The Darkblade Humiliation

genus Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the blurry dreams that only a heavily night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could farm. He was sprawled on silk shroud, an strange luxury but one necessary for the preservation of what little sanity he retained ; after the topsy-turvydom, and the fight against said Chaos, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his beloved brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the heads of either Ovis vignei or Yasmir, after all that time on the swear water, Malus needed a day or two of true, saturated residual. He dozed on in this questionable flesh star sign, still groggy but, after a steaming bath, at least no longer grimy.

He did n't stir at all when the door to his private sleeping room opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the lot of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some antediluvian torment, giving the form a start. The could-be assassin strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded mortal began to fumble in the folds of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poison dagger or some former artillery of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible enemy, then bolted upright, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. genus Malus'sleepy eye widened in alarm system at the stack of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His legs were already swinging out to make contact with the ground as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

The figure threw back their hood. `` My lord, it 's me ! ``

Malus narrowed his eye, the cry for Hauclir dying in his pharynx. The dead word of honor still came out regardless, now edged with choler. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a head as a threat or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

'' Aye, my Godhead. '' Hauclir gave a curt bow.

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must have been the hour of the woman chaser or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting stately. Facing the cap, where, to the physique house 's credit, fine human cutis had been hung from short hooking to extend the brickwork, genus Malus addressed his servant. `` What in the Dark mother 's gens are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my door and leave me in peace of mind until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if incertain what to say. After a moment he cleared his pharynx. `` I brought the ... goods you asked of me, my lord. ``

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the open threshold. He had n't thought to close it. `` The secret goods. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a deep breath. `` The lubricating substance. ``

Malus paled and craned his neck to await at his servant. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricator, my God Almighty. '' The onetime captain produced the vial from his robe. A clear liquid glistened in a minuscule glass bottle, lit by the crackling brightness of two low-burning braziers in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such thing. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no retentiveness of asking for such an indecorous affair. Even with his head still buzzing with drinkable, he felt something stir deeply inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too a great deal of the house wine. You asked me not four hours ago. tell apart me you wanted the o.k. human spittle. ``

Malus could give sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his ribs, slithering about his full of life pipe organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some twisted trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The drinker of Worlds could n't contribute voice to a reply courtesy to the inebriant coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let Malus have intercourse the answer in other ways.

The bastard son of Lurhan let out a pant of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up imperativeness on his prostrate, tickling the inner working of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly inure, and then continue to inure, growing stiff than it ever had before. It was as if the daimon was teasing his penis to rise, to stretch, to fill with evil seed. Wracked with slow waves of heavy pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became sluice. His conservative external respiration gave way to wet panting. luxuria and desire coursed through his animal consistence. The devil sparked a intimate appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His paw raced down his bare chest, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish hide, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groyne and wooden leg, they set to exercise deftly unbrace tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their tyrannous clutch pedal quick enough. He tossed the trouser away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a magnificent spire ready to unleash fists of angry seminal fluid. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the rest period of his increasingly corrupted form, though here majestic veins throbbed just as surd as sinister ace. The pinkish tip swayed with each heart of blood. He knew on instinct that his paw would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, eyes ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention schism between the steaming drawers that had landed by his substructure and by the fantastic activity of his lord. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to back away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, genus Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his knees, pointing his tool at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the door, '' he commanded.

Hauclir, with trembling hands, did as he was commanded.

'' Come finisher, my servant. '' The highborn 's words slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his mind. The mirth spilled out and onto his mouth. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smile with trepidation.

'' commodity. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'heading was a theatre, and the audience was in katzenjammer. His thin flavour joined in with the sickly cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my seraphic Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His ribs had gone tight. The imaginary interview was in outright chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

'' My Lord ? '' Hauclir did as he was told. His face resembled that of a human hard worker brought before the sacrificial altar.

'' lubricating substance yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the spinal column of his foreland. draw a blank the pleasure of the maraud. Forget the joy of plotting. Forget all the exponent in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the devil for natural endowment with such ... delicious acts before ? He should receive forced himself on Yasmir, given her a dick Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of dreams. Hell, even Ovis vignei. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would consume put him in his place. genus Malus'header swam with sick persuasion and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquidness to his digit and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The solid thing was phantasmagoric, but a character of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no alien to buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crowd on their hold out adventure, that had been something his gustatory perception had been opened to. But with genus Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy penis barely erect, cold with dread.

genus Malus roared like a hungry wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The flames of desire showed him the picture of a prostate gland Hauclir, his pink arse puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

But the highborn 's mouth did n't say 'Yes'. It said, `` No. Not like that. ``

Hauclir froze, trying to imagine what hellish torture awaited if this was n't what his noble wanted.

'' Lubricate your cock, dear, darling Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the intelligence springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his inwardness went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this trickery, Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the consultation that had been laughing all along, was aching to explain, but first he continued to come up to Hauclir through Malus'lip. `` Now, interpenetrate your Almighty ! ``

With a dramatic tucket, Malus found himself fling his body around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's floor face. `` Take me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The consideration crawled onto the bed, his face still a picture of pure fear. He rubbed to a greater extent of the lubricant about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the ampoule into and around his Jehovah 's anal passage as best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped genus Malus'shank, and poked his half flaccid prick into the breach. He let out a little moan. Malus was besotted than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own head, Malus looked askance at the daemon, his desires having turned to horror. This could n't be real. This was worse than any nightmare he could possibly have.

Oh, it 's all real, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasping through Malus'pinna, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the audio of his musket ball slapping about with each thrust. You were a chump, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could submerge me out with your alcohol or your Druchii concoction. The daemon savoured every irregular of Malus'physical pain sensation and mental screaming. I am your master, the Drinker of human race intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the genuine power I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to illustrate his decimal point, the action giving a twinge of discomforting pleasure, but now you will pick up an impossibly minuscule predilection of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the bedchamber lurked another anatomy, though this shadow was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's way. This tail was blacker than blacken, practically inconspicuous to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling frame, this one was skilled to a deathly stage. A genuine master of stealth. A unfeigned assassin. The flesh planetary house 's possessor prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discretion and condom, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would mistake out in much the same mode. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to rest hidden, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nothing to fortune when it came to genus Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the vaticinate Scourge. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his plans and decided to continue away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to make the length and quietly slip upon his lord, if only to jibe up on the man and make sure that the future Jehovah of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safe and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the latest summation to the household 's force no ill will. He had been about to bequeath, after making transcription with some of the topical anaesthetic cultists to urinate his Creator 's stoppage in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd take heed ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the sleeping room yonder were still at it ; Arleth could find out it all : their cries, their moans, the creaking of the bed, the smacking sound of peel on peel, the slippery noise of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as subdue feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved trunk. There had been no prison term for loveplay in the Temple, and since he 'd left to fall in up the dependable religion, only scrap and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the Jehovah of Ruin could indulge in such act, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own joy was not something forbidden ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to wreak with himself for the first time. He reached down into his flowing gown and tugged at his waking turncock. The short fleshy pulpit began to uprise hard at his tactual sensation. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the lady of pleasure and hard worker pleasure each former. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out small moans of his own to accompany those of his beloved high handmaiden of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe physical structure, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own prick had gone off multiple metre, adding to the damage. The flesh household owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleansing that her slaves would be required to perform the following morning. He was still lying there, lost in briny thoughts and the melancholy of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robe about himself and began making for the door. Despite the Night 's romp being entirely at his lord 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next course of activeness was to find a drink, a bath, and then a female slave to assert his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the piece to the Dark mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his school principal, genus Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my master. '' He could n't face Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to fill up it this prison term. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the ground. He looked down, cursing his luck. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly interweave thing. He wiped his bare foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drinking badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the build draw, lash and concatenation dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water supply from the pain still throbbing about his rear. He 'd withstood the roughshod torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet sibling ; he was n't about to shame himself with an expression of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get retaliation. He had his hate. The daemon could n't direct that away from him. The daemon could only inspire More of it. And with hate, all matter were possible .