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From: Maureen Lycaon <maureen_lcn@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Truth [3/3] {Maureen Lycaon} (MM, Mdom/M, nc, sad, bd, humil, scifi)
Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 20:10:04 -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:

He looked into Lord Michael's implacable blue eyes,
and knew that the Lord *would* have an answer.

"My Lord --" His voice quavered, on the verge of
breaking. "Please. I beg you -- do not make me answer
that."

He saw Lord Michael's hand draw back, and knew what
would happen. The hard slap across his face silenced
any further pleas he might have spoken.

"Do not provoke me." The Lord's voice was still level.
"*Remember your oath*, Rain. Obey me."

*Remember your oath* . . . The words chilled Rain to
the bone. He felt his mouth go dry as he looked back
into that stern face, those cold eyes.

He closed his eyes again, shuddered. Tried to force
his lips and tongue to work. His member was soft now,
no longer stiff with need. He half-expected another
slap at his delay, but it did not come. Michael
waited.

"This . . . room . . ." A half-sob caught him by
surprise; he hadn't known he was that close to tears.
"This room . . . My Lord."

"This room? The Punishment Room?" The Lord's voice was
without pity.

"My Lord . . . *please* . . ."

"No. Continue, Rain. What of this room?"

*Will he not leave me one scrap of pride?* Rain
wondered. He sucked air deep into his lungs, exhaled,
sucked in more air. Forced himself to reply.

"Of . . . being naked here."

He prayed Lord Michael would be satisfied with that.
Michael was not. "What of being naked here? Tell me
more."

"Of being on the bench." Rain's throat closed, and he
could not speak further for the moment.

"What of being on the bench?" the Lord asked. "What
made you erect as you thought of that?"

Rain swallowed again, forcing his throat open. Nausea
heaved in his belly as he at last spoke the words he
dreaded.

"Of . . . offering myself for punishment."

And then, to his horror, the tears flooded his eyes
and spilled down his cheeks. The Lord's face wavered
and blurred in his vision.

There was a long, silent pause between them. Rain
tried to recover himself, tried to stop his tears, but
it took all his strength simply not to sob.

When Lord Michael spoke again, something in his voice
had softened ever so little. "Good enough." Rain felt
a gentle hand stroke his hair in the familiar gesture.
The stroking seemed to burn into him, through his hair
into his skin, down into his very self. "Was this what
you feared to confess?"

"Yes, my Lord." Rain closed his eyes, feeling more
tears stream down his cheeks.

The stroking continued, Michael's breath blowing
warmly upon his face. He struggled to regain control,
to somehow force his tears to stop.

In time, they did, and the tightness in his throat
eased.

He felt cloth being pressed lightly against one eye,
then the other, blotting his tears. Michael carefully
dried his eyes with the handkerchief, and wiped his
cheeks with equal care. When the Lord was finished, he
dropped the cloth to the floor, and looked deeply into
Rain's face again. There seemed almost to be a hint of
compassion in his face.

"That was terribly humiliating to tell me, was it
not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Rain admitted.

"Why so?" As always, neither Lord Michael's manner or
his voice betrayed any hint of mockery.

"Because . . ." Rain gathered himself. "It shames me."

"How so?"

"A -- a Clansman does not want such things -- wanting
pain, to be shamed. Among us, no one feels such
things."

Lord Michael nodded, slowly, gravely. "So you feel
less than a man, a Clansman. Do you not?"

Rain simply nodded in turn, feeling himself beyond
further speech for the moment.

"Nevertheless, I will demand the truth from you,
always. And you will give it." Lord Michael spoke the
last words in a tone of conviction so absolute that it
was not even emphatic. "You have sworn to obey my
every command, and I command this from you, now and
forever: you will never again lie to me or deceive me
in any way. From this night on, I will expect the
truth from you, always. That is part of your oath, the
oath you have sworn to protect your people. Do you
understand?"

And Rain knew himself to be trapped, defeated. Lord
Michael had called upon his oath. To break his oath --
to fail in his duty to his people -- that was
unthinkable.

He felt that he might vomit. Swallowing bile, he
forced himself to reply.

"Yes, my Lord. I . . . understand."
 
"Good." Lord Michael nodded, accepting his due. His
eyes were gentle again. He reached up and let his hand
come to rest on Rain's cheek. 

"Now, I am going to leave you, for a short time," he
said. "While I am gone, think upon what has happened
today."

The hand dropped from his cheek. Lord Michael turned
away and walked out without looking back, leaving Rain
with his thoughts.

The young Clansman stood there in his bonds, listening
to the Lord's measured footsteps recede down the hall
outside. They dwindled into silence, leaving him
alone.

He let his head hang a little, taking deep breaths.
His organ remained limp, for which he was grateful at
first. The last of the madness of lust had cleared
from his mind; he could think . . . and remember. The
sting of his broken pride grew into an agonizing ache.

He had been defeated. He had writhed wantonly at the
Lord's touch, and begged him for more, forgetting that
Lord Michael was an enemy, forgetting pride and
restraint, with no thought of anything save his body's
desperate hunger for release.

Worse, Lord Michael now knew the truth: that his
willful manhood had swelled and risen at the mere
memory of the indignities done him. The Lord knew that
his efforts to corrupt him were bearing fruit, that
his captive's flesh had begun to hunger for the very
things that shamed him. And he would certainly exploit
that knowledge to the full.

Rain had offered himself as a sacrifice, expecting to
become a victim. He had not thought that Lord Michael
would wish him to become a wanton animal instead.

**Can** I keep fighting him? Can I convince him that I
am not the mere beast in rut that he wants?*

The answer to that filled him with despair. He was
already losing the battle.



Lord Michael's footsteps sounded again. As he entered
the Punishment Room, Rain lifted his head to look at
him. To his astonishment, he saw that the Lord was
bearing a tray of food, like a common servant.

Michael walked up to him, and set the tray down upon
the stool. Looking down at it, Rain could see that it
bore several slices of bread spread with the curious
soft cheese that folk ate here, a goblet of what
surely was watered wine, and a neatly-folded white
cloth napkin. Suddenly, he was very much aware that he
had not eaten since the midday meal, and his belly
growled.

Lord Michael smiled almost tenderly at him.

"Since you have missed your supper, I will feed you,"
the Lord said. "Simply relax in your bonds, and let me
do this."

There was no use in refusing. Rain ate the bread and
cheese, bite by bite, from Lord Michael's hands, his
lips blotted dry with the napkin. The Lord was
matter-of-fact about his self-imposed task; his entire
attention seemed upon the slow, careful feeding. When
the last of the food and wine were gone, he wiped
Rain's mouth very carefully, then put the soiled
napkin down on the tray.

"There," he remarked, "I imagine you feel better. Now,
we will continue this lesson."

Rain braced himself, expecting Michael to continue his
torment, but the Lord did not. Instead, he reached out
with both hands and took Rain's head in his hands
again, forcing Rain to look at him. There was no
cruelty in those blue eyes, only gentle firmness.

"Know this: I know what you feel, Rain. I know that
you are suffering miserably. I could tell you that you
need not loathe yourself, but that would mean nothing
to you at this point. I will not ask if you understand
that, for I know that you do not. You cannot, not yet.
But I will guide you with all my skill, until the day
that you do understand."

One hand lifted from his cheek, to stroke his hair
again, as if to reassure him. Then the Lord drew his
hands away, and the tenderness departed from his eyes.

"I am done with this portion of your punishment," Lord
Michael said. "Now, I am going to release you from
your bonds, Rain. When I do so, you will continue to
obey me. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, my Lord," Rain answered, as humbly as he could.
"I will obey you."

"Good."

Michael removed his restraints one by one, letting
them drop carelessly to the floor. When he had
finished with the last wrist restraint, he moved back,
letting Rain step clear of the rack.

Rain carefully lowered himself to his knees before the
Lord, keeping his thighs well apart, lacing his
fingers together upon the back of his neck. From this
position, Lord Michael's groin was directly before his
eyes, and he could see the straining tautness there.
He suspected what Michael's next order would be, even
before he gave it.

"Now, you have a duty to fulfill, before we leave this
room," Michael said. "Know, even as you suckle me and
swallow my semen, that you will receive no relief
tonight. This is the final part of your punishment for
lying to me. Tomorrow night, if you do well, when you
have served me in my bedroom I will allow you release
of your own."

"As my Lord wishes." And even as he said it, Rain felt
the returning pulse of hunger in his loins. So long to
wait . . .

"Excellent." The Lord moved close, to stand directly
in front of him. "Now, satisfy me, and we will go to
my bedroom."

It was actually a relief to have this task to
concentrate upon -- unlacing the Lord's breeches,
drawing out his manhood. A relief, to have some
distraction from the far worse humiliation he had
already suffered.

As he took Michael's half-stiffened manhood into his
mouth and began to suckle on it, he felt another surge
of that terrible pleasure welling up again. He
couldn't stop it.



Later, that night, Rain lay in Lord Michael's great
bed, still awake.

He turned his head to look over at his master and
owner. No doubt Michael had been well satisfied with
what had happened this day. Now the Lord lay deep in
slumber, his blond hair spreading over the pillow, his
eyes closed. Trusting in Rain's oath to protect him,
secure in the knowledge that Rain would never break
it.

*I could slay him so easily,* the young Clansman
thought. *I could avenge my honor . . . if I were not
sworn.*

But he *was* sworn. To break his oath would not merely
cost him whatever honor he had left; it would condemn
his people to death. There was naught that he could
do, save endure whatever Lord Michael chose to do to
him.

Even at that thought, he felt the hateful hunger
return. He tried to ignore his frustration, the urge
to rub himself against the sheets.

He turned on his belly and buried his face in the
pillow, hands clutching the sheets desperately as he
struggled to sort out his dilemma in a way that would
not destroy him.

*I can't let him make me into his groveling cur . . .
but . . . what can I do?* He had thought himself more
than strong enough for the sacrifice, when he had
stood among the ashes of his village with his kin. But
then, he had not known that *this*, and not mere
agony, would be the sacrifice.

The Clansfolk knew tales of what had happened to those
who became the Lords' slaves: tales of rape, torture,
and even death at the hands of their masters. But not
tales of seduction, or corruption, such as what he was
suffering.

The realization came to him: it was one thing to
sacrifice one's life . . . but a still worse thing to
sacrifice one's very self.

And yet, he could not go back upon his word and beg
for mercy or release. His own life, even his very self
counted for nothing compared to the needs of his Clan.
Lord Michael might seek to turn him into something
other and less than a Clansman, but he must keep to
that honor, at least. And that very honor doomed him
to suffer Lord Michael's "training". He must keep his
oath . . . even if it meant that he risked becoming
something that was no Clansman, or even a man. 

It might be the only honor he had left, in the end --
if the Lord succeeded in corrupting him. 

For the second time since he had come here, Rain felt
tears leaking into the pillow. He was grateful the
sleeping Lord Michael couldn't see it.

*I will resist as long as I can,* he resolved. *I can
do that much, at least, whether I win or lose.* The
thought brought him no comfort.



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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