SWORN

AN INTERLUDE


@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, December 2006. Permission 
granted to duplicate this story via normal propagation 
through Usenet and whatever mailing lists it's posted 
on (but please do not repost; I can do that myself, 
thank you); to archive it in the official web archives 
of alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.moderated and 
alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated, as well as whatever 
mailing lists I post it on; and to keep one hard copy 
and two electronic copies for your personal use. All 
other rights are reserved under the Berne Convention.

MANDATORY WARNING: This is hard-core erotica. If you 
shouldn't or don't want to be reading this, don't.

Author's Notes:
What this series describes would be inexcusable as a 
prescription for real life. The main character comes to 
accept and enjoy being enslaved and raped -- and I 
portray this as a Good Thing. The only reassurance I 
can offer my readers is this: this is a dream you are 
in, an erotic dream about dominance and submission. It 
has no relation to real life, or to true BDSM.

Grateful thanks to Tyellas, Lionus, Ishako and Dusk 
Darkling, all of whom beta'd.

You can read my other erotic works at:
http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/index.html



An Interlude (Part of the "Sworn" series)

By Maureen Lycaon




Rain had no idea how long he had been kneeling on the 
floor of the Punishment Room. Even his trousers and the 
thick sheepskins underneath him weren't enough to keep 
his knees from hurting. 

His bondage was far more elaborate than would have been 
necessary simply to hold him. The cords had been laid 
upon him in a way that made him feel naked even though 
he was fully clothed. He did not doubt that Great Lord 
Michael had intended just this -- the Lord was too 
skilled at shaming and humiliating him. Even so, it 
also served the purpose of any bondage: he was 
helpless, pinned on his knees, powerless to move.

As far as he could tell, this was not a punishment. He 
had been scrubbing floors again on his hands and knees 
when another servant had come to Duvier with a message 
from Lord Michael, summoning Rain to him in the Room of 
Punishment. Duvier had snapped the hateful leash to his 
collar again, and taken him there.

With time and repeated visits, the Room of Punishment 
no longer brought Rain's heart to his throat. Instead, 
a kind of weary dread had weighed in his belly as he 
followed Duvier in silence. He hadn't known whether 
this was chastisement for some offense or whether Lord 
Michael simply had a whim to hurt him.

As it turned out, Michael intended torment.

When Rain had entered the room, the Lord was holding 
several black cords in his hands, long enough that the 
ends trailed on the floor. Rain didn't know what they 
were made of: it had an odd sheen to it, like a 
snakecat's hide in sunlight.  He had been bound before, 
but never with these. Always before, Michael had used 
leather restraints, or shackled him into one of the 
metal and wood devices in the room.

Michael had begun by folding his arms behind his back 
and binding them that way with one long cord around his 
wrists and arms. As he tightened the cord, it dug 
painfully into Rain's flesh. The stuff, whatever it 
was, did not stretch at all. He realized that this 
would be far worse than leather restraints or shackles.

He had offered no resistance, no protest. If he had, 
Michael would have simply reminded him of his oath and 
asked if he wished to violate it.

Next, as he had stood motionless, Michael had squatted 
down and knotted separate cords tightly around each 
ankle. Then the Lord carefully, painstakingly wound 
each rope up each leg like a lascivious serpent. A few 
tight twists around his ankle and lower leg until just 
before the swelling of the calf, and held in place by a 
knot; then up the inside of the calf to the knee, and 
wound around his leg just below and above it. From 
there, the ropes ran up the inside of each thigh. And 
then, three coils around each thigh, precisely under 
the buttock, knotted in place to hold it tightly so 
that even under the trousers his buttocks bulged over 
the rope, and he could feel that bulging.

The Lord had then drawn each rope up through the cleft 
between his buttocks, up to his waist. The cords were 
then wound around his waist, so tightly that they dug 
into his flesh with every breath, and knotted yet 
again. Thus laid, the cords pulled his buttocks apart, 
so that the fabric of his trousers was stretched tight 
across his cheeks and pushed deep into the divide 
between them.

After tying those humiliating cords, the Lord had made 
a point of fondling Rain's buttocks, caressing each 
cheek in turn. Michael slowly ran a finger down the 
cleft beside the rope, lingering over his anus.

"One day I will have that," he'd promised. Rain had 
been unable to stop the shiver that ran through him.

Then the Lord had led him across the room to stand 
between two metal posts set into the floor. Between the 
posts were three sheepskins laid one atop the other. 
Michael commanded him to kneel on the sheepskins with 
his knees obscenely wide apart, and tied the ropes to 
steel rings soldered to the posts. When he was 
finished, Rain could not have risen if he'd been 
ordered to. He could sit kneeling, he could rise up on 
his knees, but there was no way that he could regain 
his feet and stand. He was bound in that humble 
position, helpless and vulnerable, the cruel cords 
constricting his every breath.

Michael rose, bent over Rain and kissed his mouth, 
pushing his tongue in deeply. Rain surrendered as he 
knew he must, accepting the probing, violating kiss. 
The Lord drew away, smiling a little, clearly pleased.

"I will return in a few hours," he'd said.

Then Michael had turned and walked out of the 
Punishment Room, quietly closing the door behind him, 
leaving Rain alone in his unrelenting bondage.

The Clansman had knelt there for spirits only knew how 
long. There was no window to let him guess where the 
sun was, only the ever-growing pain of his bound, 
sweating body.

At first he'd tried to hold back the groans of pain, 
but his agony grew worse and worse. There was no one 
nearby to hear him, after all. Now he just let the 
groans well up from his dry throat, barely aware of the 
noises he was making, head lolling, eyes closed, in a 
haze of pain and exhaustion. 
 
His hair clung in limp, wet strands to his cheeks. His 
legs were knotted with cramps. His arms ached horribly; 
his shoulders were numb. Sitting on his knees like this 
pulled on the ropes around his hindquarters and spread 
his buttocks more widely than ever, but he was too 
miserable to care about that. The coils around his 
waist made his guts cramp; every breath was an effort. 
To make matters worse, he had a desperate need to 
urinate, made still worse by the tight coils of rope 
around his waist.

He awoke from his daze at the sound of familiar 
footsteps in the hallway outside.

Rain lifted his head reluctantly, feeling his shoulders 
scream with fresh pain. The Lord always insisted that 
he look directly at him when he entered the room.

The door opened, and his master and owner -- the man 
who held his very life in his hands -- stepped into the 
room. Great Lord Michael looked down upon Rain's 
tormented body, and his cool blue eyes held that look 
of pleasure Rain had grown to hate.

"Rain." His deep voice was low but firm.

"My Lord," Rain managed to rasp, his own voice hoarse 
and strange to him.

Michael approached, slowly. He paced leisurely around 
Rain's kneeling form, and stopped in front of him, 
looking pleased. Not gloating, but pleased.

"Kneel higher, my slave," he commanded.

Rain's leg muscles shrieked in protest as he obeyed, 
standing up upon his knees. Now his head was at the 
level of Michael's chest. He lifted his gaze to his 
master's face but remained silent; he had been asked no 
question, given no permission to speak further. 

"You are suffering, Rain. Are you not?" The pleasure in 
Michael's eyes did not change; a faint smile curved his 
lips.

There had been a time, not long ago at all, when Rain 
had thought that look was mocking. He had come to 
realize that while his pain gave Lord Michael pleasure, 
that pleasure was not gloating . . . not quite.

"Yes, my Lord," he croaked, "I am suffering."

Michael bent down, his eyes still locked with Rain's. 
"And you are suffering for me," he remarked softly, his 
smile broadening. "You are truly beautiful. . . ."

He reached out with both hands, took Rain's head 
gently, and lowered his own head to give Rain a slow, 
soft but fervent kiss.

Rain opened his parched mouth to the kiss, allowing it 
to be invaded by his master's tongue. He tried not to 
think about the fact that the moisture he now tasted 
was another man's saliva. After long moments, the 
tongue retreated, Michael drawing away a little.

"Are you thirsty as well?" the Lord asked.

"Yes, my Lord. I am very thirsty." He tried to keep any 
note of pleading out of his voice.

Michael nodded. He squatted down, reached down to his 
hip and took a silver canteen from it. The Lord 
uncapped it and held it to Rain's lips. It contained 
only water, as it always did when it was offered to 
him, but it was cool, clean water. He drank it 
greedily, gulping down great mouthfuls, his throat 
working as he swallowed. Only when the canteen was 
half-empty did he stop, gasping for breath, the waist 
ropes a crueler torture than ever.

Michael returned it to his belt and stroked Rain's 
sweat-dampened hair gently, possessively. "So . . . 
so," the Lord's voice soothed -- as if anything could 
soothe him in the pain he was in.

Then Michael knelt fully before him, and his hands 
began slipping up and down Rain's body through the 
clothes, caressing his shoulders, his upper arms, his 
chest (lingering with two fingers over a nipple, 
through the cloth). Enjoying feeling his body while he 
was in agony.

"How my poor slave suffers for me," Michael said. "What 
other pains do you have? Do you need to relieve 
yourself?"

"Yes, my Lord!" Rain couldn't keep the urgency out of 
his voice.

Michael got to his feet in an easy motion. The familiar 
indignity of the little chamberpot followed, with 
Michael's hands on his organ, guiding it as he urinated 
into the pot. Rain closed his eyes, feeling his face 
burn even as he shivered with relief. Never mind that 
the Lord had forced him to use the chamber pot many 
times before; the scalding humiliation was always 
fresh. The stink of his own urine reached his nostrils.

Michael cleaned him matter-of-factly with a 
handkerchief, dropping it on the floor when he was 
finished. He didn't close Rain's trousers. Instead, he 
put the lid back on the filled pot, stood up to put it 
down out of the way, and returned, this time to kneel 
behind Rain.

Then Michael's hands were on him again, fondling him 
through the clothing, running up and down his sides, 
feeling his belly, his waist constrained and indented 
by the cords, even his shoulders and arms.

Now that he no longer had to, Rain refused to look at 
Michael; he stared at the far wall, hoping that the 
vile caresses would be over soon. If he were very 
lucky, the Lord would simply want to use his mouth, and 
then untie him and let him go for the night.

Michael placed a cool hand on the bare sole of Rain's 
right foot, and stroked it once. Then he caressed 
Rain's ankle, feeling the coils of rope around it, 
moving up to the calf of his leg, fondling the bulge of 
muscle there. One finger trailed up the back of his 
thigh to his buttock, before departing.

And then he felt the Lord's hands upon his buttocks. 
Michael cupped his cheeks as he knelt, squeezed them, 
spread them apart, pushed them back together again. A 
finger ran slowly down the division, pushing in as if 
to feel as much as possible, even through the strands 
of rope digging in there.

Rain could not move or wince away. He could only kneel, 
silent and motionless, feeling his buttocks being 
fondled and manipulated by his master . . . and feeling 
that hated warmth begin in his manhood, even as pain 
still wracked his body. He managed to fight down the 
hunger, keeping his manhood from stiffening -- this 
time.

How long would it be before Michael freed him? *Would* 
he free him?

At length Michael seemed to tire of his sport. He 
straightened up and walked around Rain to stand before 
him again. "You may kneel down now," he said.

Rain obeyed him, sitting down on his shins. The more 
relaxed position brought little relief from his pain.

The Lord squatted down to face him, looking intently 
into his face again as if searching for something. He 
lifted both hands, slipping them under Rain's long, 
damp hair to place them on his temples, gently holding 
his head.

Rain looked back into Michael's intent blue eyes, 
knowing he was not allowed to look away. There was a 
strange hint of -- *appreciation* -- in those eyes . . 
. like the appreciation one might feel for a greatly 
valued possession. Rain wasn't sure whether he could 
not fully understand that, or whether he was simply 
*afraid* to.

Michael leaned forward and kissed him once more. Rain 
opened his mouth obediently, but this time the Lord 
only kissed him very gently on the lips while holding 
his head motionless.

Then the Lord released him, looking into his eyes 
again, and smiled. There was no hint of any cruelty in 
that gaze, only a measure of teasing. Was this merely a 
game to him? The hint of teasing vanished as Michael's 
gaze again took on that compassionate expression that 
Rain had come to hate.

"You still do not understand, do you?" the Lord asked 
softly. "No, I can see you don't -- not quite, not 
yet." He stroked Rain's hair with one hand, over the 
collar. "But -- ask yourself why your handsome member 
stiffens when I toy with you, even now."

Michael lowered his hand to curl his fingers around 
Rain's manhood and caress it. Rain almost winced at the 
touch. Not because it hurt -- his manhood was one of 
the few parts of him that did *not* hurt just now. But 
through long days and nights of fondling and teasing, 
his flesh had become trained to expect arousal whenever 
Lord Michael touched it, and he felt the slightest 
brush of Michael's fingers *intensely*.

As the Lord continued to stroke and caress, that awful 
hunger swelled again. Rain fought it, but this time he 
could not force it down, as the pain of the ropes and 
the pleasure of arousal combined into an odd mixture. 
His manhood slowly stiffened under those patient, 
skilled hands, the sensations spreading in waves 
through his aching, cramping body. The ropes that 
forced his buttocks apart and pressed so mercilessly 
against his flesh, the fondling hands, the knowledge 
that Lord Michael was seeing him in this state -- 
everything, every sensation his body felt, even the 
humiliation -- they all seemed to excite him. The 
harder he fought the hunger, the more it grew. He knew 
he would lose the fight. He closed his eyes.

"Please . . . please . . ." he pleaded, his voice a 
mere rasp, knowing it was futile.

"No words, now, slave," Michael's voice responded. "Do 
not speak."

The pain-pleasure mounted, mounted, his loins 
tightening. Just as he was on the verge of spilling his 
seed onto the sheepskins beneath him, Michael's hands 
withdrew, leaving him bereft. 

Rain's body spasmed, utterly out of his control. In 
spite of the fresh pain it brought him, his back arched 
and his head went back. A wail of protest came from his 
throat -- protest at his frustration, the sheer 
humiliation of being coaxed into begging for release at 
his tormentor's hands, all the degradation of the 
captivity he had endured.

Michael's voice was in his ears, murmuring, "Yes, cry 
your shame and your lust, my handsome slave. . . ."

As the moment passed, Rain hunched over in his 
desperate craving. Only Michael's quick hand on his 
shoulder kept him from losing his balance. He was 
squirming, whimpering, hips flexing against his will, 
even though every move sent bolts of pain through him. 
His manhood was so stiff that it almost slapped against 
his belly.

The hunger slowly eased. He was able to stop squirming, 
though he was still breathing hard.

Michael's hand had left his shoulder. He opened his 
eyes to see what the Lord was doing.

The Lord had gotten to his feet and now stood before 
him. Rain lifted his head to look painfully up to his 
face. His master's expression was of a man awed by and 
appreciating something glorious.

"Beautiful slave," Michael breathed.

Rain swallowed, looked back as his breathing eased. It 
was not the first time that Michael had called him 
beautiful while torturing him. And still he did not 
understand it.

Michael reached down and stroked his cheek gently. 
"Yes, you are beautiful." The Lord smiled. "And you are 
all the more beautiful kneeling there in your bonds, 
suffering for your master."

Rain closed his eyes again, feeling those words as an 
unwanted intimacy. He felt Michael's hand fondle his 
lower jaw.

"Open those handsome eyes, Rain. Yes, that's better," 
as Rain obeyed him. "What does your body feel now?"

"I'm -- very sore, my Lord," he confessed, his voice 
still hoarse. "I hurt all over."

Michael nodded without compassion. "You can bear far 
more than you think." Rain could not stop his wince. 
"What of your member? It is still stiff and reddened. I 
see that it is. Do not lie to me, Rain."

Rain felt his face grow hot with shame. But there was 
no use lying. "Yes, my Lord. It is."

"And what of your thoughts and your feelings? What are 
you thinking, Rain? What do you want?"

"I want to be unbound, my Lord," Rain said, his voice 
thick with heartfelt urgency.

Michael nodded again. "Yes, but what of your member 
there? Do you want me to touch it?"

He could not avoid admitting it. "Yes, I want relief, 
my Lord. And I am ashamed. I wish I could hide it, but 
--" He trailed off.

"No. You may not conceal your erection. Indeed, I want 
you to display it for me. Stand up on your knees again, 
Rain, and thrust your hips out a little. Show it to 
me."

Rain's tortured muscles were almost past the point of 
obeying him. His eyes screwed shut and he couldn't help 
but groan, but he managed to kneel up, thrusting his 
hips forward to display his erection to its fullest. 
Just for a breath, the pain overcame his hunger, and 
his manhood began to droop. A moment of hope welled up 
in him --

He forced open his eyes, and saw Lord Michael looking 
intently at his erection. Immediately it stiffened up 
again as Michael studied it. Rain silently cursed his 
flesh. Why must his body betray him like this?

"*That* is truly beautiful," Michael intoned. "So stiff 
and swollen, the tip so red, like a fresh-blooming rose 
. . . You would like me to touch it again, wouldn't 
you?"

Rain swallowed desperately. "Yes, my Lord."

Michael nodded, his face serene, understanding but 
giving nothing, as if Rain's arousal were simply a fact 
to be accepted.

"Don't try to fight it, Rain. Let it swell, let 
yourself crave."

Rain couldn't help but close his eyes again. Defeat 
choked him, made nausea roil in his belly. He obeyed, 
forcing himself not to fight the warm arousal that 
lapped through his tortured body.

"Open your eyes," Michael commanded sharply. "Now you 
are going to do one thing for me, and then I will untie 
you."

Slowly but casually, the Lord unlaced his breeches and 
drew out his own sex, then stepped forward so that it 
was practically in Rain's face. It was already half-
stiffened.

"Take it in your mouth," Michael commanded. "Just the 
head of it."

Rain obeyed, taking his master's warm flesh gently in 
his mouth, closing his lips around it as he so often 
had before. He held it there, tasting the salt of skin 
pressing gently against his tongue, and waited for 
another order. What would the Lord demand of him this 
time? Only that he hold it in his mouth, to show his 
submission, or would he have to suckle him to orgasm? 
By now he was used to having to swallow his master's 
seed . . . almost.

"Pleasure me, Rain. Do it slowly, tenderly."

He obeyed, beginning to nurse upon that warm organ, 
suckling it, his tongue flicking gently against it, 
making soft little wet sounds that seemed to fill his 
own ears. He dared not try to blot out his awareness by 
thinking of something else. Michael would notice the 
least inattention; he had long since learned his lesson 
about how perceptive his master was.

*I am used to this*, he reminded himself, and sucked 
softly upon the organ in his mouth. And he was. It was 
even pleasant, in a curious way -- if he forgot the 
indignity of what he was actually doing, and how much 
pain he was still in.

"So obedient . . ." Michael murmured, and Rain could 
hear the quiet delight in his voice. The Lord's manhood 
was fully stiffened now, hot and firm as it filled his 
mouth. That warm feeling of helplessness swelled in 
him, relaxing his tortured muscles. Rain wished he did 
not know the feeling so well.

He could not measure time. There was only the aching of 
his own body in the unyielding ropes, the feel and 
taste and heat of his master's manhood inside his 
mouth, and that terrible feeling of self-abandonment 
that came from their mixing together. Even as he 
himself suffered, he worked to give his master 
pleasure.

He didn't taste the tang of seeping pre-seed upon his 
tongue, but at length Michael's voice broke the 
silence: "Release it."

Rain opened his jaws carefully and released his 
master's flesh, careful not to brush it with his teeth. 
He looked up at Michael.

The Lord smiled approvingly at him again. "Well done, 
Rain," Michael said, and reached down to ruffle his 
hair. "I will unbind you now, as I promised."

The Lord made no move to tuck his still-stiffened organ 
into his breeches. Instead, he went over to a nearby 
dresser, from which he took out a pair of shears. 
Returning, he squatted down beside Rain and began the 
task of releasing him.

He began by cutting the cords between Rain's thighs and 
the two posts. Then he worked one finger under the knot 
holding the ropes around Rain's waist, tightening them 
even further and sending fresh waves of pain through 
Rain's defenseless flesh. Michael pushed one blade of 
the shears through the cord beside his finger, and cut 
the strand with one single, decisive movement, letting 
the end fall free. The relief was immediate as a coil 
loosened around Rain's waist, and then Michael was 
unwinding the cord coil by coil, the cord dropping to 
the sheepskin rug and sliding about as he worked. 
Finally he drew the last waist coil free, and let it 
drop to the rug. At last Rain could breathe deeply 
again; he filled his lungs to their limits and sighed, 
relief flooding through him.

Next Michael cut the strands spreading his buttocks, 
working carefully, maneuvering the blade between Rain's 
clothing and the ropes to avoid cutting cloth or flesh. 
Rain expected the Lord to take the opportunity to 
fondle him again, but Michael did not, contenting 
himself with cutting him free.

"I know that you are sore and stiff," Michael said, 
"but you must raise yourself again. I am going to cut 
the cords from around your legs."

Rain groaned aloud, but the desire to have his legs 
unbound gave him the will to stand upon his knees one 
more time. Somehow he managed to obey, the muscles of 
his legs and his back burning with unbelievable pain, 
tears starting in his eyes.

Michael worked one blade of the shears beneath the 
ropes again, and cut the knotted loops between Rain's 
buttocks and thighs. The task required him to grasp and 
pull up each cheek in turn, but Rain was in too much 
misery now to care at all. The Lord painstakingly cut 
and unwound the rope from Rain's thighs, then from his 
calves and ankles, pulling the strands out from 
underneath them.

Lastly Michael cut and unwound the ropes binding his 
arms. Rain gritted his teeth, but despite his best 
effort he cried out again as his arms slipped from the 
awkward position in which they had been held for so 
long, his shoulders shrieking their protest.

Then Michael's arms were around him, keeping him from 
falling over. His whole body was one mass of agonized 
cramping; he could barely feel the warmth of the Lord's 
embrace, let alone resent it. A long time passed as he 
knelt there in his master's arms, the red haze of pain 
thinning.

Gradually, the worst of his pain subsided. He could 
move his arms a little.

Michael, still holding him, nudged him gently. "Rise 
now, if you can."

Rain tried to obey, but he could not. His legs would 
not obey him, and just the attempt sent bolts of 
unbearable pain through his entire body. He screamed, 
the cry searing his raw throat; without the Lord's 
embrace he would have fallen.

So instead, Michael pulled him over to lie down on his 
side on the sheepskins. Sitting cross-legged beside 
him, the Lord pulled his head into his lap.

It was not the first time Rain had had to lie with his 
head in Lord Michael's lap. He closed his eyes and 
concentrated on resting, recovering. His muscles still 
hurt terribly, but they eased little by little. His 
breathing, which had been coming in anguished gasps, 
gradually eased and slowed.

Michael stroked his hair as he lay there. He wanted so 
badly not to feel the comfort of that hand, of the 
Lord's lap, but he was too exhausted to push even the 
feeling away. He could only lie motionless, accepting 
that comfort, feeling it relax his muscles.

He tried not to think about Michael's now-limp manhood 
dangling beside his head. 

Strange that the Lord could hurt him so mercilessly, 
then comfort him so tenderly. Michael never hurt him 
casually, out of crude brutality or indifference. Rain 
had come to understand that, over the months. It was 
always carefully calculated, as if only a certain kind 
and amount of hurting pleased the Lord. Always it was 
followed by this strange tenderness.

*It is lovemaking, to him,* the thought came, and in 
that moment he at last understood the disgust he felt, 
understood it fully.

It was a long time before he felt that he could move, 
and longer still before Michael gave him permission to 
get up. Even then, Rain needed his help to stand.

"I wish you naked," Michael commanded. "I will help you 
take off your clothing."

He helped Rain get out of his clothes the way one might 
with a small child, leaving them on the floor beside 
the sheepskins. After another drink of water, Rain felt 
himself reviving a little more. At Lord Michael's 
command, he stretched his arms and legs to further ease 
the lingering aches. Then came the order: "Now, kneel 
down again upon the sheepskins."

Oh, spirits, was he to be bound again? Surely not. How 
much more could he endure? Perhaps the Lord only wished 
to use his mouth. Rain knelt again and took a deep 
breath, readying himself.

"Take your organ in your hand and caress it," Michael 
commanded. "Arouse yourself."

Rain's thoughts froze. He stared back dumbly at Lord 
Michael, who simply smiled. "Yes, Rain. I want to see 
you touch yourself."

Even the hunger of Rain's loins belonged not to himself 
but to his master. He had been forbidden to pleasure 
himself since the day Lord Michael had taken him into 
captivity. At times, the hunger of his loins had driven 
him nearly wild.

Now, the Lord was commanding him to do so -- while 
Michael watched and was pleasured by it. Rain could 
submit to torture; he could kneel before Lord Michael 
and give him his mouth -- but *this* . . . Something 
about it was too much. He *could not* obey.

"I -- *cannot*." 

"Of course you can." Michael crouched before him and 
took his right hand, putting it over his manhood. 
Staring intently into Rain's eyes, he said, "You can 
obey me, Rain. Touch yourself. Arouse yourself."

Rain's thoughts seemed to go numb, as if he were 
dreaming. He began to move his hand upon his sex, his 
mind refusing to fully realize what he was doing. 
Michael released him, letting him obey on his own. His 
manhood was limp and barely warm in his grasp, the heat 
of the earlier teasing gone. Each movement sent an ache 
through his still-sore arm.

"Yes, that's the way," Michael said, and Rain saw that 
the Lord had put his other hand upon his own sex, 
stroking himself. "Touch yourself. Toy with yourself. 
Give yourself pleasure."

Rain closed his eyes again, but no rebuke came. Hunger 
returned to his groin. His manhood swelled, coming to 
life under his hand. The aching of his arm began to 
fade from his awareness.

Lord Michael was *seeing all this*. His eyes were 
closed, but he knew it for a certainty. He wished he 
could just stop, or that he could force his sex to go 
limp again and stay limp, but he could do neither. His 
master had given him a command, and his body, long 
denied, refused to disobey. Oh, if only he could come 
to orgasm without truly feeling it! But he could not.

His arousal grew in warm lapping waves of hungry need 
as he breathed faster. He gritted his teeth against the 
first moan that threatened to rise from his throat.

Lord Michael said no word. Evidently he was satisfied 
with what Rain was doing.

Another moan escaped his throat. It was a moan of 
mingled lust and revulsion -- revulsion at being made 
to do this for a Lord's pleasure, at being watched as 
he did so.

He heard a faint rasp of skin on skin that was not from 
his own flesh, and realized that it was the sound of 
Michael also stroking himself. The knowledge sent a 
jolt of nausea through his belly, and for precious 
moments the hated lust receded. Yet, even as Rain 
allowed hope to dawn in his heart -- hope that he would 
not be able to complete this disgusting act -- his 
hunger returned, overpowering the sickness. It had been 
denied for too long, and grown too powerful.

"Keep stroking yourself," Michael ordered, his voice 
hoarse.

Rain felt another quiver of nausea, but it was gone in 
a heartbeat. He was breathing hard now. He was still 
very much aware of Michael's gaze upon him, but as long 
as he kept his eyes closed it could not stop the lust 
from swelling. He no longer even wanted it to.

At last, with a hoarse cry of mingled despair and 
relief, he spurted onto the sheepskins. When he 
recovered, and opened his eyes, Michael's hard sex 
almost filled his vision.

"Finish me, slave!" Michael commanded, his voice a 
growl of lust.

Rain swallowed hard. With the haze of lust fading fast, 
he felt nothing but disgust toward his usual duty. 
Careful not to let it show on his face, he took the 
stiffened sex into his mouth.

To his relief, it didn't take long. Rain licked his 
lips and swallowed down the lingering taste; he was 
forbidden to wipe with his hand. Michael tucked his 
manhood back into his breeches and laced them up. 
"Rise," he commanded. "Duvier will bathe you and then 
take you to my bedroom."

Rain's eyes turned to his clothing lying on the floor 
in an untidy pile. "No," said Michael. "You will go 
naked." The Lord went to one wall and pulled the bell 
rope to summon Duvier, then turned back to smile at 
Rain. "You have done well. I will reward you soon." 

The bland-faced servant appeared swiftly. "Bathe him," 
Lord Michael commanded.

Duvier snapped the leash onto Rain's collar. Rain did 
not have to be told what to do; he put his hands on the 
back of his neck, spreading his fingers to let the 
leash through. Naked save for that collar, the sweat of 
his suffering still drying on him, he followed Duvier 
out of the Punishment Room.



Later, still naked but no longer reeking of his own 
sweat, he lay down on his belly upon that magnificent 
bed at Lord Michael's command. Lingering twinges still 
ached in every muscle he had, but he was grateful for 
the comfort.

Saying nothing, Michael sat down on the edge of the bed 
beside him and began stroking his back over and over 
again from shoulder to buttocks as he lay there. Rain 
was far too weary to fight the comfort. He wondered if 
he would be allowed to sleep now. Spirits knew he could 
use the rest.

At length, Michael spoke. "Are you still sore?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I will cure that."

The Lord stood up and climbed upon the bed beside Rain. 
Then those strong hands came down on his shoulders and 
began to massage them, forcing out the soreness there. 
Michael was as skilled at this as he was at causing 
agony; under his hands the pain and stiffness slowly 
drained from Rain's muscles.

The Lord leaned down and kissed Rain's flesh now and 
again as he kneaded it. Rain wished he could flinch 
away from those kisses. He could do nothing. Nor could 
he accept the pleasure without shame. He could feel the 
warmth of Michael on his back as the Lord bent over 
him, working his flesh. 

When Michael was done with Rain's shoulders, he worked 
his way slowly down his spine to his buttocks, 
massaging them just as thoroughly. Rain tensed a 
little, expecting the humiliating kisses and caresses 
he knew too well, but they did not come. Then the 
massage went slowly down each leg in turn, to his 
ankles. Finally, to his silent astonishment, Michael 
gave him a gentle but thorough foot rub, massaging each 
foot carefully and thoroughly.

When the Lord's hands at last left his flesh, Rain's 
entire body felt like nothing more than a mass of limp 
jelly. He doubted that he could have moved even if he 
were ordered to. He wished he did not enjoy the feeling 
so much.

Michael stroked his hair and stood up.

"Sleep now," the Lord said. His voice was gentle. "I 
will demand nothing more of you for a time."

His footsteps receded, and Rain heard the door close, 
leaving him alone in the huge room.

For some time he lay there, eyes still open; his 
thoughts would not allow him to sleep. He tried to push 
out of his mind the memories of what had happened. He 
could not.

When Michael tortured him, to the Lord's mind it was a 
kind of coupling. *It is lovemaking, to him,* he 
thought, remembering the insight he'd had earlier. Not 
merely coupling, but lovemaking.

*Lovemaking.* He wanted to spit at the feel of the word 
in his mouth. What Great Lord Michael felt for him was 
certainly not love -- not the love of a Clansman for 
his kin, or his wife. No Lord could love.

But then, what was it? What did Michael *truly* want 
from him?

He turned it over and over in his thoughts as he lay 
there upon the soft bed, but he could understand 
nothing more. Finally, his thoughts muddled. He 
surrendered to sleep.