Night Of the Arrow
At the great bed, Andri and Brynnan undressed each other. The young man had longed for this to happen, and he had overcome his shyness at being watched. Andri touched Brynnan’s scars with a look of both wonder and incomprehension on his face, and Brynnan observed Andri’s body with appreciation.
His skin was pale under its tan, and he was lean but developing muscle. As promised, under cover of the cassock, his shoulders held the potential of being powerful. His back was long and smooth, and his ass was small and tight below slender hips. A mixture of boyishness and manliness that totally disarmed Brynnan.
“I want to do to you what you did to me, out on the terrace,” Andri told the Bard.
Brynnan lay on the bed and led the young singer up beside him by the hand. “Come,” he said.
Andri bent and indulged in his desire, sucking Brynnan’s cock with an initial reverence that became more passionate. Brynnan offered only the briefest instructions, letting the young man find his own way.
In the meantime, Samir sat on a nearby divan, legs spread, and watched. His icy grey eyes glinted with interest. He held a cup of wine in one hand, and with the other hand, he lightly stroked the erection growing under the leather of his breeches.
Brynnan, near the point of ejaculation, managed to say, “Don’t swallow. I want you to see me cum. There’s time enough to learn to take it down your throat.”
Andri nodded slightly and kept on sucking until Brynnan commanded him to stop, at which point he took the Bard’s cock from his mouth.
“Stroke it like you would do to yourself when you are about to cum,” the Bard instructed.
Andri complied, and his big fist jerked Brynnan’s cock. Brynnan groaned and ejaculated, thick cum spurting from the tip of the glans. Andri stared at it in fascination. When the spasms had subsided, the boy bent his head and hesitantly licked Brynnan’s cock clean.
Brynnan leaned over and kissed Andri, “I thank you, young singer. I think you have many gifts.”
Andri smiled and lowered his eyes, “That was . . . an experience I will always remember and hold in reverence, Brynnan, and you tasted so good. But please, if you had anal intercourse with me, would it hurt much?”
Brynnan laughed and replied, “Learn the lyrics, lad. ‘Fucked my ass’ is the way we put things around here. No, it doesn’t have to hurt if it’s done a certain way—unless pain is what you are looking for,” he added, honestly.
“Geraint is the man to talk to about it. He will explain the different positions and how to prepare yourself. I will mention that you want to speak to him. He is a great teacher.”
Brynnan was aware that he might be throwing Andri to the wolves, or wolf, as it may be, but if the boy wanted an education, he would undoubtedly get it with the Geraint.
“He must be old enough to be my grandfather, at least. And he still does it?”
“Believe it. He trains me for Lord Samir’s use.”
“I would like to see how it’s done,” Andri said and blushed briefly.
Samir’s voice interrupted, “Brynnan and I will show you how, if that is what you want.”
Andri was struck speechless at first, but then he nodded and said, “It would be an honour, Sir.”
The Warlord finished his wine, keeping his eyes on the singer. Then he got up and slowly stretched, like a sleeping tiger awakening. He stripped off his leathers with deliberation and approached the bed.
“This will be somewhat like the first time I fucked your ass, Brynnan, so Andri can learn. I will give you instructions.”
“As my Lord desires,” Brynnan replied submissively.
Samir held Brynnan down on the bed, running his hands over him. He bent his head and kissed him before sucking the Bard’s nipples. Even though he had just come, Brynnan was aroused and grateful for the touch.
The Warlord pushed Brynnan down on all fours. Pouring lubricant into his hand, he went through the steps of using his fingers to probe his lover’s ass; first one, then two, and finally three.
Samir explained to Andri, “A lubricant is helpful if you don’t want to tear your partner or have your own cock abraded. An asshole doesn’t produce its own natural lubrication. And I personally prefer my fucks to be clean beforehand.”
After working his three fingers into Brynnan’s ass, Samir continued, “Going slow at first is the key. If you feel your fuck tensing up, pause and get him to breathe and relax. Or if it’s you that is being fucked, let your partner know when there’s pain.”
Samir stroked his own cock along its impressive length and girth, eliciting a comment from Andri, “You have the penis—I mean the cock, of a stallion, my Lord. I wonder that Brynnan can take it.”
“Assholes are marvellously forgiving,” Samir laughed. “Brynnan himself has taken my entire fist, right up to the elbow, haven’t you, Bard?”
“Yes, Lord.” Brynnan gasped a little as Samir’s cock was now pushing for entry.
Andri, however, had turned pale, “Would that be done to me?” he asked, with a tremor in his voice.
“Fisting is a separate practice from ass-fucking. And deep fisting is an advanced form. Of course, when you are more experienced, you can combine activities. Now hold your questions, lad. I like to concentrate on this part.”
Samir’s cock gained entry, and he held still for some moments while Brynnan acclimatized to it. Then he started to push deep and stilled his movements once more when his cock was buried to the hilt.
Brynnan shuddered and breathed deeply, “Yes, my Lord, please fuck my ass, take it . . . you know that I am yours.”
“I love it when you beg,” Samir growled as he started to pump slowly in and out. He slapped Brynnan’s ass, hard, several times.
As each blow landed, Andri’s eyes widened, and he jumped at the impact.
Brynnan tossed his head downward, his long hair spilling over his face, and closed his eyes at the welcome pain, moaning as the Warlord’s thrusts increased. He again entered that zone, that space focused intimately on the action at hand to the exclusion of all else. His limbs began to tremble.
The Warlord varied his strokes and tempo. The thrusts became more aggressive, and Brynnan simply surrendered to them.
“I’m going to cum again. Cum in me, cum in my ass . . .” Brynnan begged.
Samir responded, pumping very deep, hard and fast, “It’s coming, my Bard. You will get it all.”
With an animal roar, Samir came, shooting his load into Brynnan’s ass while his lover came with him. The Warlord performed some deep, stabbing thrusts to wring every drop of cum from his cock. Finally, he withdrew and, still kneeling upright, breathed heavily and wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. He gave Brynnan’s ass, where bruises were now forming, a final slap and pushed him down on the bed.
The Warlord turned to an awe-struck Andri, “That was a little rougher than I had intended—but I’m sure you get the idea.”
When Andri had left to return to the Conservatory, Samir seized Brynnan in his arms and kissed him deeply.
“It doesn’t bother you that I was with Andri?” the Bard asked.
“Don’t forget that I know you, Bard,” Samir replied. “Recovering your harp skills with the aid of that young man is an excellent idea, and I am grateful to Music Master Nazar. So, you are giving young Andri an extra incentive to return. Be careful, though. It seems he worships you.”
“Yes, but I have no intention of having a special relationship with him. I am yours alone. You have become my true Master. Besides, I feel that Geraint will distract him,” said Brynnan, thoughtfully.
The Warlord cupped the Bard’s face in his hands, “Never did I think you would willingly submit to me. You are a proud man deep inside, although you sublimate it and bow to necessity. When you were my prisoner, I sought to break your spirit.”
“You were close to doing it, my Lord,” Brynnan said truthfully, in a low voice, “Between the bullwhip, the claw-collar and the threat of destroying my mind; if you had persisted even a little longer, I would have broken.”
“I sincerely regret the harm I have done to you. But by volunteering to surrender yourself now, you have given me a great gift.”
“Then it seems the torturer, Efan, did us a favour by nearly killing me, as it gave you time to find and question the men who betrayed Mara and myself.”
“Mara . . .” whispered the Warlord. He did not have to add more words. Brynnan could only guess the depth of his feelings there. Then Samir purposefully changed the subject.
“In the early days, when you were my envoy, I appreciated your faithfulness, but I began to love you that night when you returned from the City-State of Hesperon with an arrow in your back. You were barely conscious but still on horseback. It was cold and raining, and your hands were clenched shut. We had to cut the reins from them. Even in your dire extremity, you were seeking to fulfill the mission I had given you,” Samir seemed momentarily lost in the memory.
“After I excised the arrow, I don’t know if you were aware when we stripped your wet clothes off you, and I undressed and warmed you with my body’s own heat.” He coughed with uncharacteristic emotion, “See? you bring out a gentler side of me. I shall have to keep you away from the field of combat lest you weaken my manhood,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood.
Brynnan leaned into his embrace, “At some point, I was aware that night of the arrow, my Lord. You, personally, saved my life, and I loved you for it.”
“Do you know I believe it was Nijal, your surgeon, who came the next day and tended the wound?” Samir said in wonder.
“Yes, it was, Lord. He has always turned up at critical times, it seems.”
Samir stood back, and there was a grim expression on his face, “You realize, my lover, that as my envoy, you will have to once again travel to Hesperon to bring Pentayn Tyreth and his Council news of the future incursion. I am loath to risk you there again, but because of your negotiating skills, it must be you who gives them the news.”
“Then I shall need to labour hard to regain my bardic voice. Lord, Andri will come here to work with me for the sake of my harp playing; but give me leave to attend the Conservatory in the Hall of Music to train daily with Master Nazar. He is a superb vocal coach and knows the methods to help recover a damaged voice.”
“Hmm . . .” mused the Warlord, “He has certainly done excellent work with young Andri. That boy’s voice control is mature beyond his years. Very well. I will send a message to Master Nazar to arrange it.”
* * *
The next day, Samir brought Brynnan to the Arena, and the Bard watched his Lord in training with his men. Brynnan hoped that Samir would allow him to begin training his own body again.
“Soon, when your wrists are stronger,” the Warlord had said.
Brynnan turned his attention to where Geraint was performing his workout practice. The Bard was again impressed with the brutal efficiency of the old Warrior’s moves. His fighting style was why the Warlord forbade his soldiers from having full beards or long hair. Brynnan could imagine all too well Geraint seizing his adversary by the beard and gutting him in one stroke.
Although Samir considered Geraint retired from active campaigning, the Warrior insisted on keeping himself ‘battle-ready,’ as he put it. “Keeps me going, besides m’Lord might have need of me to guard him,” Geraint had stated.
Geraint, now finished, caught sight of the Bard, and approached him. He seemed in high spirits.
“I had a visitor last evening,” he announced, “A certain young singer. Seems someone mentioned old Geraint as being able to instruct him.”
Brynnan laughed, “He is certainly eager to learn, especially about the anal arts. Tell me, did you . . .”
“Not yet. Don’t want to spoil the lad too soon. I think this one needs delicate handling, and when it comes to ‘delicate’ fucking, I’m your man.”
Brynnan choked back an outburst of laughter at the old Warrior’s hyperbole.
Geraint continued, “But I believe he has the self-discipline to master the art. Or I can provide the discipline, should he require it,” he grinned.
Brynnan just shook his head, trying hard not to smile.
“I miss looking after you, lad, and being thanked daily,” sighed Geraint.
“Geraint, I am truly glad whenever I can give you pleasure. In any case, our Lord Samir wants to see us again tonight in his chambers. I expect he will tell you himself when he’s finished training.”
“Will he invite Nijal, do you think?” asked Geraint.
“Undoubtedly. But my Lord intends to do more than play. We will find out.”
“I think you already know, but you were always notoriously discreet and tactful.”
This time, Brynnan just smiled.
* * *
