Message-ID: <25857asstr$966471008@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: <3.0.6.32.20000816065826.007ac820@yahoo.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" 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 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: english, IceAltar 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+