De Profundis
Brynnan stood bound in the centre of the torture frame. A rope attached the claw collar around his neck to a pulley at the central cross beams above. For now, there was plenty of slack in the line, but it could be easily tightened. He wore a leather body harness with rings on both front and back to secure his wrists, now cuffed behind his back. His ankles were also cuffed and attached by chains to the sides of the frame.
Seven men stood in the tower chamber to further a plan of the Warlord’s devising. Brynnan was secretly in anguish. He was the Warlord’s sex slave, and the dynamic between them had recently changed: both had discovered a mutual love. But now, Samir planned the Bard’s sexual torture at the hands of those who had formerly abused him. Brynnan did not know why but suspected it was part of Samir’s struggle to come to terms with his newfound love for him: perhaps a denial of his own vulnerability.
Brynnan read the expressions in the men’s eyes. The four guards who had beaten him after his rape showed resentment for the punishment they had received, lust, and wariness. Blond Firian, the former attendant to the Bard, showed simple lust. Kai the torturer: anger, lust, and a desire for revenge. Efan, Kai’s fellow torturer and Brynnan’s rapist, was the last man. His expression mainly showed lust and fear, for Brynnan had retaliated during the rape and almost crushed the torturer’s throat with a high kick.
He assessed each man’s possible actions and was not happy with his conclusions. The two torturers presented the most threat to him because they had a score to settle.
The Warlord explained the ground rules to them in a cold voice, “My slave is yours to abuse as you wish, with these caveats: there will be no deep fisting. You all will wear skin sheaths for anal penetration—I want no cum inside him. You will use lubrication. Any man who tears him will be subject to the same fate. My man, Geraint, will get him ready for you. Then he is yours.”
Geraint walked up and went to his knees before the Bard without further ado. “Easy up, lad. Just put your mind somewhere else when they start on you,” he murmured.
He stroked Brynnan’s balls, then slowly put his mouth over the unresponsive cock and sucked. He was highly skilled, as Brynnan had witnessed previously. This time Geraint cheated somewhat: he inserted two, then three fingers in the Bard’s rectal hole and began to work it.
Brynnan closed his eyes, letting his mind roam back to Scarfell Mountain and his lovemaking with the Warlord. The old warrior’s mouth and fingers were affecting his cock, which began to stiffen.
Geraint gently pulled away, leaving Brynnan’s cock at half-mast. Then he took a metal and leather cock ring and, pulling the testicles through the ring, fastened the attached leather snugly around the base of the cock. Several of the men in the room laughed and made lewd comments. Geraint’s hand squeezed reassuringly on Brynnan’s shoulder as he rose and stepped away from the Bard. Then the men moved in.
Firian volunteered first to go down on him. The young stud tossed his long blond hair over one shoulder. He had stripped to the waist, and his muscles gleamed with oil.
“I know you’re gonna love this,” he smirked confidently.
He took the cock in his mouth and sucked hard, showing no finesse. Brynnan responded by consciously not responding. He detested Firian.
Someone pulled Firian away, and a guard took his place. He started to suck with a little more skill. Meanwhile, hands roamed over Brynnan’s body, and he felt fingers inserted into his ass. Someone else played with his nipples, licking and nursing at them. A current of sensuality touched the Bard as his cock started to respond. This time he allowed it.
The man who was currently fellating him took the cock from his mouth and inspected it, “He’s getting hard, boys. Must be my superior skills.”
There were good-natured jeers, “No, Konnor, it’s me. I’m just milking those nipples,” and, “No, it’s my fingers in his ass!”
The groping continued. Someone tried to kiss Brynnan and rammed their tongue in his mouth. He instinctively shied away, causing the collar’s claws to emerge slightly. Brynnan froze at the warning pain, but the guard continued his kiss, oblivious to the danger he put the Bard in.
Brynnan then decided not to dissociate his mind but instead mentally record the sanctioned abuse. He had given his obedience to his Lord, Samir, so he took steps to own what he was experiencing. He allowed himself to feel sexual arousal, but nothing like the sense of surrender that overwhelmed him when he was with the Warlord. Instead, he felt a crude, animalistic sensation. He felt little jabs of pain/pleasure as his cock produced bursts of pre-cum. Then Kai, the Torturer, took over.
Brynnan felt abhorrence at the feel of the torturer’s mouth. Kai and his partner, Efan, had beaten and whipped the Bard daily for a year, and his body remembered. However, Kai performed his task with professional skill, and despite himself, Brynnan knew he would cum soon.
Kai briefly paused to call Firian down beside him. The young man quickly obliged and started to play with Brynnan’s balls while Kai sucked. Semen surged and roiled in Brynnan’s cock, and he did not hold back. As he ejaculated, Kai pulled away and, grabbing the back of Firian’s head by his blond hair, shoved him onto the Bard’s pulsing cock to receive the cum. Firian sucked and swallowed, and Brynnan felt disgust.
That was only the beginning. Kai moved in again with a new rope connected to a floor pulley below the built-in padded bench. He transferred attachment points at the collar as a guard carefully repositioned the ankle restraints one at a time. Another guard forced Brynnan to bend over the bench, and Kai pulled the line attached to his neck just tight enough to allow the Bard still some head movement. His ass and mouth were now up for the taking.
Someone—Brynnan could not see who—started to finger-fuck his ass, using lubricant as the Warlord had instructed. The two fingers changed to a cone of four, then five, as a fist pushed into his ass. Brynnan knew pain, and he began to deep-breathe, coinciding his breathing with relaxing his muscles. He felt helpless to prevent anyone from penetrating deeper and again had to trust Samir’s instructions that no deep fisting would be done.
He was aware of the feel of a protective skin sheath on someone’s cock as fisting changed to fucking. Others moved in front of the Bard and forced him to suck their cocks, as the ass-fucker pounded him. He dared not move because of the collar, which caused him to endure what was being done to him. From his position, he could see both the Warlord and Geraint. Samir still had that closed look on his face, indicating nothing. Geraint, for his part, stood by the table and unrolled the leather field pouch. Brynnan had no idea what it contained.
It seemed an interminable time until the present action changed when someone suggested they make the Bard stand and attempt to make him cum again. Again he was secured in a standing position. This time, Brynnan did let his mind return to Scarfell Mountain. One thing he noticed, however. To his knowledge, the other torturer, Efan, had not participated in the action and even now stood back alone.
Eventually, the men cleared a space and called for Efan to take a turn. The torturer began to move. Then everything exploded into confusion as Efan suddenly dashed forward, not to the Bard, but towards Samir. Then he had Samir’s bullwhip in his hand. He took one step towards Brynnan and struck with the whip, even as the others moved to stop him. As in slow motion, the lash unfurled, not cutting into Brynnan’s flesh but wrapping around his knees. Efan jerked the bullwhip with all his might. The Bard started to fall, and the claw collar deployed. Claws sank into his neck, and one pierced an artery. The arterial spray shot across the room.
Samir and Geraint responded almost as fast, with Samir supporting Brynnan to afford slack on the rope and Geraint releasing it. Amazingly, in the heat of the moment, Geraint did not fumble the collar key but swiftly unlocked and removed the collar. Unplugged, the spray of blood increased.
Brynnan was aware of the sudden shock and knew what had happened to him. He felt his consciousness flow away from him, and his last thought was, ‘This is it.’
So he was not aware of Samir pressing his fist to the wound in an effort to stem the bleeding, or when Geraint took a knife and Samir shifted to let him slice the flesh open to expose the punctured artery. Then Geraint seized the instruments from his kit into his hand. Blood soaked them. But in practiced teamwork, Samir shifted his fist just enough to expose the wound, and Geraint took the fine tool in his hand and clamped off the lower part of the half-severed artery. Two slow breaths had passed, and there were but moments left to act. Then the third breath passed, but Geraint managed to clamp the upper part of the arterial wound. The blood flow diminished to a trickle. Without pause, Samir removed his fist, and the clamps held. Then he checked the other side of the neck for a pulse.
“Nothing,” he declared.
Then, extending Brynnan’s jaw to open the breathing passage, he put his face close and checked for breath.
“Nothing,” he reported.
Geraint leaned over and started to breathe for the Bard, while Samir prepared to pump his heart manually.
“Fetch me the head surgeon!” He shouted, leaning over the Bard to press his chest.
“Konnor has already gone to fetch him!” one of the guards replied.
Time seemed to pass with interminable slowness before the head surgeon arrived. “Your man told me what happened. Has he had a pulse at all?” he asked.
“We can’t find one, but he’s still bleeding slightly, so it could be present,” Geraint said.
But Samir shook his head, “He’s lost too much blood!” he said before continuing to count as he manually pumped the heart.
The surgeon was already into his kit. He produced a surgical spreader to hold open the sliced flesh wound, thus exposing the artery. Then he took out a wrapped packet. Inside was a fine curved needle with a length of gut attached.
“Hold!” he called.
Samir and Geraint ceased their ministrations as the surgeon attempted to stitch the artery.
“Go!” He called again, and the men continued their resuscitation efforts.
The surgeon repeated this sequence several more times until he had closed the puncture. He had them hold off as he slowly removed the clamps. Blood began to seep a little from the wound. The surgeon smiled grimly at this. Then he waited a few moments as he checked for a pulse.
“I do believe his heart is beating,” he announced.
Samir, kneeling beside the Bard’s body, bent and rested his forehead lightly on Brynnan’s shoulder.
“Keep living, my lover,” he whispered.
* * *
