Faded Light
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,223
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
10,223
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The New Courtesan
(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)
Chapter Three
The New Courtesan
Dafi brushed away the last of his tears, hearing the approaching footsteps.
Such displays had been met with more than enough punishment in those early years; he knew better now than ever to allow the mask to slip...to let others see anything except than what they desired...a pretty, submissive raw-mul, he thought disdainfully.
And he wondered that he had any tears left at all that they should so easily fall in his solitude.
He tried not to move, as the door opened and closed and he felt the Man's dark eyes once more taking in each line of his body, suddenly hoping only that the King wasn't overly peculiar. He did not think he could well endure anything too kinky tonight.
"Stand up," said the Man after a long moment, settling back on the many pillows of his bed.
The slave stood, resisting the urge to cover himself or to flinch from the lust in those eyes.
"Come, sit next to me, pretty one," Javad smiled and patted a spot on the bed. "You don't have to be nervous.
"Pour me some wine."
Dafi did as he was bid, carefully pouring the wine from a bottle on a side table and sitting where the king bade. His movements were smooth, sensual; the allure of one trained in the ways of pleasure...
"I had heard much of your beauty," said the Man, taking a sip and offering it to the youth who drank warily. "I had to see it for myself.
"You are magnificent." The king ran his fingers over the fair face, the silken, white throat.
He frowned, gently glancing over the fading marks on the side of the slave's neck and shoulder, where not long ago someone too much in his cups had nearly twisted the Elf's arm off, and stroked the youth's face again.
"Why don't you speak?" he took the goblet and put it aside again. "Was it some injury?"
The slave shook his head and shrugged that he did not have an answer.
"Pity, then, we cannot converse," said the king, his eyes gliding down the Elf's nude form. "But I can think of several other ways to amuse ourselves." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, apparently trying to put the slave at ease, before leaning forward to take his chin in one hand and bringing his face closer to claim the silent lips with his own.
Almost, Dafi was grateful for one night of gentler treatment, as his lips parted in response, and he let the Man push him down on the mattress, eager hands roaming over the reluctantly pliant body.
For several minutes, he allowed it to deepen; skillfully, using tongue and lips to pleasure the King, letting little moans escape his throat once in a while, having learned long ago that he was better off if he tried to please, even as his heart sped up in dread of what would soon follow.
Often, he had been told, he would get used to it. But he never had; though the pain was seldom as unbearable as it had been in the beginning and he knew how to put on a very convincing performance, biting back any sound of discomfort and turning them into wanton little sighs or gasps or whatever the moment required.
He let his head fall back as the impatient mouth left his lips, traveling downwards, and tried to relax into the king's ardent touch, as one hand moved along his side to his waist and back up, to tease lightly at a taut nipple with one thumb before greedily laving at it and the other, slowly running his tongue over the soft skin between.
At least, these hands weren't as coarse as others, he thought, looking up at the ceiling unenthusiastically, and he smelled a good deal better; though he was quite heavy and seemed to enjoy using his teeth more than was comfortable.
Compliantly, spreading his legs further, he took hold of the broad shoulders, making it appear a very credible gesture of passionate fervor, as the king encouragingly stroked his thighs, taking little bites of Elven flesh, as his mouth moved all the way down.
But no matter how often he pretended and played the eager whore, there was little pleasure to be found in being a plaything for Mortal Men.
TBC...
Elvish:
Raw-mul / whore: (From raw meaning flesh and mul meaning slave, so literally “slave of the flesh.” There are of course no elvish words for anything regarding whoredom, so I had to find an appropriate combination of words that elves might use.)
The New Courtesan
Dafi brushed away the last of his tears, hearing the approaching footsteps.
Such displays had been met with more than enough punishment in those early years; he knew better now than ever to allow the mask to slip...to let others see anything except than what they desired...a pretty, submissive raw-mul, he thought disdainfully.
And he wondered that he had any tears left at all that they should so easily fall in his solitude.
He tried not to move, as the door opened and closed and he felt the Man's dark eyes once more taking in each line of his body, suddenly hoping only that the King wasn't overly peculiar. He did not think he could well endure anything too kinky tonight.
"Stand up," said the Man after a long moment, settling back on the many pillows of his bed.
The slave stood, resisting the urge to cover himself or to flinch from the lust in those eyes.
"Come, sit next to me, pretty one," Javad smiled and patted a spot on the bed. "You don't have to be nervous.
"Pour me some wine."
Dafi did as he was bid, carefully pouring the wine from a bottle on a side table and sitting where the king bade. His movements were smooth, sensual; the allure of one trained in the ways of pleasure...
"I had heard much of your beauty," said the Man, taking a sip and offering it to the youth who drank warily. "I had to see it for myself.
"You are magnificent." The king ran his fingers over the fair face, the silken, white throat.
He frowned, gently glancing over the fading marks on the side of the slave's neck and shoulder, where not long ago someone too much in his cups had nearly twisted the Elf's arm off, and stroked the youth's face again.
"Why don't you speak?" he took the goblet and put it aside again. "Was it some injury?"
The slave shook his head and shrugged that he did not have an answer.
"Pity, then, we cannot converse," said the king, his eyes gliding down the Elf's nude form. "But I can think of several other ways to amuse ourselves." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, apparently trying to put the slave at ease, before leaning forward to take his chin in one hand and bringing his face closer to claim the silent lips with his own.
Almost, Dafi was grateful for one night of gentler treatment, as his lips parted in response, and he let the Man push him down on the mattress, eager hands roaming over the reluctantly pliant body.
For several minutes, he allowed it to deepen; skillfully, using tongue and lips to pleasure the King, letting little moans escape his throat once in a while, having learned long ago that he was better off if he tried to please, even as his heart sped up in dread of what would soon follow.
Often, he had been told, he would get used to it. But he never had; though the pain was seldom as unbearable as it had been in the beginning and he knew how to put on a very convincing performance, biting back any sound of discomfort and turning them into wanton little sighs or gasps or whatever the moment required.
He let his head fall back as the impatient mouth left his lips, traveling downwards, and tried to relax into the king's ardent touch, as one hand moved along his side to his waist and back up, to tease lightly at a taut nipple with one thumb before greedily laving at it and the other, slowly running his tongue over the soft skin between.
At least, these hands weren't as coarse as others, he thought, looking up at the ceiling unenthusiastically, and he smelled a good deal better; though he was quite heavy and seemed to enjoy using his teeth more than was comfortable.
Compliantly, spreading his legs further, he took hold of the broad shoulders, making it appear a very credible gesture of passionate fervor, as the king encouragingly stroked his thighs, taking little bites of Elven flesh, as his mouth moved all the way down.
But no matter how often he pretended and played the eager whore, there was little pleasure to be found in being a plaything for Mortal Men.
TBC...
Elvish:
Raw-mul / whore: (From raw meaning flesh and mul meaning slave, so literally “slave of the flesh.” There are of course no elvish words for anything regarding whoredom, so I had to find an appropriate combination of words that elves might use.)