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Chapter Sixteen
Talen lies on the bed; a splatter of semen trails its way across the floor. Each drop glitters like a pearl in moonlight. My boyfriend has white streaks on the inside of his thighs. I suppose I feel a little guilty about that.
"Are you mad?" I ask him while gently kneading one shoulder.
He rolls to one side and remains silent for several minutes. "No," he says at last.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and he hugs me.
"Actually...I loved it," he states as calmly as possible. I put my arm around him but he stops me when I go to kiss him on the lips. "I loved it more than I've EVER loved fucking you. It scares me, Kian."
I pull back from him, eyes locking onto his. "Scares you? I don't understand--"
He cuts me off with a finger to my mouth. "I've always been in control of our relationship. At least, I've felt that way--"
"You are--" I interject.
"Let me finish. I-I've always felt like I was in control...like I could order you to go down on me if I wanted. But after tonight, I'm not sure. I loved what you did, how it felt, and how you tasted so much...I-I could happily enslave myself to you. That's not the person I want to be."
I stare at him, but Talen says no more.
"Do you still love me?" I ask him at last.
He nods. "More than ever. Isn't that obvious?"
I French kiss him then and when I'm through, I whisper in his ear, "It doesn't matter who's in control. You have my heart, and as long as that's true, I'll do anything you want."
That makes him smile. At last he allows me to spoon him in my arms, and the both of us soon drift off into sleep.
Weeks pass and the master is happy with us.
He has thralls that possess physical abilities and comeliness beyond any that he's had before. However, he's also instituted changes. For example, they stop feeding me meat and replace it with a bland paste that's pure protein, but I'm required to squeeze it from a tube. It's a reminder that I'm only a prized pet instead of a human being. Talen gets ideal treatment of course seeing as he's part of the uke caste. As a result, he's put on a little weight with all the sweet meats and fine foods they've been feeding him.
In contrast, the mines bruise and batter me leaving my skin tightly drawn over sore muscles that ache long into the night. Sometimes slaves attend to his needs. I suppose I wouldn't have it any different. Talen's the soft pretty one; I'm rugged with plenty of rough, violent edges...the kind of guy that women might cross the street to avoid because I look lean and hungry all the time.
Still, Talen's supposed to be hard at work finding us a means to escape the mind lords. Last night after I fucked him, he told me he hasn't found where they keep our helmets yet. My impatience is growing, but getting to drain my balls every day helps to reduce the stress.
I try to not lose hope, but there are some days when I imagine him sleeping in late and lounging around in his robe all day while he gets his nails painted and filed. I suppose it'd piss me off if I knew the truth so I don't ask.
Rock after rock, hour after hour I toil.
Four nights a week I punish Talen's asshole in front of an audience. They like me to do it one handed, with my body suspended off his back so they can see the full length of my manhood invading him. There are now forty or more that watch us, paying pouches of gold to see me make Talen cum with just my dick pistoning his guts and my foot on his throat. His boy hole gets so dilated by the time we finish I could stick my fist in him.
Given his growing appetite for my sex, he'd probably like that.
The stretching's inevitable, and I worry I might make Talen incontinent. I sometimes spy faint brown streaks on his undergarments and know he's leaking a little. Is it possible that the sphincter can get so stretched it won't return to normal? I make sure to take as much precaution as possible, but it's difficult because the crowd roars, and Talen himself thrusts backward into me like he's got a sickening fascination to impale himself on my prick.
It's like he's a cock hungry whore; I blame the royal jelly. It's his "Eros."
When we're not having sex, Talen loves parading me in front of the other uke.
They're so jealous of him. I've never felt so desired, but in comparison my own ego is miniscule compared to Talen's. I know he thinks himself better than everyone else, and I'm to blame. It's because I never choose anyone else as my uke. I always pick him. That's what a boyfriend's supposed to do, right?
I give him what he wants.
One night following sex, the master arrives in the room that Talen and I share.
He attacks us with his mind. The horrible scratches assault my dreams and rip them into shreds. Everything goes white. We stagger to our feet where he forces the both of us to don our armor. Mine goes on easily enough, but Talen's is a little tight. Silently, the master bids us follow him from his domicile, which rests on the third ring from the bottom.
I go first and follow the flowing purple robes down a path that leads to the rocky floor of the center chamber. It's alight with a reddish glow. I step lightly and note that it's covered in a kind of secreted resin, mucous, and other things foul. The stones glisten with sticky yellow and red excretions that have been allowed to dry in the air. I reason they might be the remains of blood and diseased fat cut away from victims used to feed the elder brain. I trail my master into the passages of black and inevitably, we're guided toward the slave pits. Once there, Talen and I follow Master Kierak to his seat near the circular sands and the giant rock that remains anchored at its center. All around me, I feel the presence of thousands of the mind lord kine, and I discern that we're about to partake in an event of some importance.
Kierak chooses me.
He places his claw against my forehead, and I feel him withdraw the presence he placed there while I slept. I look down at my hands, turn, and regard Talen who's staring straight forward, unemotional and frozen in place. Tethyr's teeth he's beautiful; I chew on my lower lip. The master dons his voice box.
"I've chosen you to compete in this...a dominance tournament against the thralls of a higher caste. This fight is to the death. I do not wish to lose such a valuable thrall, however, there's much at stake. The winner of this tournament shall be allowed to start another colony. I desire to be the recipient of the many rewards given by the Elder Brain. You alone will make this possible, or I'll kill your lover in front of you."
I swallow nervously.
Master Kierak instructs me to ascend the steps and to go into the peculiar light which illuminates the fighting grounds. I step lightly onto the sandy floor and stride to the center rock. I spot another man. He's very thin and has a pair of pointed ears. His black skin gleams in the glow from the many lamps. Fearlessly he mimics my ascent onto the rock. Of course, he's equipped far better than I, whipping an elegant black steel scimitar back and forth. I note that the blade drips venom. As if that weren't enough, he's garbed in an extremely fine chainmail suit.
He's not the only one to enter the arena, however.
I could be so lucky.
No, someone both towering and strong enters from my right.
Standing a full head higher than myself, this guy's legs are naturally bronze and muscular; he wears his blood-colored hair in a cassock. And he too has better equipment: a rounded shield and spear with a barbed end. Unlike me though, he has the same vacant-eyed look I saw in Talen's gaze.
The mind lords are maintaining control over their thralls: interesting that I've been allowed to act on my own.
"Not so interesting," Master Kierak says in my mind. "I allow you to keep your wits because your natural reaction is superior to my own. But the others must not find out."
A third man enters, if you can call a man thus simply because he walks on two legs. More reptile than human, the combatant's skin is greasy black and covered in shimmering scales. He possesses a tail that's barbed; glistening drops of secreted poison fall from the end. Furthermore, a vicious maw containing rows of serrated teeth opens beneath flared nostrils. In his left hand is a rod of six tentacles; leather armor greased up and shiny protects his body.
I set my jaw and push my back against the smooth boulder.
A fourth man joins us in the light of the sand pit. A warrior with a full head of hair and long serrated teeth, he wears scale mail and wields an axe that he hefts easily in his left hand. The handle looks crafted of fine steel, wound in such a way as to resemble a length of rope. The top is crowned in a small rust-colored skull. From underneath his helmet, I spot a pair of glowing red eyes; iron boots shod his feet, the toes upturned in sharp points.
We size up each other, and some laugh when they look upon me. I'm used to being judged by my size and in many ways it's the ace up my sleeve for contests like this.
I scramble to the top of the boulder, my eyes darting from figure to figure. I turn my eyes to the first man. "He's an elf," Master Kierak tells me from somewhere in my own head.
"The second man, the one with the shield and the cassock on his head...who is he?" I ask the master.
"That one's the thrall of Zorel...he's Ercestrian. The scaly human is Nykoran, and the last, well he's the most dangerous: a Vagunian, or spirit, warrior.
"A spirit warrior?" I question, but the voice makes no reply.
The Ercestrian charges forward and jabs his sword at the elf, keeping his back toward his own footprints and constantly shifting his feet. The elf swings his scimitar at just the last moment and deflects the spear. But he doesn't strike back. No, he carefully edges the arena and keeps his gaze darting back and forth between all of us. The Nykoran, however, is less cautious. He charges into the fray and turns, swinging his tentacle rod at the Ercestrian's exposed back. The tentacles strike their mark and retract, slicing through armor like nothing and taking with them gobs of bloody flesh.
The man cries out and drops to his knees.
Instantly, the elf's upon him and rains down blow after blow atop the dying man's body. The Ercestrian fights to deflect the blows with his rounded shield but it's of little use. He rolls onto the sand. I grimace, thinking of the pain which is now lancing through his sundered body. But the ploy works. The elf oversteps himself and the Ercestrian jabs him in the ribs with the end of his spear. When he yanks it out a second later, a red shadow spreads under the elf's armor; droplets of thick blood fall out of the gaping wound staining the sand at his feet.
Then it's my turn.
The Nykoran closes to within range and swing his rod of tentacles at my feet. I leap back and flip, landing with the grace of a cat behind the rock. Frustrated, the Nykoran scrambles after me, skirting the edge of the boulder. I reach down, aware that I've no weapon. Carefully, I scoop sand into my hands and wait for my would-be killer to appear. When his face crests the huge stone, I blind him with the sand and retreat from the rock.
From directly behind, I hear a whoosh and duck out of instinct. It's the type of gut reaction to which I've trained. A split second later, an axe blade swipes near where my shoulders had been. I kick back as hard as I can, the sole of my foot slamming into something that feels like a wall. I spy another movement in my peripheral vision and raise my hand to deflect. Pain lances through my arm and I look down. My wrist is snapped and the bone pokes through my skin. I'm almost paralyzed in agony.
I scream and tears blur my vision. Staggering back on the sand, I suddenly realize how hot and unstable things have become.
The Nykoran is on me once more, trying to rake me with his tentacle rod.
He swings back and I take the opportunity to jump, shielding my broken wrist with my body. I slam into his chest with both boots and knock him prone into the sand. I've only a split second to react as I'm attacked at the same time by the axe wielding Vagunian. Reflexively, I tumble backward and watch in horror as the axe misses me and embeds itself fully in the chest of the fallen Nykoran. Blood and chunks of shattered bone spray the sand and just a few pelt my armor.
The Vagunian attempts to pull his axe free.
Half-blinded by tears, I subdue my pain and leap up high enough to strike him in the head with the bottom of my boot. I will the spikes to come and they shoot outward, ripping the Vagunian's flesh from nose to mouth. He staggers backward, clasping hands to his ruined face, blood welling between his fingers uncontrollably.
A hissing emerges from the crowd.
I let myself get distracted for just a moment; pain from my leg shocks me into awareness.
The Ercestrian has stabbed me with the point of his spear. Fuck! I pull myself off the tip and blood runs bright red down my leg. The Ercestrian rises up, red streaming from his back like rain water. He staggers forward and once more thrusts his spear in my direction. This time I roll to one side, and he narrowly misses me. I do manage to trap the tip of it in the sand and kick the haft hard enough to snap it in two. I manage to gain my feet again, the bulk of my weight resting on my good leg. Yet I can't avoid getting backhanded with the shield. I swear he almost breaks my jaw loose. In the least, he addles my brains just a little. When he swings a second time, I backflip, land wrong, and fall down again.
I'm losing blood and getting dizzy.
I get a bit of a respite from the all-out assault, but it's only for a few seconds. Still I manage to crawl once more to my feet. One look upon the bloody arena tells me what I need to know: I'm the only one left standing. The Ercestrian finally collapses under his wounds and dies; the Vagunian is prone upon the sand, thrashing about like a fish out of water and blood streaming between his fingers. A small surge of victory wells through me even though I suspect I may be dying too.
Then the other presence, the mind of my master, enslaves me once more. I hate this. I watch from an out-of-body place as my body is forced to limp from the arena. Once before my master, I'm allowed to collapse from blood loss. Sweet yet troubled sleep claims my consciousness and drowns me with nightmares of constant thirst.
Somewhere in this pervasive darkness, Angelaria calls to me. My beautiful princess...she takes my hand and I feel her breath warm on the nape of my neck.
"Be prepared soon," she says. "I shall come for you and Talen. We'll escape the mind lords, but I'll need your help. Make sure you've reclaimed your helmets by then and stand at the ready. Freedom is upon us."
I shall post Chapter 17 next week.