Date: Tue, 12 Apr 2005 18:05:22 EDT
From: OneTommyW (at) aol (dot) com
Subject: SLAVE TO LOVE part 3

This story deals with sex among males.  If you shouldn't be reading this,
don't.  It's a fantasy, set in a time when sex was safe.  It isn't now, so
don't be a risk to yourself and others.  Always play safe.  The copyright
for this story lies with the author.

Thanks go to Tim Mead, my loyal muse and proof-reader.  Any remaining
faults are mine.  Thanks also to everyone who sent feedback, I sure feel
loved.

This one's for PS, who'll probably never read it, and wouldn't like it if
he did, but . . .


--Tom

Feedback appreciated under OneTommyW (at) aol (dot) com.


SLAVE TO LOVE, part 3


TARIK:

I guess I'm not the first one saying this, but Malik drives me mad.  When I
caught him trying to sneak off, probably to Bolgar, for the second time the
first night, I was so fed up with him that I chained his feet together.
After that, he stayed put.  But not silent.  Instead I was treated to a
solo performance which demonstrated that the boy was a master at beating
his meat.  Though this expression doesn't really do justice to his
expertise.  He played his body like I once, in the castle of a Danish
prince, saw a fiddler play his gamba.  At first, I just noticed his hands
under the blanket, moving all over his body, touching and caressing it
everywhere.  On certain places they lingered, like on his nips, which they
seemed to be running around in circles, and later it looked like he was
pinching them more and more roughly.  That's when I heard the first moan.

I had been trying to avert my gaze from the boy.  It's not like I could
really see much, anyway.  His body was not much more a dark silhouette
against the muted light of the campfire which shone through the tent wall.
I couldn't see his face, either.  Just a gleam where his eyes had to be.
Hearing his moan, though, I knew I wouldn't look away.  Instead, I grabbed
my own very interested cock and squeezed it, gritting my teeth against the
realization that I was getting off on the machinations of that brat.  I
told myself that it had to be the wine which made me act this way.  The
wine and the sounds the wind had carried over from where Ragen, Bolgar and
Rikk were now sleeping.

His hands pushed the blanket away.  He pulled his legs up and his trousers
down, so they came to rest on his ankle-chains.  Wriggling his hips a
little - I could see (and hear) his stiff cock smack-hit his tummy - he
proceeded to suck on the fingers of his right hand, getting them good and
wet from the sound of it.  Then he set that hand to work between his legs.
Not on his cock, like I would have thought, but rather somewhere behind his
balls.  He had to be touching his hole.  What kind of child was that?

I reminded myself that he wasn't that young, and that he was a slut.  I had
never touched myself there.  He seemed to enjoy it a lot.  When he pushed
his fingers in, he let out such a heartfelt, satisfied sigh, that my own
cock twitched and my ball sack drew up tight.  Intrigued somehow and
strangely breathless, I got one of my fingers wet and, biting my lower lip,
tentatively pushed it against my hole.  The tip entered easily, and then my
muscle there clenched around my finger and that felt good, too, and I
pushed it farther in.

So far, so good.  It was not really unappealing, but I couldn't see what
exactly warranted the boy's shameless behaviour.  By now, he was jabbing
his fingers into himself and even canting his hips up to meet his own
thrusts, while his other hand was squeezing around his hard little cock.
Also, he was panting rather loudly, with his head thrown back in obvious
rapture.  It was clear he'd be getting there soon.

Which meant I had to hurry, if I wanted a chance at coming without him
noticing what I was doing.  And, by Luki's two tails, I needed to come
rather urgently!  Inserting a second finger into my arse, and just keeping
them there buried deeply, I started frigging my cock, fast and
relentlessly, and so rough it even hurt some.  But it worked, and I came at
the same time the boy did, his cry of joy swallowing my own hoarse moan of
pained completion.  Gritting my teeth again, I extricated my fingers from
my still clenching hole and wiped them on my blanket.

I was dabbing my belly dry with said blanket, as inconspicuously as I
could, when he dealt me the final blow.  He scooped his spunk up with his
fingers and gobbled it down like it was the Gods' own mead, brewed by Luki
himself.  Barely suppressing a growl, I turned my traitorous body around so
that I lay facing away from him.


I slept rather well the rest of the night, but not the next one, or the one
after that, when I refused to be dragged along by his sluttish behaviour,
and ended up with a cock that wouldn't go down for what seemed like hours
to me.  Consequently, my mood was rather dark on our journey to Aquilegia,
and I let the boy feel it by making him walk on foot most of the way.
Though, when on the morning of the fourth day I relented and offered him to
ride with me, he scowled at me, saying he preferred to walk.

It wasn't that he didn't behave.  He obeyed my orders without question
after that first rebellion, when I just put him over my knee and gave him
six swats on his naked ass.  There had been tears and hatred in his eyes
afterward, but he'd learned his lesson.  Now he was sullen and compliant.
Still, his mere presence grated on my nerves.  Sometimes I caught him
looking at me, and when that happened, his eyes would wander to the left
side of my face, assessing the damage there, and then he'd give me a look
of utter revulsion that'd make my skin crawl.  Every night I had to watch
him beat himself off, had to listen to him moan almost like a woman in
labour, carrying on as if I wasn't even there, and having to lie there like
that, denying myself, made me resent him even more.

In the early afternoon of the fourth day, we reached the outskirts of
Aquilegia and set camp.  Ragen and Bolgar rode into the city to talk with
the merchants, the rest of us put up tents or sorted the merchandise or
cooked.  When Ragen and Bolgar returned, we sat all round the fire and ate.
Malik got the task of cleaning the many dishes afterward and he busied
himself at the shores of the small Natissa river, while Bolgar, Ragen, Rikk
and I sat down for a pitcher of wine and a game of Tavla.

I'd just decided it was my day (I had beat the other three soundly), when
Bolgar remarked, "The boy takes quite a while for the dishes."

"Shit," I exclaimed, jumping up.  "He should have been done by now!"  I had
a bad feeling about this.  I should have watched him more closely.  His
compliant behaviour lately had made me lax, I guess.  Well, technically he
was no slave any more, and free to go wherever he wanted.

Rikk was obviously worried about the brat, so we searched for him up and
down the river, but the boy wasn't to be found.  There were no signs of a
struggle, either.  Malik had run away.  'From me,' I thought, remembering
the looks of disgust and hatred he always cast at me.  'Well, good riddance
to the brat,' I thought to myself, but when I lay alone in my tent that
night, I couldn't help worrying a bit about him.  These were dangerous
times for a child to be out there without someone to watch over him, and
even though I disliked the kid, I didn't want anything ugly to happen to
him.  I even felt bad for having driven him away.  I should have treated
him better, I thought, 'cause when it came down to it, he was just a boy
after all.  Just a boy . . .  Looking back, I'm sure the fates were
laughing when I thought that.


The next morning we drew straws to decide who would have to stay behind as
guards while the other men went into the city.  It hit Enki and, of course,
me.  Bolgar offered to stay behind in my place, because he'd been in the
city before, and I hadn't, but I declined.  Being Ragen's nephew, I didn't
want any special treatment.  Besides, Enki was fun to be with.  I never
understood how someone could be so cheerful and easy-going all the time,
but I enjoyed it nonetheless.  And he was a born storyteller, though his
yarn was so outrageous sometimes I was pretty sure he made most of it up.

It was getting dark.  Enki and I had lit a small fire, mostly to keep the
mosquitoes at bay, when suddenly I heard a soft thud and the next second
Enki fell over, an arrow buried in his back.  Instantly I jumped up,
grabbed him and dragged him behind a tent.  I cast a fast look around it,
but couldn't see anyone.  So I checked Enki's wound first.  The arrow
hadn't gone in very deep, and there was no red foam around Enki's mouth and
nose, which was a good sign.  "Leave it, Tarik," he said consequently,
confirming my thoughts.  "It's nothing serious.  Better catch the bastard
who did it."

Using the tents as cover, I made my way to the growth of olive trees where
the arrow had to have come from, my sword drawn.  Suddenly there was a
voice to my left, calling my name.  I turned around, and there was Malik,
coming forth from behind a tree.  Surprised for a moment, and relieved he
was looking well, I noticed the man who now came at me from the other side
almost too late.  Almost.  A cracking twig alerted me just in time, and I
whirled around to face the bastard with the fair hair coming at me.  It was
pure reflex which let me get my sword up in the last possible second to
block his blow.  There was so much power behind it, my whole right arm
became nearly numb for a second.  Then it started to smart as if hundreds
of ants had bitten me.  The next blows I just parried blindly, but slowly
my attacker lost the advantage he'd had over me and I gained ground.

Time and again our swords clashed against each other.  At one time I had
the right angle and sent his weapon flying.  I threw my sword away too and
jumped the swine and we both went crashing down.  His head hit the ground
hard, and he was stunned for a moment.  Taking the opportunity, I grabbed
him by his feet and dragged him towards the Natissa.  He was heavy and
fought me tooth and nail, but at last I dropped him into the water.  Once
he was in there, I had the better leverage and I held him down easily,
pressing his head under water till his body became limp.  I waited a while
longer for good measure, then I let go.  His head came up immediately.  He
was spluttering and coughing and gasping for air.  He started to struggle
again, so I pushed him under once more.  We repeated that a few times, and
he drank quite a lot of river water in the end.  His resistance faded, too,
and he was weak like a newborn kitten, but when I asked him if he'd had
enough, he spit right into my face.

Scowling at him, I pulled him out so that he was lying on his back beneath
the stream.  He was breathing heavily, wheezing.  After our fight, his
clothes, which had been ratty before, were merely rags, and I tore them
from his body and flung them into the river.

I bound his arms securely behind his back, then I got up and kicked him in
the ribs deliberately.  He snarled at me angrily, but all I really saw were
the hard, powerful planes of his chest, which were even more prominent with
his hands bound behind his back.  Calling myself three times a fool, I
still couldn't help noticing how well this man was put together, muscled,
but at the same time lean and sleek.  Long arms and legs, with sparse blond
hair that stood out against his darkly tanned skin.  Drops of water were
glistening on his broad chest.  There was just one strip of white on his
body, probably from a loincloth he had worn in the summer.  His ball sack
and dick, shriveled-up from the cold water, were beginning to expand even
as I looked.  Now, that I was closer, I could see quite a few lines in his
face, especially around his mouth and his eyes.  He had to be older than I
first had thought.  Way older than me, in any case.

Meeting his gaze, I saw that arrogant sneer on his face again, which I
remembered all too well from our last meeting.  His eyes were telling me
without words what he felt at the moment.  There was revulsion, of course -
well, wasn't I used to that one - and anger and hostility, but the most
prominent feeling was that of burning hatred.  I didn't need to see the red
'T' on his forehead to remind me where that came from.  Maybe I shouldn't
have humiliated him like that.  But it was done, and now I had to deal with
it.  With him.  My own face was as expressionless as I could make it (which
meant it was frozen in a scowling grimace) when I put my foot on his male
parts and slowly pressed down until he gasped.

"I warned you to stay away from me," I told him.  "You should have
listened.  Now you are mine."

"Never!" he growled, looking up at me defiantly.

"You're mine!" I said, pressing down harder.  "Tell me, slave!  Tell me!"
His face turned red, then pale, and he couldn't suppress a scream as I
increased the pressure.  But he still wouldn't say the words.  I stepped
back, knelt beside him, grabbed his swelling balls with one hand and pulled
them down.  With the other hand I pressed my knife into the stretched skin
of his ball sack.  "Tell me what I want to hear," I said, quietly,
menacingly.  "Tell me, or say good-bye to your balls."

There was pure, white hatred in his blue-green eyes.  He swallowed, then,
closing his eyes in defeat, he ground out, "I'm yours."  All tension had
left his body.

Gods, it was sweet to hear him say that!  It made me shiver inside.  It
made me get hard instantly.  "We'll have lots of fun together, you and I,"
I promised him, letting go of his balls and taking his cock instead.
Surprisingly, it had begun to fill out.  Now, as I handled it, it got even
harder.  Smiling grimly, I drew the sharp tip of my knife down its length,
almost without any pressure.  At one point he jerked the tiniest bit, and I
drew blood.  It was then that I felt his cock twitch in my hand.  I looked
at his face and saw that his pupils had gotten so big there was only a
small circle of blue green visible around them.  A light sheen of sweat was
on his face, and he was breathing fast.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he was getting off on this.  But
that couldn't be, now could it?  Still, why not taunt him a bit?

"You're enjoying this," I told him, grabbing his cock and squeezing it.

"No!" he cried, shaking his head frantically.

"Look how hard you are!" I taunted.  "You're wet like a woman!  Your cock
is weeping for me!"  And it was.  He looked away, his breath catching.

Now I was certain I'd read the signs correctly.  It was a very heady
feeling to have him at my mercy like this.  He might hate me, but some part
of him enjoyed what I was doing to him.  Letting go of his cock, I wrenched
his legs up, pressing them against his upper body.  His ass cheeks parted
and I could see his hole.  It seemed very small to me, not that I'd seen
many, and it was completely hairless and a bit wrinkly.  I tickled him
there with my knife and he hissed, but otherwise he stayed still.  Then I
pressed the blade in a little harder, letting him feel its sharpness.

"I could kill you like this," I said, "letting you bleed to death from your
asshole."

"Gods, no!  Please, don't!" he gasped, his sea green eyes wide open.  My
cock twitched with the pleasure of seeing him like that.  I held my knife
where it was.  Our gazes were locked.

"Please!" he begged, "Please, don't!  I'll do anything!"  I smiled.  By the
gods, he was the hottest, the sweetest, the most arousing thing I'd ever
seen in my life.  And he was mine!  My mind whirled with the things I
wanted to do to him, with ways in which I could torment him.  I saw images
of him underneath me, hard and suffering and needy, straining for my touch.

I just thought about jacking off over him when I suddenly heard steps
behind me.  Right, the boy.  I'd nearly forgotten about him.  "Malik, get
me the chains from the tent," I said, without looking away from my captive.

"Sure, master," he said, and then something hit my head hard and everything
turned black.


RAGEN:

It was a beautiful autumn morning.  The grass was sprinkled with dew from
the night, and now the sun made the mist rise up from it.  Everything was
luscious and green, and covered with sparkling spider webs.  Threads of
spider silk were drifting in the air.  I rode between Bolgar and Rikk, who
were both complaining about their backsides being tender from last night,
which in turn made me feel quite accomplished and not a little bit smug.
Aquilegia was a mile east of us and we'd soon cross the old Via Iulia
Augusta on our way to the harbor.  In fact, we were just passing the Roman
gravesite, so I knew it wouldn't be far.

"Hey, did you hear that?" Rikk exclaimed suddenly.  Bolgar and I shrugged,
we hadn't heard anything, but we reigned our horses in and listened.  There
it was, a kind of whine, like from a small animal perhaps.

"I'm going to take a look," Rikk decided and jumped off his horse.  I was
just thinking how good it was that he was acting more confident lately,
when he stumbled, cried out and disappeared from the face of the earth.

"Shit!" I muttered, and, like Bolgar, jumped down and ran to see what had
happened.  I managed to halt my steps just in time.  In front of my feet
was a cleft in the ground through which Rikk must have fallen.

"Rikk!" I yelled.  "Are you okay?"  Bolgar and I dropped to our knees,
leaning forward to inspecting the cavity.  "Yes, I'm all right, just a bit
. . ."  He broke off, then he suddenly screamed hysterically, only to
switch a moment later to laughing just as madly.

Bolgar rolled his eyes, and I felt like banging my head on a rocky surface
for relief.  "Rikk?" I inquired mildly.

"Yeah, I'm here."  Well, obviously.  "Throw me a rope, will you?"  Bolgar
did.  Together we hauled our errant loverboy up.  He appeared from the
cleft, holding on to the rope with one arm, while cradling a puppy, of all
things, in the other.  A puppy with a yellowish human shinbone in its
mouth.  I guess that explained Rikk's strange behaviour.

Rikk looked up at me pleadingly.  "Well, keep it," I said.  The smile that
broke out on his face eclipsed the sun by far.  "What should I call him?"
Rikk wondered.  I looked the thing over.  It was rather unspectacular.
Save for the bone, that is.  Brown eyes, grey-brown, unkempt and scruffy
fur, way too bony, it reminded me a bit of how Rikk had looked when we
found him.

"Foundling," I suggested.  "Nah, that's not grand enough," declined Rikk.
Grand??  "Fleabag," Bolgar proposed.  Rikk huffed.  We climbed back on our
horses and rode on, while Rikk continued to muse about names for the dog,
trying out the sound of them.  I managed to hold on to my composure hearing
the hapless thing being called "Tiger", or "Lion", or "Wolf".  I even kept
my trap shut at "Champion".  "Warlord" though made me crack up for good.
Bolgar was giggling, too.  "That's a hell of a lot to live up to for such a
little dog," he commented.  "Why not call him just 'Fluffy'?"  Rikk's gaze
turned pensive.  "Fluffy?" he called out tentatively, and the puppy yipped,
and so Fluffy it was.

In Aquilegia, we delivered our trading goods to the different warehouses.
We had agreed to reinvest three quarters of the money we made, and to
distribute the rest of the money among our group.  I did that, keeping
Tarik's and Enki's in to give it to them later.  Then, as it had become
tradition, we headed for some entertainment at Madame Dianora's Dollhouse.
Tarik and Enki knew we wouldn't be back before noon.


TARIK:

When I awoke it was dark.  I had a bitch of a headache, and something about
my sight was a bit off.  Everything seemed blurry somehow.  Still, I could
see there was a fire burning, maybe ten steps away from me, and that there
were two people sitting close to it, eating what smelled like some sort of
fish.  At that point I became violently sick.  At the same time, I noticed
that I was bound so tightly, I couldn't move at all.  So when I was done
retching, the mess was right before my nose, and I started being sick all
over again, until I felt like I was about to bring out my stomach itself.
My throat burned, and I really wanted to die.

A strong hand grabbed me by my feet and dragged me closer to the fire.  It
was HIM, of course.  He had Malik throw earth over the stinking mess I'd
made.  Then he held a beaker to my mouth, offering me water.  I couldn't
even lift my head, so he put his hand under my neck and lifted me halfway
up.  I took only small sips, afraid too much of it would make me sick
again.

"Thanks," I croaked when he put my head back down.

"Don't thank me," he said ominously, "you'll get yours.  I just want you to
be able to really appreciate it."  That was when everything came back to
me.  The fight, and what had happened afterward.  'Oh Skadi of the Scythe!'
I prayed, 'Merciful Goddess, come for me now!'  I could very well imagine
the kind of revenge he'd wreak on me.  Oh Luki, I'd had him, totally at my
mercy!  Like a dream come true!  A dream I hadn't even known I'd had!  And
now I was caught in a nightmare.

The fire burned down.  My former captive put out furs and blankets and he
and the boy wrapped themselves up in them.  I got nothing, of course.  It
wasn't really cold, but the ground was hard.  Also, my head still hurt, and
I was beginning to feel hungry, not having had eaten anything since
breakfast.

On the other side of the dying embers, I could see Malik inching closer to
the blond bastard.  'Here we go,' I thought.  And I was right.

"Sigur," whispered the boy, "it's so cold!  Can I come under your
blankets?"

"Sure," the bastard replied, and immediately the little fiend cuddled up to
him.  For a while there was quiet, safe for the occasional rustle of cloth.

Then: "Stop that wriggling, boy!  Have you got ants in your pants?!"

"No," Malik giggled.  "It's just - you're so warm!  And your muscles are so
HARD!"  Hard, my ass!  There was more rustling.

"Damn, stop it!  What are you doing?  That's no muscle!"

"But it's hard, too!"  Pause.  Then, in a fake-surprised voice: "Oh, by
Thor!  It's your . . . "

'Don't say it,' I prayed silently.

" . . . hammer!" Malik concluded triumphantly.  Gah.  I fought the urge to
vomit again.

"Child, leave me be!"  Sigur the bastard sounded a bit desperate already.

"I want to touch it!  It's so big!  Let me get it out!  Wow!  It's almost
as big as Bolgar's!  It really feels just like his!  I sucked it once, you
know."

"What?  Those bastards made a child suck their dicks?"

"Yes, they did!" Malik lied shamelessly.  "All the time!  And now it's
like, when I see a dick as nice as yours, I just gotta have it!  Oh please,
can I suck it?  You can do mine, too!"  And without waiting for a reply he
set to work.  I couldn't be sure, but from the sounds of it, Sigur had
moved over and was sucking the boy, too.

There were grunts and moaning, and sounds of slurping, and in no time at
all Sigur cried out and I heard Malik gobble his cream down, smacking
loudly.  Shortly afterwards Malik cried out, too.  Well, and I lay there
hard and aching, with no relief in sight.  It was becoming a tradition, it
seemed.

The bastard and the boy settled back in their blankets to sleep.  I heard a
whispered, "Damn, I needed that!" from Malik, and then my captor's voice,
grumbling, "Hell, my balls still hurt!"  Despite all my aches, I couldn't
suppress a snicker when I heard that.  Seconds later, I wished I'd stayed
silent.  The blond was hovering over me, the expression on his face
promising nothing good.  He took my tightly drawn-up balls in his hands,
yanked them down and bound them cruelly with a piece of twine.  By the time
he tied the last knot I was grating my teeth and hissing with the pain.  I
wanted nothing more than to plead him to remove the twine, but my pride
stopped me from saying anything.

Well, he went back to sleep, while I tried to bear the pain.  It hurt very
badly and for a long time, but the worst was when the pain lessened.  I was
paralysed with the fear of being damaged permanently.  In the end I was so
panicked, I forgot about my damned pride and called out.  Sigur came and
crouched over me, looking at me darkly.

"What do you want?"

"Please," I said as humbly as I could, "please untie my balls.  I - " here
I nearly choked on the words, "I can't feel them any more."

He laughed right out.  "Why should I care about your jewels, scarhead?"

"Please," I said.  "Please, I'll do anything.  Anything at all."

He nodded.  "You're mine now," he stated.

"Yes," I said, "I'm yours."

"You'll call me master."

"Yes, master."

"You're my slave.  Say it!"

"I'm your slave!"

He backhanded me.

"I'm your slave, master!" I cried out in desperation.

"Swear it.  Swear it on your mother's life!"

"By the life of my mother, I'm your slave!  Master!"  I was weeping now.

He drew his knife.  But instead of freeing my balls, he moved the knife up
toward my face.  Holding my hair out of the way with one hand, he used the
other to carve something on my forehead.  Felt like he was trying for an
'S'.  As if I wasn't already ugly enough, I thought, and blinked as blood
run into my eyes.  He smirked.  Only then he cut the twine.

I cried with relief when it finally came off.  Then I cried with the
terrible pain as the feeling returned to my tortured genitals, and when the
pain abated, I cried silently with the shame over my weakness.  When I fell
asleep, I dreamed of my mother, and she was weeping, too.


To be continued.