The Darkblade Humiliation

Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the foggy dreams that only a hard night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could get. He was sprawled on silk sheets, an unusual sumptuosity but one necessary for the saving of what little sanity he retained ; after the chaos, and the battles 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 fork over the head of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed urine, Malus needed a day or two of honest, complete rest. He dozed on in this questionable flesh business firm, still groggy but, after a steamer bath, at to the lowest degree no longer grimy.

He did n't put forward at all when the door to his common soldier chamber opened and a hooded shape slipped inside. The tincture who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the mass of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient expletive, giving the flesh a head start. The could-be bravo strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to fumble in the folds of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some envenom obelisk or some other artillery of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible enemy, then bolted unsloped, sweating. The shadower was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy eyes widened in dismay at the sight of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his brand, but it was n't where he 'd go out it. His legs were already swinging out to realise tangency with the ground as he prepared to abuse for his retainers.

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

Malus narrowed his eye, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead Logos still came out regardless, now edged with wrath. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as a good deal a motion as a threat or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must have been the hour of the wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting imposing. Facing the ceiling, where, to the physique family 's credit, fine human skins had been hung from short hook shot to pass over the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the wickedness Mother 's gens are you doing in my bedroom ? I expressly odered you to defend my room access and leave me in peace until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if timid what to say. After a minute he cleared his pharynx. `` I brought the ... trade good you asked of me, my Maker. ``

'' What goodness ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the give room access. He had n't thought to close it. `` The private good. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a recondite breathing spell. `` The lubricant. ``

Malus paled and craned his neck to look at his consideration. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricant, my lord. '' The old captain produced the vial from his robe. A realise liquid glistened in a trivial crank bottle, lit by the crackling luminosity of two low-burning brazier in the expensive chamber.

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

'' Perhaps my Godhead has drunk too much of the sign wine. You asked me not four hours ago. narrate me you wanted the finest homo saliva. ``

Malus could give sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his critical organs. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some twisted trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The juicer of mankind could n't move over representative to a reply courtesy to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's system, so he let genus Malus have a go at it 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 privates. Malus felt his cock instantly harden, and then bear on to harden, growing stiff than it ever had before. It was as if the daimon was teasing his member to grow, to elongate, to fill up with evil come. Wracked with slow waves of lowering delight, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became flush. His timid breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his carnal physical structure. The daemon sparked a sexual appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His handwriting raced down his bare chest, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and legs, they set to work deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't absolve himself from their oppressive clench quick enough. He tossed the trouser away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his prick, a magnificent steeple make to unleash fists of angry semen. The cutis was as pale and luminescent as the residue of his increasingly corrupted build, though here empurpled vena throbbed just as surd as black ones. The pink tip swayed with each pump of blood. He knew on inherent aptitude that his bridge player 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 stock split between the steaming pants that had landed by his pes and by the grotesque actions of his noble. 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 cock at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the door, '' he commanded.

Hauclir, with trembling work force, did as he was commanded.

'' Come closer, my handmaid. '' The highborn 's discussion slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his mind. The gleefulness spilled out and onto his lips. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smile with trepidation.

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'head was a theater, and the audience was in katzenjammer. His frail liveliness joined in with the unwell cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open up that vial, my cherubic Hauclir. '' genus Malus was in pain from the laughing. His rib had gone tight. The fanciful audience was in outright topsy-turvyness, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' Lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the book binding of his promontory. Forget the delight of the raid. Forget the joy of plotting. leave all the might in the macrocosm. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daimon for talent with such ... delicious acts before ? He should induce forced himself on Yasmir, given her a peter Bruglir could never desire to inure in his wildest of dreams. pit, even Urial. Fucking that misbegot cripple would have got put him in his place. genus Malus'psyche swam with nauseated sentiment and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid state to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The unharmed thing was surreal, but a character of the retainer wished that he 'd had a tub prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no stranger to buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's gang on their last-place adventure, that had been something his sense of taste had been opened to. But with genus Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own overweight penis barely vertical, coldness with dread.

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

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

Hauclir froze, trying to imagine what unholy torture awaited if this was n't what his God Almighty wanted.

'' Lubricate your putz, beloved, affectionately Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the intelligence springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his pump went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this skulduggery, genus Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the interview that had been laughing all along, was aching to explain, but first he continued to address Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, imbue your Almighty ! ``

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

The servant crawled onto the bed, his nerve still a picture of double-dyed awe. He rubbed Sir Thomas More of the lube about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the vial into and around his lord 's anal retentive passage as Best he could. With unwilling hand, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his half flaccid hammer into the breach. He let out a slight groan. Malus was blind drunk than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own idea, Malus looked askance at the demon, 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 intelligence coming in slithery rasp through Malus'spike, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the sound of his balls slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could drown me out with your alcohol or your Druchii confection. The daemon savoured every instant of Malus'strong-arm pain and mental screams. I am your master, the toper of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true powerfulness I offered, the daemon pulled on the mineral vein that ran through the highborn 's rooster to instance his full stop, the activeness giving a stab of discomforting pleasure, but now you will receive an impossibly small gustatory perception of the penalization that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the bedchamber lurked another figure, though this fantasm was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's way. This shadow was blacker than black, practically inconspicuous to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling fig, this one was skilled to a deathly level. A true sea captain of stealth. A rightful assassin. The flesh business firm 's possessor prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled delicacy and safety, but this interloper had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the same mode. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to remain shroud, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left naught to fortune when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied nemesis. Malus had, as common, proved troublesome to his program and decided to remain away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to make the length and quietly steal upon his master, if only to check up on the man and make surely that the future God Almighty of ruining had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn good and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the belated increase to the household 's military force no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making agreement with some of the topical anesthetic cultists to attain his Jehovah 's stay in this berth just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the sleeping accommodation yonder were still at it ; Arleth could get word it all : their cries, their moans, the creak of the bed, the smacking sound of tegument on hide, the slippery noise of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as repressed feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no meter for loveplay in the temple, and since he 'd left to link up up the confessedly faith, only armed combat and the joy of killing had been on his psyche. But this ... if the overlord of Ruin could luxuriate in such acts, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own joy was not something tabu ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the low gear time. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking cock. The piddling fleshy soapbox began to develop hard at his touch. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the cocotte and slaves pleasure each early. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little moan of his own to accompany those of his honey high servant of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the fetor of sex heavy about his lithe eubstance, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the plane. His own stopcock had gone off multiple clip, adding to the harm. The pulp house possessor would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her slaves would be required to do the follow cockcrow. 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 play being entirely at his nobleman 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next course of action was to observe a drinking, a bath, and then a female slave to aver his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the patch to the darkness Mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his promontory, genus Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't face genus Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to shut down it this sentence. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the dry land. He looked down, cursing his fate. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly thread affair. He wiped his bare invertebrate foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hooks, whips and Chain dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his middle water system from the pain still throbbing about his backside. He 'd withstood the roughshod torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own seraphic sib ; he was n't about to attaint himself with an aspect of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his centre. He would get revenge. He had his hate. The daimon could n't take that away from him. The daemon could only inspire more of it. And with hate, all things were possible .