Message-ID: <45342asstr$1068851404@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20031114162414.22495.qmail@web60406.mail.yahoo.com> From: Maureen Lycaon MIME-Version: 1.0 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 08:24:14 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Truth [2/3] {Maureen Lycaon} (MM, Mdom/M, nc, sad, bd, humil, scifi) Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 18:10:04 -0500 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: RuiJorge, dennyw 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. __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Protect your identity with Yahoo! Mail AddressGuard http://antispam.yahoo.com/whatsnewfree -- 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: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+