Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him
Page 17
"Yes, Master," Lyle whispered. The music seemed to have grown in intensity, and Lyle knew it was taking. He realized he was panting, the passion of the slap starting to course through his consciousness. He felt two kinds of hunger bud inside him, not altogether disparate, either. One for crimson, and one for bliss. He looked over his shoulder at his Master, his eyes imbued with adoration, with trust, the kind of emotion that only a look could convey. Words could not penetrate to that depth.
Lyle recognized that the frustration in his Master had not yet ebbed. He was still tight, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. He was still filled by it. He would still let it get the better of him. Lyle both hated and loved days like this, when his Master's emotionality, when his naturally fiery personality seemed to tiptoe on the edge of the precipice of control. It was both scary and exciting, and it sent his heart surging.
He took in the sight of his Master, chest heaving despite no physical exertion. He knew that the hostility, the frustration was clouding his passion, creating a barrier between them. He knew that he needed to give Erik another chance at release. He knew that meant he needed to defy his Master again, but only slightly. Just enough to warrant a punishment, a pressure valve opened.
He pushed back against his Master's hand, his Vampiric, undead strength easily overpowering the human who held him. It was a small offer of defiance, a minor move, but it was enough. Lyle once again felt the temperature rise in the room.
Erik reached out for the bar that held Lyle on the bed, and unlocked the chains. Lyle's hands fell free, and his Master let those dangling links of metal fall to the floor. He then unlocked the chain that held Lyle's neck, and pulled him violently off the bed and onto the floor of the cabin. Lyle choked a little, but embellished it for Erik's benefit.
"Don't you ever push back against me again!"
"Yes, Master."
"Ever!" Erik shouted, and pulled the chain closer toward him. Lyle's body jerked as the distance between him and his Master grew shorter. The heat that radiated off Erik's body was palpable, and the faint scent of excitement reached his nostrils.
Time seemed to slow, grow viscous and thick. Lyle could feel Erik's eyes glaring at him, could feel the frustration draining away. He looked up at his Master, his eyes sparkling. "Master," he whispered with a slight whimper.
Erik jerked the chain again, bringing Lyle closer to him. The music penetrated into Lyle's very core. He felt blood surge into his cock, and the memories of two centuries of loneliness were a potent sting, if brief. Before Erik had found him, he had roamed the world alone, without a connection to anyone. Lyle knew that, in some ways, Erik was both his savior and his damnation.
Lyle was jerked to his feet by the chain, and he stood taller than his Master, his body very definitely stronger, and a little broader. They stared at each other for a moment, their roles threatening to topple, to inverse. Lyle, the Vampire, strong, immortal... eternal; Erik, the human, weak, frail... flawed. Lyle lunged forward and caught his Master's lower lip in between his own, and gave him a gentle, quick kiss.
The passion grew immeasurably. Erik grabbed hold of Lyle's collar, his fingers slipping into the very last O-link, and held him tightly as he returned the kiss, mashing his lips against the Vampire's, forcing his tongue inside Lyle's mouth to do a dance of exploration within the warm and wet cavity. He bit down on Lyle's lip, again willing submission out of the Vampire. He bit so hard he drew blood, and their kiss was stained crimson, and the aroma of metal was soon around them.
"Make me one of you," Erik whispered pleadingly.
"You know I cannot," Lyle said back, his voice hushed, not wanting to elicit a disappointment -- a sadness -- he knew far too well. Erik's eyes widened, and he withdrew a little. Crimson dribbled down his chin.
"I cannot turn you. But... you can fuck me." Lyle licked at his wounded lip, tasting his own blood before the wound sealed itself in mockery of nature. He could see the sadness, the disappoint threatening in Erik's eyes. He knew how desperately the human wished to be like him, wished to be a Vampire. But it was impossible. It was impossible!
Erik began to walk around Lyle, dragging the chain across the cabin floor with him. As he came full circle, Lyle's legs positioned within a loop of chain, Erik jerked violently, tripping Lyle over, sending him crashing down onto the cabin's metal deck on his back. A frightening thud exploded in the room, and for a moment Erik was checked as he looked at Lyle. The Vampire, his Slave, saw concern in his eyes.
"You can't hurt me, Erik," he said softly.
"Maybe I'll just have to beat you," Erik said.
"Whatever you like, Master."
Erik knelt down onto the deck and pulled Lyle up by his collar, kissing him feverishly again. In his eyes, Lyle saw that his Master was marveling at his lip, now no longer swollen, fully healed and without even a hint of a scar. Erik bit down hard again, for the second time drawing out the Vampire's blood, licking across Lyle's sensitive lip, at the crimson that oozed out of it. Lyle could feel the sting of it, could feel the pain, but it was no matter to him. All he wanted to do was please his Master, and he pushed passed the resentment that welled inside him at that fact.
"Master," Lyle whispered as his lips were once again set upon by Erik's. Erik began to lick up and down his sensitive fangs, and Lyle shuddered beneath the contact, letting his eyes roll back as he experienced a pleasure, a sensation that no human could.
Suddenly Erik broke the kiss and leaned back, watching his Slave. Lyle knew that it was at moments like these that his Master liked to watch him, when he appeared more human. His panting, his heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth held open a touch...
"Lyle," Erik whispered, touching his hair tenderly, gently. It was always like this. Resentment bubbled in both of them, made their encounters rough. But every now and then, something softer broke through. Perhaps a genuine care... perhaps even something more. Lyle didn't really know, and he preferred not to think about it.
"Roll over," his Master commanded.
Lyle obeyed, shifting onto his belly. He could feel his turgid, throbbing cock pressed between his body and the cold metal floor. He desperately wanted to gyrate his hips, to stimulate his penis, to create just that bit of friction which would give him the beginnings of pleasure. But he didn't. He was only allowed to receive pleasure from his Master.
His Master lay down beside him and traced the curve of his backside with a finger. "Beautiful," Erik whispered, appreciatively.
"For you, Master."
"Will you scream when I ravage you tonight?"
"I always do," Lyle said, knowing that it was not pain that caused him to scream.
"Up," his Master commanded.
Lyle once again obeyed, lifting his rear off the floor by pulling his knees forward. Lyle felt Erik's hand running through his hair before it took a fistful and his Master violently jerked his head back. Lyle knew what was coming, but did not move to brace himself. Powerfully, his Master slammed his head back down into the deck of the cabin, and Lyle felt the impact of cold metal upon his face. The blow was hard enough to send his vision blurring briefly, before the world around him came back into focus.
"Did that hurt, Slave?" his Master said menacingly.
"Yes," Lyle whispered, telling the truth.
"Good."
The blow had split open his upper lip now, and blood flowed freely from the wound. Lyle licked it up, tasting the familiar tang of metal. He felt Erik's hands rummaging in the pockets of his trousers, knowing that his Master was looking for the packet of lubricant. Lyle licked at the wound on his lip, waiting for it to close again.
Slowly, Erik began to work his trousers down, revealing his bare behind. "Spread your legs," his Master commanded, leaving his trousers only half pulled down. In his voice was lust and... something that smoldered in the background, the leftovers of frustration or the ugly face of resentment.
Lyle's trousers at his knees acted like binds of their own, and they held his joints together. He turned his f
eet outward so that his heals were nearly touching, and moved them apart as far as he could, as far as the trousers around his knees would let him. Lyle knew from experience that it would give his Master enough space to nestle in between his legs, to do to him what he knew his Master so dearly wanted to. What he so dearly wanted.
Lyle, for a moment, fell back into reverie, looking down at his own turgid phallus that dangled below his body. He had roamed for two hundred years alone, and in that time had forgotten about the carnal pleasures, of the bliss that the flesh could ignite. The sight of his cock below him, huge, hard, its tip glistening in pre-cum, of liquid expectation, was potent and intense. It reminded him of those days when he had forgotten, when he had gone without. It made him wonder how he had done so. Those thoughts of lust lost for a considerable amount of time combined with the blood hunger that beat to the rhythm of his heart, of the music... it was a powerful concoction, heady and nearly overwhelming. It made him lust and hunger and yearn and want all at once, and it satisfied him to offer that yearning to the human, to his Master.
He, a Vampire Slave, in love with a man! He resented it. And his Master, in love with his Vampire Slave... Lyle knew Erik resented it too. They resented needing each other, but needed all the same.
Lyle felt a finger ringing his entrance, slippery and cold with lubricant. "I am yours, Master," he said hoarsely, and he felt the finger slip into him. He tightened himself, playing at defiance again, and his Master jammed the finger in to its knuckle, an act of power, a request for subservience.
Lyle felt the finger rotate within him with a snail-like slowness, agonizing, teasing. It sparked within him a fierce need, and he felt his own cock surge and throb as the finger gently brushed past his prostate. Just a fleeting touch. A hint.
He felt his Master's hand on his lower back, a gentle rubbing hand, encouragement. It used to feel like coercion to Lyle, back when he had first met his Master. Now... now it was welcome, a touch that linked them both in preparation for their ultimate connection.
But Lyle felt a twang inside him, right in his chest, and knew that the gentle touch meant more than foreplay. It represented a bond of need that neither of them would dare admit to even themselves, but which in the backs of their minds they both knew existed. Strange, he thought, that repression worked even with knowledge of the truth. The mind was powerful, but a Vampire's mind no less fallible than a human's.
"You're right," Erik said, bringing Lyle back into the moment. "You are mine and I can do with you as I please."
"As you please," Lyle echoed. He felt the head of Erik's cock rest against his entrance. He felt hands sporadically, and he knew that his Master was lubricating his own penis, getting himself ready. Lyle looked below his body, and saw, beyond his own erect and dangling manhood, the low-hanging balls of his master, and their wrinkled skin a darker shade than the rest of his body. He saw the trimmed pubic hair, and relished silently that his Master kept himself neat and tidy.
"Loosen up," his Master commanded from behind him, and Lyle relaxed himself like he'd done so many times before. The first few times he hadn't known how to, and the pain had been too intense, to unrewarding. Now... now it was a balance, and just the right one. His Master was big, genetically lucky, was not just long but thick as well.
Lyle began to feel the pressure on his pucker, of the slow, deliberate, forward movement of his Master. He whimpered, swaying his hips a little, communicating his submission to his Master through sound and movement. He knew that there could not possibly be a way out of this. He was utterly at his Master's mercy.
He felt the hand on his lower back slide down to his right hip, and his Master's second hand go to his left hip. His Master was holding him, cock pressed against his entrance, threatening to break the through the boundary of flesh, the tight ring of muscle, to slide into him. He whimpered a little louder, and heard a growl from his Master. Erik began to push hard, but there was still resistance. "Loosen up," he commanded, and Lyle did his best to relax his entrance. "I said, loosen up!" his Master shouted, slapping Lyle hard on the hips. Lyle concentrated on opening himself up, on relaxing his muscles, and gradually, bit by bit, he felt his Master's manhood slide into his warm sheath. Lyle cried out throughout, and when, perhaps nearly two minutes later, Erik bottomed-out, he felt his Master's balls touching his own. They were caressing each other, something soft and tender amidst the violence of passion.
Lyle whimpered as he felt his Master slowly pull out, all the way until his tight ring of muscle stalled the wide dome of his head. He felt his Master push in slowly again, giving time for the lubricant to settle, to fully coat their two surfaces, inside and outside.
"Master," Lyle whispered intensely. "I am yours."
"You are," Erik said with a soft sigh. "And yet--"
"And yet what, Master?"
"Quiet!" Erik snarled viciously. He began to increase the rhythm of his thrusts and withdrawals, back and forth to a steady rhythm. He hoisted himself up on one leg so that his cock angled downward, grazing past Lyle's prostate with each thrust. Lyle felt his cock surging to the pace of the fucking, and longed for his Master to touch him.
"Master," Lyle pleaded, his head swimming, the blood music churning his guts and his lover impaling him from behind. "Master, I long for your touch."
"And you shall get it whenever I wish to give it," Erik spat. Lyle was being ridden faster and faster by his Master, and he could feel the frustration, the rage, the resentment burning off him as he fucked, as if with each of his powerful forward thrusts he could shed some of the weighty skin that he seemed to wear.
"Oh, Lyle," Erik whispered hoarsely, and Lyle felt his heart skip to the mention of his name.
"Please touch me, Master," he said, his cock aching, throbbing, yearning for attention, for a soft stroke that would bring him off almost instantly. He was so close, each brush against his prostate an agonizing tease as he willed himself not to let go. He could only receive pleasure at the hands of his Master, and he chose, now, to take that literally.
He felt his Master's hand snake down the front of his hip to grasp his cock tightly. Lyle groaned and let his eyes close, concentrating on the feel of the rhythmic fucking, his body rocking backward and forward to the beat of the blood music.
His Master began to pump him slowly, teasingly, and each time Lyle's foreskin moved up to envelope his cock before being pulled back down again, he shivered and shuddered, holding off his own climax for as long as possible.
"Master," he breathed, unable to hold back anymore. "Please, Erik!"
"Don't call me that!" Erik snarled, and Lyle felt the hand tighten around his turgid phallus, felt the strokes quicken. He groaned out loudly as he ejaculated forcefully, shot after shot of hot, thick and ropy cum firing at the cold metal floor.
"Oh, Master!" he groaned, his eyes twitching closed, his body convulsing sporadically, randomly. Silver trails of semen were still dribbling out of him, and he could feel his Master's approach to orgasm nearing completion. "Fuck me, Erik!" he screamed, knowing that using his name would enrage his Master just a little more.
"I said," his Master struggled between pants. "Don't call me that!" Lyle felt him thrust powerfully inside him one last time before he climaxed with bruising force, ejaculating three times inside him. Lyle felt the warmth within him, felt his Master's cock flexing and twitching as Erik fell onto his back, his hot and rapid breath warming Lyle's shoulder blades. "Fuck," his Master breathed.
The two of them remained frozen in position for some time, the power of their climaxes ebbing, their breathing returning to normal. Lyle's head was spinning. One form of hunger was sated... the other was growing more difficult to control.
"Master," he whispered, and without a word Erik peeled back his shirt to expose his wrist and placed it in front of Lyle's mouth.
"Drink of me," his Master said, not bothering to hide the bitterness and resentment in his voice. Lyle knew that his Master desperately wanted to be turned, but he also knew tha
t he could not perform that.
"Thank you," he whispered, before licking up and down the bright blue vein that protruded from his Master's skin. After a few moments, he sank his fangs into the tender tunnel of blood and began to drink deeply. Erik groaned, his eyes wincing with the sting, and Lyle knew that he was not looking at him, but somewhere else. Anywhere else.
When his thirst had been quenched, his hunger sated, Lyle let go of the wrist. His Master rolled off him to lie on his back on the cabin deck, staring at no point in particular at the dull surface of the ceiling. Lyle, too, followed suite, and lay next to his Master, his nose pressed against Erik's ear. He kissed his Master lightly on the cheek.
"You know," Erik said, turning to look at Lyle.
"What?"
"You are my Slave."
"I know, Master," Lyle said, offering his complete and total submission.
"But you are also my Master."
***
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