Message-ID: <45351asstr$1068858604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20031114162551.50676.qmail@web60407.mail.yahoo.com> From: Maureen Lycaon MIME-Version: 1.0 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 08:25:51 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Truth [3/3] {Maureen Lycaon} (MM, Mdom/M, nc, sad, bd, humil, scifi) Date: Fri, 14 Nov 2003 20:10:04 -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: 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. __________________________________ 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+