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From: Maureen Lycaon <maureen_lcn@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Captivity [2/3] (MM, Mdom/M, nc, tort, oral, anal, ScFi)
Date: Sun, 29 Sep 2002 21:10:04 -0400
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SWORN

PART ONE: CAPTIVITY


@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, September 2002. Permission
granted to duplicate this story via normal propagation
through Usenet and whatever mailing lists it's posted
on (but please do not repost; I can do that myself,
thank you); to archive it in the official web archives
of alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.moderated and
alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated, as well as whatever
mailing lists I post it on; and to keep one hard copy
and two electronic copies for your personal use. All
other rights are reserved under the Berne Convention.

MANDATORY WARNING: This is hard-core erotica. If you
shouldn't or don't want to be reading this, don't.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
What this series of stories describes wouldn't be
healthy in real life. The main character comes to
accept and enjoy being enslaved and raped -- and I
portray this as a Good Thing. The only reassurance I
can offer my readers is: this is a dream you are in,
an erotic dream about dominance and submission. It is
not a guide to BDSM or the real world -- only a portal
into the author's own twisted imagination.

All hail Dusk Darkling, who provided most of the beta
reading (and advised on Servant Byron's writing
equipment); Windrunner and Tyellas, who also beta'd;
and Michael Craig, who provided constructive
criticism.

You can read my other erotic works at:
http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/index2.html



Captivity (Part One of the "Sworn" series)

By Maureen Lycaon



The silent servant guided Rain through one long
corridor, then another. They met only two other
servants on the way, who gave Rain brief, careful
looks before going about their duties.

Duval led him into a darkened chamber, and turned to
touch a little panel on the wall. Light suddenly
illuminated the room, from a lamp of some kind set
into a recessed well in the ceiling.

A bed, much larger than the straw pallets Rain knew,
took up most of the space -- a real bed, with a
mattress resting upon a brass frame. Its bed-head and
foot were curiously fashioned of straight brass bars.
A wooden chair stood to one side, pushed against a
wall. No furs covered the bed, only a couple of
pillows and a quilt of thick woven fabric. There were
no windows at all.

The feeling of being held in a trap returned, but he
felt too empty to care much.

Duval led him to the bed, then unsnapped the leash,
leaving the collar in place.

"Lie down," the servant said.

Rain hesitated a moment -- why, he wasn't sure.
Perhaps it was the trapped feeling. Perhaps it was
some last scrap of resistance against the knowledge
that this, now, was his only home. Before Duval could
repeat the order, he gathered what was left of his
will and forced himself to lie down on that bed.

Duval looked at him, no doubt making sure he wasn't
about to disobey by getting up. Then the servant
turned to touch the panel again, and the ceiling light
suddenly darkened, leaving the open door the only
source of illumination.
 
Duval walked out of the room without a backward
glance, closing the door behind him.

At first, Rain thought he was being left in total
darkness. But as his eyes adjusted, where the little
panel had been, now a square glowed upon the wall --
the panel was lit from within. No doubt the glow came
from the same mysterious electricity that the ceiling
light used. It shed just enough light that he could
make out the outlines of the room, the door, and the
chair in the corner.

The buckle on his leather collar pressed into the skin
of his neck, and he felt a brief but powerful urge to
undo it, tear it off and hurl it away. Instead, he
reached up and worked it around so that he was
comfortable.

He forced himself to relax onto the bed, feeling the
deep soreness of his muscles, the aftereffects of
struggling wildly in his bonds. The room was too warm
for getting under the quilt, even for a man without
clothing, so he simply lay on top of it. The mattress
underneath felt incredibly soft, much softer and more
comfortable than straw; he almost thought he could
sink into it and be swallowed up.

The sheer comfort was almost blissful, after what he
had just endured. He shivered once, then simply lay
there with eyes closed, trying not to think.

Nevertheless, his mind began working again.

He had never imagined such pain as he had just
suffered. In his mind and his heart, he had known what
he was consigning himself to when he had volunteered
to be the sacrifice. He'd known that for all intents
and purposes, his life was at an end. But he had not
truly understood.

He had thought he could bear any pain. Instead, he had
been broken in the space of a single flogging.

Lord Michael had reduced him to begging for mercy,
even the mercy of death, so easily. Rain would gladly
have killed himself or the Lord, betraying his honor
and his Clan, rather than go on enduring that lash for
one more moment.

Surely he could be made to suffer like that for much
longer -- perhaps for days or even weeks. The thought
made bitter nausea rise in his stomach, forcing him to
swallow down the bile. What would it be like to have
to endure such pain again and again for the rest of
his life? By the terms of the oath, he could not even
slay himself to end the pain.

He could not possibly abide by what he had sworn. He
would certainly forsake his vow and betray the Clans.
His people's only hope was that when that happened,
Lord Michael would ignore his pleas for mercy and not
let him go back on his word.

And this was what he had consigned himself to.

A soul-deep, excruciating longing rose in his heart
for all he had left behind: the simple cabins and
wooded plains of the Outlands, the Southwest smallclan
folk he had grown up with and lived with, the feel of
the cool spring wind. Things he would never see or
feel again; friends and kin whose voices he would
never hear, whose company he would never again know.

Alone, where neither Lord Michael nor his servants
could see him do it, Rain turned his face into the
quilt and began to weep softly but bitterly, the sobs
shaking his entire body. They brought no true comfort.

Afterward, he rubbed his eyes and his cheeks carefully
to remove all traces of his weak tears, and fell into
an exhausted sleep.



He awakened when the door opened -- he was lying on
his side, head on a pillow. The Clansman had no idea
how long he had slept; he was given no time to ponder
it, for a figure stepped in, alone. Even by the faint
light of the wall panel, Rain recognized the intruder
as Lord Michael -- he was growing familiar with how
the Lord moved, and could see his free-flowing pale
hair. Michael was fully dressed once more, though he
no longer wore the jacket over his strange frilly
shirt.

Rain's heart pounded wildly; only by a great effort of
will did he keep himself from trembling as the Lord
approached. What did Michael want? To torture him
again, or simply to use him?

Michael touched the panel, and light flooded the room
once again. Then he turned toward the bed.

His face was impassive as he walked toward Rain. He
stopped, looking down upon the young Clansman, and
stared into his face a long time without speaking.
Rain forced himself to meet that unfathomable gaze,
but he couldn't help swallowing anxiously. He was
suddenly aware of his own nakedness again, of how
vulnerable he was.

The Lord nodded twice, almost as if to himself, and
then turned away to fetch the chair. He dragged the
chair over to sit in it, beside the bed.

Reaching forward, he took Rain's head in his hands, as
if to prevent him turning away. They were gentle
hands, with no cruelty or even brusqueness. Rain
didn't resist.

The Lord's face was as gentle as his hands as he
looked down upon Rain, his blue eyes almost tender.

"You have been weeping," he stated, his deep voice
soft.

Rain blinked. He'd thought he had left no telltale
signs of tears, but there was no denying the certainty
in Michael's voice. He knew.

The Clansman bit back a denial -- after the sukai
lash, he had no wish to arouse this man's wrath.

"Yes, my Lord," he admitted, feeling his cheeks heat.

Lord Michael sighed. And then, astonishingly, one of
those gentle hands was stroking Rain's hair, as if to
comfort him.

"I don't blame you," Michael said.

Rain stared back at him, baffled. The Lord's softness
now was so totally at odds with what he had done to
him earlier. The Clansman didn't trust it at all.

"Is gentleness from me so hard to accept, then?"
Michael asked, and smiled, with that same tenderness.
"Never mind -- I understand, Rain. You're afraid of
me. You fear me terribly, after yesterday. And you
dread breaking your oath and failing your Clan."

Rain closed his eyes, his face growing still warmer.
The stroking of his hair continued.

"You expect to be tormented like that for what remains
of your life, don't you?"

"Yes, my Lord." His control broke for a moment; a
shudder ran through him, and a stab of shame as he
realized Michael could see and feel that shudder. Rain
braced himself, forcing down his fear and despair.

"That's why I used the sukai lash," the Lord said.
"Now we are done with that and we can truly begin. You
need not fear that you will ever face that lash again,
Rain."

Rain opened his eyes. He sought to guard himself, but
he couldn't help the swelling of utter relief in his
heart.

Lord Michael smiled at his expression. "I know . . .
You believe the Lords to be without honor, and so my
word is valueless to you. But for what it is worth, I
swear: unless you ask me for it of your own free will,
I will never again make you suffer so much pain. In
time, you will see that my word is good.

"Yes, in some ways I do enjoy watching a slave suffer
for me," the Lord went on, his smile broadening for a
moment, becoming something less gentle, before fading.
"And sometimes you *will* know pain in my service,
both for correction when you have erred and simply for
my pleasure. But never again will it be so great, nor
by that lash, unless you yourself desire it. I have no
intention of torturing you to the point of madness or
death, or even beyond bearing.

"Now, turn onto your belly. I wish to touch you, so
remain there and do not move until I say so."

Sickness welled in Rain's stomach. *He will rape me
now . . .*

Well, that was no more than what he had expected when
he had sworn his oath. It could be no worse than the
whipping. He obeyed, pushing the pillow away and
rolling onto his stomach, face pressed into the
sheets.

The Lord got onto the bed with him, straddling him.

Rain felt Michael's hand once again stroking his hair,
the back of his head. Then the Lord's fingers were
doing something to the little thong that held his hair
in its Clan ponytail. He didn't realize what it was
until his long hair, released, fell onto his shoulders
and the quilt.

He felt a sharp stab of mingled humiliation, anger and
grief. That ponytail was one of the things that marked
a Clansman; feeling it being loosened brought home to
him just how much else he had lost.

"I understand what this means," Michael's voice spoke
above him, as both hands spread out his hair to bare
his shoulders. "But you are no longer anything but my
slave. No slave of mine will wear such beautiful long
hair bound like that, not unless I so will it. I want
to see it flowing onto your shoulders and down your
back and chest when you stand or kneel before me, to
make you look as handsome as possible."

Michael's hands moved down to Rain's shoulders,
exploring. Massaging deeply to feel the muscles there,
then moving on as if satisfied. Then down his flanks,
gently, but firmly enough not to tickle.

Rain felt like an animal being prodded and examined
for its meat. His whole face was warm now.

Lord Michael felt his body over from head to feet,
slowly and thoroughly. Then the Lord's hands moved up
again along the backs of his legs, up his thighs,
until they rested on his buttocks, which were explored
as gently but thoroughly as the rest of him had been.
Rain held himself carefully still, wanting all the
while to curse and twist away, trying to ignore the
painful heat of his face.

The edges of both Michael's hands moved inward,
dipping into the division between Rain's buttocks --
and then the palms slowly spread them apart, exposing
his anus so that he could feel cool air against it.

He knotted his fists in the quilt. His guts tightened
painfully as if the entry were already happening.

There was nothing he could do to stop this. Nothing.
He could not lift a hand against Lord Michael, or even
plead with him. He had sworn to obey.

Warm breath blew on his anus, telling him the Lord was
leaning down to study it more closely, breathing upon
it. His buttocks were firmly pulled still wider. And
then Michael's face was pushing into them, and lips
pressed against that undefended opening, giving it a
gentle kiss.

Rain's entire body jerked with surprise.

The Lord drew away slowly, releasing his buttocks.

"You fear I am going to take you there now, don't
you?" he said.

"Yes, my Lord," Rain almost whispered.

"You need not fear. I will not use your anus today,
nor tomorrow, nor for many days." Rain almost gasped
in relief. "I will not do so until -- well, let's just
say it will not be for long weeks, perhaps months. But
one day I will.

"Now, roll onto your back. I wish to see you face to
face."

Rain turned over onto his back, his feet brushing
against the insides of Michael's legs as he did so.
His skin felt as if it wanted to crawl away from the
contact.

*I must let him do this.* But oh, spirits, what it was
costing him . . .

The Lord moved off of him slowly, deliberately, to
stand on the floor beside the bed once again. He
picked up the chair and put it aside, clearing his
way. Then he leaned over to take Rain's head gently in
his hands and kiss him softly, lingeringly on the
lips.

Rain's first impulse was to jerk his head back at that
intimate brushing of lips upon lips. He restrained
himself, and submitted to the touch.

It was a strange and terrible experience, knowing that
he must submit to this, to being kissed and touched by
this man, that he had no right to refuse nor ever
would again. Perhaps it would have been easier simply
to be roughly used.

When the Lord drew away a little, Rain took a deep
breath, then let it out, trying to clear his thoughts
and brace himself for whatever came next.

Michael took Rain's hands in his and guided them above
his head, before taking him into his arms.

"Clansmen do not lie with other men, do they?" Michael
remarked.

"No, my Lord," Rain answered, as he looked into
Michael's face and silently cursed his blushing.

"But you have lain with women, no doubt. The ways of
two people in bed are not wholly strange to you, are
they?"

"No -- that is, yes, my Lord -- I have lain with
women."

"Good. *Submit to me*, Rain." Lord Michael's tone of
voice brooked no resistance. The Lord's face filled
Rain's vision as Michael lowered his head to kiss the
Clansman again.

And Rain submitted.

For long, uncounted moments the Lord simply kissed him
on the mouth, nothing more. It felt alien, having
another man's face so close to his, the smell of him
in his nostrils. But it was not beyond bearing, he
decided.

Then, with no warning, Michael's tongue slid into his
mouth.

For all his resolve, Rain reacted without thinking.
His head jerked to one side as he gagged.

The Lord drew away, releasing his hands, and
straightened up. There was no anger on his face; in
fact, there was no expression there at all. He was as
emotionless as he had been while wielding the sukai
lash.

"Get up," he commanded, all softness gone from his
voice.

Rain gathered his wits and quickly obeyed, getting off
the bed to stand before Lord Michael.
 
"Kneel before me!" Michael's voice was iron.

Rain sank down onto his knees on the hard wooden floor
in front of the Lord, trying to ignore the violent
thudding of his heart, the chunk of ice that seemed to
have formed in his stomach.

The Lord ignored him for a moment, to turn and sit
down carefully on the edge of the bed. Then he
returned his gaze to Rain, who now had to look up to
meet his cold, stern eyes.

"Turn and face me," he ordered.

Rain turned around on his knees, as he hoped
desperately that none of the fear he felt showed on
his face. He lifted his head to look up at the Lord
once more, clamped his jaw and waited. Michael's eyes
were still implacable.

"Do you wish to go back upon your oath?" the Lord
demanded.

Rain felt the blood leave his face. The ice in his
stomach spread to his heart in a single moment. "No,
my Lord."

"Then it would appear that you need to be reminded of
some things. First, always remember that you are my
slave. You will resist *nothing* that I choose to do
to you. *Nothing*. You do *not* draw away from me,
ever. You are my possession, and I will touch you as I
will. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord," Rain managed.

"Did you somehow not understand this when you swore
your oath?"

"Yes, my Lord. I understood it."

"Then why did you draw away?"

"I -- was surprised, my Lord," he said carefully, sure
that the truth would only enrage the Lord more.

"And disgusted as well, I'd wager," Michael said, his
voice gentling. Something indefinable in his
expression softened just a little. "The truth, now.
You were disgusted and ashamed at having my tongue in
your mouth, weren't you? Do not lie to me, Rain."

His eyes locked with Rain's, as if they would never
release the Clansman until he told the truth. Rain
looked back into those icy blue eyes, and realized it
was of no use to try to deceive this Lord. No matter
how angry he might be at an honest answer, he would be
angrier if Rain lied to him.

Suddenly, Rain's own disgust felt absurd to him. When
he'd sworn the oath, he had been prepared to perform
whatever vile acts this decadent Lord might demand --
having to use his mouth on him, being used from
behind, being given to others to be used. Why should
he balk at merely being kissed?

Lord Michael's eyes were still locked with his,
demanding an answer.

"Yes, my Lord," Rain admitted. "I was."

The Lord nodded. "So I expected." And then, to Rain's
amazement, he smiled.

"I think, in the end, I can teach you to take joy in
your tasks. For now, simply apologize, and we will
continue this lesson."

Rain took a deep breath.

"I am sorry, my Lord. I beg your pardon."

*Joy? How can he imagine such a thing?* But now was no
time to dwell on that.

Lord Michael nodded, accepting the apology. "Now, get
back onto the bed, and lie down beside me."

A little awkwardly, Rain rose from his aching knees
and climbed back onto the bed.

The Lord turned, and with his hands guided Rain to lie
down facing him, pausing briefly to thrust a pillow
under his head. Then Michael pulled over another
pillow for his own head, lay down beside the young
Clansman, and took him into his arms.

To be so intimately, casually touched by another man .
. . Once again, Rain knew the quiver of revulsion,
though not as intensely as before. And yet -- the
warm, gentle embrace also felt curiously comforting.
Certainly better than being flogged.

Lord Michael smiled, the softness back in his eyes. He
reached up to slip one hand under Rain's hair, his
fingers brushing the leather collar, and held the back
of his head.

"Much better," he remarked. "Now we are both
comfortable."

He lifted his arm, put his hand on the back of Rain's
head, drew the Clansman's face to his and began
kissing him again. On the lips a few times, as if to
start over, and then his tongue was once again
questing between Rain's lips.

The Clansman was prepared now. He refused to give in
to the impulse of disgust, to flinch away. Instead, he
took a deep breath, and opened his mouth a little.
Michael's tongue entered again; this time, Rain didn't
gag at the intrusion.

Michael's mouth was never anything but gentle. Once
Rain's first reaction had passed, the kissing grew
much easier. There was even a certain pleasure in
simply lying here being held and kissed, at having to
do nothing save accept. Had the women he'd kissed felt
something like this?

For a long time, the Lord simply contented himself
with teaching him to accept being kissed by another
man. He explored and plundered Rain's mouth, all the
while gently stroking his hair, and softly rubbing and
massaging his shoulder and even his neck over the
collar.

At length, Lord Michael drew away a little. "Now,
return the favor."

Rain's stomach lurched, bringing him out of that state
of languid acceptance. Michael's eyes looked deeply
into his again, and the Clansman had no doubt the Lord
guessed what he was feeling -- and expected him to
obey anyway. The Lord's hand pressed gently on the
back of his neck, against the collar.

*Well, I have kissed before, after all.* It might be
less humiliating than having to passively accept Lord
Michael's lips and tongue, anyway.

Bracing himself, he kissed Michael on the lips, in the
same gentle fashion as he himself had been kissed. The
Lord's scent, muskier and heavier than a woman's,
filled his nostrils; he had to pause, to gather his
will to continue.

He simply kissed the Lord, lips brushing lips, several
times. Then he felt he could delay no longer. He
pushed his tongue into Michael's mouth.

Reluctance made him awkward, but the Lord offered no
correction. Rain explored cautiously, hesitantly. He
pushed his tongue toward the back of Michael's mouth,
and felt the Lord suck gently on it. He smelled
Michael's breath, warm and humid but not unpleasant;
he tasted his saliva, faintly sweet. Michael's hand on
the back of his neck began to move, massaging him
again.

As he grew accustomed to it, the Clansman called upon
what experience he had with women, did what he had
done with them. He moved his tongue softly against
Michael's, explored his mouth, took Michael's lower
lip between his own and pressed it gently. 

The sickness in his belly dwindled and vanished,
forgotten.

At last, Lord Michael grasped a handful of his hair
and used it to pull him back, gently but firmly.

"Enough," the Lord said. "And much better." He smiled,
his eyes soft with approval. "Now I will explore you a
little more."

Michael's hand gripped Rain's shoulder lightly, then
moved slowly down his upper arm, squeezing just a
little to feel the muscle there. Then it moved to his
chest to stroke slowly downward. To Rain's surprise,
it stopped at his nipple and began to toy with it.

Rain controlled himself, holding still. Those
exploring fingers were gentle, much too gentle to
hurt. In fact, they gave him a strange sensation as
they softly stroked and caressed his nipple.

Suddenly he realized that his flesh was reacting, the
nipple stiffening as a woman's would.

Deep rage flared in him, rage that the odd caresses
were calling forth this response from his weak flesh.
He wanted to strike out at the Lord, to lash out
against this violation; the muscles in his arms
quivered with tension. Only with a great effort of
will was he able to keep his arms down. His hands
balled into fists on the quilt.

Lord Michael saw his anger. "You don't want to
respond, do you?" And he actually smiled at the young
Clansman.

*You spirit-forsaken pig!* Rain wanted to snarl.
Instead, he managed between clenched teeth, "No -- I
don't, my Lord."

The Lord nodded. The amused smile faded, leaving his
face calm. Clearly, Rain's anger meant little to him;
he knew that the Clansman would not go back on his
oath. At least he was not angered in return.

"This caress feels strange to you, doesn't it?" he
said, toying with Rain's nipple again.

"Yes . . . my Lord."

"You thought that a touch only for a woman."

"Yes -- my Lord." Rain forced himself to breathe
evenly, to relax his taut muscles. His anger would
avail him nothing.

Michael smiled again, his eyes almost tender. "Make no
mistake; whatever you might think, you are not a woman
to me, Rain. It is men's bodies that I find beautiful,
men whom I wish to command and be pleasured by. Have
no fear on that score."

Mingled sickness and relief warred within Rain's
heart. 

"Now, roll onto your back again, reach up with both
arms, and seize the bars on the bed-head," the Lord
continued. "Do not let go until I tell you. Offer me
both your nipples. I wish to touch them still more."

The sour taste of helplessness rose in the back of
Rain's throat, forcing him to swallow it down. There
was no use in nursing his anger, he reminded himself.
His future held much worse than this. But the
knowledge brought him little comfort.

He turned onto his back, and reached up to the bars
above his head, gripped them as he had been commanded,
leaving his entire chest and belly exposed to the
Lord's hands.

That cursed blush was warming his cheeks again; he
could feel it. With an effort, he thrust down his
aching pride.

*I belong to him*, he reminded himself. *I have
sworn.* He closed his eyes, distancing himself as best
he could.

Almost, he wished that Lord Michael would be merely
brutal with him instead. Almost. The memory of the
sukai lash was too fresh to let him wish that
wholeheartedly.

Now Michael sat up on the bed, looming over him. Both
those clever hands reached for Rain's nipples and
began to work -- caressing them, slowly stroking them
between fingers and thumb, palpating them gently.
Despite Rain's best attempts not to react, his nipples
stiffened even more.

The tickling sensations spread through his chest. He
found that he actually wanted more of the touches; his
back sought to arch into them as if his body had a
will of its own.

*It's just sensation*, he told himself. *It means
nothing.*

His body made a liar out of him. To his horror, an
all-too-familiar warmth was filling his manhood.

Oh, spirits forfend . . . the last thing he wanted
just now was to grow aroused . . .

*I am being used*, he thought. *I will not let him say
that I enjoy it.*

He tightened his grip on the bars and endured the
touches, trying to think of anything but the
sensations they aroused. He reached for his anger, his
disgust at this unnatural act, tried to fill himself
with those emotions and blot out the pleasure.

His traitorous body paid him no mind.

At last, like a warrior who throws himself on his
enemy's very sword rather than be taken alive, he
burrowed into his most painful recent memories,
seeking to destroy his body's burgeoning lust. The
tearing sorrow of saying farewell to his friends and
his kin; the horrible lashing he'd received; the grief
and homesickness that had brought him to tears . . .

The warmth at last abandoned his manhood, and even the
Lord's caresses on his stiffened nipples lost their
magic.

If Michael had glimpsed any sign of that inner
struggle, he said nothing. Eventually, he seemed to
tire of the bizarre caresses. He ran his hand ever so
slowly down Rain's belly and gently rubbed the place
between navel and pubic hair.

Michael explored there for a little while, his fingers
gently caressing around Rain's navel and then
downward, his hand rubbing firmly enough to feel the
muscle underneath the skin. The hand moved lower
still, stroking his pubic hair.

"Such a fine pelt you have there," the Lord observed.
"Thick and dense like a sheepskin. It is lovely."

Rain felt his blush return. He heard the Lord's low
chuckle, a sound both amused and indulgent.

The hand descended, to gently grip his manhood.

Rain's eyes flew open at that touch, and he gasped.
Every instinct he had screamed at him to jerk away, to
lash out.

Lord Michael's eyes lifted to look deeply into his
again. Rain couldn't read his expression.

The Lord spoke calmly, with authority, while his hand
remained on the Clansman's flesh: "*Submit*, Rain."

The simple command did something to Rain that he
couldn't understand. Looking back into those probing
eyes, he felt his urge to resist abandon him, leaving
behind only helpless resignation -- and a curious
warmth.

He stared back into Lord Michael's eyes, drew a
careful breath and let it out, then nodded.

The Lord's hand left his sex, moving up to stroke his
hair instead.

"You don't want to respond to me, do you?" Michael was
still looking deeply into his eyes, his face. "You
wish to stay soft."

Rain had no strength left with which to deny it. It
seemed that no lie or deception would fool this man.
"Yes, my Lord."

Michael nodded. "This must be very humiliating for
you. I could tell you that there is no need to feel
shame, Rain, but that would mean nothing to you now.

"Nevertheless, you must obey me. Cease resisting me.
Do not think of anything but my hands upon you. Let
your body respond."

Rain swallowed. His gaze lowered without his will.
"Yes, my Lord."

 From the edge of his vision, he could see that Lord
Michael was still watching his face. The Lord nodded,
once. Then his hand left Rain's hair to grip his
manhood again, and began to fondle it. 

Rain closed his eyes once more. A long, silent time
passed, time in which he felt the warmth and hunger
return to his flesh -- warmth he was forbidden to
resist. Then the touches changed, the Lord's hand
stroking him from root to tip.

Michael never changed that slow pace, and his hand was
never anything but gentle. Rain felt himself
responding once more.

He couldn't stop it. He was forbidden to resist.

*Why can he not just use me and have done with it? Why
must he make me want his touch?*

He clenched his jaw, holding as still as he could. He
couldn't control the hunger of his organ, but he could
preserve at least a shred of pride by giving Lord
Michael as little response as he could.

The warmth filled his manhood now, stirring it again,
stiffening it. His hips wanted to flex and thrust,
wanted to push that swollen flesh into the Lord's
knowing hand.

It was harder and harder to keep his self-control as
hungry lust made him feel every touch keenly,
stiffening his nipples further, until they almost
hurt. His breathing was growing harsh; he struggled
not to pant.

"Go ahead, move your hips, Rain. Submit to me. Submit
to the pleasure."

*Spirits curse you!* Rain thought. But the words left
him no more choice. To pull away, to move his hands
from the bars, even to resist his own hunger -- these
things were forbidden. He surrendered, as he knew he
must, thrusting into Michael's hand as lust lapped
through him in warm waves.

He gasped at a deft flick of Michael's fingers, just
behind the head of his organ, which sent a lash of
pleasure through his whole body. His hands flexed,
clutching the bars of the bed-head, his whole body
lost now in sensation. Lord Michael lifted his free
hand to touch one nipple and caress it again.

The first moan came from his unwilling throat. Then
another. 

"Ah, such a sweet voice," Michael said, and caressed
him with his fingertips. Rain gasped again, shuddering
like a dying animal.

His head went back as his moans became more shameless.
The Lord's lascivious fingers were moistened by his
first seeping essence.



Direct comments and criticism to:
maureen_lcn@yahoo.com. See author's notes above for
the URL to my story archive.

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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