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From: Maureen Lycaon <maureen_lcn@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Truth [2/3] {Maureen Lycaon} (MM, Mdom/M, nc, sad, bd, humil, scifi)
Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 18:10:04 -0500
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SWORN

PART TWO: TRUTH



@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, November 2003. Permission
granted for normal Usenet propagation, for archiving
on the official a.s.s.m. and a.s.s.g.m. sites, and to
download one copy and make one hard copy for your
personal use. All other rights are reserved under the
Berne Convention. If you think a friend might enjoy
this story, please don't forward it to them; instead,
direct them to my personal website (see URL below).
That way, they can read my other stories as well.

Archiving this story on a commercial or pay-to-view
site is forbidden. If you had to pay to read this, the
site owner has violated my copyright and defrauded
you.

MANDATORY WARNING: This is hard-core semi-consensual
BDSM 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 even enjoy being enslaved and raped -- and
I portray this as at least partly a Good Thing. The
only reassurance I can offer my readers is: this is a
dream you are in, an erotic dream about a fantasy
world of dominance and submission. It is not a guide
to BDSM or the real world -- only a portal into the
author's own perverted imagination.

All hail my betas, Ron and Tyellas, without whom this
would be a much poorer story.

Series notes:
This is the sequel to "Captivity", and the second
story in the "Sworn" series, concerning Rain Ashin and
Lord Michael.

You can read my other erotic stories, including
"Captivity," at:
http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/index2.html



Truth (Part Two of the "Sworn" series)

By Maureen Lycaon



RAIN:
 
Fear and guilt tormented Rain for the rest of the day.
Fear -- Lord Michael was difficult to deceive at the
best of times, and he might not truly be deceived now.
Guilt -- though his oath had spoken nothing explicitly
of being always truthful to his master.

*What else could I have done?* the Clansman asked his
queasy conscience. *I have obeyed him in all things,
always. The oath spoke nothing of telling him the
truth of myself. I cannot let him know what he is
doing to me.*

What if the Lord had seen through his lie? He could
only guess what terrible punishment he would suffer.

*Better the torture I expected when I came here than
more of his unspeakable caresses,* Rain told himself
grimly.

He wanted desperately to believe that . . . but the
memory of the sukai lash was all too strong.



LORD MICHAEL:

In the evening, I returned to him, where he was
working in my private kitchen. Neither Duvier nor
Bischet accompanied me; I would not require their aid
in dealing with him. Humiliation and anger he would
feel, but he *would* submit, remembering his oath.

At my command, he stood to let me attach the leash to
his collar. His dark eyes held their usual cool
reserve. Yet, I perceived a controlled tension in his
bearing. His organ hung limply between his thighs now.
Yes, he feared that I had seen through his lie.

I let him remain in doubt, allowing nothing in my
expression or bearing to give away my intent.

He followed me into the corridor in obedient silence,
then stepped ahead as I had taught him, his hands
again clasped at the back of his neck. As he walked
before me, I enjoyed the sight of his smooth, rounded
buttocks alternately tensing and relaxing. The stripes
of his last beating, two weeks ago, had faded into
nothingness; his pale skin was flawless.

We reached the point where the south hallway joined
the main one. Since I had given no command, he turned
to the right, where my bedroom lay. I checked him,
tugging lightly on the leash, and he looked back at me
in momentary surprise.

"No," I told him, keeping my voice calm, without
anger. "I am taking you to the Room of Punishment."

His face paled, more than it ever had before at those
words. Yet, he swallowed only once, then turned to the
left without a murmur of protest.

*Such courage,* I thought, as I had before. It was one
of his most admirable qualities. I suppressed the
smile that sought to come to my lips. 

We entered the room, and I turned on the light and
closed the door. Then I unfastened the leash from his
collar. He dropped to his knees, hands still behind
his neck.

He was breathing quickly, and a thin film of sweat
gleamed on his brow. I could well guess the thoughts
racing through his mind: Had I seen through his lie?
If so, would I force the truth from him? And how
severely would I punish him? Or, was this about some
other failing entirely?

"Go to the bench," I commanded him.

He got up and walked over to the large, leather-padded
wooden bench I usually employed for his punishments. I
could see his humiliation and loathing in the way he
carried himself, the faint stiffness in his stride.
Ahh, how he hated these punishments -- oh, yes, I knew
very well that he would have preferred being flogged
upon his back and shoulders, even though that
invariably hurt more. Perhaps he would even have
preferred me to use the sukai lash again. He hated
humiliation far more than he did pain.

When he reached the bench, he turned to face me,
awaiting my next command. Beneath the hardness of his
magnificent eyes, I could see his apprehension.
His mouth had tightened into a straight line. I walked
toward him slowly, drawing the moment out, increasing
his anxiety.

"Mount the bench," I said. "Crouch there on hands and
knees."

Angered pride flickered briefly in his eyes before he
turned to obey. Of all the positions I used for his
chastisements, this was the one he most hated. Yet, he
did not hesitate. He mounted the bench obediently to
crouch upon it, his rump toward me.

I turned away, and went to the cabinet against the
wall to choose the tool I wanted -- a stiff leather
switch, with a small square "tick" on the end. I
returned to stand at his side as he crouched upon the
bench, looking down upon his handsome naked body, the
strong back, the well-defined shoulder blades. He
waited in silence; he would not plead with me, or
protest. I would not have expected him to.

"Lower yourself onto your elbows," I directed, and he
did so. I walked around the bench to stand directly
behind him.

Few things appeal to me more than a slave's buttocks
proffered for chastisement, lifted and fully exposed
to my gaze. Rain's invariably reminded me of apples --
too small and tight to quiver much when he was
punished, sadly, but beautifully round and just plump
enough that the opening of the anus was fully
concealed within the cleft. They were pale and smooth,
without a mark on them; I had not chastised him for
some days now.

I ached to caress those buttocks, to slap them, to
bring the switch down across them repeatedly. But I
intended more than mere chastisement this night. I
meant to bring out the thing I was nearly certain lay
within him, and to make him admit to it with words as
well.

I softened my voice, made it lower and more intimate.
"Arch your back." I touched the back of one thigh
gently with the tip of the switch. "And spread your
thighs apart."

His obedience remained flawless. He arched his spine
downward and moved his knees farther apart as I had
taught him -- a position that displayed his handsome
buttocks to their best advantage.

In that position, I could not see his face, but I had
no doubt that the blush had returned to it. His ribs
shuddered with a shaky breath. Yes, he felt shame, but
not enough. I needed him to feel still more
humiliation.

"No," I said firmly. "That's not good enough. Arch
your back more deeply, Rain. Spread your legs wider."

I used the tip of my switch to guide him, lightly
brushing the inside of one thigh to make him spread
even wider, until his muscles quivered with the
strain. I could hear his breathing lose its rhythm
again, becoming harsher.

No doubt he was silently cursing me in his mind. Yet,
he strained the more, seeking to obey me, to honor his
oath. What wonderful strength he had!

I could feel my member pressing against my breeches.
How I longed to flog those wonderfully smooth
buttocks, and then stroke them, kiss them, fondle them
. . . gently part them to enter him, and hear his
groans as I used his tight, hot passage. It would be
so long, so terribly long, before he was ready for
that.

Squatting down behind him, I peered more closely
between his legs. I could see the pale pouch of his
scrotum hanging underneath his body. Beyond it, the
very tip of his member was almost touching the padded
leather of the bench. As I studied it carefully, I saw
the underside beginning to redden near the tip -- a
redness that had nothing to do with blushing.

I smiled at the sight. I had noticed this response in
his flesh before, the last two times I had chastised
him. Tonight, he was ready.

With my switch, I carefully reached in between those
lean thighs to lightly touch the side of his organ. He
stiffened at the unexpected touch, but otherwise he
remained motionless. Then I used the switch to lightly
push at his member, making it sway a little from side
to side. No doubt about it -- it was stiffened.

I knew then, beyond all doubt. He *was* what I sought.
I inhaled deeply with the profound joy that filled my
heart.

Two tasks remained for tonight: to persuade Rain to
admit to his need, and then to what had aroused him.
The first would be easy enough. The second would
require all my skill and experience, but I had no
doubt I would succeed in the end.

As I had in the past.



RAIN:

Rain gritted his teeth until they hurt, even as his
muscles ached with strain and his loins surged with
long-denied hunger. *I must hold to my oath,* he
reminded himself. *I must let him do as he wills with
me.*

Lord Michael's switch lightly stroked his starving
manhood, caressing it as gently as his hand might in
the bedroom. With all his strength, the Clansman
forced himself to remain splayed and crouching on the
bench as the switch teased him. Then it withdrew. He
heard the slight sounds of Michel getting up.

He heard Lord Michael walking slowly around him, to
stop by his side.

"You are aroused." There was no hint of mockery in
Lord Michael's voice, only the same gentle softness he
had used since they had entered the room. "You desire
my touch. Do you not?"

"No . . . my Lord . . ." He wanted to groan with shame
and dread, even as his manhood hungered and swelled.

"No?" A little of the iron crept back into Lord
Michael's tone. The Lord must have crouched then, for
a hand suddenly grasped Rain's unruly sex to hold it
firmly. A gasp leaped from his throat before he could
stop himself. "Your member is stiff. Does your body
lie to me, then?"

Rain crouched there, his eyes tightly closed, and
wished deeply to be anywhere but here upon this bench.
The hand began to fondle his stiffened flesh. His
loins surged, making him gasp again.

"Tell me, Rain. Do you desire my touch?"

"Yes, my Lord," he finally admitted. His voice was
scarcely audible even to him.

"I did not hear you, Rain. Speak so that I may hear
you." The fingers stroked, pumped gently. Some fluid
must have oozed onto the Lord's fingers, for suddenly
they were slippery with it.

He stifled a gasp. "Yes, my Lord!"

"And not over thoughts of being with a woman, I'll
wager."

The words struck him like a blow to the belly. *Oh,
spirits -- he knows that I lied . . .* But the wet,
teasing fingers continued their work, and it was
growing impossible to think clearly.

"Answer me, Rain. Tell me what has aroused you."

"Your touch, my Lord."

"Before that."

Rain clenched his teeth, refusing to reply. He would
not, *could* not let this Lord find out -- but he so
hungered for that accursed fondling . . .

"You detest this position, do you not?" Lord Michael's
voice was gentleness itself, even as he continued to
fondle Rain's manhood. "And yet at the same time, it
arouses you. Isn't that so, Rain?"

The words sent a spear through Rain's very soul, for
they so closely described what he was feeling. He knew
now that he had no defense. He could not curse the
Lord aloud, or strike out. Abruptly, his throat closed
up, tears of humiliated anger welling behind his
eyelids. He actually felt a moment of relief, for now
it would be harder to speak.

Then Michael's fingers abandoned him. His hips yearned
to thrust in vain pursuit of those touches.

He heard the Lord's footsteps, circling around behind
him again. A moment later, there was a sharp crack,
and a streak of pain across his rump. He couldn't hold
back a deep groan; his buttocks clenched without his
willing them to do so, and he felt another surge pass
through his organ. 

The switch lashed down again, just below the last
stroke. Caught between his shame and the pain, he
groaned, "My Lord -- please!"

A third stroke burned across his buttocks. "*Answer*
me, Rain." The voice was all command now, with no
softness in it.

Rain gasped, his buttocks stinging savagely. Still he
would not reply.

The switch struck him once more. Then Lord Michael's
voice cracked out, as harsh and abrupt as the blows:
"Get up!"

Clambering off the bench slowly, limb by limb, Rain
got his feet on the floor. He knelt down again before
Lord Michael, putting his hands behind his neck. His
buttocks still stung and burned. The Lord's blue eyes
were frigid as he looked down upon him, and the
Clansman's belly knotted. *Now I will indeed be
punished . . .*

"No, you need not fear the lash, Rain," Michael said,
his voice as cold as his eyes. "I am going to make use
of a new punishment, one you have not known before. It
will not hurt, but you may well find that you would
prefer pain. Go to the rack." He pointed with the
switch.

The rack was all of steel, a metal frame set with
stout rings everywhere. Rain knew it well -- it was
the rack upon which he had been flogged with the sukai
lash, the first day he had been here.

When he had reached it, he turned to see Lord Michael
again walking slowly, unhurriedly toward the cabinet.

*If not the lash, then what?* he wondered.

Michael returned without the switch, but holding ropes
and leather cuffs in his hands. Rain offered no
resistance as the Lord fastened the cuffs upon him,
then bound him standing in the rack, arms and legs
stretched out to the sides.

His buttocks still burned. He wished that he could rub
the fire away. At least his manhood had softened.

Michael fetched a little wooden stool from against one
wall, and placed it carefully before Rain's bound,
standing body. Then the Lord sat down upon it, and
looked up at him. His expression had changed; no
longer was it frigid as winter. Now there was a
stealthy glitter of delight in his eyes, like the
delight they often held while Michael teased him to
full hardness in the bedroom.

"As I have said, this will not hurt," Michael said.
"However, you may find it more difficult to bear than
the switch."

He reached out with both hands. Rain tensed, but all
the Lord did was take gentle hold of his limp organ.
Then, Michael began to stroke and caress it, as he
might do in the bedroom. Rain felt the sudden flush of
warmth filling his manhood, making it swell and hunger
again.

And suddenly, he knew what this punishment would be,
and new dread filled his heart.



LORD MICHAEL:

Yes, he was ready to learn a little more.

My Rain had great strength of will; I knew that. Like
any Clansman, he could endure great pain. I might have
broken him with the whip, but with pain alone I would
never truly make him mine.

Yet, all of his strength and pride had no answer to
the torment of unsatisfied passion. That he was so
young made him still more susceptible that way.

I had already taken advantage of that weakness and
youth in my bedroom, when I teased him before using
his mouth to make him more eager. He knew now that he
was vulnerable to such soft torture -- and that, just
as I dispensed the torture, only I could give him the
relief his body craved. On this night, I would use
that weakness to teach him a little more, bring him a
little farther down the path of submission to my will.

Sadly, what he would learn tonight would make him
suffer greatly inside his mind, at least for a time --
but that could not be avoided.

I began to fondle him into arousal. He understood part
of my intent at once: anger burned in those lovely
dark eyes. Then he set his jaw to endure the teasing
in silence for as long as he could.

I knew him so well by now that I could play his flesh
as a skilled musician might play an instrument. He
fought me and his own lust courageously, clenching his
jaw until the muscles quivered in his cheeks, closing
his eyes to shut me out. But he could not deny me one
response; his member had fully stiffened, a drop of
preseed already glistening at its tip.

As I continued to toy with him, his muscles tensed
with suppressed lust. That droplet swelled until it
dripped down to the floor. At last, despite his best
efforts, he uttered a choked gasp.

The rest came quickly as I continued to tantalize him.
He gasped repeatedly, and his hips began to move,
craving my touches. His nipples stiffened as the
pleasure rose through his entire body, making all his
muscles flex rhythmically. His pale skin began to
gleam with sweat.

As his arousal grew more acute, his head went back, so
that I could no longer see his face. The motion
exposed his throat, as if offering it for a knife. Now
he was taking deep, shaky breaths. His hands clenched
and unclenched in his bonds. A moan came from between
his teeth, then another.

Yet, he would not speak, even to beg me for
fulfillment.

The moment when he was nearly ready to spend was very
apparent: he took a deep, gasping inhalation, and a
premonitory shudder ran through the flushed, heated
organ in my hands. His reddened testicles had drawn up
tightly. I flicked a finger along the underside of the
head of his phallus one last time, and -- drew my
hands away.

He couldn't help but groan aloud, his entire body
writhing in its bonds, face contorted, eyes tightly
closed. His hips thrust forward, desperately, blindly
seeking to rub his swollen member against something,
anything to carry him over the edge -- a slight brush
against my clothing would have done it.

His sheer beauty at that moment brought an ache to my
chest as I watched him buck and struggle in his bonds
as if in pain, his phallus bobbing up and down with
his movements.

I let my gaze dwell upon the lovely sight, feeling my
own organ warming and stiffening. Yes, I would
definitely call upon his mouth later.

Slowly, the futile thrusts ceased. His member was
still as rigid as it could be, but it no longer
twitched furiously. His head lowered, his gasps
easing. He slowly opened his eyes, and the glaze of
lust gradually cleared from them.

I smiled at him, letting him see my appreciation for
his beautiful state, and saw those magnificent eyes
narrow. He still could not see my pleasure as anything
save mockery. I felt a twinge of regret.

Then I began to caress him again.

His restraint weakened more swiftly the second time as
I played with him, bringing him to full swollenness
again. As his frustration burgeoned, his movements
became ever more abandoned. The glaze of animal lust
returned to his eyes.

I began to use my voice as well as my hands, keeping
my tone low and husky. "Yes, my beautiful one," I told
him, "yes. So handsome, in your passion. Thrust those
eager hips. How your member drips and craves. You want
this so, do you not? Let yourself moan, let yourself
writhe in abandonment under your master's touch.
Forget your pride . . ." 

Again, I stopped only when he quivered upon the very
verge of spending. He panted as a horse run to near
foundering might gasp, hoarse and deep and rapid.

When he had recovered a little, I resumed.

And again, and again.

Over and over, I brought him to the edge of orgasm,
only to leave him in need. By slow degrees, all
restraint left him. He moaned as freely as his clear
preseed dribbled, no longer able to remain silent. His
taut, beautiful body became slick with sweat. He tried
repeatedly to thrust his phallus into my hands firmly
enough to let himself spasm in release, but always I
drew my hands away at the last possible moment. No
session of mine in bed, teasing him, had ever
continued for so long.

So long had I waited for this, to caress his organ and
watch his heat burgeon, to toy with him for longer
than a few brief delicious minutes. Yet, this was
meant as part of a lesson, and so I must still act
with care.

Now, I judged it the right moment to weaken his
defenses a little more.

"Do you wish to spend?" I asked him softly.

He hesitated; I could sense his remaining pride urging
him to deny it. Then: "Yes, my Lord," he answered. His
voice was low, husky with lust.

"Then beg me," I urged him, the first time I had ever
done so. "Beg me to let you spend in my hands. Plead
with me for release."

He shook his head wordlessly: no, no, no. Lost in the
storm of his passion, he had at last forgotten his
oath of obedience -- for the moment. I smiled, and did
not remind him of it.

"Go ahead, my handsome slave. Beg me."

He tossed his head like a rebellious stallion, but my
words had planted the seed. He knew now what I wanted
from him, and that the torment would not cease until
he gave it to me.

Soon, he had to set his jaw again -- not to hold back
the groans any longer, for that was a lost battle, but
against voicing the craving he felt.

At last, the first half-choked word escaped from
between his bared teeth. "*Please . . .*"

I continued to caress his heated flesh. At last,
louder: "Please . . ."

"Please, what?" I asked him softly.

He clung desperately to those last scraps of
resistance, trying not to give me what I wanted. At
last, inevitably, he surrendered.

"Please . . . ahhh! Please, let me spend." The words
came from between his gritted teeth, low and
profoundly unwilling. I felt another warm surge
through my own groin.

"Keep on," I half-whispered.

It took nearly a minute of toying to get anything
further out of him -- nearly a minute of beautiful but
inarticulate gasps and groans. Then, louder this time,
less reluctant: "Please! My Lord, let me spend!"

I nodded. "That is good. Go on."

He broke then, the shield of his pride shattering at
last, and began to beg in sweet earnest. The words
came ever more freely: "Please, my Lord -- I, I need
to spend. I beg you to let me spend. Let me spend . .
. please . . . ahh, please . . ."

Hoarse and thin with need, his voice was still pure
beauty. Hearing the words from him then . . . ahh,
that was truly exquisite. No matter how many years I
had the pleasure of owning him, I knew that I would
always remember this moment.

Finally, I withdrew my hands, ceasing the caresses. He
was nearly weeping now, beyond all speech, whimpering
pitifully, breath hitching, chest heaving. His rigid
member bobbed up and down as he squirmed.

I did nothing to distract him from his lust, but only
sat quietly as I watched him. His hips kept thrusting
and jerking for some time. My own member was pressing
almost painfully against the crotch of my trousers.

His whimpers dwindled. The reflexive movements became
slower, smaller, and at last subsided entirely. His
head lowered a little, the dark eyes clearing again,
and I could see the shame in them as he realized how
totally he had lost all mastery of himself.

I stood up, pushing back the stool, to stand before
him face to face. He manifestly did not want to look
at me, but I waited patiently until boredom and
anxiety got the better of him. When he did meet my
eyes, his face held a desperate anger -- anger made
desperate because he knew that it was his last bulwark
of defense against me.

It was time to tell him a little more truth -- and to
demand the truth in return.

"Your body wishes to obey me, Rain, no matter how much
your foolish pride rebels against it," I told him.
"Forget that pride, Rain. You no longer have any right
to it. You have given it up."

"No," he said, the remnants of his pride still forcing
him to deny it even as his member remained
half-stiffened with need. "No -- I . . ." His voice
trailed off.

I felt a moment of pity. He was so afraid of what he
really was.

I looked into his dark eyes. Gripping his jaw in one
hand to keep him from turning away, I spoke.

"Tell me now, Rain. And this time, tell me the truth.
What were you thinking of, when you became aroused as
you labored in the great hall?"



Send comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com
. The URL to my story archive is in the author's notes
at the top.


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