rising again.
His voice was a soft purr, a stalking leopard's, as he
placed one hand on Tirnal's shoulder.
"You find me desirable, Bright Mage, don't you." It was a
statement, not a question.
Tirnal's gaze flickered, slipping to one side.
"Answer me." Raven did not raise his voice above that purr,
but its note turned lethal as his hand tightened on the
mage's shoulder.
Tirnal looked back, licking his lips uneasily. His gaze
flickered downward over Raven's body, then back up again.
"Yes -- yes, my lord. I do. You are -- beautiful." He
looked as if he feared what the response would be to that
statement.
Raven smiled.
"You are going to make love to me, as you have sworn. Come,
don't be afraid -- take the initiative. I will not be angry
at you for touching me, not when I have commanded it."
Then Tirnal understood, and his eyes reflected his shame,
his helplessness -- and his fascination. He sighed,
resigning himself.
"Come with me to the bed," Raven ordered.
He walked over to the bed and sat down on its edge. At his
direction, Tirnal knelt, removed his boots and set them
aside.
He lay down on his back then, sprawling with his arms over
his head in an attitude of limp abandon.
And then Tirnal was crouching beside him on hands and
knees, looking down into his face. Raven looked up at him
and smiled, savoring the sheer complexity of the emotions
mirrored in the other's face.
Shame was still very much there, and a tinge of sorrow --
he hadn't forgotten his fate. And his hazel eyes also held
unmistakable lust and fascination as they gazed down at
Raven's lean, hard body.
The mage took a deep breath. After only a moment's
hesitation, he lowered his head to put his mouth against
the blond man's.
The first kiss was only a reluctant brushing of lips
against lips. Raven opened his mouth invitingly,
encouraging him. Tirnal's tongue flickered in, uncertain,
tentative, making no demand.
Raven sucked gently on that timid tongue, making no return
parry to Tirnal's cautious probing. Emboldened, the tongue
probed deeper into his welcoming mouth, and they kissed for
long, voluptuous moments, making soft wet sounds.
Tirnal's mouth slipped from his, moving down his neck, and
Raven turned his head to one side, his eyes half-closing
with pleasure.
"A good beginning," he breathed. "Go on."
Those hands, softer than his -- they'd never held a sword -
- moved up and down on his bare skin, stroking, caressing,
feeling his battle-hardened muscles, lingering curiously
over the occasional scar. Then they were joined by that
skillful mouth.
Raven closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations as his flesh
was explored -- a hand running through his long blond hair,
a tongue flicking against his left nipple . . .
He seized Tirnal's shoulders again, dragged him down close
for yet another wet kiss, his tongue running deeply into
the other's mouth. Then he released him to continue his
work.
His lust had at last returned, was beginning to stir as the
dark-haired mage's head finally lowered to his exposed
organ.
Those knowing fingers were loosening the thong again,
opening his breeches wide. And then once again that wet
warm mouth was surrounding his member, coaxing it into rut
again.
As Tirnal sucked him back into hardness, Raven found
himself reaching with one hand to stroke his hair. He felt,
oddly, as if he were not raping but comforting the
Archmage, and he wondered at himself, but he didn't
refrain. Tirnal's mouth paused a moment -- as if he were
surprised -- then went on working.
Raven closed his eyes, ignoring the soft murmur of voices
from the other two men.
*Let them wait*, he thought idly, dropping his arm back on
the bed.
("What's so special about this one?" Zhourn murmured into
Algarn's ear as they watched the two figures on the bed.
Algarn shook his head. "I don't know. Perhaps it's
something between mages.")
The return to full arousal took longer this time, but he
enjoyed every moment of it. His hips began to flex as the
sensations became still sweeter, reawakening his hunger,
his erection slipping back and forth between Tirnal's lips
as he thrust into his mouth.
When at last he was ready -- more than ready -- his hands
went to Tirnal's head again, this time to push him away.
The mage pulled back obediently, and then Raven had pulled
himself up to seize his wrists in a quick smooth motion,
forcing him down and onto his back. He pinned him spread-
eagled on the bed, covering the dark-haired man's mouth
with his own in a kiss intended to smother any sound or
exclamation he might have made.
He was the stronger; there was no way Tirnal could have
thrown him off, and he gloried in that strength as he held
him down. After a moment of startled resistance, the mage
relaxed, submitting.
Raven's tongue darted deep, deep, into the captive's mouth
and throat, as far as it could go, before he withdrew. He
felt him gag, but there was no resistance.
Raven released his hands, got up on his knees to look down
at him. He reached out one hand to Tirnal's collared
throat, as if he meant to choke him, and enjoyed the sudden
instinctive fear in the mage's eyes; but his touch was
gentle. *I hold your life in my hands,* it said.
Slowly, he stroked his hand down the neck over the entire
front of Tirnal's body, slipping down over the mage's chest
and flat belly. His fingertips trailed through the dark
pubic hair, finally slipping around the mage's half-erect
organ.
Tirnal gasped.
Raven smiled, a smile rich with mingled cruelty and lust,
and he began to stroke. Softly, slowly at first, he
commanded the dark-haired man's passion, and that erecting
organ grew warmer and harder in his hand as the long
moments passed, until its heat surpassed his own.
Tirnal's body tensed, muscles tightening as his arousal
increased. His hands clenched on the coverlet. Raven
continued to stroke.
Now the mage's head was thrown back, his long dark hair
spreading across the coverlet, and his teeth were bared and
gritted. His hips thrust greedily, pushing his craving
member into Raven's stroking hand. The blond man felt drops
of moisture wetting his fingers but never ceased his slow
stroking.
He leaned closer as he caressed.
"There is another rule I have forgotten to tell you," he
murmured, enjoying the sudden consternation that brought to
Tirnal's face. "And that is that you are not to touch
yourself, to do anything to release your passion, even as
we use your handsome body to slake ours. You will let me
torment you, and you will suffer for me without pain."
He looked down into his victim's face, enjoying the
frustration there, the powerless need.
Tirnal groaned and nodded, closing his eyes, his expression
a study in shamed despair.
Now that body was tight as a drawn bow, muscles standing
out in relief. Raven reached down with his other hand and
cupped the tight-drawn testicles. They were heavy and full.
Tirnal moaned.
He continued his ruthless stroking. He won another whimper,
and then another from Tirnal.
"Go ahead -- moan. Beg. Your cries for mercy are sweet to
me."
Address comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com .
More of my work may be found at Maureen Lycaon's Velan
Archive of Erotica at:
http://velar.ctrl-c.liu.se/vcl/Authors/Maureen/
------------------------------------------------------------
Forget Logic sometimes, listen to the logic of Nature.
A thought is dull without an instinct.
-- Fernando Ribeiro
------------------------------------------------------------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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