The Darkblade mortification

Malus mumbled in his slumber, lost to the bleary dreams that only a hard Night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could produce. He was sprawled on silk sheets, an unusual lavishness but one necessary for the conservation of what little sanity he retained ; after the topsy-turvydom, and the battles against said pandemonium, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled speculation which had successfully claimed the life of his dear brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the mind of either Ovis vignei or Yasmir, after all that time on the cuss water system, Malus needed a day or two of dependable, consummate respite. He dozed on in this confutative flesh menage, still logy but, after a steam clean bathing tub, at to the lowest degree no longer grimy.

He did n't shake at all when the threshold to his private chamber opened and a hooded pattern slipped inside. The trace who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the sight of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient swearword, giving the number a offset. The could-be assassin strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to bungle in the congregation of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poison dagger or some other arm of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible foeman, then bolted good, sweating. The trace was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepyheaded eyes widened in alarm at the sight of this trespasser. 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 flat coat as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

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

Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The stagnant Bible still came out regardless, now edged with anger. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as lots a inquiry as a threat or a instruction. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must have been the time of day of the Friedrich August Wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting noble. Facing the cap, where, to the flesh house 's credit, fine homo skins had been hung from short bait to cover the brickwork, genus Malus addressed his consideration. `` What in the wickedness mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my doorway and leave me in heartsease until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if diffident 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 unfastened doorway. He had n't thought to close it. `` The secret trade good. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a inscrutable breath. `` The lube. ``

Malus paled and craned his cervix to attend at his retainer. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricating substance, my lord. '' The early captain produced the ampoule from his robe. A clear liquid glistened in a little glass bottle, lit by the crackling visible radiation of two low-burning brasier in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such matter. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no retentivity of asking for such an indecent affair. Even with his caput still buzzing with deglutition, he felt something stir rich inside his body.

'' Perhaps my Lord has drunk too much of the family wine. You asked me not four hours ago. Told me you wanted the o.k. human spit. ``

Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his vital organ. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some twisted trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The imbiber of domain could n't give vocalisation to a reply courtesy to the alcoholic beverage coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let genus Malus know the answer in other ways.

The bastard son of Lurhan let out a gasp of joy as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the inner workings of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly temper, and then go on to indurate, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to grow, to stretch, to fulfill with malefic seminal fluid. Wracked with deadening waves of dense pleasure, the titled forgot all about Hauclir. His case became reddened. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual trunk. The fiend sparked a sexual appetence that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an electric outlet. Something. Anything.

His hands raced down his bare pectus, tweaking the nipple as they went, rubbing the whiteish hide, alighting nervus. When they came upon the leather covering his seawall and legs, they set to work deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't absolve himself from their oppressive clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his rooster, a glorious spire ready to unleash fists of angry semen. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted figure, though here purple mineral vein throbbed just as hard as bleak I. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of blood. He knew on instinct that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, oculus ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his aid split between the steaming trouser that had landed by his foot and by the grotesque actions of his lord. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to game away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his genu, pointing his turncock at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the threshold, '' he commanded.

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

'' Come closer, 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 lips. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious grin with trepidation.

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'mind was a theatre, and the audience was in katzenjammer. His fragile intent joined in with the sickly cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that ampule, my mellisonant Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His ribs had gone tight. The imaginary audience was in outright bedlam, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' Lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revel raging at the backbone of his head. blank out the joy of the raid. Forget the joy of plotting. forget all the power in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for natural endowment with such ... Delicious acts before ? He should make forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of dreams. Hell, even Urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would take put him in his place. Malus'drumhead swam with macabre cerebration and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquidity to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The entirely thing was surreal, but a part of the servant wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no unknown to sodomy ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crew on their last adventure, that had been something his gustatory modality had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy phallus barely set up, moth-eaten with dread.

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

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

Hauclir froze, trying to imagine what unholy agony awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your hammer, dear, dear Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the Son springing from his natural language. What was he saying ? Suddenly his heart went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this shenanigan, Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the audience that had been laughing all along, was aching to excuse, but first he continued to accost Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your Jehovah ! ``

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

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his face still a picture of pure veneration. He rubbed Sir Thomas More of the lubricant about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the ampule into and around his lord 's anal retentive transition as best he could. With unwilling script, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his one-half flaccid stopcock into the rift. He let out a slight moan. Malus was compressed than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all real, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasps through Malus'pinna, over the phone of Hauclir 's noisy respiration and the phone of his balls slapping about with each driving force. You were a patsy, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could overwhelm me out with your alcohol or your Druchii concoctions. The daemon savoured every moment of Malus'physical pain and mental shrieking. I am your master, the juicer of Worlds intoned, and you will not blank out that. You felt the true great power I offered, the daemon pulled on the vein that ran through the highborn 's rooster to exemplify his point, the military action giving a pang of discomforting pleasure, but now you will receive an impossibly small gustation of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another figure, though this fantasm was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than Negroid, practically invisible to any who might opportunity upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling build, this one was skilled to a deathlike level. A honest original of stealth. A straight assassin. The build theatre 's owner prided herself on affording her sponsor rarely-paralleled discretion and condom, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would fall away out in much the same style. In fact, this soul had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to remain hidden, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left null to chance when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied nemesis. genus Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his plans and decided to abide away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to piddle the length and quietly steal upon his noble, if only to retard up on the man and make for sure that the future Lord of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn secure and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the Saami of Hauclir, but he bore the recent addition to the household 's force no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making arrangements with some of the topical anesthetic cultists to make his Divine 's stoppage in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd get wind ... well, the Night 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could learn it all : their cry, their moans, the creak of the bed, the smacking sound of skin on skin, the slippery noise of greased penetration. It made him frown as pent-up feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no time for loveplay in the synagogue, and since he 'd left to get together up the true religion, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the Lord of Ruin could pamper in such acts, with the ilk of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something tabu ...

As genus Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the way Arleth began to play with himself for the first time. He reached down into his flowing robe and tugged at his waking cock. The lilliputian fleshy stump began to grow hard at his touch. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the whores and slaves pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little moan of his own to come with those of his honey high retainer of Khaine.

***

genus Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the weather sheet. His own tool had gone off multiple time, adding to the terms. The flesh house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her slaves would be required to execute the pursue morning. He was still lying there, lost in brackish 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 doorway. Despite the night 's laugher being entirely at his lord 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the future course of action was to find out a drink, a bath, and then a female hard worker 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 head, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my master. '' He could n't look Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to close it this time. As he left, he stood in a pool of something vile on the reason. He looked down, cursing his lot. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly woven matter. He wiped his bare foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hooks, whips and strand dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes piss from the pain sensation still throbbing about his fanny. He 'd withstood the savage torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet siblings ; he was n't about to dishonor himself with an look of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get revenge. He had his hate. The demigod could n't take that away from him. The daemon could only animate more of it. And with hate, all things were possible .