Do Not Go Gentle . . .
The night was well advanced. Samir walked the silent corridors to his apartments in the Torrent Mountain Redoubt, an ancient fortress and facility and seat of power. He was accompanied by two men: Brynnan the Bard, his prisoner, and the old warrior, Geraint, who was currently the Bard’s keeper.
For Brynnan, this was the first time he had left the cells and tower chamber in over a year. He did not know what new torments awaited him, but he carefully kept himself in the moment, simply absorbing the unaccustomed change of scene.
Geraint led him to a large fur rug inside Samir’s apartments by the brightly burning fire. An actual fire was an almost forgotten experience for Brynnan, and he revelled in its warmth. In the tower chamber, he was always cold. Brynnan had been in Samir’s rooms before, in what now seemed another lifetime. Then, he had been an honoured guest and friend of the Warlord, and they had spent many an evening discussing strategic issues over a combat-simulation board game. Now he was just a tortured prisoner who had lately become a sex slave.
Samir finished talking to Geraint and walked over to sit in a wide, fur-covered chair carved in the shape of two prowling leopards. Geraint brought over goblets of wine. He served one to Samir, and the other he set down on the tiled hearth beside the surprised Bard.
“M’Lord, I will pick him up in the morning. But call for me before that if you need my services, and I will come.”
“I know you will, old friend,” Samir replied.
Geraint approached Brynnan and laid his hand on his dark hair, stroking the Bard’s head, as was his habit, “You must have pleased my Lord. Do everything he asks of you.”
The old warrior bid them good night and left. Now it was just the Warlord and the Bard again. Brynnan did not trust this new development but was helpless to protest against it. Just earlier that night, he had been subjected to Samir’s fist inside his ass. Fucked, then deep fisted, Brynnan had undergone a shattering emotional experience that had broken down his carefully erected defences.
Samir raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the wide-bowled goblet set beside Brynnan. The Bard took the goblet somewhat awkwardly between the heels of his damaged hands and took a drink of the rich, red wine. He had not drunk wine in a year, and he immediately felt its effects.
Samos seemed in no hurry to talk, and Brynnan was just glad for the not-uncomfortable silence. For once, he didn’t trust himself to speak after the events of the night. He felt emotionally raw. Eventually, Samir drained his cup and beckoned the Bard to follow him.
They entered the bathing room, where Samir stripped off his clothes, revealing his powerful physique, and Brynnan shed his cloak. He was naked underneath it. Samir took him into the flow of hot water that poured over the stone ledge and proceeded to wash the Bard’s body. He pulled Brynnan to him by gripping his hips so that their cocks were pressed together. Samir then kissed him deeply, tonguing his mouth and biting his lip, and the Bard, for his part, returned the kiss, feeling a sense of wonder.
Their erections grew together; Samir’s big and weighty cock and Brynnan’s, which was slightly shorter and not so girthy, but still a thing of beauty. Geraint had shaved Brynnan’s genital area earlier that day in preparation for the Warlord’s fist-fucking. With the water splashing over their bodies, the feeling of Samir’s cock rubbing against the shaved areas brought on sensations that had Brynnan’s body trembling in excitement, and when Samir leaned down and sucked his erect nipples, he had to clamp down on the urge to cum.
Brynnan sank to his knees in front of the Warlord without being told. He took the impressive cock in his mouth. Water ran over Brynnan’s face as he sucked and tongued the object of his worship, and there did seem something almost holy in the act. In Brynnan’s native land, the position of Master Bard conferred on him the role of a priesthood, where all of Nature was sacred, and there were no unnatural acts.
He felt Samir’s hands stroking his shoulders and back.
“Your back will have permanent scars from the bullwhip. The welts given you by my henchmen are nothing compared to these. I did not want to mark you like this at first, but now you will always have this reminder of what you are becoming under my hand, Bard.”
Brynnan released the cock from his mouth to say, “I know it, Lord. Life marks us, often invisibly. Scars, visible and invisible, by their very nature, leave an imprint on our souls.”
“Your words are truer than you know, my Bard,” Samir said softly in a deep, pensive voice.
The Warlord did not then permit Brynnan to bring him to orgasm but led him from the waterfall shower, where he proceeded to towel off the Bard’s wet skin and shoulder-length, water-curled hair. Then he led him to another room with a large bed. Before he could settle the Bard on it, Brynnan slipped around behind the Warlord.
He embraced Samir and then slid his damaged hands over the man’s back, on which Brynnan had previously discovered thick, keloid scars from a bullwhip. Brynnan slowly licked each scar with a profound gentleness. Samir’s body shivered, but he did not remonstrate with him or stop the Bard’s explorations. Brynnan then slipped to his knees and, giving in to a sudden need, tongued and rimmed his ass. He inhaled Samir’s natural animal musky scent from the anal glands and found it intoxicating.
Samir turned and pulled the Bard up and onto the black fur covers of the bed. They twined and rolled together, licking, kissing and sucking each other like rutting beasts. Time ceased all meaning as they became lost in each other. The heat of the night in the fire-lit room surrounded them, with flickers of firelight contouring their sweating limbs. Velvet darkness in the corner shadows blanketed them.
Samir went down on Brynnan’s body, licking him from his nipples to the treasure trail of hair on his stomach. He concentrated his attention on the Bard’s abdominal wound scar, a sword wound inflicted by Lord Samir himself more than a year before. The Warlord sucked the Bard’s cock and shaved balls until Brynnan came, helplessly, especially after Samir’s two inserted fingers inside him and massaged his prostate gland.
He flipped Brynnan onto his stomach and plunged his big cock inside the Bard’s anal hole. Tonight, Brynnan accepted Samir’s cock readily, as it had been worked earlier by the Warlord’s fist. Samir pounded Brynnan’s ass without mercy. Then the Warlord ejaculated, erupting semen in pulsing bursts of cum inside his victim-turned-lover.
They collapsed together in a sweating, exhausted heap. Samir clasped his arms around Brynnan’s back, spooning against him. Brynnan melted into the embrace, the part of himself that had been starved so long for a warm human touch finally satiated. But before he abandoned himself to sleep, he dared to ask Samir the question that had been slowly burning inside him.
“Lord, your back is scarred like mine will be. I sense a deep pain in that experience, beyond the agony of the lash. Will you not share that burden with me? Whatever else you may decide to do with me, even death, know that your words will be locked within my soul.”
The question would have been far too invasive from any other man, but Brynnan was both Bard and Priest in his homeland, and truths were sacred. Samir knew this. Still, he paused some moments before giving the Bard his reply.
“Brynnan, when I give you the answer, you may regret hearing it. Is this knowledge you want to carry within you as long as you retain your memory?”
“It is, my Lord Samir. There is a truth you want from me. How do I give you that without knowing the path to your truth? You know by this night, I will give you anything that is in my power to give you.”
Samir uttered a deep sigh. He held the Bard tighter and pressed his forehead against Brynnan’s shoulder.
“Very well, Bard. But not tonight. In the next day or so, I will take you out of the Redoubt. We will ride to Scarfell Mountain, and I will tell you this story.” Stroking a hand down the Bard’s side, he settled himself and continued, “but now I have two commands for you.”
“Lord?”
“No more questions, and go to sleep.”
“Yes, my Lord Samir.”
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