Clan and Conscience

by Tracy St. John

  They rode his face and ass faster, forcing him to serve their erotic needs. Ospar kept pace with his cocks, whipping his fists over them, driving Rivek out of his skull. The Imdiko couldn’t find a coherent thought in his well-trained mind. All his usual control belonged to the pair delighting and torturing him.

  Rivek seldom lost charge over himself. A small part of his consciousness thrilled in the momentary abdication of power. The rest was consumed in the sensation of a never-ending climax, the feeling that he was coming, his insides trying to escape out through his primary. He screamed when Jol’s shaft allowed him to, a blend of frustration and wild exaltation.

  Ospar’s rhythm stuttered, grew erratic. With an oath, he pulled the cockring off Rivek. He was too frantic to be gentle, and a swift jolt of pain came and went for the Imdiko. Then explosive climax was on him, yanking his erections with ferocious power, jetting in fiery bursts.

  Rivek had no idea when Ospar succumbed. He tasted Jol’s surrender, but it was secondary to his own convulsions, rolling in a tide from his belly. It gutted him, leaving him hollowed out when at last the spasms calmed.

  Had he ever come so strongly? Rivek’s sluggish brain couldn’t remember if he had.

  Even after the sex was over, reality faded in and out in dreamlike waves. Little by little, Rivek realized he sprawled on this mat, the gasping Ospar and Jol on either side. He took solace in the fact that they were as demolished as he was.

  And gorgeous. Rivek studied the lines of his companions as they reposed, appreciating how stunning they were as they lay next to him. Jol stretched, his muscles rippling in a delicious manner, his expression soft with satisfaction. Ospar’s eyes slid closed, his trim frame lax as a smile played about his lips. Even basking in the afterglow, he charmed.

  Rivek’s cocks twitched. He’d always been quick to recover, though as hard as Ospar and Jol had brought him off, he should have been good for the rest of the afternoon. The Imdiko kept looking at lovely, relaxed Ospar, thinking how incredible he’d felt. And the priest hadn’t had everything of him he desired. If this was his only opportunity to enjoy the Dramok and his clanmate, he shouldn’t waste it.

  His shafts twitched again. Swelled. Filled.

  Unaware of Rivek’s contemplation, Ospar yawned. He mumbled in a sleepy voice, “That was outstanding. I need more religion in my life.”

  “How about a priest’s cock in your ass? Is that close enough to a religious experience?” Rivek rolled the startled Dramok over. With a delighted guffaw, Jol leaped up to help hold his struggling clanmate down.

  Rivek sank into Ospar’s gorgeous flesh with a happy sigh. After a few seconds of playful teasing, he and Jol changed Ospar’s tune from complaint to agreement.

  By the time his visitors staggered out of his chamber late that evening, Rivek had enjoyed them both the way he’d hoped to. His counsel had been well rewarded, and at last, he’d learned a sufficient amount to meditate decently once more.

  Then again, maybe he should make sure he’d satisfied all his inquiries. Just to guarantee Ospar and Jol didn’t pop in his head again at inopportune instances. With any luck, Ospar would ask for his advice again in the near future.

  Mother of All, he loved scoring donations.

  Chapter 21

  With Ospar deciding he would take up the call to run for territory council, Jol offered no further protests against it. He could see how it pulled at his Dramok. Although he worried for Ospar’s safety, he could not deny the man he loved his dream.

  Jol centered his attention on keeping his clanmate safe. That was his job, and he meant to succeed at it.

  A few weeks into the campaign, they went on a tour of the territory, stopping at the various districts to stump for votes. They were days from finishing the first of three planned circuits when they attended a political rally.

  Jol watched his Dramok field questions from citizens following a speech. For someone who’d never had to beg for votes before, Ospar handled the questions like an expert. Jol had to admit his clanmate was a natural at public relations. Ospar’s charm was winning people over in droves, as the latest polls proved. The steadily growing crowds that clamored to see him were also proof positive that Ospar had been born for public life. In a short time, he had forged real inroads against the incumbent councilman Dramok Lanjur.

  He stood on a raised platform, invoking the crowd’s laughter at his lighthearted wit which rang from the amplifiers. This particular district, a center of manufacturing, was primed for Ospar, who cared about the problems physical laborers faced. People had brought picnic lunches and filled a wide-open field in the shadow of a mountain that housed the factories they depended on. The atmosphere was a relaxed town celebration, with the few children in attendance running amongst the adults and playing games on the warm summer day. Between the speeches of the district leaders who had preceded Ospar, clans had strolled, exchanging gossip with friends in a convivial atmosphere. Vendors cooked and sold food, lending a carnival feeling to the affair.

  The large gathering was heartening to Ospar and his supporters. At the start of his campaign, barely one percent of the residents in the district had shown any interest in voting for him. To these people, on the far end of the territory and far from Itga, he’d been written off as a rich mining director who had no idea the challenges they faced. Industrial work was suffering job losses as of late due to increased mechanization, and the district was hard hit by the changes.

  Ospar understood their plight, since mining was going in the same direction. Itga had enjoyed great success in retraining its workers for different fields within mining and generous severance packages for the employees it couldn’t accommodate. When Ospar unveiled a similar plan for the manufacturing industry, it had won criticism from industry owners—and support from their employees.

  The crowd attending Ospar’s speech had swelled into the thousands instead of the expected number of less than five hundred.

  Most of the business owners were flocking to Ospar’s cause as well, despite him calling for more worker-friendly regulations and increased spending to assist the downsized. The reason was reflected in one of the would-be councilman’s more popular promises.

  He was addressing that very issue at the moment, in response to a shuttle manufacturing owner’s question. “Other business leaders have voiced many concerns about organized crime. The issue makes your endeavors difficult not only here, but throughout the entire territory. As you know, I had my own run-in with a group using Pladon Industries as a front for their activities.”

  As Ospar spoke, Jol stood to the side, close enough to protect his Dramok if needed, but not so close as to draw attention to himself. From his position at the back edge of the platform, he had a wide view of the unexpectedly massive crowd.

  He was particularly interested in half a dozen clusters of men he’d noted arriving just before Ospar had been introduced by the district manager. They stood in loose, informal groups of three, and most appeared to be Nobeks—steely-eyed brutes that despite their attempts to appear casual, couldn’t quite pull it off.

  Jol had already dispatched his team to keep an eye on the suspicious attendees. The groups stood well out of range where they could hit Ospar with a blaster shot, but the Nobek wasn’t taking chances. He used his handheld to zoom in on the worrisome groupings and snap still pictures to cross-reference. Most he’d check on later, but there were a few faces he was positive he’d seen before, particularly one set of men.

  He consulted the program he and Talu had come up with at the start of the campaign. “Cross-reference last still with known and suspected associates of Syodab Syndicate.”

  The information his father had gathered came up. Jol was correct; two of those three men had been pinpointed as having ties to the criminal organization. The third was a minor aide to Councilman Lanjur.

  Jol messaged the picture and details to his security team. He spoke into his com as he did so. “Security Team Five, alert on the subjects you’ve bee
n posted to. Follow them for the duration of this stop, note anyone they meet with.”

  After Jol received the acknowledgment from the team, he resumed scanning the audience. His security task force, hired for Ospar’s protection, would make certain no one suspicious moved towards his Dramok. Each guard had been handpicked by himself, Talu, and Officers Axter and Golas after intense vetting. Jol had little to worry about at the rally. Yet he checked to verify the teams were where they were supposed to be, as well as the subjects they monitored. He also kept a lookout for any other syndicate heavies he might have missed in the huge crowd.

  He’d spotted nearly twenty he was sure belonged to the enemy. For now, they seemed content to watch Ospar and not engage. That the calm wouldn’t last, however. Sooner or later, the syndicate would act.

  Trouble was headed their way once more. Jol could feel it in his bones.

  Ospar finished the question-and-answer portion of his event, but he was far from done. Even after over an hour of answering the public’s concerns, people weren’t in any hurry to leave. The district leaders followed him as he stepped down from the platform to greet the citizens who had flocked to meet him. Jol moved so that he was right behind Ospar, watching each person who came close to bow. Most expressed appreciation to the candidate for coming to visit and told him how they’d enjoyed his message. A few asked how they could get involved in his campaign.

  As his Dramok schmoozed and enchanted the populace, a member of the security force spoke over Jol’s ear com. “Team Five leader to Nobek Jol. Our targets are moving in.”

  Jol had already caught sight of them angling through the throng. The aide to Lanjur was in the lead. An encounter then, not an attack.

  Jol muttered, “Do not engage unless they move to weapons. I have a feeling they’ll start with the veiled threats, but be ready for anything.”

  As the aide and two Nobeks neared, Jol’s men were also converging. With a muttered apology, Jol slid past the district committee member at Ospar’s side, angling so that his own body was slightly in front of his clanmate’s. Ospar glanced at him, noticing the move out the corner of his eye. He was becoming cannier about his surroundings as of late, Jol noted with approval.

  Ospar’s gaze followed the direction of Jol’s interest, locking in on the advancing trio. Without missing a beat of the polite exchange he shared with a constituent, he twisted his body, letting his Nobek shield him better. He wrapped up the brief conversation with his well-wisher. Ospar watched over Jol’s shoulder at the approaching group.

  His hearty voice boomed over the crowd noise. “Dramok Satnen, of Councilman Lanjur’s advisory team. What a pleasure to see you here! But why so much security? I have no quarrel with Lanjur, outside of politics.”

  The councilman’s aide jerked to be called out, his reaction startled. His compatriots scowled to find themselves the sudden focus of attention.

  Satnen’s uncertain smile twisted sickly as Ospar waded through the gathering to meet him, Jol on his heels. The Dramok bowed, then patted the other man’s shoulder while wearing his most captivating air. “Am I to believe the worthy Councilman Lanjur is interested in my campaign then? Surely not!”

  The aide’s voice pitched low, as if he didn’t want to be heard by the avid throng around them. “The latest polls did not escape our notice, Dramok Ospar. Of course we’re interested.”

  “Oh, the polls. Such fickle things.” Ospar waved his hand as if shooing away an insect. “Next week, fried rizpah will be more popular than Lanjur and I put together.” As laughter greeted his remark, his eyes widened as if he’d been struck by some great realization. “Oh, fried rizpah. Are you hungry, Satnen? I am. Someone point the way.”

  A sea of fingers rose, pointing at three different vendor carts among the many circling the field. Merry recommendations rang out through the assembled. Ospar acknowledged and thanked them all.

  He turned to Satnen with the beaming appearance that had become his most-used expression on the campaign trail. However, he spoke low so that Jol had to strain to hear. “Dramok, you aren’t keeping the best company today. Your mother Matara Imat is a fine lady. I can’t imagine she would condone her eldest son hanging about with syndicate goons like Nobeks Kesur and Unir.”

  The voltage of Ospar’s smile never faltered as he gazed at the Nobeks with Satnen. Yet something about that glad countenance darkened as he directed his consideration to the brutish men.

  A rush of admiration for his Dramok filled Jol. Since starting his run for office, Ospar had grown rabid about researching his opponents. These days, he could put a name to a face without a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t even have to look them up, as Jol had. Though it was less surprising as the weeks passed, the Nobek remained impressed. The uncomfortable glances Kesur and Unir exchanged made him smirk.

  The aide’s weak smile dropped off. He muttered, “My mother is not appropriate to this conversation, Dramok Ospar.”

  “No, she is not. Nor is your participation with people such as these.” Ospar’s dangerous mood shifted, and he was all sunshine and rainbows again, speaking loud so that people several feet away could hear him. “Do fill me in on the warnings you were sent to make. What doom awaits me if I continue my fight for your councilman’s seat? Tell me, through carefully worded innuendo, how I risk my career, wealth, and life if I persist in my crusade to end the corrupt influence of Lanjur’s syndicate backers.”

  Ospar waited in the expectant hush that had fallen over those assembled. He seemed positively merry, as if he waited for a promised present. Jol couldn’t help but snicker at the performance. When his clanmate’s bouts of humorously obnoxious behavior weren’t aimed at him, he took pleasure in it being leveled at deserving foes.

  Satnen scowled with angry confusion, but he delivered his message anyway. “You have nothing to gain and everything to lose by pursuing this course, Dramok.”

  Ospar shared a delighted gaze with Jol. “Oh, that’s an oldie but a goodie. Always effective in conciseness and subtlety.” Lanjur’s lackey earned his attention once more. “Is it the same story for Lanjur? Nothing to gain, everything to lose? He should ask Dramok Urt about that. Urt had the same financiers, you know.”

  Satnen’s posture was stiff, his grimace unhappy. “I see there is no talking to you, Dramok. Good luck in your endeavors. You’ll need it.”

  He left with the two glaring Nobeks in tow. People parted, those close enough to have heard the last exchange openly chuckling. The cracks that had begun to appear in Syodab’s control of the territory were widening.

  Jol grinned at his Dramok. “The poor man. You took all the wind out of his sails.”

  Ospar snorted. “Maybe next time he’ll show up with more than hot air.”

  That earned a few cheers and a lot more laughter. Jol joined in with the hilarity. Now that they were neck deep in the mire again, with no way out but through, he found he relished the game.

  * * * *

  As soon as Ospar completed his latest tour, he and Jol returned to their district feeling much had been accomplished. Jol was relieved to be on home turf where the surroundings were familiar and he could most effectively guard his Dramok.

  He was even happier to call on Rivek at the temple. Despite the last few weeks of Ospar meeting and greeting the population, they’d continued to visit the priest who was a calming influence on their chaotic lives. Not to mention, Rivek was also a tumultuous inspiration for lovemaking. Jol was fascinated with the dichotomy of the man who lived in serenity and fucked like a zibger.

  The Nobek was gratified that Rivek acted thrilled to see them too. The joy on his square-jawed face shone without embarrassment as he accepted Ospar’s effusive greeting and Jol’s more sedate but heartfelt embrace.

  Ospar’s grin was genuine, the one that said he was truly happy and not putting on a show. “How goes it in the tranquil world of faith and the search for truth?”

  “Not bad.”

  Rivek acted as pleased as ever to be in their c
ompany. Still, Jol detected an undercurrent of something indefinable in the Imdiko’s aura that wasn’t usually there. Something felt off, as if the priest was uncertain of his claim that all was well.

  Jol took his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  This time, a shadow passed over Rivek’s visage. He shrugged, as if to brush it off. “It might be nothing.”

  Ospar’s eyes narrowed. “What might be nothing?” he demanded in a Dramok’s voice, brooking no prevarication.

  Rivek gave in after an instant of hesitation, deciding on truth rather than evasion. It was typical for him. “I had an interesting encounter yesterday. I’d just finished leading a meditation class, when a couple of men approached me. Big, rough-looking types.”

  The disquiet sitting in Jol’s gut grew. “Nobeks? What did they say?”

  “That I should keep in mind that politics and faith are not the most compatible of bedfellows.” Rivek’s tone never changed its mild cadence. “When I told them I have little interest in politics except to vote with my conscience, they said, ‘Then perhaps you should curb your interest in particular politicians. They can be bad for a man’s health.’”

  Fury spiked white and jagged in Jol’s skull. The bastards. He wanted to rip their throats out for uttering such words to Rivek.

  Ospar gasped, his expression thunderous. “How dare they target you! Jol, what can we do about this?”

  Rivek gazed at him with quiet surprise. “Why should you have to do anything? They were mere words. I was not harmed.”

  “They made a threat that they knew would get back to us. Of all the cowardly antics, to intimidate a priest.” Only Jol’s training and the continued peaceful countenance of the Imdiko before him kept him from storming out after their enemies. Fury begged to be unleashed, pumping his muscles with the urge to fight.